Gluttony – Post 3

Jacques Callot, The Seven Deadly Sins - Gluttony (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Crank up the Keurig, people – here is another sampling of the great entries in the “Gluttony” phase of the Deadly Sins Series writing contest.  Read about the 7 Deadly Sins writing contest here.  Read Gluttony – Post 1 here and Gluttony – Post 2 here.

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First up – Jonathon

“I want more,” the blubbery young boy commanded. He was huge and round with beady sunken eyes and a puffy pink-lipped mouth. Devoid of clothing,grease stains covered his face and body. He hung from the rafters in a contraption allowing him to hover over a dirty dinner table once filled with food.

Beneath the boy, a tiny blond-headed girl swept garbage off the stone floor. She kept her head down and her mouth shut while her brother fed himself into obesity.

A large, pointy-fingered hand smacked the back of the girl’s head,and she turned to find the evil witch looking discontent. “He said he wants more.” The old, ugly hag with a long nose, no hair, and yellow crooked teeth pointed up at the boy sucking on a barren chicken bone and continued. “Get him more.”

The door to the tiny house burst open, and the old hag and girl turned their attention to the silhouette of a tall figure standing on the stoop. “Gretel?” it asked.

The blond girl nodded her head at the figure.

Coming into the light, a woman in a red cloak entered and surveyed the scene. Seeing the fat ,round boy, she pointed at him and looked back to Gretel. “Hansel?”

Gretel nodded again.

“Who do you think you are?” The witch shoved Gretel out of the way, causing the frail girl to fall to the floor with a cry.

The red-cloaked woman pulled out a sword as the hag approached and shoved it into the vile woman’s gut. “I am Redd, and I bring Death.” As the witch’s life faded, Redd flung the sword and the hag’s corpse flew off the blade into a wall. Turning to the little girl, Redd sheathed the weapon and offered a hand. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Gretel said while taking the warrior’s hand. “Thank you.”

“I want more!”

Redd and Gretel shifted their attention to Hansel and watched in horror as he transformed into a huge maniacal blob with massive arms and legs turned claws. In the middle, his mouth opened wide with rows of sharp stained teeth chomping at the air in hunger. As Hansel grew,the straps of the device gave in and he fell on top of the dining table with a smash. From the wreckage,Hansel crawled out and roared in anger,“HUNGRY!”

Without hesitating, Redd grabbed Gretel and rushed out of the house, jumping onto the back of her white stallion Alphonse. As Redd rode away, Gretel glanced back to see the homely gingerbread house being devoured by her monstrous brother.

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Next, an entry from Susan

  A Seafood Lover’s Losing Battle with Gluttony

Technically, he wasn’t dying despite his assertion that he was on death’s doorstep.  He groaned miserably and declared that his stomach was about to burst wide open.  She wasn’t surprised as he had eaten enough food to satisfy two, or perhaps three, people of average appetite.

Every time he overate like this, he swore it would be the last time.  He had asked her more times than she cared to remember to not let him order the all-you-can-eat buffet or the largest, greasiest item on the menu.  She fulfilled the promise time and time again, encouraging him whenever they went out to dinner to order more wisely.  On occasion he heeded her suggestion.  But all too often, as was the case this evening, he did not.

“Why did you let me order the fried seafood platter?” he asked her accusingly.

She should have been upset with him for making her responsible for his gluttony.  She wasn’t angry, but she couldn’t manage to muster any sympathy, either.  After all, she had suggested he order the broiled shrimp and scallop dinner.  Scallops and shrimp were two of his favorite seafood delicacies, and he enjoyed them broiled.  However, nothing sated his appetite as much as fried seafood.  The lure of the fried platter, heaped with flounder, clams, shrimp, scallops, and deviled crab was too much temptation for him to resist.

As if all that greasy, fried seafood was not enough to make one sick, he had also partaken of the cole slaw and French fries which accompanied his dinner.  This was to say nothing of the two pieces of cornbread slathered with butter that he had consumed while waiting for his dinner to arrive.  It was no wonder that he felt sick.

“You didn’t have to clean your plate,” she reminded him sweetly.  As least she hoped her words were perceived as sweet to his ears.  She didn’t want to add insult to injury by letting him know how much she was secretly enjoying his pain.

That thought fled her mind, as he continued to heap blame on her.  “You know seafood isn’t good leftover and I couldn’t let it go to waste.  We should have split it. Why did you order your own dinner when you knew this was plenty of food for both of us?”

“I ordered my own dinner because I didn’t want fried food,” she reminded him.  “I would have been happy to split a broiled platter with you.”

“Broiled seafood is not the same.  You should have talked me into ordering the fried shrimp and scallops.  That’s what I really like the best. I would have been quite happy with that.”

“Yes, of course, it’s my fault,” she mocked him, all sympathy have fled her.  “I forced you to order the fried platter and I insisted you eat every bite.”

He scowled at her, and then grimaced as a sharp pain coursed through his digestive system.

She smiled.  “I believe you are getting your just desserts,” she said.

“Dessert?” he said with joy in his voice.  “Dessert is a good idea.  Hair of the dog, you know.”

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 And an entry from Chris at awispofsmoke

It was early in the morning when I was awoken by the most startling dream. During the night, I reluctantly conjured images of my apartment door being kicked in by an unknown knife-wielding assailant. I sprinted toward the foyer to stop the intruder and we engaged in a hand-to-hand melee, knocking over a vase my aunt had gifted me as well as a coat rack and umbrella stand I obtained from the flea market. An attempt to utilize a parasol in my defense was foiled and I was overpowered by the stranger. He knocked me unconscious where I experienced a brief dream within a dream in which I was the captain and sole passenger of a sinking ship carrying cheese.

Some time later, I awoke in the original dream world and found myself lying in a tub filled with ice. My body was numb and shaking uncontrollably, rattling the ice against the cast iron walls of my bath. I could feel no pain but was horrified at the sight of frozen blood, which had coagulated around my abdomen. I awoke once again and found I had returned to the real world, only to be greeted by the silence of my empty apartment and the crushing loneliness it implies.

Feeling peckish after such an ordeal, I head to the kitchen for a proper breakfast. I find myself craving prawns and mayonnaise, but decide that is better left for lunch and instead prepare a simple serving of toast and conserves. I open the cupboard above the sink and rummage though the various jams and jellies available. The strawberry jam seems particular luring, so I pull a knife from the drawer below and twist open the lid.

I notice a bit of staining on the knife and toss it into the basin before grabbing a clean one. The blade sinks easily into the jar, swirling around, scooping and spreading the mixture onto my toast. Taking a large bite while sitting down at the table, I notice an odd texture in my breakfast choice. The taste also seems incorrect. At first there is a light sugary flavor, but it is immediately replaced by a harsh iron zest that makes my jaw ache.

I force the bite down without fully chewing and look back at the jar on the counter. As the chewed disgusting mass works its way down my esophagus and into my stomach, I feel a sharp and debilitating pain within my torso. I clutch the region through my shirt and nearly collapse to my knees as a red stain fills the fabric that is weaved between my fingers. I look around for aid but see only droplets of blood scattered about the kitchen and hallway. My one free arm desperately drags my body toward the fridge, leaving a large swath of blood in the wake of my feet. I manage to shimmy myself up against the ice box and pry open the door. It is my hope that freezing the wound will numb the pain enough for me to make it to a hospital.

The freezer is completely barren, save for several stacks of empty blue ice trays. I look back at the jar on the counter, then at the breakfast on the table. My vision  blurs as I slowly cascade into the growing puddle of blood at my feet. As I gradually slip into repose, I am again reminded of the silence my apartment bares and the crushing loneliness it begets. I reach out into the dimming dawn, toward the toast and jam, hoping for one last bite.

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