The Essense of Avarice

On the street of my residence, Rapacity Road, the essence of Avarice is extremely intense. I live in a small townhouse, Suite 6, surrounded by its doppelgangers, our neighborhood confined to a small street off the side of an expressway. All the neighbors of Rapacity Road know each other well, and there is always a friendly animosity among them. However, it is true that there is s heavy spirit of rivalry within the ranks of these citizens. This rivalry extended towards pets, mostly cats, dogs, parrots, and even goldfish. I personally owned a sleepy Golden Retriever named Troy that was just slightly smaller than my car. Past Troy, however, was my prized possession, a beautiful, enormous Goliath Birdwing Butterfly, almost 2 feet in diameter. It had florescent green wings and a goldenrod stick for a body. David, as she was aptly named, was unknown to my peers, as most people stayed confined to their respective houses.
One dull morning, at eight forty-seven AM, while I tossed a sandwich bag of dog food into Troy’s slightly crusted bowl, my neighbor from Suite 5 across the street had come by to borrow my TV guide for just a moment. He has stopped in his tracks as he entered the door when I welcomed him. At the entrance of my doorway floated David, her wings glistening in the bright gray light of the door frame. My neighbor stood there, in awe or in envy, I knew not. He left as not nearly as quickly as he came, often taking precious time to glance over his shoulder and stare at my love. I could not stand the man’s presence; it was as if something heavy and forbidding was washing over me. It was the essence of avarice, seeping out of every crevice this man held.
I awoke the next day to a loud and jittery banging appearing to come from my front door. Sleepily, I donned my plastic slippers and proceeded to answer the door. It was the man from Suite 5, holding in his arms what appeared to be a long spotted rope. The man, hopping in delight, explained that it was in fact a Tuscon Shovel-Nosed Snake, an extremely rare species. At that moment, while the great snake basking in its glory, my poor butterfly paled into nothing but a common pet. The maid of Suite 12 had overheard the man, and the gossip had spread like a virus. Before long, I witnessed the child of Suite 12 riding a dark rusty-brown Komodo Dragon into the house. As I washed my boat, the blonde lady of Suite seventeen passed by, a giant ant bear poking it’s vibrating snout in the air. As they lounged in their open-hooded SUV, the residents of 2 and 12 mocked her about how the ant bear was not in fact a bear. The lady, ran into her house, the anteater in tow. About two days later, she answered the door to a delivery of a giant box containing a Black Moon bear.

My current situation was almost impossible to live through. My wife threatened me with divorce, my storekeeper refused me the proper credit, and my neighbors had begun to forward to me crude and unusual insurance broker flyers and wads of their own spit. I had to find a way to overcome the Moon bear, as my butterfly no longer held any status with anyone. I halted my drinking habits, borrowed money from my colleagues, and I lived off the many salt and pepper shakers I had collected over the years. In this way, I had gathered enough money to purchase the most wonderful giraffe, which I had named Lester. He was a magnificent giant, his neck surpassing the roof of the nearest Ferris wheel. The man of Suite 5, always one to follow directly behind me, brought home an Amazon jaguar. Soon after that, the old couple of Suite 9 had a white vulture perched on their rain gutter, watching over me with an evil intent as I drove to my workplace, the swimming pool located down Prosperous Lane.

My enemies of Rapicity Road were unfair in their judgment. When they were fawning over the magnificence of the jaguar and the white vulture, my giraffe’s great size and beauty was gently let down like a deflated balloon. They did not appreciate the giraffe’s gentle brushing fur, or his calm and steady legs. No, the jaguar was huge and intimidating, and the vulture creepy and silent. These factors alone were enough to drive all the attention away from my poor Lester. The rivals of mine did not perceive quality or sensitivity, merely the superior air of the jaguar was enough to invigorate a renewal in all the neighbors’ pets.
The point of my existence was reaching a breaking point. A poor man’s life was difficult; I was forced to sell both my butterfly and my giraffe in order to keep up with the growing competition. Under the clandestine eye of my wife, who had been making numerous late-night phone calls to an unknown gentleman, I living for days on nothing but the leftover scraps of dog food baggies I had kept away from Troy and the dust on my bedroom floor. I then imported my biggest dare yet, a great African elephant named Anoosha. She was beautiful, ears waving like my boat’s rudders in the swimming pool, tusks pointed like a double agent’s knife. The strife caused by a mass importing spree of the rivals on my street halted for only 2 minutes of awe, however. Anoosha had finally cracked the tender earth under Rapacity Road’s capacity.

Monkeys, lions, sea turtles, octopi, and even a Suite 23 whale had invaded the poor street. Tourists from the expressway could not pass due to the massive cesspool of feces located on the highway; the landlord could not enter the lots due to the swamp created by the tenants of Suite 4 and 15 for the giant squid, the many frogs, and the slightly aggressive crocodiles. The blonde lady from Suite 17 passed my house as custom, this time holding a box containing a great white shark in her purse. How far we had come, from the simple and nonsensical days of anteaters, butterflies, and lizards!
I am now sitting on the roof of my once beloved home holding a notebook in my hand, located on the now destructed Rapacity Road. The man of Suite 5 is walking his massive hippopotamus down the mangled sidewalk. The little girl of Suite 12 is happily riding her Komodo down onto the lawn of Suite 14, which is filled with frogs that were freshly hatched just two days ago. My Anoosha stands happily in my house, washing herself with my shower. I take this view atop my house with my watch on my wrist, as every 8 minutes the blue whale of Suite 23 blows, sending sheets of water across the county. I wave my pen dry and continue my account of the ordeal that occurred on Rapacity Road as the white vulture of Suite 9 circles over the neighborhood, watching and waiting.
As such goes the essence of avarice.