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Listen Up All You Lustful Lotharios, Lovers, Loose Ladies and Lunatics

The submission box is up for the next round of the Seven Deadly Sins writing series…Lust. Have at it.

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And the Winner Is….Where is that darned envelope?

sloth

sloth (Photo credit: iamrandygirl)

Sorry  – I’ve been pretty busy trying to catch up from the luxurious vacation last week – where I took 2 days off from work and will spend 2 weeks trying to straighten out the messes created by those trying to be “helpful” in my absence.  In addition, I forgot to put an end date on the voting poll and couldn’t edit it – so had to remove it from the post so that people wouldn’t continue to vote long after I am dead and gone.  So much to learn!  So little remembered from one competition to the next!

Dave, from 1pointsperspective was the big winner in the Sloth round of the Deadly Sins competition.  Make sure you get over there and check out his great illustration that accompanies his entry – “The One Thumbed Sloth“.

Once again, a $40 donation to the charity of Dave’s choice will be made in his honor.  Lenore Diane also will make a donation to one of three organizations selected by her.  So Dave, if you’ve always wanted to donate to “Save the Sloths” – here is your big chance!

Congratulations, Dave!

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Sloth – Post 3

Pieter Bruegel the Elder: The Seven Deadly Sin...

Pieter Bruegel the Elder: The Seven Deadly Sins or the Seven Vices – Sloth (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

Last day to submit your entry!

Here are some more entries for your enjoyment:

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From shalvika :

The Beautiful Bride

She was old and battered by the difficult life she’d had. After all, bringing a child all by herself was not an easy deal. Now that her son was all grown up, she’d decided to finally live for herself. She’d decided to get married. Not for romance or making kids or going on vacations. Just for companionship.

She knew she needed to look a little better for W-day, 10th June. She looked fat and old and ugly right now. The advertisement on TeleBrands looked luring. No workouts, no diets. “Pop some tabs and lose your flab”, the ad went. She was too lazy to do anything anyway.

Her first visit to the doctor was a little disappointing. She felt he was too uninterested in her. She needed results, needed to look good, pronto. She tried to convince him of the same and he kept telling her he knew what he was doing.

The treatment began. She was supposed to take a pill every three hours. She started feeling better in the first couple of days itself. She looked better and her dream of finally fitting into the white wedding dress seemed quite achievable. In her ecstasy, she overlooked the fact that she was taking a pill every two hours. The pills just made her feel better, alive, young. She felt her days were more eventful. More than anything else, for the first time in years, she felt comfortable with what she was. And she wanted that feel to last, she wanted it to sustain. She kept on thinking that more pills would make her look better quickly. And she didn’t even realize that she was popping one pill an hour.

She knew she was spending too much on the pills. But, what the hell, she had to look better. She didn’t do anything except watch TV, dream of looking good and pop the pills. She was growing better looking, she knew. And she was ecstatic. She would look at herself in the mirror for hours together picturing herself in the white dress and make-up. She knew she was gonna look beautiful.

She stopped eating, she stopped stepping out of the house, she stopped talking to her son or her fiancé on the phone. All she did all day long was dream of being beautiful and pop the pills. She would sometimes talk to herself for hours, sometimes explain to her dead husband why she had to look beautiful and sometimes just go back to being sixteen in her father’s home. No one knew what was going on with her.

And finally, the W-day arrived. She woke up early. Took a long shower. Took her time with the makeup, her dress. She put on the finest perfume she had. And just sat there, staring at the beautiful bride. And she knew then that her dream had come true.

News article in the Times, 11th June:  Woman dies of drug overdose

A 56-year-old woman was found dead yesterday by her son in her apartment due to drug overdose. It was her wedding day yesterday. When her son went to pick her up, she was lying on the dresser, with excessive red makeup and a filthy white wedding dress. An excessive supply of  the banned drug XXX was found in her apartment. The source of the large amount of narcotic is still unknown. According to a police report, the woman must have been an addict for a long time now. Source: Reuters.

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From Pete at breakitdownpete:

You want some fries with that order! Shit what am I doing? Why was stricken with the deadly sin of SLOTH! Mom, Dad did you have to be so lazy, sluggish of mind? Why did you allow me to become so complacent. 23 and flipping burgers and I cant see ahead 6 months into my future for I am infested with Sloth. I needed you to push me, to instill some discipline, not to be my friend. I needed you to kick me out of bed and not kiss me on the forehead and believe my I’m sick story. Day after day I missed school and day after day you offered me money with out teaching me how to handle it or work for it, how to manage it. Day after day you cooked my meals, did my laundry and forgave my chorse while Sloth raced through my heart, mind and soul. Now I Ha….. I’m sorry sir that was a large fry right sir! Man I can’t wait to get off from work I have to get home micro wave that tv dinner finish that battle on xbox and take a nap! THANKS MOM AND DAD!

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And from Audrey at Dangerously Daydreaming:

The Big Kid

Joey woke up sore, feeling like he’d been run over by a dump truck.  Falling off a jet-ski at 25 mph can do that to you.  He felt a tinge of guilt about running the jet-ski into the dock but only the fiberglass edge was damaged really.  And besides, the jet-skis belonged to a friend with WAY more money than he would ever have.  “It was fine.”

Splayed across his bed, Joey could hear his grandma calling for him.  It was almost noon.  He remembered when her health first started failing years ago.  It started with a bad fall and broken femur, and just went downhill from there.  Now she required constant care around the clock and Joey had stepped in to do it, partly because he couldn’t seem to hold down a regular job and partly because it freed him to go out a play more.  More time on dirt bikes, more time grinding rails on his skateboard, and now that summer was here more time to jet-ski on the lake.  He was free with few responsibilities, plenty of time to goof off.  But grandma was yelling for him to come downstairs again.  Another moment of waiting wouldn’t kill her he thought as he rolled to his side.

For a while he had tried to work and attend college, but it was just too hard, everything was hard.  Nevermind that most of his classmates managed to do it, he just ended up too distracted by awesome things to do.  The one job he’d kept for more than a year had fired him after a few months of showing up an hour late each shift.  He’d seen it coming.  But it was so hard to get up in the mornings.  He moved back in with his parents.  His mom said he was lazy, but she welcomed him back with open arms.  There was grandma calling again, and he couldn’t imagine what her rush was this morning.

Anway, not long after that job went down the tube, Joey started caring for his grandmother.  His grades in college plummeted.  Again, he didn’t have enough time in the day to get his epic play time in, watch out for his grandma, and study.  “It’s just harder for me than it is for other people.”  Thankfully, taking care of grandma was an easy gig.  She slept in until the afternoon which worked great for him, they would watch tv all day, and once his mom came home from her job, he would hand grandma off to her and play for the rest of the day.  It was a good deal.  One day grandma would pass away and leave him a hefty inheritance anyway, so who needed a job?  The old lady probably had millions saved away.  Which reminded him, he’d probably better get out of bed now and see what she wanted.

As he padded down the stairs he noticed the stillness of the house.  Even the dogs hadn’t come running up to greet him.  “Gram…” he yelled unfinished as he opened her bedroom door.  Her still form lay awkwardly prone on the floor just beyond the bathroom entry.

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We Have A Winner!

English: The Seven Deadly Sins and the Four La...

English: The Seven Deadly Sins and the Four Last Things is a painting by Hieronymus Bosch, completed in 1485. The painting is oil on wood panels. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

Congratulations to Lorna for her prize winning entry in the Envy round of the Seven Deadly Sins contest.  Her entry received the most votes in the poll and as such, her story “The Mask” will be entered into the final “Best of Show” round against the other round winners.

The next round will be my personal favorite “Sloth”.  As soon as my head stops hurting, my nose stops running, and my ear stops feeling like it will implode – I’ll get the submission box up.  No reason you can’t start on that entry now, though.  Just because the hostess is languishing on the couch, sipping Nyquil and sneezing her darned fool head off is no reason for you to be sloth-like.

Again – congratulations, Lorna.  Nice work.

 

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Envy – What Hard Feelings?

Syringe 5 with drops.

Photo credit: Wikipedia.

I realized I hadn’t posted my non-contest entry for Envy (well, I had, but half of that post disappeared, along with my designation of the drink of the month  – The Hurricane).  Well, here it is.

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 What Hard Feelings?

 I didn’t want to take the patient in 311. I’d known Cherry Sullivan since nursing school – we’d been inseparable as nursing students – even working together after graduation at the same plastic surgeon’s office. But a lot had happened since then. Not all of it good.

“Cherry, I’m going to be your nurse tonight,” I said, closing her chart. Her paperwork told me she had been admitted after a routine cosmetic surgery. Liposuction – yet another in a long list of “enhancements” including breast augmentation, rhinoplasty, lip remodeling, chin implant, and cheek implants. Patients routinely went home – or to a nearby hotel after this type of surgery but, apparently, a cosmetic surgeon with some pull could get his wife admitted to a private room on demand.

“Oh, Laura, I’m so glad. Maybe we can get caught up”. She reached for my hand with her perfectly manicured one, her huge diamond engagement ring glinting. I pulled my hand away, suddenly ashamed of my chewed fingernails and stubby fingers, and punched some buttons on the bedside monitor. I turned back and looked into her turquoise eyes – colored contacts being yet another enhancement – I remembered her eyes being blue, but not this shade. Her sculpted face, perfectly symmetrical and flawless, looked hopeful.

I thought, “Fat chance.  I’ve got five other patients who are actually either sick or in need of care. I’ve got meds to give, dressings to change, and paperwork up the wazoo. Fat chance I’m going to have time to sit with you and catch up.”

“Um, I’ve got a pretty heavy patient load tonight,” I said. “I’ll be back in a bit”.  I turned to leave.

As I reached the door Cherry said “Laura, I hope there are no hard feelings about the job”.

I stopped but did not turn around. The job. When we both had been employed by the same cosmetic surgeon’s office after graduation, we were elated. Two years later Cherry had married the good doctor and I, four months pregnant, had been replaced by a medical assistant. Make that two medical assistants – after all, they were much more economical to employ than Registered Nurses. I had gone from a dream job working 9 to 5 to 12 hour shifts at the hospital, working nights, holidays and weekends. I went from peaceful nights to trying to sleep during the day with my three children romping in the next room of the crowded apartment under the less-than-watchful eye of my chronically underemployed, perpetually sullen, and habitually lazy husband. She had a successful husband, a McMansion, a nanny, and didn’t work outside the home. What hard feelings?

“I’ve got to go, Cherry. I’ll be back in a bit”, I said ignoring the subject. I felt the atmosphere change.

“Bring me a ginger ale and something for pain, right away, could you?” she asked, her voice petulant.

“Sure,” I muttered, “Right away”.

Not even a “please”. Not “when you have time”.

“What am I, some sort of waitress?” I mumbled on the way to the medication room. I prepared syringes and slipped them into my scrubs pocket.

“Right away, my ass” I said out loud.

I stopped and prepared the requested soft drink, and headed back to her room, getting interrupted multiple times in the process.

“Finally”, she moaned. “I’ve got a lot of pain.”

I attached a syringe to her IV and pushed in a small amount of pain medication.

“This should help”, I said.

“What took you so long?” she whined.

I slammed the plunger down, twisted the syringe off and attached another.

“This should help a lot”.

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I also realized that I hadn’t designated a prize for this round.  I thought about making the cookies offered last round, which Dave graciously declined in favor of a donation.  But it’s roughly 100 degrees here and I’m too cranky to bake.

So I asked my dog Shelby what I should do.  Shelby told me that she is the envy of all the dogs at the shelter, having won the rescue and adoption lottery and going to a forever home where she is not only pampered, but loved unconditionally.  Shelby also loves children so much, she thought any organization that helps grant wishes to children would be appropriate.  I have to agree with her.

The winner will be able to designate a charitable organization, which helps alleviate the envy by granting wishes of children or animals,  to receive a $40 donation.  In addition, Lenore Diane has graciously agreed to donate funds to an organization chosen from a list supplied by her.  So get your buddies to vote here, and figure out which organization will receive the money WHEN YOU WIN!!!

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