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Rated: E · Message Forum · Contest · #1774627
It's pretty simple; write a short story or poem based on one of the seven deadly sins.
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May 15, 2011 at 6:28pm
#2238012
contest Entry with word count.
by Jason
Hell is a strange and dirty place, dusty, everything feels old. You would think it would be swarming with flames or be raining piles of brimstone, at least thats what they told me it would be like, but what did they know? Its not dark and its not light, its more of a numb staleness that floats around as if everyone's depressing memories got together and made up a town. Rusty old buildings, desert all around the horizon, even the sky is a tainted grey color.

It feels like its real but there is a part of me that says my senses are taking in some kind of illusion. My feet can feel the shoes i’m wearing, and when I touch a wall, or grab a handful of sand, my hands and eyes tell me its there, but something inside tells me its just here to pacify some form of me. But then thinking to deep only makes me frustrated, and when I get frustrated I either end up liking the fact that i’m feeling something, or I blow it all off and try to continue living, or what ever it is I do.

Its generally quiet here, not much going on. There are a lot of questions, thats for sure. Not to many people with answers though. Theres not a lot of fights of quarrels, nothing really to argue about. Sometimes the new ones try to start stuff but they soon learn. Some forget that they are dead, they just sit and exist. Others go around pestering anyone that might look like they have figured something out. Then there are those that have claimed they have had all the answers revealed to them, they gather crowds, they say they feel pleasure, they say they are happy, they say they have found peace, and then a short time after they are laughed into memory. One individual once found a way to cry. He gathered more followers than anyone in the history of Hell. Now he just walks around town mumbling to himself and draws morbid pictures in the sand.

We have no need for food, we don’t get hungry. Water, we don’t get thirsty. Shelter, I don’t know why we even have buildings they mean nothing, and money, we have absolutely no need for money. Its a very confused world living without it. I’ve always believed that the stuff was the thing worth living for, If you were rich you had it all. And of what I remember, I was shinier than a golden penny, before this place. I lived to find preciousness anywhere, I took and I killed, I hunted and fought. My fingertips and my eyes controlled my life. I tore through people, I was strong and feared. I close my eyes now and try to remember the fiery burn in my chest, the riches, the love, my love, but I cant. I cant finding anything that could be of value, to anyone, not here. Greed has whole new definition for me now.

A good thing about this place is that no one is sick or in pain. Everyone looks young, or appears to be in the prime of their lives. But maybe no pain is a bad thing too, maybe pain would be a nice little change every once in a while. It might bring a little feeling back, maybe it would give some of us a reason to exist if there was a chance to over come a head cold, or fight through cancer. Its a strange feeling wishing for pain, I guess when there is no pleasure, pain seems like an adequate alternative. I know that if someone caught the flu that all the people here would do nothing but gather around the sick one, watching, wondering, piling up more questions. I cant tell you how many times i’ve seen people try to kill themselfs especially the new ones, It's laughable.

I’ve seen people come and i’ve seen people go. Im not quiet sure where they go when they do, but I have a pretty good idea of where they come from. Its a curious thing that happens to the ones that leave. I’ve noticed that they seem a little bit happier just before they disappear. A little bit more quiet and calm. They are not the ones trying to get the attention or the ones begging for answers, its as if all of a sudden they know something, a secret, and that secret puts them above all the rest. And before you know it, they are gone, and you never see them again. The last thing you always remember, if you pay any attention, is that just before they go, they always have that same smile, that warm look. Its a very rare expression but i’ve been here long enough, and ive seen it once or twice. I’ve been here long enough to learn that what ever it is they know doesn’t come from listening to the convincing speakers out on the sand or roof tops, but its something that has to be realized, revealed or uncovered from inside. I guess all of us live in Hell for the chance of an epiphany. we live for that spark, knowledge is the most cherished item here now, not gold. Understanding, is what we would dream about if we slept. Love, to touch someone and feel connected, to feel pleasure, or pain. to burn with life, to crawl back to everything we took advantage of, even the little things. To have Purpose.

I would say, If time existed, that i’ve been in hell for maybe a good, two, maybe three hundred years. I still wear a long blue thick coat with an off white ruffled shirt under. I don’t know why, Its the last thing I remember wearing before I was here, I’ve just never taken it off. I have very faint memories of sailing a grand ship, an old wooden One. I remember burning sails and people in hurting, screaming. Men, woman, and children. I remember chests of treasure, fighting over them with swords and gun power. Jewels splattered with thick gutty blood. My hands felt so good when I picked up piles of them and let them fall around my body. But like I said greed takes on a whole new face here, an unfulfilling face. I yearn to be free, but until I figure out what it is those that smile know, I will remain frustrated and dead forever. I give you my sad adue for now, and bid you farewell.

word count= 1052
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contest Entry with word count. · 05-15-11 6:28pm
by Jason

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