There was once a man who lived in the slums of his city. His clothes were fared no better than a rice bag with enough lice to make it move even when he slept. He eyed the trashcans outside restaurants like a lioness ready to pounce on an unsuspecting gazelle and sink her blade-like fangs into her meal. But he was content with such life. He didn't want to become rich and live in a pent house. He didn't want to drive around in a Porsche or a Mercedes Benz. He was content to live in the streets with the stray dogs that showed their ribcages and the cats with either an ear torn off or an eye missing as his companions.
But one day, he was confronted by a woman. She was more beautiful than anyone he had ever laid eyes on. Her voice swept away the muscles on his leg and her touch melted his skin. He followed her eyes like a child yearns for the mother. She held out her hands, white, marble hands. He took them and followed her. He would have been crazy not to have. Day after day, she took care of him. His hair and beard was cut. He wore nicer clothes. Much nicer clothes He ate food that still had steamy smoke rising when he sat down on his seat. He lived in a house bigger than any others on whose facade he had laid his head against before. His life couldn't have gotten any better. He was content with his life. Nothing was missing.
But he soon changed into another person. He started to buy things he didn't need. He stopped visiting his old friends from the streets, and instead gave them a cold stare or sometimes even tried to kick them away. Whatever he saw on tv advertisements or magazines, he bought without a second thought. The house soon had barely a spot to sleep on. The numbers of nights spent sleepless escalated. Instead, he stayed up all night, making sure none of his belongings went missing. All this time, the woman he loved stayed next to him, feeding his thirst for material and hunger for more. Never once did she try to stop him from buying his third, fourth, or fifth car. Never did she restrain him as he switched his jeans daily from one size to another. Instead of offering medicine or seeking medical counseling, she offered him another shopping catalog and a chicken leg even as his sides slugged over the bedsides and his eyes bulged from just merely trying to breathe. She disappeared along with him as he tried to order a new sofa for his lounge. The saleslady on the other line heard nothing in return as she spoke through her headphone for a card number, just more static. The woman he loved so dearly, the woman that dragged him away from his home on the dirty, rotten streets where mice played hide-and-seek and into a world of excessive wealth, power and prestige, her name was greed.
But one day, he was confronted by a woman. She was more beautiful than anyone he had ever laid eyes on. Her voice swept away the muscles on his leg and her touch melted his skin. He followed her eyes like a child yearns for the mother. She held out her hands, white, marble hands. He took them and followed her. He would have been crazy not to have. Day after day, she took care of him. His hair and beard was cut. He wore nicer clothes. Much nicer clothes He ate food that still had steamy smoke rising when he sat down on his seat. He lived in a house bigger than any others on whose facade he had laid his head against before. His life couldn't have gotten any better. He was content with his life. Nothing was missing.
But he soon changed into another person. He started to buy things he didn't need. He stopped visiting his old friends from the streets, and instead gave them a cold stare or sometimes even tried to kick them away. Whatever he saw on tv advertisements or magazines, he bought without a second thought. The house soon had barely a spot to sleep on. The numbers of nights spent sleepless escalated. Instead, he stayed up all night, making sure none of his belongings went missing. All this time, the woman he loved stayed next to him, feeding his thirst for material and hunger for more. Never once did she try to stop him from buying his third, fourth, or fifth car. Never did she restrain him as he switched his jeans daily from one size to another. Instead of offering medicine or seeking medical counseling, she offered him another shopping catalog and a chicken leg even as his sides slugged over the bedsides and his eyes bulged from just merely trying to breathe. She disappeared along with him as he tried to order a new sofa for his lounge. The saleslady on the other line heard nothing in return as she spoke through her headphone for a card number, just more static. The woman he loved so dearly, the woman that dragged him away from his home on the dirty, rotten streets where mice played hide-and-seek and into a world of excessive wealth, power and prestige, her name was greed.
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