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A heart of gold. That's what she accused me of. Well, I certainly didn't have a heart of gold. And even if I did, it certainly wasn't for sale. How could someone ask such a thing? I walked past a merchant on my way home, almost expecting him to make an offer on my arm, or an eye perhaps. Rain was pouring as if the sky was as sad as those below it.
Of course I was sympathetic towards the merchants. But if a person does not work hard to earn a better life for oneself, how can he or she expect any better? I myself had spent years in the Royal Academy, working myself till naught was left of me but skin and bones. I had payed my dues a thousand times over, and I would not pity those who refused to do the same.
Heartless some called me, but this was not so. I was not heartless, simply in the market for one. I chuckled to my lonesome at the joke. I had made it plenty of times at parties for coworkers. It had always been met with thunderous laughter and applause.
Parties for coworkers. I had seldom had any other opportunity to tell such a joke, or any joke for that matter. Heartless I was not, but lonely was a considerably more accurate adjective. I looked with empathy at the skies above. I could feel their pain. Such lonely skies they were, with not a friend to greet them in the mornings, nor a single honest companion with which to share its last years.
So, with rain running down my wide-brimmed hat in a waterfall, I crossed the lane to a house where no lights shown, and not a soul waited to greet me.