A Child’s Agreement

Greed is a cheeky bastard. I find him waiting in the living room. He sits on the couch, his lanky body stretching to cover all three of the cushions. A cigar dangles between his yellow teeth and it bounces when he breathes. His face is a maze of wrinkles that all center back to his eyes. They’re ancient, those things. They weren’t green like I expected the eyes of Greed to be; they’re red, as if his presence needed to be more over-stated.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

He lifts his head as if it is a mighty burden and gestures to my pocket. “You know why, darling.”

My hand shifts to cover the pocket and he chuckles. “Is that Daddy’s money?” He asks, “Or did you dig into Mommy’s ‘Trip to London’ tin?”

I’m reaching into my jeans and pulling out the fifty dollars. My hand is slow as it moves to him and he meets my grasp. The cash slips between his index and middle finger, folding easily into his palm, and he clenches it tightly. He pulls away even quicker than he reached.

“Thank you for this. You’ve been so well-behaved lately,” He sighs. “Not as sustaining as when you were a child.”

His hand slips into his pocket and I follow the movement. When I look back to him, he is smiling ear to ear and those wrinkles are gone.

“Get back to work, darling. I never sleep.”