Wall Street | Matt Sterling (upanddown) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2011-04-11 17:38:00 |
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Entry tags: | wall street |
Oh, you sure don't make it easy to get myself to safety
Who: Wall Street (upanddown) [Narrative; mentions of Capitalism (laissez_faire) and small cameo by Tax (mr_revenue)]
What: I don't own anything, not even myself.
Where: Rooftop of Vernand & Co. building, NYC
When: Monday, 11 April 2011
Warnings: n/a
The first time he opened his eyes, there was no blue sky to reflect in his eyes and no sunlight to kiss his face. The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes for the first time was darkness. The first thing he smelt was stale air, wood, paper and ink.
The first sound he heard were deep voices, talking, grumbling. Then gradually, they rose in volume, reaching their peak when they discovered a little boy - they didn't see a god - in their hallowed halls. The first human contact was either a slap or a kick in the bottom, perhaps both.
Thrown out of his own temple, the young god lived on the streets during the day. For thirty-four years he roamed the streets in the shape of a child, digging through the garbage to silence his stomach and getting into fights with pigeons, stray alley cats and dogs over rotten scraps of food, wondering why it was never warm.
"Come with me."
The stranger - no, not a stranger... Mr Gallagher... Capitalism - gave him a room in a big house, gave him clothes that weren't torn at the seams, chased the hunger and the cold away, called him by his true name: Wall Street.
Wall Street only ever calls Capitalism by his chosen names in public. In the privacy of his head, he calls him God.
He is a creature brought forth, raised and shaped by Capitalism. One of many tiny wheels in a big machine - insignificant really, he knows, but still, being closer to God than anyone else, understanding the workings of Capitalism's mind better than anyone else, he dreams (hopes, fools himself) of being special somehow.
Wall Street adores. Wall Street worships. Sometimes, during his brief moments of clarity, Wall Street hates Capitalism utterly and completely.
Because Wall Street loves - is helplessly (stupidly) in love with - Capitalism and Capitalism... is Capitalism. More indulgent, more tolerant, more understanding, more accepting than anyone else - or accepting nothing at all. Of his 194 years Wall Street has spent 160 with Capitalism and he hasn't felt farther away from him than now.
The coffee has gone cold and the pack of cigarettes is empty. Wall Street glances up from where he's sitting on the ground and pulls his lips into his usual wide grin. Mr Mauve, dressed in black, wearing sunglasses, hasn't moved at all. Every year, Tax comes even though he knows that neither Wall Street nor Matt Sterling possess anything.
'I hate you,' he thinks, cheerful almost as his eyes narrow to slits under the strain of his smile, 'every single one of you and the fossils and the decrepit fuckers that call themselves gods out there and I'll be around to watch you all perish.'
Out loud he says, "Still got nuffin' to declare, Mr Mauve. Sorreh, really. But Sasha can get us cake." Pushing himself to his feet, he gestures towards the door. "C'mon, I'll share with ya."