Tag Archives: Seven Deadly Sins Series

Seven Deadly Sins Series – Pride/Vanity

Sculpture: Deadly Sins (Snowglobes): Pride, Pu...

Sculpture: Deadly Sins (Snowglobes): Pride, Pure Products USA, by Nora Ligorano and Marshall Reese, Eyebeam Open Studios Fall 2009 / 20091023.10D.55559.P1.L1.SQ / SML (Photo credit: See-ming Lee 李思明 SML)

Hey – It’s Baaaaaaaaack.  The Seven Deadly Sins Series.  A simple little writing competition, or the Dave and Lorna Show as it is affectionately called.

Simple contest – simple rules – see the guidelines over to the right.  Right there.

Some sources list “Pride”; some list “Vanity”.  You may use either or both.  Hey, it’s your entry…

I’m going to start writing my entry (which won’t be entered into the contest) tomorrow.  I hope to see your entry soon.  I’ll post the entries in batches as they are received.  Voting is done by an elite panel of judges, in conjunction with the submitting authors (judging by peers).  It really is a lot of fun.

Come on, take a stab at it!!!

Advertisements

11 Comments

Filed under 7 Deadly Sins Writing Contest

Lust – Post 3

Whoa – that last batch of entries was smokin’.  Grab an iced drink, a fan (you’re gonna need it!) and savor today’s offerings:

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

From Darla over at She’s A Maineiac:

Sweets for My Sweetie

As far as Violet was concerned, her life began and ended on a hot muggy day in Savannah, Georgia, July 25, 2012.

The Clearview Baptist Church was stifling; even the cicadas normally buzzing about the open doors sought shade. All eyes were on her as Barney Sutter slipped the 2 carat ring on her trembling finger. He clasped her hands in his, perspiration dripping off his meaty paws. God, all he does is sweat, Violet thought. He’s so disgusting! She looked up into his eyes and offered up a sweet as honey smile.  His eyes lingered again at her plunging neckline, hungrily devouring her like she was some midnight snack.

“…I know pronounce you, Man and Wife,” the pastor’s voice boomed, cutting through the soggy air.  Well whaddya know,  that rich bastard Barney Sutter married lil’ ol’ me…just a po’ girl from Atlanta! And if there’s one thing everyone knows about me–I always get what I want.

She sucked in her breath, bracing herself for the kiss, the beaded bodice of her dress squeezing tighter around her breasts. Barney mopped his bald head with his handkerchief and leaned in for the kill.

****

“Now, where you two lovebirds plannin’ on goin’ for yer honeymoon?” Barney’s mother asked, sneering at Violet over her champagne glass. Violet glared back at the old woman.

“Oh, now Momma, I told ya already, this sweet lil’ pumpkin’ of mine don’t want no fancy honeymoon!” Barney said, wrapping his arm around Violet and pulling her close. Underneath her dress, she felt his chubby hand tracing the inside of her thigh. “We just gonna lay low at Magnolia manor, let the movers do all the work. Once we settled, we can really start to feather up our love nest…ain’t that right, Pookie-Pie? Hell, maybe this time next year, they’ll be some pitter-patterin of little feet! The future president of Sutter Candies, Inc!” He laid his hand on her belly and gazed at her with the lovesick look of a bulldog. Violet felt nauseous. But she had to keep her eye on the prize.

****

Later that night, as Barney heaved himself on top of her, she closed her eyes to escape. She was seated at a banquet table that stretched for miles, an endless line of waiters delivering silver platters full of decadent confections: thick slices of Black Forest cake, hot fudge sundaes, pecan clusters enrobed in dark chocolate. She could almost taste the velvety sweetness on her tongue.

They had been married one full month when Violet knew she would have to make her big move during the factory tour. Standing next to her husband on the small platform perched above the main vat, she peered down into that day’s batch of Sutter’s White Chocolate. Her spine tingled as she watched the giant steel blades churning in an ivory ocean.

“Oh, sweetie,” she cooed into his ear. “Smell that! God, it’s like heaven to me!” Violet pushed her husband closer to the railing.  “Please, just breathe it in…”

Barney obeyed, the frail platform shaking as he stepped closer.

“Unnngh!” Violet grunted as she shoved him toward the edge, the railing breaking apart under his massive frame. In mid-fall he turned, grabbing at her shoulder with one hand while reaching out for the railing with the other. Teetering on the edge with his grip starting to slip, he clutched at her necklace, twisting it until she started to choke.

“Let—–go!” she gurgled. She looked into his wild eyes and almost felt sorry for the fat son-of-a-bitch.  Falling backward now, he clawed at her neck with both hands and pulled, plunging them both into the vat below.

Searing hot pain sliced through her body as the blades tossed it around like a rag doll; her screams muffled by the sticky chocolate filling her throat and lungs.

If there was one thing about Violet: she always gets what she wants.

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

From Marta over at Lost and Forgotten:

“Like this,” she breathes.

Raising her hands above her head grasping at the tips of her dress, she lets the threads slowly rise across her body pushing past her ears and tumbling over her fingers.  The white cotton fabric falls to the ground behind her. Her heels push forward as she rises on the tips of her toes and leans towards him. She places her hands at his hips on the bed.

Her lips to his ear, “your turn.”

He looks upon her, his pupils dilated. The warmth of his hazel eyes melts her insides. He has never looked at her this way.

Slowly he begins to unbutton his shirt, fumbling at each one as his hands shake with nerves. Her impatience begins to overtake her, the awkwardness of her standing there watching him. The room suddenly feels empty and too quiet. As the thoughts pour into her head she pushes them out.

She reaches for his hands and presses the clammy palms against her bare back. Places her knees at his side and sits upon him. She sweeps her long blonde hair behind her and it falls against his fingertips. She pushes her body against him until his back is cradled by the mattress. She slides down unbuttoning each button as her mouth circles the bare skin above.

His breath increases against her.

It is so hard for them to not think. To separate the want from the truth. His body on fire, he leans his head back and stares upon the ceiling fan above him. She drags her fingernails down his sides and across his hip bones pulling at his pants. She comes up to his face, her hands grappling at his belt buckle.

His eyes lock on hers. The blue and green irises he fell in love with swallowing him whole, he cups her chin with his hand and pulls her lips towards his. As they brush lightly against hers, her body freezes and her breath stagnates in her throat. A tear begins to slide down her cheek and as he kisses her deeper it touches his fingertips the cool wetness squeezing in between his hand and her face.

He pulls away.

She blinks the escaped tear away and pushes his hand against the bed whispering in his ear, “please.” Her hair catches in her lips and he brushes it away and tucks it behind her ear. She is so beautiful, he thinks as she lights up the room above him. The fan pushing cool air across their bodies in intervals. She pushes the belt buckle through and he raises his hips as she slips his pants under him.

He cradles her neck and kisses her closer, tighter, harder against him. His tongue seeking hers as she lets her body meld against his. He carefully lifts her and places her underneath him and kisses the tip of her nose, the crease of her neck, the crook of her elbow, his fingertips graze her chest as she lets a small squeal escape past her lips. His lift in a smile.

She pulls him up towards her, staring into his eyes, and whispers, “Now” while pressing her lips against his.

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

And from Susie at Susie Lindau’s Wild Ride: (Visit here to see Susie’s entry on her blog)

The Art of Seduction

He traced his finger along her curves, only stopping to admire her strength and beauty. They fit together like tailored leather. Her opalescent skin, like pewter in the moonlight, gave the false impression of being as malleable as mercury, but a steely inner strength resonated from her core.

It was dangerous, yet the risk excited him.

He slipped inside and adrenaline filled him with a thrilling rush. He threw her into high gear and never looked back even though he knew they’d been found. He didn’t want it to end.

~~~

“It makes me sad to see a work of art like that wrapped around a tree.” The officer took notes as steam rose from the crumpled Jaguar.

“What about the carjacker?” asked the coroner.

21 Comments

Filed under 7 Deadly Sins Writing Contest, Uncategorized

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.

29 Comments

Filed under 7 Deadly Sins Writing Contest, Uncategorized

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:

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

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.

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

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!

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

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.

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

8 Comments

Filed under 7 Deadly Sins Writing Contest

Envy – Post 5

Hey, sorry to keep you waiting – I’ve been battling a migraine for several days and well, it is hard to read, write, type or function with your head under a pillow.  I know it is a holiday, so raise a glass of the drink of the month (tequila!!  What? Cinco De Mayo can be celebrated all month, right?  Right?) and offer a toast in honor those brave men and women who lost their lives trying to finish what politicians and world leaders had started.  Then refill that glass – hell, bring the pitcher – and enjoy these latest offerings.

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

 From Miss Demure Restraint  (who is back by the way, please stop by and say hello, maybe offer a hug – ’cause that’s how we roll):

The room was filled with the souvenirs gathered throughout a life of adventure.  The bullroarer collected in the Outback lay on the shelf next to the Tumi knife picked up in Cuzco.  The Tibetan Thangka hung near the window opposite a Baule mask from the Ivory Coast.  The Xianpgi set bartered for in the Pangiayan Market and bone china tea set acquired in Edinburgh graced the top of the Kotatsu table radiating warmth from the corner.  Numerous bits and pieces amassed wandering the world vied with one another for attention in the small hospice room dominated by the hospital bed which had only recently dwarfed its fragile occupant.

A man well-traveled had just died here . . . alone.  For all his exploits, he had never had the time to make the human connection.  Never did he experience the greatest of all adventures.    Never did he wait with baited breath for the birth of a child.  Never did he work a job he hated to provide for a family he loved more than himself.  Never did he return to the loving arms of a woman graying and past her prime.   Never did he stand proud at the graduation of a son or the wedding of a daughter.  Never did he cry silent in the night not knowing how he would be everything needed by those in his charge.   Never did he hear the words “I love you” from one he had given up his dreams for.

The young orderly stood surveying the mess he was packing up for disposal.  He searched for a picture, or a letter, or indication of any kind there was someone that would want to know a lost and lonely soul had left this world . . . anyone that would want something here to remember the sad, miserable man that had spent the last days of his life in this forlorn place.  The youth closed and taped each box of the now worthless hoard of memories unshared, feeling a sorrow for the adventurer once envied.

The cell phone in his pocket rang.  It was his wife.  The baby was colicky.  His son’s soccer team had lost.  The electric bill was past due. She was frustrated and exhausted.  She waited for him to respond, but he was only now understanding the treasures of his own adventures.   All he could say as he choked back tears was “I love you.”

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

 From Anne Schilde:

Her

 I hate her. I just hate her. There aren’t words for the depth of the hatred that wrenches my gut every single time I see her face.

Life is so unfair.

If life was fair, she would wear my face for a day. Feel what it’s like to walk in my shoes, to not be such a goddess. I should be the goddess, a real goddess. I would curse her to suffer my fate. She would feel the agony of being plain like me. If life was fair, I wouldn’t have to stare at her every miserable day.

Everything about her is so perfect. Why does she have to be so perfect? Not a mark blemishes her skin. Mirrored brows that have never seen tweezers a day in their life drape eyes of crystal blue. The slender elegance of her nose, the kissable sweetness in her Barbie doll lips… I wish she was a picture, a perfect little picture, so I could tear her to shreds.

She knows she has it all. I can see it in her face. Her absolutely flawless, even-the-angels-would-be-jealous face. Rubbing my nose in her beauty gives her such sickening satisfaction. I want to kill her. I’d rake out her mocking eyes, if I could only touch her.

I remember when she was little. God, I hated her then too. Her pretty blonde hair and her adorable pink cheeks stole everyone’s attention and she always had to be first. First at everything. She was first to get her ears pierced, first to wear makeup, first to wear the glow of a boy’s first kiss.

She thinks I want to be like her, to be her. Her smug smile teases me when she thinks it. But she’s wrong. I don’t want to be her. I don’t. I hate for even thinking it. I hate her self-righteous looks. I hate her just for being her, for not being me.

If life was fair, I’d make her take my place. I would make her stare at my framed beauty in envy. I would be the one with the smug smile, and the taunting, reproachful eyes of sapphire. If life was fair, I could bring myself to smash her.

Life is so unfair.

I’ll probably have to stare at her for the rest of my days. I wouldn’t have to if I died, if I killed myself. She’d have no one to torment anymore. It would serve her right. I’d hate myself to Hell for giving her the satisfaction, but I’d be first.

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

 And from MJ at breakingchase:

The day couldn’t possibly get any longer as the nurse nears the counter to sign out, at least that’s what she is thinking.  “Hey, Bailey,” the head nurse calls from behind her as her fingers grasp the clipboard in one hand and a pen in the other, “I hate to do this to you, but we need you to stay for another hour.”

Incredible!  Didn’t they realize she was only human?  “Please, I really need to get some sleep,” she begins, “I’ve been on the clock for over twelve hours and I came to work straight from picking up my daughter at the airport–spring break, you know.”

“Yeah, I know all about it,” she shakes her head, “but we really need you here.  Sorry.”  Her superior doesn’t sound sorry, and doesn’t even pause before walking away.  The feelings she’s having are irrational, but that doesn’t matter now.  Nothing matters but her job, she reminds herself.

The ER doors fly open and the paramedics pull in a loaded gurney and rush past her, down the hall.  “Bailey, follow them down there and make sure we’ve got everything ready in the OR.  The medics can fill you in on the specifics.”

She rushes to the OR where the men are moving things aside to make room for the gurney. The patient is lying on the bed with bleeding and open wounds amidst purple and red tissue.  Where the mouth belongs is a hole where an air tube squeezes inside to keep the esophagus from closing off.

Another nurse pokes her head in the door and one of the men approaches her.  They whisper for a bit before he turns around to say, “They say they it’s a streetwalker from the subway.  Apparently, she lost her footing–probably drunk or on drugs, I’d say.”

“Thanks for bringing her in,” is her cold response, “There’s nothing more to do until the surgeon gets here than keep her calm and find a vein for the IV.”  She begins to search the flesh on the right arm and then the left, with no luck.  “Damn waste of life, anyway,” she murmurs, forcing the IV into her arm.

As if in answer to her, the one good eye pops open to reveal a pool of blue, surrounded by the grotesque parasite who owns it.  The eye widens and stares at her, as if trying to speak because the only audible noise is the moist gasping of the air hose in her trachea.

“It’s because of vermin like you that my sweet Margo is sitting home alone tonight.”  She steps toward the bed, looking directly into the eye that’s watching her when the door pops open.

“All prepped?” the surgeon asks, heading back to the sink, “The anesthesiologist is due any minute.  Let’s get this show on the road, kids!”

Approaching the patient again, her hands reach out and grasp the tube supplying the junky with life.  She tips it to the side so it sucks against the interior of her throat, cutting off her air.  Panic strikes the patient, unable to move due to the straps and her eye grows large in fear.  Finally, the singular eyeball quits moving, and stares into nothing. The wheezing stops.

“They found her wallet,” the doctor says approaching the table, “Turns out she isn’t a hooker after all, but some college girl taking the subway to meet her mom for lunch.  License says Margo Bailey.  Hey, isn’t that your last name?”

Lifting the damaged hand, she can see her daughter’s class ring with her initials surrounding the sapphire, MRB.

8 Comments

Filed under 7 Deadly Sins Writing Contest