Tag Archives: Deadly Sin Series

The Deadly Sin Series – Envy

Yes, folks – as promised Envy will be the next round in the Deadly Sin Series.  Here is a little recap of the rules:

Of course, there must be rules.  But they will be simple.

  • Each entry must be 600 words or less.
  • One entry per round
  • You may use the same characters and settings or you may change it up with each round.
  • You may use any genre that you wish for each round.
  • Entries must be submitted by the deadline, which will be announced at the beginning of each round and will be no less than 2 weeks.
  • Entries submitted must be your own original work.
  • You may participate in all the rounds to complete the series; or as few or as many as you choose.
  • Oh, and the series is called DEADLY SINS so in each entry someone should be dead, dying, damaged or in grave danger.

So copy and paste your submission into the box  and let’s get this round under way!

Entries will be accepted until May 31 for “Envy”.  I will figure out the prizes and post them shortly.

Do not forget to vote for the “Gluttony” finalist of your choice here.


Filed under 7 Deadly Sins Writing Contest

Gluttony – Post 3

Jacques Callot, The Seven Deadly Sins - Gluttony

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.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

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.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

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.”

* * * * * * * * * * * *

 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.


Filed under 7 Deadly Sins Writing Contest, General Mumblings

Gluttony – Post 2

Gluttony, of the seven deadly sins. By Jacob M...

Gluttony, of the seven deadly sins. By Jacob Matham. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

All right, kiddos – go fire up the coffee pot and get ready for the next installment of “Gluttony”.

If you want to read about the Deadly Sin Series – Writing contest click here.  To read the post containing the first batch of entries, click here.

All right – got that coffee?  Then enjoy these fabulous entries.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

First up – Sandy from Rest of Our Days

The Deadly Sin of Gluttony and the Happy Meal

I picked up the tray from the counter, piled high with food. This was a lone trip. A quick stop of convenience to refuel from the long drive.

I would need to find a table to check my e-mail—the place now had free Wi-Fi. As I scanned the fast food establishment, a single empty table became my destination. I weaved through the bolted down tables, avoiding the kids running noisily through the aisles, chicken nuggets drenched in dipping sauce in one hand, fries in the other.

I plunked my bum down on the hard seat and sat staring at the mound of cardboard containers in front of me. Carefully opening each package, adding ketchup and salt. Placing the straw in the massive cup of Coke.

Had I really just said yes when asked if I wanted to Large Size my order?

Oh yes, indeed, I had.

I really only wanted a small hamburger and a few fries. Something to sustain me. Fuel me.

But the meal sat untouched. A pile of fries like Everest with salt sticking to each little stick. A massive paper cup, the size of a milk jug, full of sugary Coke. A leaning tower of two all beef patties oozing special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions over the sesame seed bun.

As the ditty played over and over in my head I looked up at the circus surrounding me.

Fat people, skinny people, all ages, all sizes. Men, women and children squirming in their chairs with mounds of food in front of them. Some sitting with excited expressions as mommy placed the Happy Meal in front of them, opened the ketchup pack, put the straw in the drink. Saving the toy until they ate all their food. There was even a full size clown to add to the circus atmosphere over by the Playplace.

Most people were mindlessly chomping. Taking big bites from their large sized orders. Not talking. Just staring in the distance as the noise swirled around them.

As I watched them, it seemed as if each bite they took got bigger and bigger and the food appeared to be inhaled. Bite. Swallow. There didn’t seem to be a lot of chewing going on. From where I sat, I could see the line for the drive-thru window getting longer and longer. The atmosphere of gluttony descended over me. I felt like I was in an alternate universe.

Visions of starving kids in Africa came to mind, dying from lack of food. As my brain transposed the gaunt faces with the faces of the chubby kids in front of me, the soulful, begging eyes remained the same. The same pleas to “help me” were wordlessly conveyed. These kids in front of me were dying from too much food.

I picked up my tray of uneaten food and dumped it in the garbage can conveniently located by the door.

As I pushed through the door to leave, I stepped around a pudgy, teary-eyed little boy holding a broken toy from his Happy Meal.  “It’s ok”, said the mom. “We’ll get another one next time.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Next Up:  Darla from She’s A Maineiac


I always feel a roar in the pit of my stomach right before it starts. Could be nerves, I suppose. Or just hunger. Maybe it’s because I’ve prepared for weeks, sometimes months for this moment. I do the normal body cleanse, clean out all the pipes, so to speak. Then Ma clicks the stopwatch and it’s GO TIME. I’ve always been good at it. Ma says when I was a baby I would eat three jars of sweet potatoes, one right after the other,  then scream for more. I was always hungry, always crying.

My personal best is 53 hot dogs in ten minutes 56 seconds. The trick is lots of ketchup–helps them dogs slide on down smooth as melted butter. When I start, there’s nothing like it, almost a religious experience. My body takes over and I start inhaling them, sucking them down, filling myself up so fast I could swallow the entire universe if I wanted to.

Sometimes I can feel them staring at me, as much disgusted by me as they are thrilled by me. Let ’em gawk. I don’t give two shits about them anyway. Once the first chunk goes down and my mouth is stuffed, it’s just me against the food. The goddamn food. And I always win. Always. Until the summer of 2005 in Coney Island.

I can pinpoint the exact moment it all when to hell for me. I lost my first contest. Lost to a girl from Japan who was no heavier than a sack of flour–looked like her entire body was nothin more than a pile of bones slapped together with some skin. I knew I was in trouble when she sized me up just before the buzzer went off. Her shifty eyes daring me, taunting me. I had half a mind to stand up right there in front of everybody and swallow her whole. I regret I didn’t get the chance. Not 10.32 minutes later, she had won. Beat me by five whole hot dogs. FIVE. And I was left to sit there like a stuffed pig, still choking. Ma wasn’t happy with me that day. There was big money at stake and she was already three months behind on the mortgage.

Soon Miyu was winning every contest, hamburgers, crabcakes you name the food and she was always at least five to ten ahead of me at the end. But this next contest was it. The prize was $10,000. Enough to keep Ma happy for a bit.

The buzzer went off and I did my thing. For hours at home I had practiced my new move. I could almost get two of them down my throat at once. But it was tricky. For a split second I’d almost stop breathing, like I was drowning in the grease and fat.  But I’d push on through cuz I had to. I had to beat that goddamn girl.

About a minute into the race I glanced down the line at Miyu, she was staring straight ahead, her eyes black and unfeeling, her hands popping the hot dogs in so fast it was a blur. She was in The Zone. I was falling out. In a stupid move I crammed three in my mouth at once and something happened. I knew it was bad. The screams of the crowd faded into this buzzing noise. Things began to get real hazy and I thought  I saw Ma standing over me, crying. I don’t remember standing up, or falling forward, smashing into the table, ketchup and mustard and hot dogs flying every which way. Soon the crowd was all around me and I was looking up at the sky, so clear and blue. So beautiful.

Like I could swallow the entire universe.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

 Finally, this gem from 1 Point Perspective :

Willie Prader, Private Eye – Deadly Sin Series –

“A Glutton For Punishment”

Willie Prader had a bad feeling about this one.  Like maybe he’d bit off more than he could chew.

The leggy blonde named Crystal had sauntered through the door and into his life just a week before.  For someone who made his living being observant, he should have learned by now – trouble was always blonde, and it always sauntered.

The job was simple.  She was convinced that her husband was cheating.  Willie’d been a private dick since Moses was a pup, but still had to wonder what kind of guy cheats on a bombshell like this dame.  She had the face of a starlet, and he couldn’t help but notice how her legs got together and made an ass of themselves.

Prader parked his battered Lincoln at the White Castle across the highway from the Palace Diner and waited.  The guy drove a ’68 Fleetwood, so he’d be hard to miss.  When Mr. Light finally pulled up at the Palace, Prader was amazed to find out just how hard to miss he actually was.  The guy got out of the Caddy and the chassis elevated like one the Impalas the kids drive out in L.A.  Only this car didn’t have complicated hydraulics, it heaved up because the guy who got out of it had to tip the scales at five bills or more.  He leaned down and checked his massive face in the little mirror on the door, then shifted his bulk toward the diner entrance.

Prader chuckled to himself.  He never would’ve guessed that a doll like Crystal would be married to a guy who looked like he was built when meat was cheap.  He leaned back on the Lincoln, lit a Lucky and watched across the lanes of blacktop as the round man somehow crammed himself into a booth.  The waitress was hovering at his table, spending too much time for someone who should be hustling up and down the aisle slinging hash for tips.   She laughed and smiled at him,  touching his arm as he shifted his attention between her and the glossy menu.

Willie decided to get a closer look at this little romance.  He jogged across the highway and stood in the shadows just outside the neon glow of the flickering sign.  He considered his surroundings, making sure he wouldn’t be too conspicuous.  He looked back up to the window and saw the booth was empty.  For a minute, he thought maybe he was looking at the wrong booth.  Just then, he felt the massive ham-hand grip his arm like a vise.  He was pretty sure the pain in his ribs was the business end of a Colt, maybe a Baretta.  The man-mountain pushed him toward the diner door and the barrel of the handgun kept him moving.

Light stared at him across the booth with tired eyes.  The waitress looked at Prader with just a hint of dull surprise after putting three platters down in front of the big man.  She smiled briefly at Light as she left.

“My wife sent you snooping” Light declared.  “She knows I’m cheating,” he continued, “but look at this plate of sausage and eggs with hash browns.  Do you have any idea how many points that meal is?  Sorry pal, but I can’t lose Crystal because of what you or some team of cardiologists tell her.”

Prader swore at himself as he lay bound and gagged in the trunk of the Caddy, probably on his way to a landfill.  If he got out of this alive, he’d need to listen closer to clients, especially the blonde ones.

There is still time to get your entry in – I’ll be collecting “Gluttony” entries until midnight, Friday May 4.


Filed under 7 Deadly Sins Writing Contest, Uncategorized