Joshua+R.+Gatti's+Folktale

__The Burning Jealousy of Sean Moor __  By: Joshua R. Gatti This story takes place in a small woodland village named Dale located by a brook in the middle of the forest. The village rested alongside a hill with fresh green grass and gorgeous flowers, offering a pleasant view to those who resided there. The town itself was framed by a small steel fence with gates at two ends of Dale. The buildings were mostly of a simple gray stone with clay shingled roofs. The occasional home had painted roofs as well as different materials used in them. There were cobblestone streets divided the city into a kind of grid. There were no official divisions, but it was obvious from the look of the elaborate paint on the houses and the sheer size of some of the houses where the wealthy lived in the town. At this time, the streets were bustling with activity as people began to live a normal day. People were purchasing daily necessities from local markets and vendors, while others were headed to work to make some money for their families. People politely nodded at those they knew as they passed them, the occasional “Hello,” was heard. Not very many discussions took place at this time. A time that was hectic compared to later in the day. The sun was just beginning to rise from behind the hill, casting an elongated shadow against the town. Before long, the town would begin to settle down and the streets would be calm once more. The surrounding trees also cast shadows in Dale, and would for the majority of the day. Inside this little, seemingly pleasant town, were two men; each entirely different in both their lives and lifestyles. The first was a man named Sean Moor. He was an old man of about sixty-five years old. He was known for being extremely jealous and cruel. Many shied away from his house in the mornings, as he sat there in his small, splintering rocking chair, glaring out into the streets. The other man was Richard Jacobson. He was a wealthy man in his thirties, but he was very generous with what he had. He was extremely kind, the sort that if you passed him by, he would say “Hi,” and ask how your day was going, and if you were having a hard time, he would do whatever he could to try and resolve the problem for you. He was the opposite of Sean in most every way. At this time, Sean was sitting on his rickety, old rocking chair in his mediocre home. His home was much like the average in Dale. It had the gray stone walls and the clay tiled roofing. He had a small wooden porch protruding from the front of the house, which is where he spent most of his time in the rocking chair. Richard was riding along the street on a beautiful white mare he had just purchased from a city just outside of Dale. He wasn’t gloating about it or doing anything to really show it off, but Moor was infuriated. Immediately his jealousy began to burn inside of him. “Pleasant day, Mr. Moor?” Richard asked politely. “Humph! Get on with you and your blasted horse!” “As always, a pleasure talking with you. Good day.” Richard lightly nudged the horse with his heels and rode away. “Him and that stupid horse. Thinks he’s better than me. I’ll show him. I’ll get a better horse.” With that, Sean stood and headed towards the nearby town of Bentley. When he got there, he headed straight to a horse salesman. He looked over the sickly, emaciated animals and grunted in disgust. Not only were they sickening to look at, but he could never afford them. Angered by this set back, he headed back home. On his way back he noticed a majestic brown stallion grazing inside a fenced enclosure in one of his neighbor’s yards. He looked around to make sure that no one could see him and then opened the gate enclosing the horse’s area. He took the long way home to avoid being seen, taking many back trails through the woods back to his home. He was satisfied with himself. He had outdone Richard and his pale mare. When he got back, he saw the neighbor whom he had gotten the horse from talking to Jacobson. He couldn’t see what they were talking about, but he was sure it had to do with the horse. He was astonished when Richard got off of the mare and handed the reigns to the distressed man. Rage took over Sean. Now Richard would be viewed as a saint and he would just seem like an evil thief. He growled to himself and snatched the horse’s reigns. He knew he couldn’t return the horse, because that would prove that he had stolen it, so he took him out into the woods and let him loose. He was angry that he had to get rid of the horse, but he knew that he would never hear the end of it if he kept him. He started back to his house, but on his way he began to think about Richard. “That man has all he needs. He doesn’t deserve all of those things.” He began to walk towards Richard’s home. He saw the bright red roof on top of the deep blue stone walls. Jacobson’s porch jutted out several yards from the front and was painted in a delicate, light blue. He noticed that Richard was not home and stormed inside. The room he found himself in was a cozy sitting room with elaborate furniture and a large fireplace. There was a small wood stove on the far wall by the stairs. From the door, he could see the box of jewels in the bed room by the back of the house. He rushed to it and began to stuff his pockets. When he was finally happy with the amount he had taken, he started towards the door to leave, a lantern and box of matches on the mantle caught his eye. A menacing gleam lit his eyes. He snatched the lantern and matches and ran up the stairs to find something to light. He found exactly what he was looking for in a large library a small ways down the hallway. He pulled several of the books from the shelves and formed them into a pile. He smashed the lantern on the floor, causing some of the oil to splash on him and his clothes and poured the rest onto the pile. He struck one of the matches and attempted to light the pile. He got a few flickers, but they all seemed to fizzle out. He rushed out into the hallway and searched room by room for more fuel. After deciding that there was no more, he returned to the room. The fire that had slowly come to life had already jumped to one of the shelves. Sean looked in horror as the bottom of the shelf snapped and the shelf began to fall towards him. The fire was now of a considerable size. The shelf landed on top of him, pressing him to the floor. The fire jumped to the oil on his clothes and spread swiftly. He screamed in a futile attempt that someone might hear and save him. His jealousy had burned for the last time. His screams were never to be heard. A few days later, Richard was talking to a man in the village over lunch. “It’s too bad about your home. It was a nice place,” the man said. “Oh, it doesn’t really matter. It’s ironic actually,” Richard replied. “How’s that?” “I was actually in the process of moving out of Dale. I had intended to give the house to Mr. Moor. Now, because of Sean’s jealousy, no one will get the house.” Richard was correct in the fact that the situation was ironic, however, not entirely for the reason he believed. The true irony in this was not only that Richard intended to give him the house that he burnt down, but rather that he ended up getting it. He got it as a tomb rather than a residence. If anything is to be learned from the demise of Sean Moor, it would be that his jealousy proved to be his undoing, and in many instances that is the case.