I'm Trapped in the Block

Midas didn’t realize that the price had already come due.

He still went to the olive grove every day, pretending nothing was wrong. He greeted his neighbors as usual and came home on time for dinner.

Everything was perfectly normal. At least, that’s what he thought.

He was also very careful to control the amount of gold he sold to avoid drawing attention.

He always found different buyers.

Sometimes, he would even sell to discerning tourists visiting the island, claiming his family had fallen on hard times and offering it at a low price.

At home, he told his family the money was from tips he earned doing part-time equipment repairs for people, and he gradually used it to supplement their household income.

Of course, the easiest way was to spend the money directly. He replaced all the equipment in his olive grove and even put a new engine in his old clunker.

He often felt proud of his caution, but this only caused the price to compound...

One day, the Midas family’s old dog, Jones, passed away. The whole family was heartbroken, overcome with grief.

The old dog, Jones, had been a gift from Midas to his wife back when they were still dating, and had been with them for many years.

Jones was a very smart dog; he had even saved Midas’s daughter once. Before he died, he was a constant companion to Midas’s elderly mother.

It was safe to say that old Jones was an inseparable part of the Midas family.

They even held a small funeral for old Jones, burying him deep in the olive grove.

During this time, Midas diligently handled all the arrangements, comforted his family, and thoughtfully put away all of Jones’s things.

But on this day, as Midas was putting a framed photo of Jones into a box, a question suddenly surfaced in his mind:

’What’s the point of doing this?’

’Why am I putting this picture frame away?’ Midas suddenly couldn’t understand his own actions.

He put the frame down, sat in a chair, and stared into space.

When his wife saw him staring blankly, she thought he was simply overcome by the memories. She came over, held his head in her arms, and tried to comfort him.

But Midas found his wife’s behavior a bit melodramatic.

He pushed his rambling wife away. Her words were of no use to him.

Grabbing his car keys, he left the house. He had plans to watch the game and drink with friends at a bar that night.

In the bar, Midas watched the people around him erupt in cheers when a goal was scored and groan in disappointment when a point was lost.

He sat in his chair, sipping a strange-tasting "beverage," feeling a little lost.

After a last-second, game-winning comeback, his friends threw their arms around him and jumped for joy. He was like a puppet, hoisted in the air, completely limp.

When the game ended and the bar emptied, Midas got into his car in a daze and started driving home.

However.

CRASH!

A violent impact suddenly jolted him.

Midas was terrified. He didn’t investigate the noise or get out of the car. He just drove straight home, fell into bed, and went to sleep.

The next morning, a knock on the door woke Midas from a deep sleep.

His wife, her eyes ringed with dark circles, anxiously opened the door.

"Lady Midas? We’ve found your daughter."

A police officer in uniform stood at the door, an apologetic look on his face. Midas’s wife pushed past the officer and rushed out of the house.

The next time Midas saw his daughter was in the hospital morgue. His wife was clinging to his arm, sobbing uncontrollably.

"We’ll catch the hit-and-run driver as soon as possible," the officer promised Midas.

But Midas, after taking his wife home, went to his garage and calmly began to wash his car.

With a bit of banging and hammering, the subtle dent disappeared.

From selling gold, Midas had gotten to know many shady characters. The next day, he sold his old clunker for a cheap price.

Then he began to diligently arrange his daughter’s funeral, exactly as he had for the old dog, Jones.

He mechanically consoled his wife, then packed everything that belonged to his daughter into a box.

’A person and a dog,’ he thought, ’there doesn’t seem to be much of a difference.’

A few days later, Midas’s elderly mother hanged herself in her room. She had been blaming herself constantly.

She blamed herself for not watching her granddaughter while making a late-night snack. For not warning her not to run outside so late. For not calling the police right away. For looking in the wrong direction during the search...

Another funeral. But this time, Midas could only comfort his wife. There were only two of them left in the family.

Midas followed his new routine, packing away everything that belonged to his mother into a box.

Then, the next morning, he greeted his neighbors, left for the olive grove, and returned home in the evening, telling his wife he had to go do some equipment maintenance.

Midas didn’t feel any different.

Finally, one day, Midas’s wife burst into the garage and demanded to know what on earth he was doing.

His wife saw the piles of gold. She saw the emotionless expression on Midas’s face.

And she saw the picture frame that was in the process of turning to gold.

The color of the gold was dazzling, shimmering. Even in the dim light of the garage, its beauty couldn’t be concealed. This metal, a symbol of nobility since ancient times, was slowly replacing the entire frame.

But the photograph itself was unremarkable. It showed a happy couple, a kind-faced old woman, a cute little girl, and a simple, honest-looking dog.

"Is something wrong?"

"What in God’s name are you doing, Midas?!"

Midas stared blankly at the picture frame and murmured:

"I’m turning something useless into something useful."

His wife, tears streaming down her face, rushed toward Midas, trying to snatch the transforming photo frame from his hands.

But as she reached for it, Midas caught her hand in his own...

The next morning, after calmly greeting his neighbors, Midas walked toward the olive grove.

When he returned home that evening, Midas sat on the sofa. He didn’t speak to his family.

Everything was so normal.

When the weekend came, Midas, as usual, took some gold fragments and found one of the local thugs.

There were only so many thugs in town, after all. This one had already helped Midas sell gold many times and recognized him.

The thug, who knew better than to ask about the source of the goods, couldn’t contain his curiosity. "Where the hell are you getting all this stuff?" he asked Midas.

Midas just shook his head, and the thug took the hint and didn’t ask again.

After counting the goods, the thug joked, "This haul should bring in a lot. What are you planning to spend it on? I’ve got plenty of ways to help you do that, if you’re interested."

Midas shook his head again and answered calmly:

"I need it to support my family. We’re not doing well financially. The big corporations have been driving down the price of olives lately, so it’s hard to make a profit."

"The olive grove is expensive to maintain, and there are four mouths to feed in my family. Everyone needs to eat, and there are a lot of expenses."

"My daughter’s starting junior high soon, and school supplies cost a lot. Kids grow so fast, last year’s clothes don’t fit anymore, so I have to buy her a few new outfits."

"My old mother’s back pain is getting worse. She doesn’t want to go to the hospital because she’s worried about the cost, and she’s still trying to earn money by doing handicrafts every day. But you can’t just let an illness like that go."

"My wife has been wanting to replace our worn-out furniture, but she can never bring herself to spend the money. It’s getting cold, and a while back she kept saying she wanted to buy a thick wool sweater. She even tried one on at the store but then decided against it."

"She talked about it all the time for a while, but she also kept finding fault with that sweater. Heh, you know how it is."

It was as if he had just recited a set of lines, completely devoid of emotion.

And yet, a single tear traced a path down Midas’s face...