Greed

A short story by

Greed- “the selfish desire for our pursuit of money, wealth, power, food, or other possessions, especially when this denies the same goods to others. It is one of the seven deadly sins.”

Bread, Pounds, Dollars, Euros and Dough. These are but a few words that mean money. All the above are referred to differently by many nations but the one thing they have in common is that they all speak the same language, money talks!

From when I was young, I was told go to school, get an education, be someone important in life. Be a doctor, lawyer or even a pilot. The reason, you ask? To make money. So why not just become a drug dealer, I ask?

Dealing drugs is a profitable business, you start small and work your way up a ladder as such but there are a lot of snakes on the way. Let’s start from the first step. You’re just a pawn on a chess board, you’re doing all the work but you’re still the most important piece. It’s you making the money while protecting your king. Effectively all you’re doing is looking out, making sure your friends on the street are not being watched by police. A simple job for sure, but you’re getting chump change. You now see where this is going? You start to ask yourself why can’t I be selling the drugs? Still pawns in the game but you move up one, to the person that is selling the drugs, your title a drug dealer.

You have now earned your right to sell, prove you can be trusted and warned what the consequences will be, failing to deliver the product or money. Imagine standing outside on a dark winter’s night, waiting on a street corner with a flickering florescent orange light, glass littered on the floor, with the ambient noise of a dog howling. A blue soft top BMW (Black Man’s Wheels as it is sometimes referred to) pulls up with black tinted windows, shiny 20” rims, the passenger window slowly winds down with a thick smoke escaping to give you the silhouette of a male. After the smoke disperses you see a well dressed man in an Armani suit not a black man but white and who says society does not stereotype? He then asks with a husky voice “give me an eighth of weed”. This is a small clear plastic bag that a set of earrings would come in but not filled with earrings but weed. He then hands over a tattered £20 note with white residue on it, not all yours to keep as there is still a hierarchy you report to, that gets a percentage of your intake.

By this time you’re still making small change. The hours spent standing on the street corner in the freezing cold is having a lethargic effect on you. Putting up with the lingering smell of vagrants while they are begging for you to give them their next fix, their hands as dark as coal like they have seen war holding out shrapnel to pay you. The ladies of the night occupy the same corner as you, a symbiotic relationship where they provide you more revenue and you provide a hallucinated world, where dirty old men are not committing adultery on their estranged wives.

This is still a business. You move up by making a profit and taking out your competition, while giving your consumer a product that is superior quality. Best for less is the motto but is it less money? No it’s less drugs. Having this knowledge you make it to be a Queen, The King has married you into this title, no coronation. The board is open, you answer to no one but one. Every part of the business is discussed with you.

The management level, holding board meetings will always seem like a chore to the common society but for drug dealers it was a time to sit in a desolate building and discuss current events. Who was taking over territory; who did not give part of their intake and finally how they would be disciplined. The general consensus of the meetings all led to one end result, maximising financial status.

The king still makes the most money, one word comes to mind, treason. Should the king be killed, so his throne can be taken? The king can only make one move at a time, always watching his back making sure that the system doesn’t have him in check. Scared to leave his domicile, fearing another drug dealer will de –throne him. Using pawns to protect him and conduct his business, this won’t last forever as the pawns go down the board they want to get promoted. No turning back, only going forward.

Hear ye, hear ye...

A simple pay rise will suffice. It’s not your time to be king, you decide. Soon all the bad points of being king seem to not worry you anymore. The good points outweigh all the bad ones. The parties you go to, women flocking to you, letting go of all their inhibitions, having the power to control people a role reversal of Adam and Eve, only the apple being drugs. You finally step up to be king, first thing on the agenda your palace.

A palace fit for a king, more rooms than you alone can sleep in, and each room has an en suite toilet. Your security is the best in the world, you have large security gates to make sure no one enters. All over the premises you have security cameras for your safety with guard dogs posted around. What more could you ask for? You have your palace and you’re now king. What more could you ask for? You want your freedom! A palace fit for a king, prison. Sure you have had your house warming by now.

So why not just become a drug dealer I ask? I was, but I am now known as prisoner LG5238.

With thanks for the use of images to - BMW, Chess black and white, Chess King, factory, belmarsh