Tag Archives: flash fiction

Lust – Post 4

Well, kids, it’s time for the final installment of the “Lust” entries for the 7 Deadly Sins Series.  This round has had some shizzle with sizzle…don’t you think?  You’re going to love these entries, as well.

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First, I’ll include my non-contest submission:

Broken Hearts

“I won’t forgive you next time” I’d said, hot tears stinging my eyes.  “I can’t.”

“There won’t be a next time” he’d reassured me, wiping the tears from my cheeks. “I was stupid.”  He lifted my chin, searching my face, then pulled me close.  “I’m so sorry.  I promise you.  It will not happen again” he’d whispered into my neck.

-/-

That had been a year ago – a stressful year punctuated with health issues, job changes, and a now empty nest. For the sake of our daughter, her senior year of high school, her promising tennis career, and because I was terrified of starting over again at my age – I forgave him.  But I did not, and could not, forget.

I retrieved my car from the long-term lot and headed in the direction of home.  It had been a long week of meetings, presentations, conference calls, networking, glad-handing and schmoozing. I just wanted to take a long, hot shower and lie down in my own bed.  I’d finished a day early, and I needed rest.

I caught a glimpse of a familiar looking red sports car leaving very our very secluded driveway.  My stomach clenched. My hands gripped the steering wheel.  “It couldn’t be” I told myself.  “She wouldn’t dare come to our home.”  I let myself quietly in the front door, my hands shaking.

His cell phone was on the counter, vibrating madly.  I checked it as I headed for the bedroom.  Four voice mail messages, three from me – and a text message – not from me.  “Miss you already.”

“Did you forget something, Shelly?” my husband called out from the bedroom. I picked up speed down the hallway, footsteps pounding. My heart was thudding and my palms sweating.

“Shelly?” he called out the name of our daughter’s tennis coach.  “Is that you?  Did you forget something – or did you come back for more?” His voice was playful.  “That Viagra’s worn off, but I’ve got plenty more.”

I stopped outside the bedroom door.  He was lying on his side in a provocative pose, sheet draped over his pelvis.  On the nightstand stood a champagne bottle, two flutes – one stained with lipstick, and a prescription bottle.

“That’s good to know” I said coolly from the doorway.

“Oh, my God” he gasped when he saw my face. “I didn’t know you were home.”

“Apparently.”

He grabbed the sheet and shot up from the bed.  “I…I can explain.” The color drained from his face.  Sweat droplets appeared on his forehead.

“I seriously doubt that” I said, holding up his cell phone.  “Shelly misses you already – the poor thing”.

“I’m sorry.”

“You certainly are that.”

“It’s just….I…um. Oh, God. Honey, please,” his eyes pleaded.  His color had turned ashen.  He clutched his chest, the sweat began pouring down his face.  He swayed side to side.

“Please?  Please what?” I yelled.  “Please pretend you didn’t just have your mistress in my bed?  Pretend you haven’t broken not only your marriage vows but your promise to me?  Please, what?” I shoved his chest with the cell phone.

He stumbled backward and plopped unceremoniously onto the bed, rubbing his left arm.  His color had not improved – it matched the tousled gray at his temples.  “It’s my heart…call an ambulance.  Please.  Oh, God. I’m begging you.”  He reached toward the nightstand where he kept a bottle of aspirin.  I pushed the drawer shut with my knee.

He pitched forward to the floor, gasping and clutching his chest.  His face contorted in agony.

“It’s time to think about my heart.”

I pocketed his cell phone, locked the front door, and drove away.

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From MJ at mjmonaghan.com :

DIAMOND DAVE

If Prohibition was the law of the land, then the speakeasy was the law’s biggest ball-buster.

It was 1925 at Manhattan’s “Jack and Charlie’s 21.” Most everyone just called it “21” since it was located at 21 West 52nd Street.

The four dames sauntered into that gin joint like they owned the damn place. All dolled up in “shorts”: short hair, short skirts, and short on virtues – typical flappers.

Every head turned in the place as they made their way down the steps and into the main room in the bar:  From gangsters, and feds on the take – who were giving them the up-and-down – to back-biting women who wished they could throttle the broads (not that they weren’t still giving them the once-over, too, by examining their shoes, dresses, and hairstyles).

Men wanted them – in the biblical way – and women wanted to be them, in spite of hating what they did, and who they were.

No one could deny they were lookers; all from different places. How they became roommates, was anyone’s guess, other than the fact they were young ladies who liked to dance, drink, and carouse:

Meg, was from the Midwest, and because of her long gams was nicknamed Meg-O-Lamb.

Carla was from the tip of the Northeast, somewhere in Maine. It was hard to believe, but even New Yawkuz poked fun at her accent.

Sadie was the tough, no-nonsense leader of the pack. Her nickname on the street was “Sadie-did” – because anytime something bad happened and the question came up about who done it, the response was always “Sadie did.” But no one called her that to her face. They wouldn’t dare. She was tough as nails.

It was rumored that Sadie was from the Midwest, also, but she never talked about it. Something too painful had happened “back there.”

Lastly, there was Jewels. From the time she was a little girl she dreamed of living across the Hudson River from Jersey. Now she was doing it, and in style. Her typical winter outer wear consisted of her trademark, full-length chipmunk fur coat.

On the surface this passel of women was like any other, excepting for the looks and fashion. The quartet seemed kind and caring, but deep down if you tailed them, you’d find the four running interference for bootleggers.

The four were the kind of girls you were glad your sister wasn’t.

Primarily they worked for Dave Moffett. Everyone in Manhattan called him “Diamond Dave” because of the giant, diamond-encrusted pinkie ring he always wore.

Diamond Dave was tied into all manner of criminal activity, but made most of his money on hooch. He hid his rum-running by working for the local rag covering the city beat. Cops knew him, but steered clear since he had them all in his pocket.

He had a weakness, though: He was a big womanizer and couldn’t keep his hands off the dames.

***

That night was like any night. The four girls were there for fun, and to collect their money from Dave. They would always meet in a secluded back room. First Dave would discreetly walk back, and then a few minutes later Meg, Carla, Jewels, and Sadie would make their way to meet him.

As Diamond waited for them, his mind wandered, and he couldn’t get Meg out of his mind. She had flashed him her left leg through the slit in her short skirt that was more like a belt. He always liked her, but now he WANTED to have her; possess her; to make her his.

The door to the private room opened and the four flappers strode in. Diamond Dave was burning like an ember as his eyes fixed on Meg.

“You got the sawbucks?” Jewels asked.

“Yeah; sure thing, girls,” Dave said as he pulled a wad of $10 bills out of his pocket with his right hand.

“Hey, Meg, why don’t you come over this way for a minute?”

Meg moved toward him, and Dave’s fat hand latched on to her left breast. What happened next was a blur.

Instinctively, Meg reached for something to break Diamond Dave’s grip from her body. She fumbled and felt an object behind her, and picked it up and struck him in the head. Blood ran down Dave’s head at the same time his body dropped to the floor with a “thud.”

Meg quickly threw down the weapon – an 18” tall, Empire State Building promotional statuette for the soon-to-be-built skyscraper.

The other three shook Meg so they could get their story straight before the coppers got there.

Sadie-did, Meg-o-Lamb, Carla and Jewels

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And from Jules at gojulesgo.com:

7 Deadly Scenes: Lust

“No! You have to do it like this!”

His laughter is infectious. He grabs the cell phone from my hands and shakes it, showing me how to rearrange the apps on the screen. I grab the phone back and give it an exaggerated wave.

The final weeks in August are dead at the office.

“Is this why these things need protection?” I ask, holding up the phone to reveal its plastic case. “Safe sexting?”

His fit starts anew, and he collapses in his seat, wiping tears away with a single hand.

I can’t take my eyes off his hands.

~*~

“You better hold on tight, spider monkey!”

I throw my head back and laugh. My favorite line in the movie. It’s not supposed to be funny, but it gets me every time.

We’re really pushing the ‘hardly working’ part of the old saying, but Friday afternoon before Labor Day seemed like the perfect time to watch a video projected from my lap top onto the largest screen in the office.

I stop laughing abruptly when I realize his eyes are on me.

“What?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious. His gaze is soft, brown and loving.

“Nothing,” he smiles, like he’s seeing me for the first time.

~*~

“And that is why they invented therapy.”

I chuckle, delighted by his secret-sharing.

“…So?” he adds, eyebrows raised.

“So?” I echo, butterflies in my stomach.

“What’s wrong with you?”

I laugh again, relieved, frustrated. I take a sip of my beer, staring at the forest green walls of our favorite after work haunt.

“Isn’t it obvious?” I ask, and my smile fades as I force myself to meet his gaze.

~*~

“You love your husband?”

My hand halts on the car door handle.

“Yes,” I reply quietly, not because it’s the right thing to say, but because it’s the truth.

“Okay,” he says, and walks away, my sudden sobs filling the hot summer air.

~*~

“We should go,” he whispers.

“Or what?” I whisper back, still only a breath away.

I never should have agreed to stop at his place before the meeting.

I reach out a shaking hand and touch his wavy brown hair. It’s thick and soft. Far softer than it should be.

I bet his lips are, too. These thoughts come unbidden. I am used to them now.

“We’re late,” he says. His eyes darken and I drop my hand. We’re not late.

Though I have no right to be, I’m hurt.

“He’d kill us both,” he breathes, his eyes softening.

“No,” I smile ruefully. “Just me.”

~*~

“I don’t know why I’m here.”

He looks helpless, standing in my doorway. He knows my husband is gone for the weekend, on his annual fishing trip.

Something deep inside me explodes.

“Yes you do,” I say, surprised by the raspy wanting in my voice.

He doesn’t respond. At least not in words.

~*~

“I found this.”

I blanch, seeing my phone in my husband’s large hand.

In his other hand rests something equally shiny and silver.

“Didn’t I always tell you what I’d do to you?” He takes a step towards me.

I open my eyes and clutch my heart, breathless. It was only a dream.

This time.

~*~

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Filed under 7 Deadly Sins Writing Contest

Sloth – Post 4

Looks like MJ is hanging out here alone, today…

Here is the final entry in the Seven Deadly Sins Series:

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Inertia
By MJ Monaghan

Jason sped down the busy street as he ran his normal 10-mile route through the small beach town. The salt air refreshed and invigorated him. Back in the apartment his roommate Paul was debating what to do. His head churned with lists full of things to do, and unfinished projects waiting for completion.

Paul continued to be amazed by Jason’s perseverance. He had way more on his plate than Paul, but he still managed to get almost everything done on a daily basis. And Jason didn’t just “do things.” He did them all successfully. He ran 10 marathons in a year, each time bettering the last. College was completed in three and a half years. The 1968 Mustang “project car” his dad gave him – he restored it in a summer.

This of course drove Paul totally crazy, wondering why he couldn’t get anything accomplished.

***
Paul stayed up past 2 am every night, and slept through the entire morning.

His day started slowly between 12:30 and 1 in the afternoon. Paul would flip on the television and just “catch a quick half hour of news.” That was followed by watching an hour of Law and Order. Before he knew it, it was 4 pm.

Paul continued to beat himself up. He pondered:

How many stones could the Egyptians have moved in the time I’ve wasted? How far would Hannibal have marched?

What if Leonardo Da Vinci or Michelangelo cruised through life without any dedication to making the most of their time? What would we have? Utter rubbish.

***

Momentum, inertia – two words Paul kept hearing in his stuck mind. He needed a push, an event that could get him out of this funk. But days turned into weeks, and then months. Paul built up piles of wasted time.

It was an act of desperation.

Jason didn’t know what hit him. Didn’t know that his words …

As Jason finished up his afternoon run, he entered the apartment, and explained to Paul how great he felt, and what he would be doing that afternoon.

Muscles twitched as Paul picked up the frame holding Jason’s college diploma. Blood erupted from Jason’s head as he fell to the ground.

No pulse. Jason was dead.

***

In a way, Paul was finally happy. He would have 25 years-to-life to think about what he would do each day, and not have to worry about whether he got it done, or not.

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Whew…This was a bloody round, for the most part.

My stalwart judges will get back to you with the list of finalists.  Stay tuned.

 

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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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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.

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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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Filed under 7 Deadly Sins Writing Contest, General Mumblings