Traversing the Seas of Dis

Of all my conversations over the past three years, I remember my time with The Doctor more than any. The memory still fills my body with cold, and even to this his words to me shake my core and purpose.

Over the past three years of my travels I met many an oddity, The Lotus Eater, The Lion... The White Rabbit. It was not, however, until the second year of my travels that I met The Doctor.

After I had left The Island of The Dead Star, and sailed my tiny boat through the Sea of Orchids, I found a series of mountain rising from the water. Between each sat a wide waterway. From the position of each I estimated that there would be more than the three that were visible to me and that they would create some circle or bowl once I could see them all. But first I would have to sail through one of their passages.

The mountains were of an almost black jagged rock. And, once between two of the mountains I caught glimpses of the strange creatures moving among the rubble and disorder of the mountainside. The creatures were black and sleek, with wide eyes and gills. One, I saw emerge from the water at a bank with something in it’s mouth, though what shocked me most was not it’s claws nor the strength that it’s movements hinted at, but rather, the familiar human qualities of its face.

The channel itself was not deep at all. The mountains wear merely prongs of a greater mountain the rose from the sea floor up the air. Beneath the water the mountains continued downward. Jagged blades of the black stone rose from their common source. Had I but been in a ship of larger proportions than my small dinghy, I have no doubt that those the submerged claws would have pulled the vessel down, and left me victim for the skulking creatures that watched me from the rocks.

After sailing through the straight for over an hour, I saw the claw of one of the creatures taking hold at the side of the boat. I Jumped up, oar in hand, just as it pulled its head over the boats edge to look at me. Perhaps It meant me no harm, but I was not about wait for it's intentions to become clear. The beast’s head and neck, made a crunching snap as my oar impacted the side of it’s face. As it’s body flopped back into the water, the thing’s body convulsed for a short moment and then lay lifeless. Others of it’s kind wasted no time in taking advantage of the fresh meal. From that point, none of the others came near my boat, but instead were content to watch me from their hiding places, from outside of my wake.

As I cleared the straits I saw a dark sea that stretched as wide as a city. I was now indeed aware that the mountains formed a circle outlined of seven points. Between each lay a strait, I assume, similar to the one I had just come through. In the center of the sea was a single small island, toward which I would make my way.

The sky inside the Island’s crown was full of dark clouds, by now, the sea bed was visible and only seldom did the rocky cropping jut up out of the sandy floor, but still I did not trust the water and would neither touch it nor stare into it for more than a few moments.

The Island, I made out from a distance, maintained a number of rocky outcroppings of the same element as the mountains, but the island had, as well, been covered with what seemed to be a dark shiny sand.

I forced my boat as near to shore as I could, to avoid wading through those dark waters, but it was only so far that I could manage. The fact that I would only have to trudge through little less than two yards of ankle deep water was little consolation. Little Consolation indeed when confronted with the oddity of the place, the strange loathing I felt toward the water, and the sand that could have once come from a red black volcanic rock.

When at last I worked together the nerve to step from my boat into the waters edge, I at once felt as though the sea bed was pulling me deeper into itself. The water froze me to the bone the instant it touched my skin and I was overcome with the desire to let myself be dragged into the sea and sand. I remember thinking that none should care, none would have chosen differently. What if I did sink, thought I? to whom did I owe any explanation?

As I felt the water rise up my thigh, I heard Margery’s voice. She was laughing, as she did when we laid in the sun on those near forgotten summer days. A laugh meant only for her love. I could see the sunlight cascading across her dark hair. Her pale skin soft beneath my hand. I could feel nipple become hard as it slid between two fingers.

The water rose. Or I sank. all I could feel and hear was the rumble. My eyes snapped opened, and with all my rage and pain I tore my legs from the sand. I pulled myself, screaming her name, through the water.

I have no recollection of how long I spent on that shore before I was found, but I wish now that I had never left my boat. I wish I had stayed upon the island of The Dead Star, or that I had remained among the city of fools.

When at last I opened my eyes and looked up from the sand I found myself not alone. Two granite angels stood before me motionless. Each was perfection of the human form, and although they were hermaphroditic one could easily distinguish which was male and which was female. A means of reproduction was not all they lacked, though. Neither of the sentinels bore any facial feature.

I was fascinated at once with the statues. Although carved by expert skill, their skin seemed course and unpolished. I moved closer to touch one but, as I did they both moved away from me. I had been wrong, they were not statues after all, but rather automata, or otherwise were in some way enchanted. They moved with grace. As they lead me forward I noted that there was a dancing quality to their movements.

I followed the stone angels from the shore into the dark woods of the island. The trees in that place bent and twisted in every direction as if the wind itself tortured them into their writhing forms. In the distant shadows, and sometimes not so distant shadows, I heard growls and hisses. Sometimes I could hear movement but I never once saw the sources. But the angels led on, taking no notice of the surrounding wood.

It is strange that I have spent so long sailing these seas that I have still never come to understand the movement of time. Days seem to come and go at will. I have crossed countries in seconds, and I have spent years walking through a doorway. It is because of this that I am never truly aware of how long I have spent in the places that I have visited. The only true measurement I have is of how quickly a place wears upon me and that does time little justice.

Suffice it to say that if I spent a second walking through those woods, then it was an eternity. Despite my compulsion to further investigate the inhabitants of the Island, I prayed again and again that I could just know that the answers I was seeking were not here, so that I might leave without worry. As it was, I would at least learn of what my guides wished to show me.

I thought of my journeys to other, less chilling places, to distract myself from my surrounding. Watching the female angel walk ahead of me I began to think about Margery. The way she looked when she walked. I remembered being inside of a glass box, the cloud of dust tore through the city toward me.... but that has nothing to do with the island, and I shook those thoughts from my head.

After some time the angels brought me to a ring of monoliths. As I walked between two of the monoliths I noticed that the held to the same theme as the mountains that surrounded the island. a circle of seven. Inside the circle was a temple. I do not know if it was The Doctor who built that place or another more mad architect. A pair of eyes and the sound of fluttering wings watched me from the shadow of a monolith.

As one entered the temple an immediate sense of vertigo seeped deep into the mind. At times I felt as though I had been walking on the ceiling. At other times I could see shadows scuttle away along the walls.

The angels had remained at the gates of the temple and I alone descended into its core, guided forward, by a low hum.

When I came to The Doctors laboratory I thought the doctor to be simply a corpse. He sat in a large leather chair slumped over himself. I looked about the room at the odd collection of machinery. Many of the devices reached the ceiling of the laboratory, sending sparks between them. The room was a jumble of wires and tubes. Bottles and books littered the shelves. My attempts to read the titles proves fruitless as the their text shifted and blurred with each attempt.

With the sudden sound of thunder, the humming stopped and all was quite. It was then that I noticed the faint sound of raspy breathe. It was The Doctor. Still slumped over himself. I came closer.

“Sir, are you alright?” I asked.

“who is there?” his voice was low with a croaking, or grumbling quality.

“Just a traveller, I have come from far away and I have seen many wonderful and terrible things, but never have I seen a place as dismal as your Island.”

The Doctor chortled. “And why have you come to my dismal island?” he stood as his sarcasm spilled out, his knees quaking beneath his weight. I could see him then, emaciated, and yet powerful. His robes hung on him loose and ragged, as though they were gossamer. His bony chin jutted forward and his milky white eyes peered at me.

“I am searching for something,” a sense of vulnerability grew in my body as the doctor watched me. I felt as though I was naked before him. “How did you come to inhabit such a place?”

The Doctor looked and laughed at me. As he began to walk away from his chair, the few wisps of hair on his balding head swayed.

“I am here,” his voice bore an air of arrogance as it flew back over his shoulder at me, “for the envy of others,” His walk was swaying as he limped across the room, “There are many who fear my greatness, and for it this mountain has been raised from the water for me to carry. All of this place rests upon my shoulders, I give it what little life it has through my machines.”

He ran his fingers over his devices as he spoke. “I have strained my mind and body, devising new technologies that spit a heaven back in the faces of those who would bear a hell down upon me.”

“Who has forced this hell on you, old man?”

The Doctor turn to me with a look of indignation “I am a great doctor.” He began to yell, “and you will address me as such.”

I raised my hands in defense, “Forgive me, good doctor, I only wished to know who was it that has placed you in this hell.”

The Doctor had a self satisfied look on his face, “It is not something you would understand.” He calmed down, “you are searching for something, you say?”

“Yes, I have been searching for some years now.”

“Oh,” The Doctor's cackle was unnerving, “Some years, you say. In a place were time means nothing you speak of years.”

“Well...” I wasn’t really sure, “It just feels as if it’s been two years.” The answer made the Doctor laugh again.

“And what is it, I wonder, that you are searching for” The Doctor stepped closer to me, “something in my laboratory? one of my machines?”

"No, nothing of yours, good doctor."

He looked at me, inspecting my face. The skin on his steepled fingers was pale and flaking, the old scar on my hand began to hurt. "Then what are you looking for,"

“What does that matter to you, Doctor?”

"Because I wish to know, if you even understand why for years," He spit the words at me, "you have sailed these seas," The Doctor took his eyes off of me, "Of course you would have no idea." He spoke more to himself than to me.

I did not trust The Doctor. He was unstable. His machines had a haphazard chaos in their construction and I would not have been surprised if every thing in that laboratory were to come crashing down and I buried beneath it all.

"I have upset you," I admitted, "I think it would be best for me to leave."

He moved closer to the stairs that led back up to the temple, "Nonsense," he croaked, "It has been long since I had company, tell me what are you looking for," His lips spread into a crooked smile. He looked predatory, "Surely you must have an idea of what it is you are looking for?"

"I will know it when I see it," said I.

"Well," he began, "what about the why, child? Why have you been searching? have you lost something."

I heard a man and woman laughing together somewhere in the back of my head. old memories, that should remain buried have a way of tearing at the mind, causing doubt. "NO!" I was afraid of losing composure, "No, there is just something I must find."

Again he laughed, “You have run too far child, and you have found something indeed,” his hands waved in grand gestures, “But on this island you have not found false charity and empty encouragements.”

The Doctor prowled around me as if ready to pounce. The old man was speaking gibberish. Gibberish and nothing more. I took a step back and found my way blocked by one of the experiment tables.

“But I wonder, traveler, if you knew the truth would you bother,” I felt his cold breath on my shirt, "Would you bother to go back, or will you keep running," My hand fumbled across the table.

“Do you even know what you are running from?” The doctor stared at me with wide, insane eyes. My hand found found something hard.

...”Thank you again for joining us tonight viewers, for those who don’t know we are here With Dr. Eli Lucious from the University of Chicago, discussing the relevance of Catholicism in modern America. Now Doctor before our break you mentioned that the idea of the seven deadly sins is difficult for many Americans to understand, Please explain”

“Certainly, Diane. One reason that Americans have such a hard time understanding the concept is because the culture has internalized a sort of false courtesy where it is more acceptable to overlook something that could be considered destructive to a person rather than risk offending someone by telling them that you disagree with their action. Beyond this, the fact that Christianity openly calls these acts sins drive many non-christians to ignore any possible wisdom found within the philosophy. Many people have their problems the christianity, and therefore discount much of the deeper wisdoms that can be found among the dogmas.”

“That’s very interesting Doctor, could you please explain how these concepts still apply today?”

“Well, take Sloth, for example. By current popular understanding, you’ll see this in movies and television, Sloth is a sin of laziness. Though this concept is incorrect and it is poorly received by our culture. In actuality the traditional understanding of sloth, as a sin, was that it was the sin of sadness.”

“Sadness, Doctor? Sadness was a sin?”

“When sadness is internalized, absolutely yes. I mean we aren’t simply speaking of being sad because something bad has happened, but rather a refusal to love the wonder of God’s world. It is something that is often triggered by the refusal to deal with hardships and tragedy. The sinner is one who escapes, because of unhappiness, into other vices. It’s the idea of making little of yourself, because of one’s unwillingness to love the world and take control of one’s life. In Dante, in the Purgatorio, illustrated that the punishment for sloth was to always run...”

The room blurred in and out of focus as Margery woke up. She had been startled by the sound of the cable going out, leaving only static on the TV. She reached for the remote on the night-stand but couldn’t find it. Doesn't matter, she thought, they’ll probably cut the electricity in a few days anyway.

The sun was starting to come up outside and she could see the frame with Jonathan’s picture still broken in half in the corner of the room. There was a dent in the wall where the frame impacted. Her hand was bleeding. She felt around the pillow and found a small shard of glass. From when she originally broke the picture frame, she thought, before she threw it.

Margery hated september. Go to the interview, she told him. You’ll do great, how can we afford to live in New York City if you don’t get a better job. She remembered most of all asking him, what was the worst thing that could happen. They'll tell you no, she remembered saying, at least they'll know who you are John honey. She waited for him at a restaurant a mile away from the trade center.

The the rumbling reached the Restaurant before the cloud did.

Margery shook the memory from her head. September was always the worst. she always needed a little extra in September.

Margery reached under her pillow and grabbed another two pills, she used to keep them on the night stand with the water, but they always seemed to fall off somewhere.

Her throat was dry, and the barbs hurt going down. She drank some water. The last thing she heard was the static of the TV. Who cares, she thought, soon she would be somewhere else, maybe someone else. The TV static would be gone soon.

I awoke in my boat just outside of the Island’s circle of mountains, a strange and distant buzzing, a static, filled my ears. My hands where feeling the clean pure water again. As I became more alert the buzzing receded. To this day I cannot remember what happened to The Doctor, or what he had done to me before sending me on my way. As I sailed away I watched the island, and all of it’s mountains, sink back into the sea.

I can’t fathom how many years it’s been since I left that dark place, and I have never seen the Doctor since, for which I am thankful. Even as I write this the memories fill me with a fear that I cannot understand. Nothing good can come of lingering though. I still search the world, and I feel no closer to my goal, but I will not be deterred. someday I will find what I seek. And though the Doctor’s last words may frighten me, I have faith that what I am on the right path, and no madman will shake that faith.

But for now my hand hurts, so I will end my memoir for the time and lose myself in this sea. that is so like a dream to me. I noted a small spider building it's web in a corner of the boat

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.”

Sin Story - Pete

Hole Lotta Fun!

"A Zen Archer never misses his target," Cain quoted, "because he knows there are only three things in the Universe: himself, the arrow, and the target. No where else for the arrow to go but to the target, so he can't miss." His broad shoulders moved under the white polo as he adjusted his stance.

With this he swung the battered putter gingerly, the worn handle bound in electrical tape. He tapped the bright orange ball so that it sped with a quiet thwak down the green. The ball banked off three sideboard bumpers before rolling into the cup, as if drawn there by a magnet.

"So?" Magdalen intoned, trying to hide her disbelief at yet another hole in one. You'd think it would have gotten old by now, but it hadn't. She knelt in her pleated school uniform skirt, placing her own lime green ball on the tee spot. She never changed clothes after school when she came here to 'Hole Lotta Fun!' Mini Golf Emporium for her lessons, and she would be graduating in a month.

After that, what to wear, what to wear?

"So, make this putt." Cain smiled, scratching the back of his head as he watched her line up in silence.

"I can't keep this a secret anymore, Cain. I -hate- mini golf." She focused on the ball and tapped it with the same slightness Cain had demonstrated, but of course with different effect. The ball lodged under the broken, non-spinning windmill. She sighed in frustration, but Cain showed no disappointment at all.

" 'Hate' like, 'Wrath' hate?" He inquired.

"No. Well, I don't think so, anyway," Magdalen answered, grunting, her feet apart on opposite bumpers and her body pitched at an awkward angle. Hooking the putter more than swinging it, she tried to fish the ball out from under the windmill without needing to take a penalty shot.

"Too bad. Sinning one of the Deadlies might be good for you." A wink here. "Though, you're right probably. Wrath seems to be better expressed at people, not pastimes. Besides, this is great training, the best." He watched Magdalen make the strained shot, and smiled sympathetically when the ball passed within an inch of the hole but then onward.

"I dislike it, then. Intensely," she added as she walked past him, taking her putt and sinking the lime green ball with one of those shots where the ball spins around the sides before it comes to rest. She bent and retrieved the ball, which had a worn logo from another mini golf place on it.

"You don't have to like it to benefit from it, Maggie. It's a perfect training tool. It brings focus, precision, patience and discipline together in one neat package." Cain was now gesturing at the trees and sky, and the parking lots beyond with the handle of his putter. "All in the lovely outdoors, for the low price of a dollar a game. Seventy-five cents, with your Frequent Fun discount."

"Hmmmmm," Magdalen answered in a non-committal tone as they walked to the next hole. The Whale hole.

Magdalen hated this hole. Wrath-hated.

Cain stopped before teeing up, his attention on the smartly dressed young executive-or-lawyer just finishing the Whale hole. "Respect," he reminded her, his palm outstretched in a gesture that made her stop before stepping onto the green. Magdalen knew Cain would show respect to the “lawyer”, and not put his orange ball down to the tee spot before the man got his expensive shoes off the green.

Looking closer, though, she watched as Cain regarded the man. She looked to the lawyer, who wasn't paying attention to them, but was now starting on the next hole. Her heart caught a little in her chest. She'd seen Cain like this once before, his ever present smile there, but something different around the eyes.

Was Lawyer Guy next? Next on The List?

"Imagine this," Cain said as he rose from his kneel, drawing her attention back. He was leaning to the side a bit as he surveyed the hole. "I had one just before we met. A lady, soccer mom type who constantly cheated on her husband with garbage men. Once word got out, the neighbors on her cul-de-sac could have put their garbage out any day of the week, there was such a parade of brown trucks down there."

Magdalen believed Cain could do this course blindfolded. Even if Cain didn't work here, which he did most days, she'd never seen him miss a shot. Not once. Here or even at the crappy course across town they sometimes went to for a change of pace.

Cain lined up, then tapped the ball again as he spoke.

Magdalen didn't even watch this time, instead sneaking a glance at Lawyer Guy again. She just heard the plop as the ball went into the whale's mouth, out it's backside in what the designer of this place had to know looked a whale pooping brightly colored golf balls. Then the sound of it going into the hole, of course. Plop!

"Anyway," he continued as the ball had gone on its way, "it wasn't Lust. It turned out she didn't feel particularly lustful at all. Not Gluttony either, or Envy. Sometimes you see this... something else presenting as Lust. True Lust can be tricky to identify."

Cain stepped past the whale, retrieved his ball, and motioned for her to tee up. Magdalen placed the ball, and lined up again. She closed her eyes for a moment, and breathed. She always, always missed this shot; just a little too left or too right, and her ball bounced off the whale's teeth and cost her at least one more shot, if she was lucky. It wasn't even that tough a shot; she made many much more difficult ones each time they played. Infuriating.

She tried to imagine nothing at all existed in the universe except herself, the ball, and the hole. She rocked her hips, adjusted her stance, and swung. With a quiet thwack the ball sped towards the whale's wide grin.

"She was sabotaging herself, it turned out," he finished, as the ball sailed into the center of the whale's mouth. "And hurting her husband. Not just him, either. This was the third time she had wrecked a marriage, because of her self loathing. Her pain was racking up a lot of casualties." Cain watched the ball exit the whale and plop into the hole. He beamed at her.

Magdalen hadn't meant to, but she smiled back. She couldn't help it. The Zen Golfer.

"Over and over she does this, hurting people. Herself, her husbands, the garbage men and their families. It's not one of the Seven Deadlies, but clearly it's sinful. Clearly she's hurting people, and clearly she's not part of The Solution. So," he spread his hands, "she made it onto The List."

Her lime green ball now retrieved and in hand, she brushed the chestnut hair over her shoulders, over the white cotton of her school uniform top and came up to Cain. Her eyes in his now, she asked "How many are on The List now?"

"Three," he answered, returning her look, unafraid of her in any way. He enjoyed her being this close, and thought once again he'd chosen his apprentice well. A bonus that she was nice to look at, too. He looked up at the Lawyer Guy for a moment, squinting into the afternoon sun and bringing that hand up to the back of his head again, as if contemplating as he regarded the man. "Maybe four."

...

"Faith is very important," Cain had told her, months ago, when they'd first connected, when he'd shared with her his sense of purpose. She had originally thought he was trying to pick her up, which would have been fine. Magdalen didn't mind that he was older, or that he worked at a mini-golf course. Or that she had met him while she was with Andy, the current jock she'd been dating.

Cain was clean and strong-looking, and his eyes were so penetrating, his gaze so intense. It didn't weird her out, though. It made her feel like Cain had really -seen- her, in a way hard to figure out. More than anyone else ever had.

"Without faith in what you're doing, in what we're doing, you'll crack up." They were sitting at one of the picnic tables off to the side of the course now, people and families playing around them as he sat on the table, lecturing, and she sat on the bench, listening. "You have to know with absolute certainty," his hands apart in a gesture, here, "just like the sun is going to rise tomorrow, that we're doing the right thing."

His words entranced her, his voice, as well as his sense of purpose. It felt so amazing to be a part of something now, so much bigger than herself. They got up and started another round. She remembered it starting to drizzle, and that she didn't care.

"The Seven Deadly Sins are like beacons, Maggie," he'd explained as they worked their way through the course. "They draw the forces of Karma out there, and they settle the accounts of the people who sin with them. Lust draws a certain type of punishment, as does Greed. And Sloth. The others... well, sometimes it's not easy to tell what will happen to people who sin with them, but something will -always- happen."

The conviction in Cain's voice was always absolutely clear; Magdalen had never heard someone like Cain speak. He wasn't talking about Heaven and Hell, or about clothes, or any of the silly, stupid things her friends or boys her age talked about. Cain always talked about important things, and Magdalen always paid attention.

"The thing is,' Cain confided near the 16th hole, the Pyramids, "If someone is out there causing pain and grief but not doing it through one of the Seven Deadly Sins, they're not punished by Karma." He laughed here. "I know it sounds crazy, Maggie, and I don't know if the Catholic bishop who first came up with the Seven Deadly Sins knew anything, or if he just dreamed them up and happened to be right on target. Who knows. But I know what I've seen, in my work over the years."

Their round finished now, they sat in the "Hole Lotta Fun!" concession area. It was raining then, that day she'd fist heard these words. No one else there but the two of them.

"So, they just get a free pass, then?" She asked, eyes wide. "That's not right," she said indignantly.

"Well, maybe not after they die; I have no idea what happens afterwards. But I know that the universe doesn't settle the scales with them like it does with those who commit one of the Seven Deadly Sins. So..." he said, watching her.

That gaze again, those eyes, like he was caressing her, seeing her soul, and bathing it in a kind of fire that didn't hurt. She answered, somehow, a bit timidly. "So... we help the universe out."

He nodded. "We definitely help the universe out."

"Hmmmmmm," she replied, instantly a bit embarrassed she couldn't add anything to his huge ideas. She blushed.

He just smiled, and touched her hand.

After that moment, he spent the next few months teaching her all he knew.

...

"So why aren't you a priest, Cain?" She brushed the hair out of her eyes, and snuck a glance at Lawyer Guy. "Or a cop, or something. You know, some job where you could really get into what you believe?"

Cain smiled at this, ran his hand through his dark hair in his sort of trademark gesture, and shrugged. "I think that maybe I'd enjoy that, but there're lots of rules you have to follow with those paths, and I think this way I can stay more focused on the work I do, and maybe less time being frustrated by other stuff." He reached out to her with an open hand, looking at her putter, and Magdalen handed it to him.

He drew it up, looking down the length of it carefully as if he was inspecting the finest bow for a Stradivarius cello. His brows knit, and he turned and left for a moment, going back to the rental shack. She turned and watched Lawyer Guy again for another moment, taking many more shots than par on the difficult Rodeo Hole. She wondered if he was also dishonest in other places, in his life. People say the little things in life don't matter at all, like cheating at mini golf doesn't matter. And yet somehow it -was- important, Magdalen thought. It might even be more important than the big stuff. If a guy would cheat at mini golf when he was playing by himself, what else was he capable of?

In a moment, Cain was back with a different putter. He handed it to her.

"Yea, I think maybe I wouldn't have the flexibility in those jobs to adapt to how things are sometimes." He nodded, and she knelt to tee up, the pleats of her uniform skirt falling over her knees. She looked up for a moment, seeing Cain watch Lawyer Guy. Something in her tummy, and just south, tingled. Cain was like a predator, strong and clear of purpose, now having caught a scent.

"For instance," Cain continued after a moment. "As I've said before, killing isn't absolutely necessary. I mean, if the situation can be solved by somehow intervening without killing, then by all means, do it that other way. Brings less attention, and it feels right. Always answer a part of the problem with an equal solution."

"Be flexible?" she asked, standing up, and bouncing her hips back and forth as she smiled. Cain smiled back, and nodded. She knew he watched her when she did that. He watched her hips and her body move. And she liked it.

A lot.

"It's too easy to let the little stuff get in the way of what needs to be done. Better to understand things, see them clearly, and be man enough to do them." Another smile. "Or woman enough."

"Or woman enough," she answered, rocking again unconsciously and taking the shot. Not a hole in one, but it had bounced off the castle's drawbridge, an extremely lucky bounce, into the moat and down to the lower level. Sometimes the universe spoke to you in the softest of voices, and Magdalen was getting very good at hearing it.

"Obviously..." he started, as he teed up his own shot. "...Clarity is important. It's primary to be able to read a situation, and a person. You have to be able to tell if they're sinning one of the Seven Deadlies. We don't work with people who are; the Universe will take care of them. Our job..." he looked up once, then down again at the orange ball and set it in motion with a perfect thwap. Through the castle, out the dragon's mouth, off the opposite bumper, and into the cup.

Cain looked up, smiling. "Our job is to handle the fringe cases. Take care of the Universe in the places where it doesn't seem to be able to take care of itself." There was that twinkle in his eye again. And Magdalen was starting to understand.

People everywhere, her mom, Lawyer Guy, Andy the Jock that she'd just broken up with... they'd spend their whole lives wrestling with the mundane. Getting though life, getting enough money for this or that. Worrying about the lawn, or email, or their coworker who always tried to steal credit. Not her. Not anymore, anyway. She somehow knew in the very center of who she was that if she stayed true to the singular, pure purpose that Cain had outlined for her, revealed to her like a beautiful vista that had always been there, that she'd be just fine.

Everything else in her life would fall into place.

"A man who kills people, one of those serial killers you read about. It turns out he doesn't do it out of Wrath, or Envy. He's not making money off of it, but yet in the end it turns out he was sinning one of the Deadlies. Which one was it, do you think?" Cain's eyes up, alight with the academic exercise. Magdalen was getting much better at this, and at reading these nuances in people. She chewed on her lower lip for a moment, thinking, then it came to her.

"Gluttony. He was eating them, or parts of them, wasn't he?" her smiling beaming. She knew she was right.

"Yes," Cain replied, as they walked up the steps to the Rocket Ship hole. "So, he was off The List."

She turned to him at the top of the steps, halting their progress. "What did you do?"

"Nothing," Cain said with a shrug. "He wasn't on The List. He was sinning Gluttony. Not my problem anymore. Not my job."

Magdalen's brows knit. "But there's no way you just let him go, keep killing people and eating them?" Her eyes a bit wider now, her face framed by straight chestnut hair spilling over the white cotton of her uniform blouse.

"Well, no," he smiled. "I didn't. He wasn't on my List, but I certainly helped the Universe along a bit. I called in an anonymous tip. That was the Frenchie's Mustard Killer, on the TV."

"No!" Magdalen gasped, grinning as she brought her hand up to her mouth. "The guy with three hundred bottles of Frenchie's in his fridge? They caught him because of you?"

"Well, partly, at least."

"I never heard anything about that guy eating his victims in the reports on the TV though...?"

"Well, I didn't pass that part along," Cain reflected. "They'll figure it out, maybe. It's not really important."

She considered that for a moment. "I guess not," she decided. Hmmmmmm. "My turn, new scenario."

Cain set his ball on the tee, and took another glimpse at Lawyer Guy. She followed his eyes. That guy's tie was perfect. His whole demeanor screamed rigid and tight and gotta-be-perfect. "Go ahead, new scenario," Cain said, now looking at his ball again, lining up.

She spoke. "A guy poisons the lawns of a neighborhood, but it's not Envy or Rage, even. What is it?" Her hands were on her hips now, daring him to guess. Cain was very good at this, but maybe she'd slip this one by him. It had been known to happen.

Cain took his shot, the ball slipping through the complicated mesh of rocket fins and fake fire like the obstacles weren't even there. He straightened and thought for a moment. "Greed. He's the lawn guy, and he was making major money."

"Grrrrrr" She said playfully. "How are you right all the time?"

He smiled, and gestured to the Rocket Ship hole. "Just like here. Practice makes perfect. I've had a -lot- of practice, Maggie."

"I see," she replied, stepping up to the hole as he stepped back, sensing him behind her, watching her. She shook her hips, and smiled to herself.

"How about this one," Cain began, his tone now a bit rakish. "Inspired by what you told me about Andy the Ex. A guy who causes pain and suffering by always demanding blowjobs from his girlfriends, but never ever reciprocating. Not Lust though, I'll give you that."

She felt that tingle a bit more, in her center. She was starting to work her way through her own Deadly Sin now. It was starting as an ache between her legs, and she flushed when she realized that Cain probably knew exactly what he was doing to her, with this kind of talk.

Innocent, but not.

"Sloth, of course." She hit the ball, and it rebounded off the spindly fins of the Rocket Ship. Not a surprise, certainly. There were definitely other things in her Universe at the moment, things that were distracting her, but not in a bad way.

"Would you kill him, a guy like that?" Cain asked as if he were wondering what color she'd pick for a new top she might be thinking about buying, at AF.

"Definitely," she said in an assured tone, not missing a beat. "Lazy bastard." They both laughed. "But not really. Sloth's one of the Deadlies, so he's not on The List."

Magdalen recovered with her next shot, putting the ball very near the hole. Her next shot plopped it in, and she moved next to Cain, who was regarding Lawyer Guy as he moved off the hole ahead of them, The Pyramids hole, and onto the one after that, the Wishing Well hole. She stood close to Cain, and he didn't move away. She knew he wouldn't.

"What's his story? Lawyer Guy, I mean," she asked finally.

"I've been watching him for a while," Cain admitted. "And today's the day I make a decision about him. It turns out he violates his client's trust. Sells the information." Magdalen nodded, thoughtfully. "He doesn't seem to do it for money, and so far I can't seem to find any of the other Deadlies."

"Do you follow him?" Maggie asked. She'd been right, about that gleam in Cain's eyes.

"Just here, really. I do some research; amazing what you can learn on the internet or from phone calls if you know how and where to look. But mostly I just watch him when he's here, playing. You can tell so much from a person by watching them play a round of mini golf, you know."

She knew. She watched Lawyer Guy start on the Wishing Well hole, and tried to see past his starched shirt and crisp pants and expensive shoes, feel him out and find the sin he had. Nothing seemed to come to her. Cain tapped her on the shoulder and made his circle gesture with his finger. She turned and headed to the Pyramids hole. They approached together, but she held back as Cain knelt to tee off. A thought occurred to her.

"Do you ever use special clubs when you play? I mean, working here you'd know which ones were the good ones, and maybe you'd keep one behind the counter for yourself."

"Nah, nothing like that," Cain answered in a calm voice.

Thwack as the ball was hit. The soft rustle of a bright orange ball racing across a faded green, some bounces, and the plop of it going into the hole.

"I just take whatever's there, or whatever I get handed, if I'm here in my off time," he reflected. "There was that line in one of the Star Wars movies, when young Kenobi was worried about not getting off a planet they were stranded on. Some plan had just fallen through, but the Master Jedi was calm and confident. " 'A solution will present itself,' he said. And that was that." Again, the eyes sparkled. "I try to be like that; knowing that because I'm helping the Universe out, if I need something, it will be handed to me when I need it most."

Magdalen nodded, thinking about he words. "It's more subtle, that way," she pronounced, and looked to find him smiling at her, again.

"Definitely," he said, imitating her tone when she used the word.

They worked their way through the hole. As they left it and walked to the next, Magdalen spoke.

"How are there only three people on the list?"

"If something falls into my lap, I handle it. But the only place I really look for work to do is when I'm here," he waved his hand, indicating all of Hole Lotta Fun!, including the arcade. "A pretty diverse cross section of humanity comes through here; I figure just like the putters I get handed, these are the people I'm being handed to look at, and possibly to work with. I'm sure I could go out into the wide world and find people, but this just feels right, here. It's all laid out... just like each individual hole on the course here." Cain pointed back a few holes, and Magdalen looked. "With the windmill, you watch for the blades. With the whale, you aim right for the center of his smile. With the castle, it's juuuust to the right of center, across the drawbridge. This is my territory, and I know it well. It helps me spot the little things when people come in. I try to be subtle, doing just enough."

Lawyer Guy was done, and had led them through 18 holes of what seemed to be normal mini golf. But there was something just not right about him, something that tickled the edge of Magdalen's senses. "Let's follow him to the parking lot," she said.

Cain agreed, and together they bypassed the shack where you dropped of your clubs when you were done, instead circling around to an out of the way stairway so they could watch Lawyer Guy as he went to his car. There were surprisingly few people here today, and things were quiet. Well, up until now, they had been.

They heard Lawyer Guy before they saw him; his angry voice loud and shocking, along with some crying. Cain and Magdalen peeked around the corner, very close to where Lawyer guy was venting at the top of his lungs to a white-haired woman in a walker. The transgression was a mystery, but he was yelling and leaning into the woman's space, and she was cowering back from him, clearly terrified. His face was radish red, eyes bulging.

Wrath.

Almost as soon as it started, it was over. The senior almost stumbled away, and Lawyer Guy did not follow, his face now purple with the effort of his rage. He stood looking to control himself. No one else was in the parking lot, and from where he stood, Lawyer guy was shielded from view from the course, the street, pretty much everyone.

No one just blew up like this, out of the blue, on a whim. This was him, who he was, Magdalen figured.

She sprang cat-like out into the lot, putter swinging at her side like a twirling baton. The heavy end circled around and around, whipping faster as she approached silent behind Lawyer Guy.

The sound was exactly like that of Cain sinking another hole in one; plop, and he dropped like a stone, crumpled starched white shirt and perfect tie now askew. With a broad grin and a last twirl of the putter, she was back to Cain. They went up the stairs at a leisurely pace and in moments were back on the course as if they'd never left.

Cain was smiling.

"Why did you do that?" he asked conversationally, a look of mild amusement and curiosity on his face. His eyes were in hers now, searching, and his hand was once again up at the back of his head, rubbing in the ‘awww, shucks’ gesture.

"Well, he might not have been Number Four on the list,” she explained, that lower lip caught in her teeth again. “But someone still needed to whack him upside the head, eh? I ‘helped the Universe along a bit.’ "

"I'm proud of you, Maggie. Truly." With this, he traced a finger along her forearm, and she flushed immediately, turning one foot in and bringing her shoulders close.

A good thing, eh?" she managed, her cheeks hot. “I'd hate to have to whack you with a putter."

"Hate? Wrath-hate?" Cain asked, with a smile.

"Well, you know what I mean. But don't worry. I can sin one or two of the Deadlies, too. I'm not on your List."

- edited by Tammy thank you soooo much. : )

Sin post, first post, yippideedoo

CAN YOU GUESS WHICH ONE IT IS?!
--
Although the young Derren Anderson was not the kind of man who frequently got in trouble, he had, as of late, found himself with an increasing dislike of the local police. The reasons for this were simple: as someone who had committed a murder, he had to actually pay attention to the police's activities and insure that no one found out, and as someone quick to anger, he found himself rather annoyed at the presumptuousness of it all. Rather that he just slip away; it wasn't like he was going to do it again, right?

Right.

Regardless, it was summer; a hot, terrible summer, with wind drawn from the breath of hell itself, and that too annoyed Derren. He had spent the day before the murder stomping about the Corgrove Falls municipal park, giving any who would not flee immediately a well-packaged rant on the evils of humanity, how their stupidity and short-sightedness had led to this, and in ten years we'll all have to live underground in air conditioned caves, just you wait and see, and it's probably your fault too you know! And the people would typically cower in terror, at which point Derren would be so disgusted with his listener that he would stomp and sweat and slime his way somewhere else.

But that's not really where the story is, is it? What you'd like to know is, how could someone -- even someone as quick to spark as Derren -- commit a murder? Anger is one thing, but violence to match! Well, as I have already said, it was summer, and summer makes madmen of us all. Although, trampling through gardens for a full day without stopping to drink (the water fountains were absolutely foul) was probably not particularly good for young Derren's mental health, either. He had had truly fitful dreams that night; of the icecaps melting and crushing his extended family, leaving their money to him; only to find that the money they had promised was in fact a single giant cigarette; which, upon smoking, released a foul smoke that became a living thing hunting him; and, finding no escape; no escape at all. Began. To. Cry.

It is said that all humans have some measure of empathy and of that fleeting emotion we call love. Even the most monstrous of the monsters: Hitler, Stalin, Genghis Khan; even they must have, at some small corner of their blackened and shriveled hearts, felt longing and desire and fear. Thus we must assume it is so for Derren Andersen, although it makes it hard to understand. He woke up in a panic, angry at himself -- angry at himself! -- for having such a sad and pathetic dream. He wrote it down, though, as he wrote down all his dreams, for memory and for clarity and to chart his emotional growth for the psychologist his father had appointed him, that old bastard. The diary was small and bound in black leather, and since it sat at the side of his bed he didn't have to get up. And so he didn't.

Instead, he thought forwards, to the wonders of the day and the good things it might potentially bring. Yes, it was hot. Yes, his small one-bedroom apartment's air conditioning had broken two nights previous. Even so... even so... his mind struggled to come to terms with his situation.

Even so...

Ah, yes! The delightful Catherine Jones. She would be working at The Hub today. She hadn't shown her much kindness in the past, but her drinks had always been cold and well-mixed, and she actually talked with him instead of cowering like some stupid sissy when his voice got that trademark growl that indicated extreme anger was about to emit from his body like beta radiation. There was, in fact, a bright spot in his day. And so he fixated on it. When he brushed his teeth, he thought of using his mouth in ways not fit for proper publication here; when he looked in the mirror, he could see the fine oak panels of The Hub behind him.

This continued for some time. Unfortunately, it is not particularly interesting to watch a man waste the day writing letters to the newspaper and looking at online forums, so we shall skip ahead somewhat.

Evening had fallen, a silky velvet sky wrapped luxuriously across the city. It was surprisingly clear; although the local bar was some distance between street lights, it still reflected the twinkling of stars and the moon finer than any jewel. It was this jewel where the angriest residents conglomerated, where stories were shared and letdowns commiserated. The Hub. It was an old, old structure -- or at least, built to look that way -- about twice as long as it was wide, with the bar itself a dark gray slate upon which innumerable glasses were stacked. Tables dotted the area beyond the bar, and followed the wall east to the bathrooms; these were, naturally, of a simple wood, for simple patrons. Most people came in groups of 3 or 4 and sat down at one of these tables; sadly, the bar itself was not typically meant for patrons to linger near.

Young Derren Anderson, however, had a very good reason to linger, and although it was uncomfortable to stand for hours on end with little more than a countertop to rest one's weight upon, Derren did just that, and time and again attempted to make conversation with the delightful Catherine. She had beautiful twinkling grey eyes, and a small nose that wrinkled in empathetic disgust as Derren explained in an uncharacteristically deep voice how poorly treated at work he was (which was, in and of itself, not entirely a lie; when he had chance to work, some time ago, they had indeed been mostly indifferent to and ignorant of the young man, which caused him no small amount of vexation).

"Wow," she would explain, or perhaps "Jeez" every once in a while. Derren's smile was growing, and for once in his life, he found himself running out of things to complain about.

The realization that such stupidity was as finite as it was rampant hit him, and so the next time Catherine walked by, Derren asked if she would like to come home with him after work. She smiled, bittersweet and cold, and said in lyrical sonnet, "Y'know, that sounds like fun, but I promised my boyfriend I'd meet him instead." Derren walked away.

How could this be? Well, no, that wasn't quite the question the young Derren was looking for -- it was pretty damn clear how it could be. Rather, how could that bitch have led him on so well for so long? Fucking slut! It was ridiculous to have fallen so foolishly for such a dumb stupid goddamn fucking bitch, and he let himself know it. Pacing outside the Hub's side entrance, his hands clenched and unclenched in a steady rhythm. He was talking to himself, so fast and so low it sounded more like a moan of anguish than the stream of expletives it had shown itself to be. How? How?

He picked up a glass bottle -- Malibu Coconut Rum -- and slammed it fruitlessly against the brick wall. Naturally, it shattered, and small bits of glass peppered young Derren's hand. Miraculously, the head of the bottle remained, a twisted jagged thing that reminded Derren of his heart, before he realized how pathetic-sounding that was and made it remind him of his anger. Retribution. That's what it looked like. This bottle of Malibu was the flaming sword of retribution. He'd dealt with stupidity before, and it always stared at him with blank eyes. He would take those eyes, he would take those stupid fucking eyes and --
The door opened. As The Hub was, despite its ancient accoutrements, a modern and well-kept sort of pub, it did not creak. Catherine walked out. Had she heard? Would she apologize?
Unfortunately for us, Derren did not give Catherine enough time to do whatever it was she was going to do, and that little fact has slipped into history. He jumped, and managed to wedge a particularly wicked part of the bottle into her neck. Her wide beautiful eyes (grey) opened, and then went blind. Derren Andersen grit his teeth, he breathed heavily through his nose. Stupid bitch deserved it.

He ran.

Which leads us to now, several months later, with fall fast approaching and Derren still unseen by the local law enforcement. Which was curious, because as he saw it, being cautious was annoying and frustrating, but in many cases it still wasn't enough. Why hadn't they come for him yet? The anger boiled in his stomach, but he hadn't eaten in three days, so he had nothing left to vomit up. A knock came, sudden and violent, causing the much-aged Derren to jump in his seat underneath the table. He clutched the bottle handle like a mother cradling a child, and got up to answer the door.

Sins

Ok so here's my idea for next week. Pick one of the seven deadly sins and write a story around that idea showing humanity at it's worst. If you guys totally hate this idea then let me know and i'll come up with something else.