The Worry Seller

Sat there, watching your face creased up with worry, I listen
patiently to your concerns. I am waiting for the right moment to act, I
want the best I can get. I push you with questions designed to make you
even more tense. Then when you feel you can't take no more? PIFF! They
are gone.

Where do your worries go?

I steal them, without you knowing, just a gentle touch, a very slight
movement of my hand, and they are mine, tucked away deep inside my
pouch. The only difference between me and the common thief, is that I
steal what people don't want. I see the familiar smile, the relief, the
strange puzzlement on your face: "What was I worrying about?" You
ask.

I smile and shrug my shoulders.

"Thankyou for listening," you say. "I feel so much better now. You're
simply wonderful."

If only you knew? but you will never know...

Deep in my pouch, invisible to your eye goes your worry, no longer an
unwelcome thing that deprives you of sleep; but a sparkling jewel the
colour of indigo. Something worth a small fortune to me.

For hidden in a place between all the worlds of the multiverse, there
exists a great market. It is full of endless bartering and bickering, a
meeting place for those of my profession; and the only thing exchanged
there is human emotions.

There are countless stalls filled with jewels of many different kinds,
each one representing a particular feeling. There are the glowing
chaotic fiery red jewels of anger, the cold dark jewels of horror, the
blue jewels of sadness, the purple jewels of madness, the orange and
yellow jewels of happiness. Sometimes there are rare jewels, that are
of mixed colour, these represent a cocktail of emotions, and these are
worth a fortune, but often these can only be purchased with jewels of
the same type, with a different mix of colours.

People shout and offer what they claim to be the most unhappy jewel of
all, the most frightening, the most bitter, the most joyful; trying to
make their voice louder than everyone elses in that din. They tell of
it's unique tale and what emotion is contained in there. Interested
merchants will then gather round their stall and bid for this jewel
with jewels of their own. For different worlds value different things,
and there is always a jewel to fit the desire of a particular
place.

You see there are people who will pay handsomely for such a treasure as
this indigo jewel I now have in my pouch. For there are worlds where
people desire to know what it is to be worried and anxious, for they
have no challenges, because everything in their world is too easy for
them. They long for the stress and anxiety you feel. Artists and poets
of these worlds will sell all just for one chance to experience what is
contained in that jewel of yours. And it is to this market I will take
your troubles.

For I am a seller of worries, it is the field I specialize in; and I
have become well known and respected among those of my profession for
coming up with the goods. Which means I have a reputation to keep. So I
seek out the best worries I can find, travel the world in search of
them, I look for people just like you. I become for a time, a kind
listening stranger, a false shoulder to cry on, an easy voice to
confide in. And as I listen with my sympathetic calculating ear, I,
with just the lightest gentlest touch of a pickpocket lift away those
problems, these concerns of yours.

In exchange, merchants will pay me with a jewel that glistens with the
colour of sparkling dappled yellow caught in the sunlight. Which I then
go and sell to my clients here in this world: bored unhappy rich
people. They willingly buy my jewels of happiness from me for whatever
price I charge them. And as soon as the jewel leaves my pouch and
enters their hand, it dissolves back to it's original ethereal form,
and fills these people with it's essence, so they know joy, for a
while, till it's energy dissipates. For nothing lasts forever; and it
is well it does not, for it is my only trade and source of income. And
it would not be good for me if everything I sold lasted forever. I need
regular customers.

So you see, through this worry of yours I am able to survive and make a
decent living for myself. So don't thank me.

Yet, money isn't everything to me; there is something else I desire,
something which can't be bought or sold.

At times, I find in my pouch, a jewel or two to spare, and I give these
away to the poor in spirit, the heartbroken, the destitute, the lonely,
those who have nothing. Into the palm of such as these I silently place
a jewel of happiness. And from deep within the shadows of my hood, I
watch as the sun breaks through the clouds of misery on their face.
They smile, and I smile - and it is the most precious perfect smile you
will ever see, the most complete work of art in the universe, the one
thing that lasts but a moment, yet is worth more than all the jewels of
all the worlds put together. Here is something that can never be
stolen, bought or sold; it is priceless, unique; it is the pure smile
of someone who feels blessed. It is the great creators signature on
each and every person's soul, that can't be forged. The most sparkling
jewel in all the world, which will never fit into my pouch, no matter
how much I may desire it. And when this person recovers enough to look
to see who gave them the jewel, they find mysteriously there is noone
there - for I disappear in the twinkling of an eye; and I will accept
no thanks for what is given freely.

Maybe I'm not such a bad bloke after all.... yet, little acts of
kindness aside,

business is business...

.. and there is a distraught looking gentleman over there. He looks
like he's having a bad day, maybe I should buy him a beer or
something?

Oh here's your bus love, thanks for the jewel.

"Bye bye, take care." I wave back, calculating my next theft.

Hmmmm, such a scowl on that man's face, this could be valuable.

"Excuse me sir."

"Yes."

"I can't help but notice you seem a bit upset about something."

"What if I am? What's it to do with you?"

"Well nothing, I am in need of some company, and could do with a pint,
but don't want to drink alone. I was just wondering if you'd like to
have a beer or something - I'll pay."

"Ha, if you're willing to pay, you're on, I'm mighty parched, and could
do with a drink myself. I've had a terrible day, and am sick to death
of this lowsy town, and my life."

"Really, maybe you can tell me about it."

"OK." The man says, as I hold the door to the pub open and gesture for
him to enter. "If you're willing to pay for the drink, I'll tell you
the whole sorry story, you've got a deal."