The Weight of Wealth

In the heart of the bustling downtown district, a building emanated from a beautiful Victorian facade. The restaurant welcomed visitors of great wealth and reservation with its timeless charm. Just beyond the restaurant’s exterior, a narrow back alleyway unfolded. Over the years, the once-flourishing fluorescent lights above a decrepit dumpster had become intermittent, flickering uncertainly.

Amidst this contrasting scene, a man clothed in tattered attire stood atop a plastic box on tiptoes, sifting through the discards of the wealthy. He triumphantly pulled a half loaf of bread from the depths of the dumpster. With ease, he rolled the bread bag and concealed it within his pocket, an act performed without a hint of repulsion for the pervasive odor of decay and disarray that now defined his existence.

In a past life, he bore the name Joseph Davis, a man admired by his peers and held in esteem by friends. He was known as the man who couldn’t walk away from a business opportunity. Now, he answered to Joe, a man who reveled in finding half-eaten meals. But never satisfied, he leaned further into the dumpster, teetering on the brink of imbalance. His fingers, questing for something substantial, encountered an unexpected surprise – an object that was both solid and smooth. Retrieving it, his hand glistened in the low light, reflecting the intricate beauty of a gold ring adorned with swirling patterns and intricate designs.

An unabashed grin played upon his lips as he slipped the ring onto his cold, thin finger. A tingling sensation cascaded from the point of contact, rippling through his arm, and evoking an involuntary gasp. Attempting to remove the ring proved futile; it clung, stuck and did not budge. The ring seemed to shimmer and glow, then fade. Expletives slipped from his lips as he berated himself for the predicament. “Idiot fool,” he muttered, steeling himself for the challenges that lay ahead. In a last-ditch effort, he shook his hand vigorously, but the ring remained unyielding. Upset but undeterred, he reached down into the dumpster once more, hoping to find more than just a ring hidden in the grime.

Fingers sought purchase on something metallic. He pulled out a spoon, and suddenly, the object in his hand shimmered and glowed. Before his eyes, the spoon transformed into solid gold. A startled yelp escaped him as he fumbled, dropping the golden spoon onto the pavement. He approached it cautiously, casting wary glances around to ascertain he was alone. The alley, a realm of tranquil hush, remained undisturbed, the distant hum of passing cars serving as background ambiance. Gently, he retrieved the spoon, stowed it securely in his pocket, and navigated toward the street, narrowly evading the blaring horns of passing vehicles.

His body was not as agile as it used to be; running caused his chest to burn. Gasping for air, he clung to a nearby railing, his heart pounding as his touch wrought a shimmering metamorphosis upon the cool metal. making the thing solid gold. An unrestrained burst of jubilation spilled from his lips as he realized his predicament. His found a banana peel resting on the ground. He picked it up. Nothing happened the banana remained brown and in decay. He realized his touch affected only inanimate objects. A finger lifted toward his opposite open hand, and he pressed down. His skin was still skin. Withdrawing a pen from his pocket, he watched its miraculous transformation. He danced and hollered in marvel and elation.

Returning to his makeshift sanctuary beneath the overpass, he ventured inside with measured caution, mindful of avoiding any contact with his transformed left hand. With deliberate care, he unfurled the tent’s tarp, allowing himself entrance without disturbing the surrounding environment. Laying out the transformed pen and spoon, he regarded them with awe and a sense of exhilaration—emotions long dormant rekindled within him. The allure of exploration was irresistible, and his fingers brushed against an unremarkable metal can, sparking yet another astonishing metamorphosis. What a spectacle!

He gathered his newfound acquisitions with care, ensuring they did not collide with his left hand. The following day, shrouded by the embrace of darkness, he embarked on a discreet mission. Making sure to only change the insignificant items he found around the streets. The most important part, he knew, was keeping the ring hidden, acknowledging its potent significance. The sale of the spoon to an old acquaintance at a pawnshop furnished the means for an upgrade for himself. A secondhand suit, a new haircut, and a modest night’s reprieve at a budget motel combined to offer a glimmer of what his life had once been. The knowledge that the gold must eventually be sold, necessitating discretion to avoid the attention of law enforcement, further fueled his transformation. As he vacated the motel, he left behind a gold mug, a testament to his newfound generosity. But that was the limit of such generosity. Everything else he kept for himself.

Two days of tireless transactions with diverse pawnshops and gold merchants bore fruit in the form of accumulated wealth. As his fortunes mounted, so too did the looming specter of his hand’s gradual transmutation. Amid placing his earnings within a shoe box, he noticed that the top of his finger, where the ring clung, started to glimmer. After inspecting his finger, anxiety gripped him momentarily, triggering a thorough assessment. He hoped this was not a harbinger of more profound change, but just a fluke. He kept an eye on the progress. At first, the change was sluggish as his finger gradually adopted a golden hue. With time, however, a sense of worry took root, but in the end, it was eclipsed by the unwavering resolve to press on. There was no way he would stop now.

Wealth amassed, filling the space with a display of goods and cash. Eight days elapsed, each marked by a relentless creep of gold over his hand. It wasn’t agony, but rather a discomfort characterized by awkwardness, concealment, and weightiness. A fruit peel wrap proved a crude yet effective barrier, letting him place a glove over his hand. Gradually, his hand’s mobility diminished until, eventually, he could no longer flex his fingers. Every transmutation brought with it a ritualistic re-wrapping of his hand, a solemn ceremony that maintained the balance between his acquired fortune and his physical integrity. He told himself he would know when enough was enough. When the cascade of gold reached his wrist, he paused, staring at the gilded barrier, reflecting on the toll exacted by his choices. He weighed the merits of his gold-ensconced appendage against the treasure trove he had amassed. Within him surged the belief in an extraordinary destiny, a conviction that compelled him to endure this trial. And so, with a heavy sigh and an unspoken acceptance, he re-wrapped his hand, signaling his commitment to the path he had chosen.

He had resolved to heed his intuition, to discern when enough was enough. This was his chance at redemption, a rebirth that demanded a sacrifice, even if it meant relinquishing a limb. But each item after this decision grew twice as fast as before. Gold surged with voracity, racing up his arm like a determined vine, imposing its immutable will upon his flesh. There was only one thing he could do. He found someone willing to help him remove his arm. The man he enlisted was tasked with the arduous endeavor of melting the gold away.

“This won’t work,” the man said, placing tools on a table, and Joseph grew frustrated. Tools were employed, strategies were pursued, yet the outcome was one of futility.

“Then cut the entire arm off! Start at the skin!” The man shook his head. “This is already the weirdest thing I’ve seen. I don’t want to end up cleaning up if you bleed out. Or worse, die.”

“Then leave the tools; I will pay you for them.” Joseph handed the man a roll of cash and sat back down.

As blades met skin, nothing happened, as if an invisible barrier was surrounding his arm. Frustration and despair mingled as his plight remained unchanged. An enduring night witnessed gold’s advance without direct contact, inching closer to his vital functions. With a sleepless night ahead, knowing he had hit the point of no return, he rolled from the bed and his fist hit the wall, leaving behind a void where his hand once resided. Seething with frustration, he emerged from his hotel room, briefly flirting with the thought of ending his misery by plunging into the bay.

As he walked down the street, a beggar’s outreached hand with a cup redirected his focus, mirroring his own past struggles. He pulled out some of the golden coins he had made and placed them in her cup. The stranger peered in her cup, surprised, and tried to call him, but he continued to walk. He gave everything he had in his pockets to each person he met. He couldn’t keep the gold if he died after all.

As he did, his hand became lighter. Was it just his imagination? With renewed urgency, he hastened back to his hotel room, clutching the remnants of his fortune. Each offering, each gesture of benevolence, served as the reversal of his predicament. His arm, once imprisoned by weighty gold, now shed its encasement with every selfless act. He journeyed with intent, his pace quickened by the promise of liberation. In the wake of his munificence, his arm grew lighter, gold retreating. Soon he had given away all his profit and material means to his name, besides the clothes on his back. Finally, he knelt upon the steps of a building with a beautiful Victorian facade.

His head bowed as he wept into his hands, surrendering to cathartic tears. Through everything, his finger remained golden. What had his life become? A sudden touch upon his shoulder startled him, his gaze lifting to meet the eyes of a man adorned in a dignified suit. The stranger’s countenance was softened by a benevolent smile.

“It appears you’ve found what’s mine,” the dark-eyed man observed, his words gentle and understanding. Joseph’s gaze lingered on the ring, his mind churning with contemplation. The decision weighed heavily upon him – the lure of unbounded wealth or the release from physical and emotional strain. He pulled at the the ring and it slid off his finger, for the first time obedient to his touch. Joe placed the ring in the man’s hand.

“Thank you,” the man said and turned to the door of the building before asking, “Would you like to have a warm meal? I’m sure you must be hungry.” The smell of freshly baked bread and something savory lured him in, dulling his senses. A weary feeling overcame Joe, but a meal was a meal and he nodded at the man. “Yes. That would be nice, thank you.” He said and walked inside.