Two Hands and Two Days (Sin Story)

Topic: Lane: "Write a story based on one of the seven deadly sins."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Two days. Threatened with my life and I couldn’t tough it out for more than two days.

What does that say about me? What does it say about it? It is the one who couldn’t force me to stop. If it really wanted me to stop, it could have made me…but it didn’t. It made it a choice; it talked about free will. I still think my free will is simply an excuse for its ineptitude.

Thinking back to the time it first showed up, I still feel ashamed. My parents weren’t at home, my oft-used rag was near, and I just found a great new site. Just as I began, I felt that kind of sixth sense of someone watching and for the first time, I felt shame about my actions. After a moment went by, I knew I wasn’t alone any more. Considering my activity, company seemed a bit rude.

Once I realized that I would be interrupted I tried to hide the evidence, but like always I failed. It knew my sin and the threat was clear.

“This affront to God’s gift will end,” it said as the walls vibrated with an invisible force I could not fully understand. My eyes couldn’t focus entirely on the shape, but I could see the wings and eyes. The eyes: those eyes of pure gold stood out as if the rest of its body was muddled. They didn’t blink or move, but for some reason, those eyes felt more alive than any human’s. Disbelief wasn’t even a possibility; once you saw the eyes, you knew the truth. Everything may not be exactly like the Book, but the essence was there.

“I’m not…um…sure what you mean,” I stammered as I tugged on my nylon shorts and pulled the blanket over my waist.

“Do not further your sin through deceit. I know that which you cannot stop doing,” it said with a voice that felt as if it was half outside my head and half inside. “This is your warning. Heed me now or suffer the fate that you created for yourselves.”

I remember thinking that its words seemed like a bad translation. I felt as though speaking might be unnatural for it.

“Look…I know what you are thinking, but I don’t really do it than often,” I mumbled. “Come on, I am just a kid.”

“Twice today. Four times yesterday. Two days before now you mastured your sin three times.”

“Okay, okay. Your right, but….I can’t help it. Everybody does…my brother said so,” I said and realized that this excuse would not work. It almost felt like an invisible blade pricked my neck. “You need to…help me.”

“Aid shall come through punishment,” it said. “But you are mortal and thus the punishments must be of mortal origin. Your actions are subject to the penalties created by your own race.”

“What does that mean?”

“Look to your own kind for the nature of your crime,” and it was gone before I could receive another ambiguous answer.

I didn’t really know what to make of the whole situation. I knew something had happened, but a quick glance to my right showed the time to still be 10:55pm. Maybe nothing happened. It could have been a dream, certainly a strange dream, but a dream nonetheless. It had been a little while since the last time so I decided to enjoy my thirty gigabyte “read me” folder and then go back to bed. By 11:15pm, I was ready for bed.

In the morning, I began to think that the whole experience was a dream or at least a hallucination. Staring in the mirror, I immediately noticed the cluster of pulsating zits above the left corner of my lip. Like my father, I grew up with almost perfect complexion; a large nose yes, but flawless skin. So, even more so than normal teens, I noticed every blemish on my face. These zits created a stir in my head due to their suddenness and size. Usually zits take a little while to form, but this freakish group literally popped up while I slept.

By evening, I should have known that the message was not a dream. I should have known this when a clump of my own black hair fell into my Code Red. The clues were in the command. But even then, I just didn’t pay enough attention to the signs or the symptoms. Two of my uncles were bald, so while disturbing, the loss of hair didn’t seem all that unusual. Even though that loss now left a gaping hole on the left side of my head, it was possible that a diet of pepperoni hot pockets and chocolate pop tarts left me without the necessary vitamins. Yes, I know: the idea was as stupid then as it is now. Yet without a clear picture of my predicament, I kept up with my favorite bodily exercise.

My mind fully began to grasp what was happening when the hair from my head started to appear on my palms. Suddenly, it all made sense. The facial deformity, the loss of my locks, and redistribution of hair: it all made sense. I was becoming a werewolf; werewolf must be the answer. Having watched Teen-Wolf, I knew the signs and these symptoms seemed perfectly related.

With no rival basketball team to dominate, I began to revel in the thought of being half-man. In wolf-form, I could terrify the neighbors and scare Denny Compoke like he deserves. In man-form, Lauren would finally notice me. The balance of my animalistic fury and poetic sensitivity would cause her to want me. I could see it all. When my agility did not seem to be improving (the fence was still too high) and my strength still average (the wall won), I began to reconsider my current theory.

This reconsideration became more logical when a certain problem presented itself in the shower the next day. If anything, there should be some abnormal growth going on down there. Hell with luck, the moil’s handy work would be reversed. However, this – this was simply impossible. I wasn’t Irish; this change didn’t make sense at all. At this point, I decided to look on the Internet for answers. Maybe something like this had happened to others. Still despite the alarming turn of the events, the pipes still worked and I acted as though I were a plumber.

The following morning I looked over to the alarm clock and I realized I couldn’t find it. I couldn’t find anything. The whole world had gone black. I could hear the clock ringing, but had to crawl across my floor to get to it. I remember the odd thought that being unable to see wasn’t so tough because mornings used to be so groggy any way.

That quirky attitude didn’t last. Very quickly, I realized that being blind was absolutely miserable. The key was to figure how, why, and if the situation could be reversed. The entire situation needed to be changed.

My parents took me to a doctor, but he insisted that no physiological symptoms existed. My parents began to argue with him, but then turned their anger on me. The doctor couldn’t be wrong, so I must be lying. Being chastised by your parents may be awful, but being yelled at from voices in the dark is far worse.

The one virtue of being yelled at that night was that it triggered the memory I needed to solve my dilemma. A few years ago, I found my brother’s favorite magazine. Its cover was rumpled, the corners were bent, and the centerfolds were stained. Even so, it was like a finding a pot of gold. The problem was that my father found me first. In his disappointment and anger, he warned me of the consequences: pimples and hairy palms, Grandfather’s message was even direr; I’d go blind if God caught me in the act.

Grandfather's message made everything click. After that memory, I finally understood my situation. When I admitted the truth to myself, the visitor returned.

“Will you submit? Do you need more persuasion?” the voice called from a slit in the air that looked like a faraway image skewed by the heat.

“No, I’m done. I can't take any more. You’ve won,” I said in a voice so timid I am still shamed. I just wanted the pain to end. Nothing was worse this.

“Good,” it said. Colors started to emerge in front of me once again and my head felt heavier. For a moment, I felt happy.

As if it detected my sudden relief, it looked back and said, “Now Jacob, we can move on to your friends.”