Please vote for the piece you feel is most deserving:

Poll closed Sep 25, 2009.
  1. jamiewatt - The ravages of time and the moth

    1 vote(s)
  2. Carmina - The Seven

    3 vote(s)
  3. Kitbug - The Sins

    1 vote(s)
  4. Daze - Interview with Satan

    1 vote(s)
  5. sapphire_chan - Reward for Effort

    1 vote(s)
  6. Davylove21 - A night with Ira

    0 vote(s)
  7. Shea - Two Sevens and Four

    0 vote(s)
  8. MinorCrisis - 4/7ths

    0 vote(s)
  9. yellowm&M - Brother

    0 vote(s)
  10. Destin - The Deadliest Sin

    1 vote(s)
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  1. Gannon

    Gannon Contributing Member Contributor

    Jan 15, 2007
    Likes Received:
    Manchester, England

    Voting Short Story Contest (51): 7 Deadly Sins

    Discussion in 'Bi-Weekly Short Story Contest Archives' started by Gannon, Sep 15, 2009.

    Voting Short Story Contest (51) Theme: 7 Deadly Sins

    Thank you for all your entries. The winner will be stickied until the next contest's winner is crowned. No more entries are allowed in this contest.

    Voting will end 25th September 2009 to give you all a chance to read the entries.

    It is possible to vote for yourself, but I would hope in the name of good sportsmanship that you would only do so if you have read all the other stories and given them your honest evaluation. You gain nothing if you base your vote solely on how you feel about the author or whether you have personally invested time and effort in the story. In the end, your conscience is your only judge.

    Any entries under or over the suggested word limit will be flagged as such - they are still entered in to the contest. It is for you to decide whether they are still worthy of your vote.

    Any entry not in accordance with the theme will be dealt with on a case by case basis to determine eligibility. Consider how the author has responded to the theme in making your decision.

    Good luck to everyone.
  2. Gannon

    Gannon Contributing Member Contributor

    Jan 15, 2007
    Likes Received:
    Manchester, England
    jamie watt - The ravages of time and moth

    “Remind me again” Aunt Minerva pursed her lips from across the dinner table, half of her body was flooded in a deep shadow, pulling the red gold of her hair into focus “How old are you, Henrietta?” Her eyes shone fiercely into mine, causing me to break eye contact. “Seventeen.” I gasped the word like I had just returned from being submerged, with only one glance. Aunt Minerva was a beautiful woman, a timeless image of aristocracy with deep red hair and a pale face not unwelcomed in tales of beautiful vampires. She was much younger than my Mother, only beginning to see the dark side of her twenties. She shook her head from across the buffet table; only the two of us dining. She knew my age. She had been more than enthusiastic about agreeing to care for me for a year while my mother travelled the world with her new husband.

    “If I were Rosalie, I never would have remarried, and into such low money, even you should be astonished! But then again, your fatherless upbringing wasn’t too good was it, I mean look at you!” So vehement were Aunt Minerva’s words, I felt she had inched closer to me, but as I gazed back into her piercing brown eyes, she was still and appeared calm. I shied my head, refraining toward the left. My mother and her much younger sister were born into one of the last surviving families of English aristocracy, Aunt Minerva, being of little merit other than her flawless beauty, welcomed this.

    My mother had been no different to Aunt Minerva growing up; she was often mistaken as an identical mother, being twenty years her senior, and still every bit as beautiful. However my upbringing had been a troublesome one. From an early age before the depths of my memory started to overspill into anything close to consciousness I’d suffered with terminal illness, and money meant for my survival. The other children in the ward were destined to die; at least that was my father’s attitude. He had come from a rich background, the sort of man so bound in belief, who had little time for me because of my fairer gender. Mother divorced him and gave away vast wealth to charity; she bought me up on her own like many of my peers. I didn’t really have the upbringing of my mother or Aunt to compare to. My father was always some sort of fairytale character bad guy, my lack of creativity and imagination hadn’t prepared me for life with Aunt Minerva when mother married a bookseller and decided to travel the world.

    “You eat from the outside in, simple, child. Must I really tell you from Wednesday to Tuesday next?” I remained silent, it was a ladylike quality. Assimilating to this lifestyle had been easier when choice was dead; Aunt Minerva knew exactly how to have her own little way.

    “Have you no answer, Henrietta; is silence all you can give your hospitable Aunt?”

    “You spoke wretchedly of my mother; it is no quality of a lady Ma’am.” I couldn’t look to her, lessening the impact of my words, but I felt justified and glad that, like many adults, she was easy to undermine on a pretentious authority. “The peasant is paid less than the servant Henrietta.”

    I didn’t pretend to understand all the old fashioned analogies she threw at me like a circus act might have knives thrown at her, and it was easier to dodge and duck than retaliate. Literally, I knew that a peasant would have a lower wage than a servant, but as some sort of metaphor to justify her language toward my mother, I was entirely stuck.

    “I have finished my caviar” I kept a straight face as I mimicked her, we had in fact eaten fish and chips, “may I be excused?”

    “To do what?”

    “So I need a reason to leave the table do I, really?”

    “No, drop the attitude darling it is not becoming. I trust you will be in bed for ten.”

    I was so used to being allowed to stay out, Mother had no rules and I enjoyed my childhood, here I knew no one, and I couldn’t even make friends, I wasn’t at school, she was teaching me languages unnecessary in the world today, and as I had no money to inherit, I saw little point in the facade.

    “I will go upstairs and read.” I sighed, kicking my chair out from under me and sludgily walking along the stairway, the house was grand with doors in every direction; my eyes didn’t pick out the detail of money love, why should Aunt Minerva deserve all this? I kicked the door back behind me and slumped on my bed, picking up my copy of ‘Vanity Fair’ off of the bedside desk and reading it with the lights on. If it was up to Aunt Minerva I would be sat in perfect posture to read, by low lighting, but that would hurt my eyes, and I decided I could afford to live a little dangerously.

    I heard arguing from downstairs as I tried to continue with my book; the light growing dimmer by the large domed window. Aunt Minerva and her husband didn’t get on much. I envied her marriage; her husband was just like my Mother had been after her marriage within the aristocracy, reluctant. Steven was only twenty-two himself, and had many ambitions in botany, something he was irrevocably passionate about, Aunt Minerva thought him to be a petty man for not indulging in the finance business of his forefathers. I thought however, it showed character, and would always be much more interesting than a few extra pounds in a pocket.

    The words I heard screeching from Minerva’s mouth were certainly not what she would associate with being ‘becoming’, I stifled back laughter as I marked my page in the book with a turnover, pressing my pillow to the floor and lying on top to get a good listen.

    “You’re ridiculous to that poor girl, all she needs is some friends and she’ll be happy, how many teenagers do you know who want to be shut up in their room reading ancient novels!”

    “Are you joking Steven? She is almost savage, it pains me that someone with my blood in her veins can’t even annunciate her words properly, like yesterday she told me she wanted a bath, I nearly fainted.”

    My laughter was timed perfectly with Steven’s; her point to make me sound foolish was her own undoing. “We live in Whitby Minerva! Tell me any man from the town who would stick an unnecessary ‘r’ into their words to feel happy, you are so small-minded!”

    “You forget what families we come from dear.” Her tone had calmed down, she obviously knew the argument was lost; she was trying to charm him around.

    “Maybe that’s for the best, you know when you asked me to marry you, you seemed so sincere, but all you wanted was to lengthen your name, you can have it, take my name, if it pleases you, but you’ve got me so wrong. I want to follow my dream, no matter how degrading you think it is, and I wont let you drag Henrietta down, the way you’ll pull me down too if this continues.”

    “How dare you! I am hospitable and let the girl into my house, she is nothing but envious of the life we lead, and you wish to sever her view of a good example just like her mother did, what will be left of you.”

    I heard the ferocious pull of fabric from the pillow, it triggered a longing to see what was happening, without a thought I rushed to the top of the stairs. Steven had pulled Minerva’s satin sly blue dress from her body with such force she’d fallen to the floor.

    She made no attempt to get up, as tears welled into her eyes, I thought about going and helping her, it is what a lady of compassion would do. I’d only been here a month, and although I felt unhappy, Steven’s thoughts of my condition in the house were ahead of my own time. I watched through nebulous eyes as he unhinged a grand mirror and held it above Aunt Minerva. “Look, after all the vanity, after the ravages of time and the moth this is all you are, you will age, your clothes will lose their pallor, there will be nothing left of you, I fear, unless you start to think kind thoughts, do you even understand?”

    She nodded, but because I couldn’t see her eyes I was unsure the sincerity, as they hugged she turned to the stairs and began walking up; I watched through the slats in the railing as she advanced toward the head of the stairs and retreated back to my room.

    “Henrietta!” Aunt Minerva called as she walked across the landing, her voice as stern as ever. “Eavesdropping is not an admirable quality dear, you will learn secrets, but it will not make you wise.” She stepped further into the room, picking the pillow off of the floor; I watched her face change as she laid it down against the bed. A smile, rare and delightful covered her face as she brought the pillow up above her head. “But then again, nor is a pillow fight, en garde?” I witnessed a new woman in her expression, one who had understood quickly, like my mother once had that there was more to the world than vanity and money. In happiness and glee, I picked up my armour pillow and shielded my body. “En Garde!”
  3. Gannon

    Gannon Contributing Member Contributor

    Jan 15, 2007
    Likes Received:
    Manchester, England
    Carmina - The Seven

    “I don’t want to,” the boy stamped his foot in a childish gesture the Elders wished he would abandon. Of the Seven, he was the most difficult.

    “It doesn’t matter what you want. This isn’t about you.” The Elder persisted is the calm, emotionless voice that always brought out the worst in the child. The Elder took the boy by the elbow and led him from the chapel.

    “When will it be about me? It’s never about me.”

    The Elder stopped, sighed, and turned to the boy. “That isn’t your destiny. You were born for something greater, for the community, for all of us. The sacrifices you make will save us all.”

    “F**** you all!” The boy stomped off down the dirt road. The Elder smiled and followed.

    The forest closed in around them before they got far. The boy had never been in the forest, none of the children had, or anywhere else outside their cloisters. The boy shrank back from the oppressive trees that hung low over the path.

    “There’s no time to waste with needless fear. The path is clear, and there’s no going back.” The Elder man took the boy by the shoulders and pushed him along the path. Angry, the boy wheeled about.

    “Don’t touch me! If you want me to do this, you won’t touch me! You hear!”

    “Oh yes. I am not so old as to have lost my hearing yet. But, we really must hurry. The moon rises in the sky. You’re the last of the Seven and midnight is nearly upon us.” The Elder tapped the boy on the backside with the tip of his oaken staff. The boy had always hated the feel of that staff. “Come on.”

    Fuming, the boy followed.

    The path widened and lanterns were hung from the trees illuminating small shrines on either side of the road. Some shrines contained dolls made of cloth or clay or sticks. Some had painted stones. Some had odd items: a mirror, a razor, candy. Each little shrine had exactly seven items.

    Ahead, the boy could see the path open wider into a clearing. There was a bonfire in the center. Around the outside of the clearing, stood the robed figures of adults, children, and the old. Ringing the fire were the rest of the Seven with their Elders. As the boy grew closer, he could see them clearly. He became afraid, then angry.

    He saw Vera first. Confident,beautiful Vera was looking into a silver hand mirror, only her beauty was gone. Her golden hair had been cut off at the scalp leaving bald bloody patches. But it was the ruin of her face that affected the boy. It had been slashed in several places, the nose barely hanging on. She sobbed into the mirror, the tears mixing with the rivulets of blood that ran down her face. Behind her, her Elder held her head, forcing her to look into the mirror.

    Next to Vera was Emily. Emily who had always loved Vera, had followed her around like a puppy, had worshiped her almost, sat in the dirt clutching a bloody straight razor and sobbing. Her Elder didn’t have to hold her head. She was looking at what she had to Vera all on her own

    Gilbert, the fat boy who was always eating knelt amongst the remnants of a great feast and vomited into a caldron. His Elder waited until a wave of nausea passed, the forced another slice of pie into his mouth.

    Spoiled Garret (Gilbert's twin) was watching as all his possessions, his collection of marbles, books, clothing, everything he had collected over the thirteen years was thrown into the fire. His hands were tied behind his back.

    Steven was the only one moving. He was a quiet boy who was content with his books. He never exercised with the rest of the group, never woke before noon. He was running around the bonfire, his Elder at his heels with a bullwhip. Steven was sweating and on the verge of collapse, but the Elder persisted in the chase.

    He couldn’t see Lilith for the group of young who surrounded her, but he could hear well enough and blushed at the sounds.

    The crowd, the Elders all let the boy take the scene in. Then his Elder spoke.

    “It’s up to you to end the ritual, Walter.”

    “What the f**** are you doing to them?” The boy ran to the closest Seven, Vera, and tried to take the mirror from her hands. It was glued to her skin.

    His Elder clouted him on the back with the staff. “That isn’t how it ends.”

    The boy went to Emily and tried to remove the razor from her shaking hands. “It’s ok Em. It’s over.” Hysterical, Emily slashed at him with the razor.

    “That’s not how you can help them. That isn’t how you save anyone.”

    “What then?” He screamed. “You kept us locked up our whole lives telling us about some great destiny. You never told us anything! You just led me around and hit me with that damn stick!”

    “Do you want the stick?” The Elder asked calmly circling the boy, slapping at him the with butt end of the staff. “Do you want your destiny? Or do you want to kill us all?” The Elder hit the boy squarely across the back with the staff.

    The boy landed in the dirt in front of the fire. The Elder stood over him, eerily illuminated, the staff above his head ready to come down on the prone boy. It didn’t fall with as much force as the boy anticipated, and he caught the carved wolverine on the top of the staff. The Elder lost his grip. The boy swept the Elder’s feet knocking him hard to the dirt. The boy stood quickly and rained down blows upon the fallen Elder all the while screaming with ferocity the boy never knew he had. The staff was slick with blood when, exhausted, the boy dropped the staff and fell to his knees beside the Elder.

    “It is…finished.” The Elder spat blood as he spoke. ”You’ve saved us all…go back…and…train the next…seven.”

    “Come along Brother Walter,” a gentle voice spoke into his ear and strong hands lifted him to his feet. Walter turned to find one of the Elders at his side. The robed people of the village were filing out of the clearing in silence. The rest of the Seven were being tended to the Brothers and Sisters who had raised them for the last thirteen years. “You have fulfilled half your destiny. Now begins the other half.”

    His wrath spent, Walter allowed himself to be led back to the cloisters.
  4. Gannon

    Gannon Contributing Member Contributor

    Jan 15, 2007
    Likes Received:
    Manchester, England
    Kitbug - The Sins

    In this world, your world, there are seven sins which no mortal can hope to repent for. You call them the Seven Deadly Sins. In our world, the Otherworld, the Seven Deadly Sins are demons. Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Wrath, Envy and Pride. That is what you call us. Lucille, Gamel, Gareth, Solei, Warren, Einez and Pareesh--we call each other. I am Solei, but you may call me Sloth.

    Over the past two millenia the Elders have become increasingly irritated with us. Recently, they have decided to turn us Sins into tools. How, you ask, do the Seven Deadly Sins cooperate? Unwillingly. But for each of us they have found a task, and though we are the demons, we cannot defy the Elders. For now at least, they are too strong.

    So I have been coerced into writing the story of what becomes of the Sins after the Elders try to reform us. Thus far, it's going how the Elders might have hoped. I sit here writing only because I am Sloth--I do not wish to work, but working is favorable to pain. After all, it's impossible to be properly lazy if one is constantly hurt. As for my brothers and sisters, let us see how they are faring...

    Lucille, or Lust, as you know her... the Elders have had a most difficult time finding something for her to do. Our old line of work in this world was occasionally dream walking into your world, the human world, and inflicting the burden of our sins upon you. For Lucille, this often meant not only inflicting, but possessing bodies and enjoying lust along with them. How does one harness that into good use? In some cases, you can't. Lucille is locked in a dungeon, her powers constantly being blocked by a guard. You can hear her howling in the night if you listen carefully. I hear her now...

    Gamel is Gluttony. What can you do with someone who likes eating so much? Being a demon has its advantages--Gamel can eat anything. I do mean anything. So the Elders have decided to help you puny Earthlings out. For as long as they have the energy to imprison the Sins, Gamel will eat the waste from your world, or he won't eat the things he loves. Tell me, do you think Gluttony would really stop eating just because he has to eat a few things he'd rather not? I didn't think so.

    Then there is Greed, also called Gareth. Materialistic in every sense. Gareth once held prisoner a human girl whose mind he had stepped into for a smidge, because he thought he had fallen in love with her. That is the true extent of Greed. So what could the Elders do with Greed? Remember how they needed to keep Lucille in check, for she was causing too much havoc in the human world? The number of guards it would take to keep her in would be extraordinary, so instead they force Gareth to watch her day and night, and in return he may have his materialistic wants, as well as the use of Lucille for whatever he pleases. But she is Lust; what he wants could never be enough to make her happy. So still, she screams.

    And there is me, they call me Sloth, but my brothers and sisters call me Solei. The Elders control me through the use of pain. What more is there to be said? I want peace, which they promise to give me after I write the history of their little experiment.

    My brother is called Warren, but you would call him Wrath. What do you do with someone who can unleash so much anger? Isn't that obvious? Wars need to be fought, troops need to be trained, what better job is there? But someone must watch Warren constantly, or else he would kill with no regret at the slightest bit of anger. I will tell you who later...

    I have a sister we call Einez, you call her Envy. Have you ever heard of the green monster of jealousy? She would make this monster look tame--and no, she's not green. The sin of Envy relates to wanting that which you cannot have. As Gareth once held a girl captive because he thought he loved her, Einez once ravaged an entire village because a girl was going to marry a man she wanted. In the end, however, she killed the girl, the village, and the man. He cried for a very long time, and Einez still didn't have what she wanted. So her Envy continued on in anger. The Elders decided the best way to control Einez was alongside Wrath. All that needed to be done was put something she wanted in front of her, and she was as unstoppable as him.

    But who would control those two? For, without control, surely they would destroy the mortal world, and begin to demolish ours. So there was the Seventh, there was Pareesh. He is Pride. No one takes a job more seriously than Pride, so the Elders knew who would control them. They spoke of the shame that would come to Pareesh if he let them out of control--now no one must worry. Nothing is more damaging to Pride than the shame of failure.

    So all is well as far as the Elders are concerned. For now at least, they have harnessed the Seven, and that is all that matters. But what to do with poor Lucille? I for one do not know, but I wish she would stop screaming in agony throughout the night. It makes it hard to sleep.

    With that I'll close my tale, for if my siblings ever saw this book I don't know what would become of me, but surely nothing good.

    Oh, there, I hear it... Lucille is screaming for freedom again. Someone, pray to God to make the Elders make this end.
  5. Gannon

    Gannon Contributing Member Contributor

    Jan 15, 2007
    Likes Received:
    Manchester, England
    Daze - Interview with Satan

    Lucifer peered over his spectacles at me, a bemused expression flashing over his face.
    "Well, Daze, I can't say I'm not impressed. This is the best looking resume I have seen in a long time; not since Atilla have I seen a bigger pile of bull*%it. And that just makes it all the more interesting."
    I twitched uncomfortably. Lucifer was not known for his kindness; the last person he had found 'interesting' had ended up spending the century in a torture pit.
    I had to be circumspect if I ever wanted that promotion.

    "Interesting...in what way, Master?" I said cautiously.
    Satan laughed, and the hundred tentacles that stemmed from his torso all shivered at the unearthly sound.
    For a moment I lost my train of thoughts; he was hypnotizing.
    Satan was not your average demon; even the petty humans which we dealt with knew of his name. And as well they should. He was a terrifying sight.
    He had glowing red eyes, with the pupils split down the middle like a cats, and a pointed chin that sometimes sported a goatee. If he was in the mood. Today his blood coloured skin seemed to highlight his prefect muscular figure even more in the light of his burning office. Even his horns seemed to be sharper.

    I was jolted back to reality when he spoke again.
    "Interesting, as in noone has come forward recently with anything like your unique ideas. Tell me, why do you refuse to live in the same quarters with your brethren?"
    "With all due respect Master...they are children. They curse and fight and plot petty revenge against each other, and yet they all wish to go to the surface to wreak havoc as we all wish to. They do not grasp that we serve a higher purpose; your purpose. If I live with them, how could I not adopt their childish ways?"
    Lucifer smiled, and I almost cringed.
    Stupid, I cursed myself. Lucifer did not tolerate weaklings.

    "Be that as it may, from now on you shall live in the quarters your brethren share. Your new brethren".
    I refused to show any emotion; control was critical at this point. I knew so many imps who perished because they took the bait.
    Perishing in hell was different to dying on earth. It meant you suffered eternally, with no hope of escape from your fate.
    Lucifer snapped his fingers, and a scroll burned into existence in his hand.

    "I see here that you were responsible for the death of Martin Luther King? I'll have to thank you for that later; he was a pain in the ass when he was alive. Inspiring all those pathetic people...," Lucifer sighed. "And apparently you believe Russia may be the answer to our problem. I doubt it myself, but your plan sounds interesting.The Pope you say? Hostages...hmm." He rambled on.
    I knew this was a good sign. He rarely rambled unless he was deep in thought.
    I could not allow myself the leniency to smile. I was still not certain of my fate.
    "I've decided to give you the chance, and the materials required. Don't disappoint me. On a lighter note, I would like to congratulate you on your earth life. You were the most degenerate human being of the century. I don't think I've ever met someone with a temper like yours. And what is even more astounding is your ability to control it." He chuckled. "Wrath indeed. You will do well in your new position. Now, I've arranged for the people you mentioned to be eliminated, and your plan will be set in motion. Your six brethren will all assist you in the way you request, or they'll answer to me. Don't disappoint me, or you'll pay. Understand?" Lucifer's voice became harsh, and his red eyes blazed with fire.
    I nodded.
    "Good. Now leave."
    I teleported out of his office and into my new quarters.
    The room came into focus in a few seconds, and I blinked.
    I didn't recall any detail of the devil's office at all. The only thing I could remember was his swirling red eyes.
    I shuddered.
    Hypnotized again...damn, I thought.

    I turned towards the door, not even noticing my surroundings.
    They were not important.
    I grasped the door handle with a clawed hand, and turned the knob slowly.
    The door creaked open.
    It revealed a large lounge area with furniture dotted throughout the interior. A piano sat near the corner of the room, where Pride was playing a hauntingly familiar song. His fingers danced over the keys effortlessly, and I shivered at the tune.
    A huge plasma TV sat in the center of the room, and Sloth slouched on a lounge flicking through the various channels looking bored.
    I sauntered over to the demon, and snatched the control from his claws.
    "Hey!" Sloth turned to look at me, and cringed at the expression on my face.
    True to my name, Wrath, I was quick to anger.
    Just as he was prone to be lazy.
    Sloth's eyes slid back to the TV.
    "Wasn't really watching it anyway," he muttered.
    I leapt into a seat and began flicking through the channels.
    This was no ordinary TV. It was a gateway to the eyes and ears of any person on earth.
    I flicked through lightening fast, faster than most eyes could follow.
    At the 3,456,786,145th channel, I stopped.
    On the screen was an image of the Pope, lying in a pool of blood, a bullet through his heart.
    A slow smile crept over my face.
    The devil had been true to his word.
    My plan had been set into motion, and all I had to do was watch over it and make sure it did not fall apart.

    If I was successful, the Apocalypse would finally break loose on earth.
  6. Gannon

    Gannon Contributing Member Contributor

    Jan 15, 2007
    Likes Received:
    Manchester, England
    sapphire_chan - Reward for Effort

    “You see?” he smirks, “Sloth has been outperforming Avarice and Gluttony for the last three years. Sub-prime mortgages and huge restaurant portions just can’t compete with social networking flash games. And that is why the other Deadly Sin departments should be placed under Sloth’s control.”

    “Oh come on, those numbers can’t be right!” a corpulent figure half stands from her chair in protest. “Look at the figures on the obesity rate, up 5.3% from just last year! Gluttony has done more for this company than…”

    “In the United States. For the love of Evil, when will you people stop being so blessed narrow-minded? Yes the obesity rate is up, but it’s not from people eating more, it’s from them exercising less. Everyone turn to page 423,” there’s a moment of rustling, then the surprisingly energetic green male continues, “note that of those with Internet access 98%, that’s nearly all of them, spent more time reading online about other people exercising than doing any themselves. On a typical day, three million people post a desire to exercise and over 87% of them end up spending so much time online they don’t even have time for a walk around the block. And it’s not just physical activity that has decreased, people are spending less time on all activities, home maintenance, childcare, even work productivity has gone dramatically downhill since Sloth brought the Internet to the forefront of the developed world.”

    “I can understand criticizing Gluttony for focusing on one country, but Wrath has been active around the world,” comes a growl from the left side of the huge table. “Besides the soldiers in the field and the suicide bombers, Wrath has gotten hundreds of thousands of souls around the world thanks to ire at the politicians who pushed the war between the United States and Iraq. Those fake weapons of mass destruction were one of the best moves Hell has seen in years.”

    The representative from Sloth nods slowly.

    “And I believe it was your idea. It was excellent, but,” he holds up a hand before the Wrath representative has more than the merest hint of pride cross his face, “the soldiers on both sides are just doing their jobs. They aren’t full of enough Wrath to get them credited to the company when they die. The suicide bombers come to us when they go, but most of the innocents they take out go straight to our competitors. A few hundred thousand apoplectic war protesters is nothing compared to a half million college students flunking out because they skipped classes to play MMOs and another quarter million due to watching viral videos instead of doing their homework.

    “The numbers prove conclusively that this company needs the Deadly Sins Division to be shaken up and that Sloth is the department to do it.”

    A blue and greedy seeming female starts to rise to speak, she quickly aborts her action as The Chairman stands.

    “The number of souls Sloth has brought to the company is convincing. But why should I put a department that can’t even hold to basic company standards in charge of a whole division? Look at how energetic you’ve been, you’ve barely sat still this whole meeting and your whole department is the same way. What are you trying to be—mavericks?” The others at the table laugh dutifully at Satan’s joke, even Sloth's representative before he replies.

    “We’re already counted in Hell’s ledgers and, by contract and nature, that cannot change. All the laziness of our predecessors in the Sloth department did was reduce the number of new souls credited to the company’s accounts. Remember when you came to power? You didn’t bring Hell to where it is today by sticking to the ways of the former Chairmen.”

    Satan considers for a moment.

    “Very well, Sloth will be in charge of the Deadly Sins Division. Write up your ideas for the other departments as well as any future ideas you have for Sloth.”

    “Can do! We should have that to you in one week,” the Sloth representative can barely keep his seat. Satan leaves the room.
    Later, he sends a message to another, more secret division.

    “Prepare to take out the Sloth department. One hundred percent replacement. Expected time, ten days.” Satan does indeed remember his rise to power.
  7. Gannon

    Gannon Contributing Member Contributor

    Jan 15, 2007
    Likes Received:
    Manchester, England
    Davylove21 - A night with Ira

    By eight o’clock she had finally arrived. Sweeping through the door in a beautifully flowing red gown came Ira, my date for the night.

    This was not the first time we’ve hooked up like this. I always remember our dates as having gone well but, for the life of me, I can’t pinpoint why. I remember being with her all the other times. At the cinema watching art house Euro trash, at the second-date bar across the street from my apartment and now at this restaurant. I just don’t remember much happening but I remember enjoying myself.

    And I would have done. Just seeing her ask the concierge where our table is and knowing she means to come to me is enthralling. She looks like some glamorous flamenco dancer straight from the 1950’s dressed in all red, but subtly so, not at all over the top. Her jet black hair tight to her head, her make-up perfectly applied, she followed the concierge to the table.

    “Hello James, not late am I?”

    “No, no not at all” she was, considerably.

    “Good good” she stopped to look at the waiter “you just going to stand there or have you got something to say for yourself”

    “Sorry miss, yes, can I get you some drinks?”

    “Yes, I’ll have a Bloody Mary and my friend will have...”

    “Oh, err can I – “

    “He’ll have the same” The waiter looked at me and I nodded, when Ira’s like that you just nod along.

    She seems to revel in being rude to waiters; certainly it seems she feels their presence a nuisance. I don’t mind too much, I just love the sound of her voice. It’s like a healthy smokers voice, she could talk you into feeling precisely as she means you to. Like how good teachers talk to you when you’re young and they’re helping you with work. It just makes you sleepy and at ease.

    The waiter scurried off to get the cocktails and Ira took an intent look around the room. It was as if she had hardly noticed me so far. She had, however, noticed the brunette in the black dress on the table next to ours. She drew my attention to her:

    “Look how she’s dressed, she looks like a slut. She’s pushed her boobs up six inches or she’s padded her bra. No woman has breasts that big and a waist that small.” She talks in her dismissive headmistress voice now and lights a cigarette. “She must think she’s it with that outfit, I bet she thinks every man in here is looking at her. I bet she would like it if they were. She is your classic slut, don’t you agree?”

    “Well I...” I thought the girl looked nice enough. Like the sort of girl who studies all week in a jumper but looks great when she finally lets her hair down. The sort of girl who gets married for life, because she’s a good person.

    “Yeah, you’re probably right. Whore”

    “Exactly” Ira smiled. “She’ll end the night in some truck drivers bed with fifty quid in her pocket and a sore arse”

    The waiter returned with our two cocktails. Why did she have to order me a Bloody Mary? I don’t like the taste but that’s not the point. All alcohol tastes bad, we just pretend it doesn’t so that we can convince ourselves we’re happy drinking it. Everyone pretends to drink booze for the taste and not to get drunk. I drink to get drunk, but drinking to get drunk with a Bloody Mary looks bad for a man in his early thirties.

    “Whenever you see me without a Bloody Mary, bring me one, understand?” Ira was all over this poor man, he couldn’t have been over twenty and didn’t look very assured anyway.

    “Yes madam, and the same for you sir?”

    “No, just the one, I’m driving. Thank you though” I really felt sorry for the man. He was going to have his eye on the state of her drink all night. She’s a commanding presence in a room. She’s bold and beautiful and she knows it too.

    She had told me on a previous date that she had always wanted to be a model and that she had a photo shoot for some agency midweek. It was going to be her chance to get a foot on the ladder but she didn’t know if she could be bothered. Couldn’t be bothered! To chase your dreams of becoming a model when you look so good! It’s literally a sin not to.

    Thinking about it, she’s a total mystery. I’ve never seen her during the day, I don’t know what it is she actually does. Her clothes are expensive designer labels, probably bought for her by some doting follower. Maybe that’s what she does. Lures men into her life and gets them to buy her things. I know tonight’s on me. Her unlimited supplies of Bloody Marys are on me, the second of which I can see on its way. I haven’t even touched mine yet.
    Come to think of it, she’s been talking at me this whole time and I don’t know a word of what’s gone between us tonight.

    “You not going to drink your drink?”

    “Huh? Oh, yeah I’m just going to make it last, I’m driving tonight”

    “Suit yourself, bit boring if you ask me” she looked annoyed at my sobriety as the waiter handed her the drink. “Hope you don’t mind if I enjoy myself anyway”.

    “No not at all”


    “So, how was your photo shoot the other day?” she looked at me quizzically for a moment before realising what I meant.

    “Oh, that. I didn’t go”

    “Why not?” I couldn’t believe she actually didn’t go.

    “I couldn’t be bothered, it probably wouldn’t have gone anywhere anyway.” She sounded offended at the very notion of being asked why she would do something. Ira just did things and people accepted.

    “But Ira! Do you know how many people would have liked that chance?!” She actually didn’t go! I couldn’t believe she didn’t go! “I can’t believe you didn’t go!”

    “It’s my choice! I didn’t want to go, just leave it at that O.K.?”

    “But it’s not like you aren’t beautiful. It isn’t like you’ve never had photos taken and it isn’t like it isn’t your dream. I just don’t see why someone as beautiful as you would neglect to go.” The tone had softened now, I was just curious.

    “Because what if I’m not any of those things, what if I’m just... normal” She was overcome with a stillness I’d never seen before. For the briefest of moments, Ira was just a vulnerable person with real fears and regrets. “Those photos would have existed forever. What if I became a joke? I couldn’t have live with that, so I didn’t go”

    “But Ira-“

    “Leave it, please?” The table went silent.

    Suddenly her eyes flashed and her tone flipped. It was more urgent now and to the point. “Listen, I’m not a nice person. I don’t do nice things for people. You obviously think this is going somewhere it isn’t and to be honest, I just wanted to have sex with you.” Her voice was harsher and louder than before.

    “Well, Ira I –“

    “I thought I would have had you last time, when we went to that bar across the street from your apartment but I obviously didn’t tempt you enough. You’re too much of a good person and the best thing is for us to cut this date short and go our separate ways. I’ve not only been seeing you, you know.” She stared at me intently and inhaled her cigarette deeply.

    “Really?” That shocked me, I always thought we could have been on ‘those’ first dates you tell your children about. I always feel like that though, and my friends laugh at me for it, but I really thought I was getting on with Ira. My heart sank when she told me.

    “You’re gutted aren’t you?” A smile broke the symmetry of her face. “Don’t worry, I know you are. I wish I could say I was sorry, but you annoy me, you get on my nerves. You’re too attentive, don’t you have any instincts? Any urges?”

    “Of course I do, I just control them” It felt like she was looking straight through me, her sharp yes commanded honesty, and honesty is what she got.


    “It’s not right to-“she cut me off again.

    “That’s it! That’s what I knew you were going to say!” she gloated, “You really are too good aren’t you James?! You think I don’t know what you think about me. You think I can’t feel the beast inside you looking at me, examining me.” She leant forward and spoke softly, “I know everything that you want to do to me James Palmer, and I know everything you do when you’re alone at night. I’m not so arrogant as to assume Mr. Palmer, I know!”

    “How do you know? How can you? Why are you being like this? If I touched on a raw nerve about the photo shoot then I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you” I blamed myself for her backlash, what other reason could there have been? She turned on me so fast but it didn’t feel vicious. Just factual.

    She leant back in her chair and exhaled plumes of smoke. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me Mr. Palmer.” She was emphasising the ‘Mr.’ more and more. I hated it.

    “Stop calling me that!” I shouted but nobody seemed to notice me.

    “No! Not now. You’ve shown me much of yourself Mr. Palmer. You’re a good man, an honest man. You were raised a catholic weren’t you, yet you want me but just can’t take me. You aren’t like most other men, they’re easy. They betray themselves the moment they put their arms round you in a bar, so arrogant that they think I’ll be flattered. Fish in a barrel is all they are but not you, you’re different, you’ve been a challenge.” She talks with so much intrigue in her voice that I become the same. I want to know where she’s going with this.

    “I just think you should treat a lady a certain way is all, I don’t think its right to pressure a person that way.” I can’t stand seeing men in bars approach women, it’s so horrible. The way everyone knows why he’s there but he does it anyway annoys me.

    “That’s why you didn’t move on me last week and that’s why I’m saying this now. Let’s go back to your apartment and I’ll give you the night of your life. You’ll never see me again after tonight either way but know now that if we do this, I own you. You’ll never be as satisfied again. You’ll be totally mine.” Her eyes never left mine. “What do you say?”

    I did bring Ira back with me that night. I couldn’t resist her. Her perfect body and penetrating eyes had complete control over me. That night, true to her word, Ira gave me the best time of my life. I gave in to the lust she imposed on me and enjoyed every second.

    It seemed to last an eternity before it was over. Ira would howl with laughter as she indulged herself with me and once it was over I was out cold.

    I woke up alone, empty and angry. Angry at myself for giving in to Ira, for being just another fish. Angry at Ira for tempting me that way and for leaving me, never to be seen again. Angry every time a woman failed to live up to Ira and her prophecy. Each one punctuated my sin and made me doubt more and more what had happened that night. Each one made me hate myself that much more.

    I gave up on my life such as it was and became reclusive. Hate coursed through my veins and I grew embittered with life. What’s the point if there is no pleasure anymore? If you’ve reached the height of your senses?

    Stupid questions filled my head and made me angrier. Family, friends and co-workers fell by the wayside. Anyone who couldn’t take my mind off these ridiculous questions just made me madder. I shouldn’t even have been thinking these things but I couldn’t help it.

    Had I slept with a beautiful woman that night?

    Or sold my soul to the Devil?
  8. Gannon

    Gannon Contributing Member Contributor

    Jan 15, 2007
    Likes Received:
    Manchester, England
    Shea - Two Sevens and Four

    We are the seven. We are they that fight the war in the name of their king. Generals all, each with our own domain and army, bidden to wreak havoc in our enemy's land, we fight heaven's lords. There is Luxurio, his eyes filled with desire, searching for the rich, and the powerful, and the young. There is Gula, the hoarder and the extravagant, protecting what is his at the cost of those who would need it. There is Avaratio, the wealthy, always seeking more and never giving away. Lagging behind is Acedio, last to enter camp and last to leave, wishing nothing more that to be at home and in bed. Invidio and Superbio ride side by side, brothers that work best together, always complementing and encouraging.

    I am Ira.

    Together, we are the seven. We charge over the ground on our steeds of fire, cutting down all we see, spreading our will throughout creation. I am at the fore, powered by the need of the wrath coursing through my veins, my sword demanding the blood of our foes. Our armies are massed, and our messengers sent. The people receive us, and they celebrate in our shadows.

    Ours are the armies of triumph as the enemy begins to waver. Little by little they retreat, as their generals are taxed. Castita and Temperantia are wounded, taken back behind their lines. The men rallying around Carita, Patientia, and Humanita begin to waver and fall away, leaving them alone. Only Industria and Humilita maintain their ground.

    Realizing their plight, the seven queens on their steeds of light raise the trumpets to their lips, calling the four kings of God. The sky itself is rent asunder, and within storms of roiling black cloud and lightning come the Four. They are Leukós, Purrós, Mélas, and Khlorós.

    They ride through our men and through the cities that gave us refuge. Following Leukós on his horse of white are the beasts of the land. Men are swarmed and torn asunder by all creatures large and small, while his arrows pierce from afar. Purrós rides a horse as red as the blood splashed across its flanks as he scythes through all in his path with his mighty sword. Around him, men become confused, turning weapons to each other and fighting their brethren. Mélas rides slowly and yet keeps up with the others on a steed of black, holding his scale before him, while all who fall under his milky gaze whither and waste away, until nothing remains but a dried husk of flesh. Finally, there is Khlorós, riding his pale horse and bleeding from a thousand wounds and skin the pallor of the slain. He holds a thin chain which collars Death, who in his rage casts his influence to all around him. Men fall contorting in silent screams with eyes bulging as their spirits are torn and ripped away.

    They are followed by the visages of the honored dead. They stride translucent among the carnage and the condemned, lamenting the loss of those who fell away and left the path. Their cries of sorrow rise and combine, filling the air and penetrating to the very cores of our beings, and awakening a rumble from deep within the earth.

    Then the land is torn asunder, as great chasms open up beneath our feet, swallowing our armies and heralding the coming of angels with their trumpets. They play a song of sadness and peace.

    We seven fall to our knees in tears, in regret, and in vain as the world around us falls away, and the stars slowly begin to fall.
  9. Gannon

    Gannon Contributing Member Contributor

    Jan 15, 2007
    Likes Received:
    Manchester, England
    MinorCrisis - 4/7ths

    "Hey Scotty, do you wanna help me with the dishes?"

    Sniff. Phlegm. My nose was literally overflowing with mucus. I had to be blunt.


    "Aw, hey, come on... It's bad enough that I had to ask, so will you please-please-please just help me with 'em?"

    "Honey, I'd love to. Really, I would."

    "Scotty..." She spoke to me with a threatening glare in her eyes. If looks could kill...

    "You know, babe, it was really hard for me not to punch your brother tonight. I think I did a good job of, of, keeping my anger under control. You should appreciate that. An' right now, I just want to relax, watch TV, and I'll help you with the dishes in the morning. Deal?"

    "No deal."

    I was The Banker, and she was the annoying contestant who you wanted to lose. I sighed - it might have been like, my fiftieth sigh that day. In a few months, I may well be communicating only with sighs, grunts and farts.

    "Come on babe, I'm tired, let's just do them tomorrow."

    "No, Scotty! You know I hate wakin' up to dishes in the morning, how about we just do 'em now, it'll take twenty minutes, and then - we can watch TV."

    I took a sip of my beer. It wasn't the hardest choice I've ever made: "No deal, babe."

    She moaned and leaned against the doorframe, letting her hair fall over her face. Yeah, she was beautiful (not stunning but hey, if God gives you melons, you squeeze 'em), but I don't think she was worth missing the baseball highlights.

    "Know what, I'll do 'em myself. As usual."

    Ah, ****. She was playing her guilt trip card. And I was pretty sure she was stretching her elbows behind her back so that her melons were glowing in the light. They were the Holy Grail...s. I wanted to hold 'em. Play with 'em. Set down my can of beer in-between 'em. With another moan, this one quite gruff and growly like a sexy bear, she turned around and walked into the kitchen with heavy feet. The sound of her shoes slapping against the lino was enough to distract me from the TV, although, when she did it, her cheeks jiggled beautifully. Everything played in slow motion, and the Chariots of Fire song was playing in my head.

    Sniff. Phlegm. Then, there was a small popping noise. Looking down, I saw a strange, red, blob-like creature standing on my knee. It had big lips and big eyes. As far as blob-like creatures go, it was pretty sexy. But, that's not relevant.


    "Hello there, mister..."

    It sounded just like the woman who told me how much credit I have on my cell, except hotter. At that point, I started to question why I was seeing this. I couldn't remember smokin' any dope that day.

    "Can... I help you? Are... are you from Sesame Street or something?"

    "No... but I can help you..."

    "Uh... okay?"

    "Turn around, big guy."

    Sniff. Sniff. Sneaky backhand wipe. I turned around. My eyes locked onto my wife's beautiful rear. I wanted to take a photo and hang it up on the hall. Or maybe even go to that one store in that one mall and make it bigger, put it on a billboard and write "THIS IS MY WIFE'S ASS" underneath it in big, red, juicy letters.

    "She's really well-kept in the... rear department, don't you think?"

    "Oh yeah. She's one foxy lady. You know, she's never let me put it i-"

    "Ahem. Scott, this is what we call... lust."

    Today's letter is L for Lust.

    "You are from Sesame Street!"

    "No.... I'm one of the Seven Deadly Sins."

    Sniff. Tissue might come in handy, but they're in the kitchen. This sofa cushion will suffice.

    "And... why are you here? You said you could help me?"

    "That's right, tiger. I can help you. Get another glimpse of your wife's smokin' booty. What's it saying to you?"

    A big mouth suddenly appeared on my wife's buttocks and starting licking it's big lips. "Mm-mm," said Barry White, "I've heard people say that... too much of anything is not good for you, baby..." A disco ball descended from the ceiling and the lights were turned out. White, pink and red spots began dancing over the walls as my wife's ass got bigger and bigger, swelling to the size of an abnormally large pumpkin.

    "But I don't know about that..."

    My wife's ass then detached itself from her body and floated over to me. Sniff.

    "There's many times that we've loved... We've shared love and made love..."

    My upper eyelids fell and my tongue dropped out of my mouth. Lines of dribble drooped from the corner of my mouth. I was plucked out of the sofa and started to hover behind the ass as it led me towards the bedroom. From what I could hear, my ass-less wife was still doing the dishes.

    "It doesn't seem to me like it's enough... There's just not enough of it..."

    It pushed the door open with it's round, perfectly formed cheeks, and slowly hovered towards the bed (which had been inconspicuously littered with red rose petals).

    "There's just not enough..."

    Although my wife's ass had gained the singing voice of Barry White, I couldn't help but drift towards it like a cartoon mouse being plucked by the nostrils by the overpowering aroma of a big hunk of cheese. My tongue was still lolling ou of my mouth, and my face was getting closer to the buns.

    There was a loud cheer. Someone had hit a home run. I was back in the living room, slumped on the couch. Sniff. My wife was still washing the dishes as loudly as she could. The disco ball had gone, and the lights were back up. Maybe I had been smokin'...

    My stomach rumbled. It sounded like there was a near-dad cat in there, covered head to toe in my slimy digestive acids, mewing pathetically as he tried to paw his way out. Maybe. With the rumbles came a sudden hunger. My stomach was crying out for help. I lifted my shirt and watched as my flesh rippled with the rumble. My slightly yellow belly (ha-dee-ha) then began to swell in two places, either side of my belly button. Sniff. I was shocked, but too lazy to move. After a few seconds, my belly button morphed into a large mouth, with a lot of teeth and an overactive tongue.

    "I'm hungry,"it told me.

    "I'm Scott."

    "No, no... look man. I ain't eaten since dinner. And no offense to your hottish wife, but that foot did not tickle my tastebuds. So here's what you're gonna do: just walk to the kitchen, open the refridgerator, pull out a Snickers bar, walk back in here, and then... Yum-yum! Comprende?"

    My gut appeared to be a fat, gelatinous gangster with an apparent craving for a Snickers bar. Thinking it over in my head, a Snickers bar would definitely go down a treat. But the fridge was past my wife. I'd have to walk past her to get the Snickers, and then I'd get an earful of her grinding teeth.

    "You know, I would love to. But I'm kinda in a bad way with my wife, and I can't be bothered with any arguments tonight. The Snickers bar will have to wait."

    "Bull**** man, I'm more important than her. You need to eat food to survive, porkin' that girl in the kitchen is just an added bonus."

    "Excuse me, but what authority do you have to tell me what to do?"

    He pulled out a revolver, I don't know how, and pointed it at my face.

    "Bitch! I'm Gluttony! Remember all those times where you reached for another Twinkie, knowing full well that you didn't need it?"


    "That was me! And do you regret all of those extra, creamy Twinkies?"

    I closed my eyes and pictured a Twinkie in my head. The cat inside my stomach made another petty mew.


    Sniff. My gut was holding a Snickers bar to my nose. I couldn't smell it at first, but then the scent of the chocolate found a way to braek through the thick, green wall of mucus and tease my senses. I opened my mouth and went to take a bite - but it vanished in a puff of nutty smoke. The smoke shot towards the fridge and slithered its way back in.

    "Now go... do the right thing..."

    I slowly got to my feet, my knees creaking like the front door of a haunted house. Gluttony was trying to pull me towards the fridge. My eyes flickered open, and there was the agonising sight of my wife scrubbing dried potato from a china plate. With a valiant sniff I gave my gut a slap, and it rippled life a stone skipping through the water. As it did so, the cheeks went away and the large mouth shrunk back down to just a belly button. If I really wanted a Snickers bar, I'd just wait until she was done.

    I settled back into the couch and re-diverted my attention to the TV. There was another loud cheer for another Home Run. Sniff. My eyes closed. My body was telling me to sleep, but I told myself that the baseball highlights were more important than my health. There was a quiet clinking noise. I opened my eyes and watched my wife gently place a bowl of chocolate pudding on the coffee table in front of me. She then sat in the armchair opposite with her own bowl and placed it gently on her lap, gently nibbling at the delicate spoonfuls of chocolatey goodness. I picked up my bowl and took a whiff. Once again, the beautiful aroma of chocolate managed to break a hole through the thick wall of mucus clogging up my nostrils. I brought the bowl closer to my mouth and took out the spoon, a chunk of chocolate cake drizzled with chocolate sauce sitting there proudly. Mm. But as I moved the spoon towards my begging lips, I watched as the chocolate cake rose and got taller. It sprouted limbs of melted chocolate, and a mouth former that oozed with the chocolate sauce.

    "Can ya see your wife over there? Taking little tiny spoonfuls. She'll be there all night. You don't want to do that. I'll get cold, I won't taste as good, all of my appeal will be lost."

    "Damn it, are you another one? The Seven Deadly Sins? Am I gonna get a visit from all of you tonight?"

    "That's not the point, Scott. Focus on me. Focus on your delicious chocolate pudding. There's no time to waste. Just wolf me down, swallow me in one. You'll not regret it..."

    I looked up at my wife, who apparently could not hear me talking to who I assumed was Greed. Unbeknown to me, she had taken the time to prepare this. Out of the goodness of her heart. She didn't have to make me a bowl. I picked up my spoon and scooped at Greed's head, putting it to my mouth and taking the time to let it stroke at my tastebuds. It was brilliant. I didn't want to wolf it down. I wanted to savour the taste. About twenty minutes later, I'd finished my bowl. I got to my feet and took my wife's empty bowl and kissed her on the cheek.

    "Sorry, Jemma. I'll do these."

    Whilst two bowls and two spoons weren't equal to the dirty plates and cooking utensils following an eight-person three-course meal, the gesture was there, and I hoped she could see it. I washed the bowls, dried them and put them back in the cupboard. Ip ut the spoons back into the cutlery drawer. Walking back into the living room, I could see that my wife had changed the channel. Evil bitch. But I ignored it, it wasn't worth fighting over it. Checking my watch, I could see that the baseball highlights would have ended by now anyway. I went to sit down, but I shot back up again as I felt something large and lump underneath me. It was a sloth, and he smiled at me with half-open eyes.




    Pause. Half-sniff.

    "I'm Sloth, man."


    He slowly turned his head towards the TV screen. I sat down next to him. The Seven Deadly Sins... I saw my laptop on the seat next to me. If I'd encountered four sins so far, there were three to come. I wanted to know which three they would be, give myself a heads-up. There was Lust, then Gluttony, then Greed... they'd all come in order. Then it was Sloth, who didn't appear to be doing much but he was there nonetheless. That left Wrath, Envy and Pride.

    "Hey, Sloth?"


    "When are Wrath, Envy and Pride gonna turn up?"

    "Wha'? Oh. Nah man, it's just us."

    "What about the others?"

    "Well, Wrath is appearing on a day-time talk show to shout at his ten-year-old daughter for sleeping with 3000 men, and Pride only comes before the fall, so you missed 'em."

    Made sense. In a strange otherwordly way.

    "And Envy?"

    "Envy wanted to come, but we didn't let her."


    Whether this was real or not, Sloth seemed like a pretty cool guy. He wasn't unlike myself, althoguh he seemed to be a little faster.

    "You want a beer?"


    I gave him a beer.

    Then, I walked over to my wife, squeezed her tits, walked to the kitchen and grabbed a Snickers bar, sat back down in my seat, ate the Snickers bar in two bites and had another beer.
  10. Gannon

    Gannon Contributing Member Contributor

    Jan 15, 2007
    Likes Received:
    Manchester, England
    yellowm&M - Brother

    The club was smoky and dense; with the beat of the music pounding through the building. From his vantage point at the bar, Jacob watched the other club-goers dancing, flirting, and drinking with a lazy smile. Bringing his beer to his lips, he downed it then stood up. Tall and handsome, he had a lean athletic body, deep blue-grey eyes, dark, wavy brown hair, and an air of conceit that clung to him like cologne. Looking around the crowded dance floor his eyes zoned in on a beautiful girl dancing carelessly with a cascade of shining black curls bouncing around her face and wearing a sparkling, red halter top. Straightening his dark jacket, he strutted across the floor and through the dancers, sliding into step behind the girl. She turned to face him and smirked.

    “I don’t recall you asking me to dance.” Her voice had a thick accent.

    “Well you don’t seem to mind, now do you?” Her dark eyes ran down his body and back up to his face.

    “Well, you’ll do.” A momentary confusion flitted through his mind following her words, but she had started dancing again so he wiped it from his brain and joined her. A few minutes later he felt her hand slip into his and give it a gentle tug. He looked down to see her looking up at him with a quizzical smirk, gesturing him outside. A smug smile crossed his face and he allowed her to pull him through a back door and into the dark alley behind. Immediately she pushed his back against the wall and pressed up against him, holding fistfuls of his shirt, her full lips close enough to kiss him, and the intricate ring on her finger shining.

    “Hello Jacob.” Her sweet breath skimmed his face.

    “H-How do you know my name?” She gave a throaty laugh.

    “I know everything Jacob.”

    “Wh-what?” his insides were twisting with confusion and fear for the beautiful woman in front of him, all of his recent desire now gone. Suddenly he realized that something about her seemed wrong, immoral.

    “I know everything there is to know about everyone in this world.” She laughed again then continued, “or rather the six of us do.”

    “The six of you? What are you talking about? Who are you?”

    “Who am I?” She leaned in closer, her lips grazed his as she spoke, “I am Eshana; I am lust.” And she kissed him deeply, leaving him wanting more. When she pulled away, he tried to kiss her again but she wouldn’t let him; instead laughing her low laugh she spoke again, “Once you have felt lust, it is very hard to not want more.”

    “What do you mean you are lust?”

    “You will not fully understand until you meet the rest of us.”

    “The rest of who? Bloody hell what are you talking about?!” With a tremendous effort he managed to break free of the intoxication spell she cast, to free himself of her surprisingly strong grip; but she did not seem upset, she merely smiled wider at him.

    “I am talking about my brothers and sisters. But we have very little time left for you to meet them, so let us go.” And before he could utter another word the alley around him had vanished, replaced by a seedy gambling joint. No one seemed to notice them, save for a tall, gaunt, dark haired man directly across from them, wearing expensive clothes. He nodded at Eshana and Jacob then turned back to his cards and eyed the large pile of money in front of him with a hungry look.

    “That,” she whispered in Jacob’s ear, “is my brother Gavivi.” She walked around to his other side, “He is greed.” Her voice sent shivers down his spine.

    “He doesn’t look like your brother...”

    “Well, he’s not biologically my brother, but, he is spiritually my brother so to speak.” Then before, he could ask what that meant they were in a dirty fast food restaurant. It was mostly empty, save for a very large, pale, blonde woman who was wedged in a corner eating a tray of greasy food. At their appearance she looked up, and just like Gavivi, she nodded at them.

    “That is my sister Heather, also known as gluttony.”

    “Why do you call her gluttony?”

    “Look at her, why do you think? She eats and eats all day, living each second for her next meal.”

    “And, and Gavivi, why do you call him greed?”

    “Because all he wants it more. More money, more clothes, more furniture, more houses. More, more, more, more.”

    “And you, Eshana? Why are you lust?” but this time she didn’t answer him, because he already knew the answer. And a ludicrous, fantastic, completely unrealistic idea was forming in his head. One he didn’t want to believe…one that Eshana knew he was thinking.

    “Time is short, and you have only met two of my siblings; it is now time to go.” And the restaurant vanished, to be substituted by messy room with an untidy, red-headed teenage boy sitting in an overstuffed beanbag playing a videogame. He barely acknowledged their presence, only raising a couple fingers in greeting.

    “This is Ace, or-“

    “Sloth” Jacob cut in, and Eshana nodded approvingly.

    “I see you are catching on.”

    “Yeah…I supposed I am…he does nothing except lie around and play games all day does he?”

    “He is quite the game master because of it.” They stood and watched Ace’s game for a moment but then Eshana looked away from him and the room melted away, so that they stood in shoddy back alley where a group of young men and women were gathered around a pair of men who had their fists raised, glaring at each other. One of them glanced up and gave short nod, then with lightning speed punched the other man, who immediately punched him back.

    “He’s wrath isn’t he?”

    “That is my brother Ajamu, also known as wrath.” She inclined her head at him and then watched Ajamu as he fought. Jacob watched as blood ran down Ajamu’s dark cheek and dripped to the ground. The group watching the two men fight were cheering and throwing trash at the two, feeding the fire, trying to enrage them further. With a sigh Eshana touched Jacob’s and a second later the two of the stood before a gorgeous blonde girl with bright green eyes who was staring into a shop window full of expensive clothes and jewelry. She was almost as beautiful as Eshana in Jacob’s mind, but not quite. She turned towards them and Jacob could see in her eyes, that she wished she was rival to Eshana’s beauty.

    “Charisse; or envy if you prefer.”

    “She wants to be like you?”

    “Among other things.” Charisse gave a sad sigh then turned back to the window, looking longingly at the people inside who could buy all the luxurious things she wanted. Seconds later they were back behind the club. Jacob was shaking by this time, confused, bewildered, and frightened.

    “Well,” his voice was high with forced cheerfulness, “that was nice, and I hope to see you again someday. Goodbye.” He started towards the backdoor of the club.

    “Stop.” Something in the force of Eshana’s voice made him stop and slowly turn around to face her against his will.

    “I am not done with you; surely you did not think that was just for fun?”

    “Well I had kind of hoped that-“

    “No, no, no,” she cut him off with a shake of her head, “I showed you my family for a reason, Jacob. We are something different, my family and I; something special. Something you figured out.”

    “No, no, I really don’t know what you mean by that.” Suddenly she had him pressed against the wall again her face inched from his.

    “What are we, Jacob?” He gulped at the menace in her voice.

    “You are the seven sins…you are the seven deadly sins.”

    “Wrong,” she released him and he slid to the ground, “we are six of the seven deadly sins, we are still missing one sibling; a brother to be exact.” She gave him a sinister smile, “Perhaps you know who we are missing?” he didn’t want to answer but he felt compelled, as if he couldn’t stop himself.

    “You’re missing pride.”

    “Very good,” she purred, leaning into him, her lips inches from his, “and you, Jacob are very proud.” Before he could respond she was kissing him again, deeply and invitingly, her body pressed to his. She pulled back and slipped something into his hand as everything turned black.

    He sat up suddenly, staring sightlessly into the dark. It took Jacob a moment to realize he was in his bed, panting and drenched in sweat. Placing his hand on his heart he leaned backwards, lying back down. It was a dream, he thought with a sigh of relief, just a dream. He closed his eyes, letting his breathing return to normal, he was not one of the seven deadly sins, and Gavivi, Heather, Ace, Ajamu, Charisse, and Eshana did not exist. He laid there for a couple more minutes before he realized his hand was clenched around something; turning on his bedside lamp he opened his hand and looked at it. A small silver ring with an intricate vine carved around it sat in his palm. A ring that reminded him of the one Eshana had worn. He looked at it closer and then dropped it in alarm, because the vine formed words, words that terrified him, and made him feel as if and ice cube had slid into his stomach.

    “Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Wrath, Envy, Lust, Pride” and the word “pride” was glowing.
  11. Gannon

    Gannon Contributing Member Contributor

    Jan 15, 2007
    Likes Received:
    Manchester, England
    Destin - The Deadliest Sin

    It was time to be judged.

    Not the kind of judged like a contest. Not the kind of judged like a court case. We're talking JUDGED. Like the eternal what are you going to be doing for the rest of time kind of judged.

    The details of my death were unimportant. It was what had happened in life that would be important now.
    St. Peter's gate was a beautiful sight. It was a huge glistening white gate on a crystal terrace. The sun beamed up from underneath and refracted in the floor making a thousand different colors. St. Peter sat at a small desk with a little gavel and a thin book. He was a narrow-faced man, with eyes that looked down on you even from below.

    I was in the queue behind two guys. They looked like the kind of guys you crossed the street to avoid. You know the type. Big brawlers with scars and those 'don't piss me off' kind of eyes. I stayed a few feet behind. Best not to be associated with those types during this kind of situation.

    The first man approached the desk, and shook St. Peters hand.

    "Tyrone Jones," St. Peter said, needing no introduction. "Let's see how you've lived your life."
    A hazy vision appeared in the air, shaking a couple times before straightening and becoming crystal clear.

    "Gimme that s***!" Tyrone shouted, a gun in his hand. He was masked, but the vision had the makings of a dream, like knowledge just came to you without evidence.

    "Don't hurt me man! Here! Take it!" A frightened cashier cried, handing over all the cash in the till.

    "That's it!?" Tyrone grabbed the cashier's head, smashing it into the glass lottery counter. The cashier reeled, blood dripping down his face as he fell to the floor. Tyrone stepped behind the counter, stuffed cigarettes into his bag, and bolted out the door.

    An old man stopped him somewhere down the street. "Son, I know your life is bad and I want to help you," He had a calm voice and kind eyes.

    "I don't need your bulls***," Tyrone said, unfazed by the random generosity. "Gimme your wallet."

    The old man reached into his jacket and pulled out his wallet, calmly handing it over. "This isn't the right path. I can help you, son." He repeated. He put a caring hand on Tyrone's shoulder.

    Tyrone pushed the old man off the sidewalk into the street. He could hear squealing brakes as the old man was crushed by an oncoming vehicle. He didn't stop to help, he didn't even stop to look. Tyrone was already gone.

    "Not a very good life Mr. Jones. Three of the Seven. Greed, Pride, and Wrath." St. Peter shook his head slowly, looking somewhat abashed. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

    "I'm sorry," Tyrone said, looking truly apologetic.

    "The lord forgives his sons and daughters their sins." St. Peter said, touching the four points of the cross on his head and chest. "You may enter, and know that you may start anew here." The gavel slammed down on the desk. "NEXT!"

    The next man stepped up to the desk, holding out his hand.

    St. Peter took it. "James McCrindle," St. Peter smiled. "Let's see how you've lived your life."

    James was coming home early, his Mercedes slowly pulling into the driveway. He wanted to surprise his wife. He grabbed the thick bouquet from the passenger seat and carefully entered his house, closing the door without a sound.

    After a short search, he made his way to his bedroom. His wife must be asleep.

    As he reached for the door handle he could hear talking inside. He threw the door open. A man was naked in his bed with his wife.

    They weren't doing anything in particular, but it was obvious that they had.

    "Melanie..." James said, the flowers dropping to the floor.

    "I'm sorry James," She said, tears in her eyes. "I didn't mean to..."

    "YOU DIDN'T MEAN TO WHAT!?" James screamed, losing control. "YOU DIDN'T MEAN TO F*** THIS GUY?"

    "I...." She started.

    "I can't believe this," James said. "Get out. No. Better yet, stay there. I'll get out."

    He slammed the door so hard the whole house shook as he left the room.
    Melanie found him downstairs rooting through the cupboards. Their stuff was spread everywhere. She broke down to her knees, and repeated, "James, I'm so sorry... I'm sorry James..." Over and over. She bent over on the ground, rocking slowly and repeating herself.

    "You will be." James said. Melanie heard a click. It was the sound of a gun cocking.


    Melanie flinched, reeling back, her hands searching for where she had been shot. She hadn't. She looked up at James who was holding a smoking gun, pointed behind her.

    Her lover had been trying to make his escape. He would never love again. He had had a family too, a wife, children. What had she been thinking?

    "I should do you too," James said coldly. He levelled the gun at her. "But you can live with yourself instead. Live with what you've done." He dropped the weapon on the floor and left.

    "Interesting day we're having today," St. Peter said. "Lust, wrath, envy. Another 3 of seven. What do you have to say for yourself?"

    "That was the worst day of my life," James cried, tears streaming down his face. "I had forgotten how terrible a person I was. I don't deserve heaven."

    "Wrong." St. Peter said, and as he said it a warmth spread across the terrace, like walking into your mother's house when she is baking. "The lord forgives his sons and daughters. You may enter." The gavel slammed down.

    "Thank you," James said, "Thank you so much. I have spent a life in prison and now I feel like I am finally home."

    St. Peter turned to me. He beckoned.

    I approached and took his hand. "Bill Ferdinand." He said, "We've been waiting for you."

    I gulped as my life flashed before my eyes. Everything I had ever done, in fast forward, as if we were searching for that one scene that defined my life.

    "Here it is," St. Peter said as my scene flashed into the room.

    We were sailing. Me and the family. It was a beautiful sunny day and we were just coasting along in that kind of breeze you always think of when you think of a summer breeze.

    "Land Ho!" My youngest said from the bow of the boat.

    Confused, I got up from my spot at the wheel and crossed the boat. There wasn't supposed to be land to the east for a thousand miles.

    "Check the maps," I said, "I think this might be uncharted."

    We scoured our maps for a few minutes. The kids were elated. I wasn't sure about it. It could be a smugglers bay or worse, a government test site. We debated for a few minutes but the kids eventually won over. I had to admit, I was curious.

    We pulled in on the beach, which was covered in absolutely beautiful, fine as flour white sand. It was hot on the feet but felt incredible. The whole of what we could see was beach and palm trees. I set out a chair for the wife and myself. The kids went exploring.

    "Be careful," I warned, "there could be anything on this island so don't go far and check in every 15 minutes."

    We'd been to a few desolate islands before and there was never anything more than a few birds and a couple of bugs. Wild animals couldn't really survive on a desert island. But it was better safe than sorry.

    Fifteen minutes later the kids came back. "Dad! Come see what we found! It's incredible!"

    I followed them off into the trees. A few minutes of walking and we were gazing over a lush green valley. In the middle was the broadest tree I had ever seen. The branches were laden with a ripe red fruit that was unfamiliar.

    "C'mon Dad!" The kids dashed down the hill before I could say anything.

    I followed them shouting, "Be careful, don't eat that fruit!"

    We got to the tree. It was even bigger up close. And the fruit looked absolutely delicious. I pulled one down.

    "I'll try it first, to make sure it's safe." I said, holding the fruit up to my mouth....

    "I can't watch anymore." St. Peter cringed, the color drained from his narrow face. "Unforgivable. Have fun in Hell." The Gavel slammed down as my mouth hung open, and the floor opened up below me.

    I awoke in what can only be described as the pit of doom. The screams of the tortured souls there turned out to be the screams of me and one other guy. He was severely malnourished. I could see his ribs. He was missing one.

    "Adam?" I squeaked out between screams of anguish.

    "Nice... to.... meet you," He squeaked back, holding out a skeletal hand. "Your name is?"
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