InsaneJournal

Current mood:	thoughtful
Entry tags:	judas iscariot

Who: Judas (narrative)
What: that's a lot of money
When: Tuesday evening
Where: Home


Judas sat on his bed and looked at the bag. He'd banked a few hundred in his previously empty bank account, but he was worried if he banked too much, he'd have to pay tax on it. But there was a lot of money. Three quarters of a million dollars in a Nike sports bag. He should invest it or something, live on the interest. Hire an accountant. Wait, what? Judas shoot his head. He didn't need other people handling his money. He was good with money, when he wasn't on a month-long bender. He'd been trusted with it before.

The winning streak that had won him this windfall still made his head spin. As soon as he'd realised just how much was in his possession, he'd grabbed his winnings and got out of there before someone tried to rob him of it in more or less violent ways. How was he going to get rid of that much cash? He'd buy a house, but what kind of real estate agents took cash? There would be someone, he was sure. Were there immortal real estate agents who would help him? He just wanted somewhere he could sit and drink in peace, and be able to wear nice clothes as he did so.

Maybe he'd ask Mary if she wanted to live with him. Maybe. She might take it the wrong way. He'd think of asking Agatha, but she liked her poverty. The martyrs seemed to have a weird thing about not having more than other people.

Technically, he was a martyr, wasn't he? in a way?

He rubbed his hands together, and unzipped the bag. The money was tied up in neatly counted bundles. He stared at it for a moment and exhaled slowly, then zipped it up again quickly with a shiver. He was so paranoid that the apartment would catch fire or be robbed or Agatha would decide to donate the lot to the nearest soup kitchen. Fuck that. He'd suffered in squalor for long enough. Time to suffer in luxury.