There was once a man who was the owner of the most beautiful gold. His name was Gilbert and he had inherited the gold from his grandmother who had passed away a few years previously.
The gold was Gilbert’s most prized possession. He kept it out in a particular arrangement on his coffee table.
Each time he had friends over, Gilbert waited anxiously for them to remark on his treasure. He wore an air of nonchalant uncaring regarding the matter, but it was actually the case that Gilbert had spent a considerable amount of time arranging the gold to be propped just right in order to reflect the sun in the most exquisite way possible.
The reason Gilbert went through all this effort was because it seemed to him that as soon as people complemented his treasure, it became all the more beautiful. He was convinced that the effect of praise on his gold genuinely changed the way it looked and not just his perception of it.
It was not long before it became known that Gilbert had the shiniest gold in the entire city. There was not a soul who didn’t want to be his friend. Unfortunately for Gilbert, he worked 9-5 and could only reserve the weekends for hosting guests.
On Saturday and Sunday morning, there would be strawberry cream cake brought to Gilbert’s humble abode by the baker’s daughter who had taken a particular liking for Gilbert. In the subsequent hours, people would stream like chattering rivers into the confluence of the apartment. In the evenings champagne flutes would be shared between the ones who remained. There was always more fun to be had with money that was compiled from the last bits of the savings of those at the party.
Gilbert was very happy.
This was all until he accidentally came across someone who owned better gold.
Gilbert made the discovery on one sunny Wednesday when he was out riding his bike. There was a particular, newly forged path that passed through the entire city that he loved to cruise upon.
Gilbert was not only a gold owner, but also a notably skilled bike rider. He often rode without keeping his hands of the handlebars. It was his guilty pleasure to indulge in the appearance of tempting fate.
So, it was on one of these rides that Gilbert accidentally passed the house of the other man who owned the better gold.
For some reason, the blinds of the room had been pulled open as if the person in the house had been waiting for Gilbert to take a peek inside. It was a rickety, old wooden shack. The led paint chipped off the sides, crumbling into mounds of short grass that had not been mowed for quite some time. The house was sinking downwards as one does as a result of the burdensome weight of the years passed.
Gilbert did not notice these specific attributes of the house. The thing that caught his eye was inside of the room. It was a hunk of shimmering gold. It sat on a round, checkered surface that was actually a coffee table. The yellow lump glittered so incredibly aggressively that there was no question that it was much more magnificent than Gilbert’s.
The owner of the greater gold sat on a plushy sofa chair with a pince-nez that had partially fallen down the length of his tremendous nose. Just before Gilbert averted his eyes from the awe-inducing rock, the owner of the accolade gazed straight back into the backs of Gilbert’s pupils.
Gilbert knew that the man had caught a glimpse of his soul. The owner of the better gold had entrapped a part of Gilbert and would keep this until further notice.
Gilbert’s entire body flinched, and he turned back towards where he came from.
Needless to say, it was a long way home.
Once in his abode, Gilbert went into a frenzy.
It was not the fault of the other gold owner that his gilt was simply superior.
That night Gilbert lay awake in his bed devising a plan.
The next morning, Gilbert peddled ferociously to the front door of the other house. In the last torturous moment before knocking, he changed his mind and headed out to the back corner of the cabin. Peering around the edge of the wall he could see that the window looking out behind towards the back garden was hanging wide open.
Now on his hands and knees, Gilbert crawled his way past the burgeoning backyard.
As if it had been an act completed by a fate-bearing overlord, the key that could be used to open the window had dropped from its position within the lock and now lay in the grass in front of Gilbert. He plowed the key into the window, intruding on the stale air of the room with a burst of freshness from outside.
As Gilbert propped himself onto the windowsill, clumps of dry paint hung irrevocably to his soft cargo-pants.
He snuck first his legs and subsequently the rest of his body onto the interior of the room. Luckily, the owner of the superior gold was nowhere to be found.
Gilbert grasped the hunk like a trophy and held it to his chest.
Once his sense had partially returned to him, he flew out the window.
Staring at the weeds of grass that happened to cross his line of sight, Gilbert knew he had made a mistake. He had acted out of jealousy.
As is commonly the case with humans, his emotions deluged all hints of rationality that existed within him. As he peddled away with his prize he was ashamed.
He was ashamed but he found comfort in the knowledge that any other human soul would have done the same.
WAST WRTNG 