Keen stood, wondering just how much the universe could hate one individual so much as to build all their hopes and dreams into fruition, just to rip everything out from under their feet. The rocky bottom hurt so much more after standing at the top for so long. It figured that every friend that had been around when things were good had disappeared the moment trouble started. All that ‘I don’t want to get in the middle of it’ bullshit was just so they could save face in the aftermath and attach to the victorious party. They were all vile leeches.
Carrying the laundry basket and backpack off the bus, the only possessions remaining from her three year rein in the sun, Keen looked around the seedy neighborhood and hastily retreated to the decrepit house labeled 215.
Everything else was gone.
Most of the dishes, the TVs, every piece of furniture and just about everything else that had once belonged to Keene was, due to the power of money-hungry lawyers, no longer hers.
Fine.
Whatever.
Not like she needed much, anyway.
The bus stop was two blocks away through some sketch-looking neighborhood deep on the other side of the tracks, sandwiched between two interstates. The smell of backed-up sewer and the bitter chemical smell of a possible meth lab mixed with the wonderful aroma of hot pavement and rust to create an awe-inspiring fragrance that clung to her sinuses. Not in a good way.
Keeping her head down, she walked as quickly as she dared to her new dwelling, avoiding the eyes of curious neighbors. Some kids in mismatched shoes and torn clothing approached the edges of dirt lawns to stare.
She breathed a sigh of relief when she reached her own barred-windowed shack and slid the key in the lock. Slid may be the wrong word. Forced was more appropriate, followed by jiggling and sliding it in and out until the tumbler finally cooperated. This repeated for the other two locks. Then the door stuck and almost came off the hinge when she tried to open it, causing her to drop one side of the laundry basket and spill everything across the porch and linoleum square of the entry. After a small tantrum involving kicking her few possessions into the house, she slammed the door shut and looked at the hardware. The bottom door hinge was loose.
The smell of old carpet and stale cigarette smoke would be her welcome. She had paid the landlord an extra 250 to ‘furnish’ the place, and she looked around at her new belongings.
The house was a one bedroom, one bath. The kitchen, dining area, laundry, and bathroom shared the same space, with a thin wall separating the bath from the kitchen. The bath and laundry to one side, the sink, stove and ancient refrigerator on the other. The bathroom door also stuck, with everything looking like it had never been replaced or cleaned since the 80’s. The bathroom was tiny. A small corner shower made of cinderblocks and a hap-hazard shower curtain closed the space in with barely any elbow room between it and the stacked toilet-sink. The space for the washer and dryer stood empty and were marked by a plywood and 2x4 custom platform to accommodate the rotting floor. The three-foot difference between the two sides made her feel claustrophobic.
The bedroom was also tiny, and seemed to be modeled after a jail cell. It had a full sized futon mattress that took up all but two feet along one length and the foot. There was also a plastic set of drawers as a nightstand. The dresser was snugly tucked into an open nook used as a closet (via a curtain rod hanging from wires in the ceiling) and was three drawers tall, about three feet wide, and sported a peeling veneer finish. The drawers stuck as she unloaded what clothing she had into it. There was a plywood diy door along that same wall that opened to the tiny water heater and piping that fed the sink and shower on the other side. This ate up the other three feet of the width of the room. The length was between 8 or 9 feet, and opened to the living room, separated by sheet on another curtain rod. The living room ran the 15 foot of the bedroom and kitchen, and was roughly 6 feet wide as well.
The living room had a bean-bag, a rickety coffee table with an ancient TV/dvd combo, and a tv tray that could be raised or lowered.
She dropped her two forks, spoons and knives into a drawer and placed her single plate, bowl, and glass into the one over-head cabinet. The cereal and ramen went into that same cabinet with her powdered milk.
Then she went and sat on the beanbag.
It exploded, coughing thousands of tiny foam beads across the lawn-and-turf carpet of the living room.
She balled her fists and pushed at her eyes, leaning her head back.
This would not break her.
Not an effing bean-bag chair.
The next two weeks went by with her walking the four blocks to the Gas and Grub convenient store where she had managed to gain employment. She worked the night shift, behind the thick bullet guard and metal bars for the majority of the night, just a few hours at the start of her shift serving at the grill.
Two weeks into her new life, the bane of her existence showed up at her house in HER spider and presented her with new papers from the lawyer, attended by the police. When she started to argue with him, the police officer stepped in and ‘mollified’ the 'confrontation' - absolute effing manure - and suggested that she do as the cretin suggested before things got worse.
They left, and the woman retreated to the ‘comfort’ of her shower. After getting one guilty pleasure installed (a tankless water heater) she curled up and squeezed into a sitting position and allowed the steaming water to wash over her.
She reached out of the shower and picked up the bottle from the floor. She took a substantial pull of the golden contents and sighed as the rum warmed her from the inside. Her heart was frozen and suffering from frostbite. She knew no amount of alcohol would thaw it out, she just wanted the pain to go away for a while.
This time though, there was no such luck waiting for her at the bottom of the bottle. When the last drop fell on her tongue, she reached up and fumbled the knob off. Standing was a bit of a chore, but after a few attempts, she managed to wrap a towel around herself, stumble from the stall, and stare at her wavering reflection.
Anger erupted from the fissure within her, and her fist connected with the reflective glass. Shards sprayed the sink and toilet, some skittered into the shower and her knuckles sported the bloody marks of her outburst.
She cursed as the pain, delayed as it was, trudged up her arm. She turned the water on and rinsed the cuts, watching the blood go down the drain. It may have been minutes, it may have been seconds later that the thought struck her. Not for the first time, but definitely the hardest, she considered dragging a shard across her wrists.
Before the thought fully settled, she had clutched a larger shard and fell back into the shower. She turned the water back on, towel and all, and pressed the glass to her pulse. She sucked in a breath, closed her eyes, tightened her wrist, and felt resistance when she jerked the mirror shard.
Blessedly, it didn’t hurt.
She opened her eyes, expecting to see blood, but saw only steam. Her vision was blurry and distorted, but she felt… a hand… on her wrist. When she tried to pull back, something held her there.
“No.” a deep male voice said in the bathroom. Then the blurry, steamy room fully came into view. The room was not blurry. The room, despite the heat of the shower, was well ventilated through the fan in the ceiling. The foggy, slightly blurry and translucent silhouette of a man crouched before her, holding her wrist in one hand and the bottle in the other. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. He shook his head. “No” he repeated.
“Why?!” she screeched, addressing one thing at a time. “What is left?!” she made an ugly sobbing sound. “I'm talking to imaginary people!”
“There is much left. This will pass. It will get better.” he rubbed her wrist and sighed “And I am not imaginary. None of us are.”
She snorted indignantly. “Never been this drunk.” she giggled. “Can you bring me a unicorn and a steak? Or a salad? Fuck it's been a long time on cereal and ramen.” she rubbed her stomach. “And who else is here?” The man pulled gently on her wrist, his fingers phasing through her skin partially before she felt the pull.
“There are seven of us.” he said, pointing at her towel and turning his back. “I think it's time we all met, officially.”
“Geeze Wrath. Cut it close, dincha?” a female voice growled. The voice was thick with a southern accent. “Thought we were toast there for a sec.”
“I didnt want to intervene unless she absolutely needed it.”
“She sure as hell needed it you bafoon.” said another, more enunciated and rigid female voice stated. “We need to get it together. Obviously, we haven’t done much for her.”
“What…. The fu-” Keen slurred, entering the blacked out bedroom and tugging the chain to turn on the light. There were seven foggy people in her room. Foggy, but becoming more substantial.
“And here we are.” The one she recognized as the man from the shower stood and sunk part-way into the floor as he moved to her side. “I am Wrath.”
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“Wrath.” she deadpanned.
“Yes.”
“As in… street name? Gang name? Nickname? The hell was in that drink?” The last part was a mutter as the room tilted and the figures shimmered for a moment. When she leveled out and cleared her vision, the figures had some color to them. Wrath was sporting a brown leather jacket over a gray FireFly tee and bluejeans that were actually blue. His hair was blonde, and his eyes were hazel.
She looked around at the others, staring at her intently.
A young teen stood and spoke “I am Greed.”
Followed by an old lady “And I am lust.” Her voice was the stern enunciated voice from earlier. Next was a girl near Keen’s age, laying on the bed. She waved and grumbled “Sloth”. A late teens, early twenties man in business suit stood and moved to shake her hand stating “I am pride. It is a pleasure to meet you.” she slowly shook his hand, which did not pass through her skin nearly as much as Wrath’s had, and it was more firm. Substantial.
Keen met eyes with a woman who looked her up and down and stated dismissively that she was Gluttony. The last figure in the room stepped forward and in a thick louisiana accent said that she was Envy.
“What are you?”
“We, dear Keene, are the spirits of the seven deadly sins.”
“The what.” she deadpanned again.
“The seven deadly sins.” wrath said slower. “We are spirits, or ghosts, representing the seven deadly sins.”
“And why are you here?”
“To help you.”
“Not buying it.” Keene turned and stumbled out to the living room to curl up on her beanbag, since her drunk mind thought the party of seven needed the bed more. “Night.” she collapsed onto the taped-up chair and pulled the old throw blanket over her.
Several hours later she awoke to arguing in the kitchen. It took her a moment to fully emerge into a painful, hung-over consciousness. And even then, she wasn't sure if what she remembered was fact or dream. So, knowing this was how horror movies started, she went in search of the commotion and followed the voices of the people who had entered her home uninvited.
The three figures froze when she rounded the corner, grasping her towel tightly.
“Ah…. sorry. We get carried away.” Envy drawled. “We’re not used to being real.”
Yeah. and that was a statement she could definitely live without hearing again.
“Why are you here?” keene asked again, rubbing her temple.
“To help.”
“Why now?”
“We’ve always been around. We are your spirits.” the old lady stated, waving her hand to the others entering the room.
They stood before her. The youngest two were Sloth and Pride, then Envy, followed by Wrath, greed and Gluttony, then lust.
“Lets say that I believe this malarkey. Answer a few questions.”
“Sure.” Pride said. “We will help in whatever way we can.”
“If you have all always been with me… why the stark age differences?”
“We age depending on our value to you.” Lust answered, cutting Pride off. Keene looked at Lust and Pride.
“I don't understand.” she whispered.
“I am Lust, therefore, if you valued lust I would be young and active.” she chuckled. “But in recent years, I have not been on your mind.” She nodded to Keene. “Fear not, I bear no ill will. We can not die, but only gain or lose our energy. Our essence, as needed”
“And as Pride, I have always been youthful because you have always valued me. Though, the past few months have aged me… you have had to put me aside to… do what was needed.”
“There have been a few of us who have seen sudden changes.” Wrath stated, looking at the back of his hands, “You never were a wrathful person…” he looked to Greed, “Or Greedy. We were older than Lust not long ago. Even Gluttony has seen a power boost.”
“So, before my life turned to shambles, I valued… Envy, Sloth, and Pride?” Keene whispered.
“More so than the rest of us, yes." Wrath stated. "If you want the actual running, it was Pride, Sloth, Envy, Gluttony, Lust, Greed, and myself.”
“Pride, sloth, and envy. That sounds like… a terrible person.”
“Ba! Do you even know who you are?” Gluttony asked, then continued before Keene could answer “Of course not. Everyone has their own set of sins, girl. In any kind of combination of values. It's how you use your values that matter. Pathetic.” she scoffed and left the room.
“And her deal?” Keene asked, resigned to the weirdness. This had to be a dream.
“That's gluttony for you. Honestly, she could have been a Wrath.” Wrath glared after Gluttony, closed his eyes and turned back to the conversation.
“But she is right.” Envy stated, looking back to the doorway. “Everyone has their own sins. But every sin is not intrinsically bad.”
“A steak knife is not bad, but can be pretty useful in killing people." Wrath interjected. "Is it the knife’s fault? No. It’s who used it and how.” Pride beamed at Wrath, who glared down at the kid.
“So, I am not a bad person?” Keene asked, the warning bells in the back of her mind chiming along with a warning of ‘GOING CRAZY’ as she delved deeper into conversation with SPIRITS OF THE SEVEN DEADLY SINS.
“Hell no.” Wrath said, smiling at her. “And I am absolutely fucking nuclear that some little farquad-wannabe had the galls -”
“Wrath!” Lust barked. “Calm down. We can not do anything about it right now. Let us handle what we can.”
“So, can you guys tell me a little about how I have used you?” Keene asked, trying to understand.
“It's not so much that you use us, hun." Envy mused, trying to find the correct words. "It’s that… your nature calls on us to help you through something. Depending on your nature, the aid will be different. We are who we are because you are who you are. Or were.”
“What do you mean were,” Keene asked, becoming distinctly uncomfortable as she remembered the feel of the mirror on her skin. Her stinging knuckles and the fact that she was still wearing only a towel proving the events of earlier.
“Wrath is no longer the least of your values. You have changed. It happens a lot.” Pride stated.
“And how will that affect me?” She'd definitely meant to bleed out.
“I will have more of a say in the decisions make.” Wrath breathed, lounging against the fridge with eyes closed.
“Are you telling me I dont make my decisions?” Wrath opened one eye to peer at her, feeling anger quicken her pulse.
“We lean you toward one or more things, but you ultimately make your own decision. We are spirits. Nothing more.” Lust enunciated, waving to herself. "I'd be much younger if I could control you."
“So how will having a younger Wrath affect how my suggestions are made?”
“You are more likely to be angry, and less likely to be forgiving.”
“So… all of my decisions feed off my value of you?” Keene reasoned, closing her eyes.
“Essentially, yes.” Pride confirmed.
“Earlier, in the shower?”
“That is part of Wrath.” Wrath spoke quietly. “You have not used me in so long, and you are feeding so much from me… it’s overwhelming.”
“I get that you are increased, powered-up as you said… but Greed?” Keene asked, curious as to how she had been feeding from him recently.
“Ah, that. You have been taking all the extra shifts you can, regardless if others may need them too.” Greed spoke. The example made sense, but Keene felt she had to justify herself.
“First come first serve, and have you seen my house?” She needed to get back on her feet. Her co-workers had been there for years. They had plenty of time.
“There is the feeding from Greed and Wrath.” Lust spoke up. “That is not something that would have been acceptable to you in months past.” She was right.
“Every ‘I want’ thought from you is from my influence.” Greed stated. “And I want you to use it more.” Keene looked at him and back to the floor in thought.
“Then why were you not a high value before? I went shopping and did greedy things all the time….”
“HAHA no. You went shopping for others. You bought for others, only rarely yourself. And then only when necessary.” he paused. “But now you want those things you once bought for others, for yourself. You want the gifts back that were given to you. You want your fair share back. And I can't say that it is an unreasonable desire. You were selfless for far too long.”
“We watched this all coming, knowing it was coming, but we exist and must abide by certain laws. We could not interfere unless it was absolutely necessary.”
“You say that everyone has their own set of sins, but suicides happen every day…” Keene stated, looking at the group with doubt.
“The laws leave very little room in which we can maneuver. There was a small window during which Wrath could interfere.” Pride stated.
“Why did it have to be you?” she asked, turning to Wrath.
“Because I was the most powerful at that time. Pride was the next option, but he was hurting too.”
“Hurting?”
“The old saying of ‘wounded pride’ holds merit, doll.” Lust said as she came alongside Wrath. “We are all affected by you. We empower you, and you us, and we all hurt together.” Keene wasn't sure she liked that.
Gluttony entered the room and wrapped her arms around Greed. “I think we deserve some food. REAL FOOD.” she spoke, but it had an odd cadence to it, like it was echoing.
Greed looked up “I definitely want some pampering. I want a steak and a loaded baked potato and a new recliner and a new table-”
“Greed….” Sloth grumbled. “We had to push pretty hard for the water heater. Calm down. Not like we have the funds to go to the steakhouse, anyway.”
“We can whip up some quesadillas, though. We are a pretty good cook, you know.” Pride boasted.
“Yeah… and we have the day off tomorrow. We can just sit around and watch firefly and Serenity again. Or run through another Harry Potter marathon.” Sloth agreed.
“Marvel, anyone?” Wrath interrupted.
“Can we order pizza tomorrow?” Gluttony asked. “A large pepperoni and Mushroom?”
“I think Dominoes has a coupon running for the rest of the month…” Pride started, “And you’ve worked damn hard. You deserve it.”
“Damn right you do!” Wrath chirped, followed by a chorus of approval.
“You are nothing but bones, love.” Lust added, “Nothing to grab onto!” she pinched at Keenes waist. “A pizza would do you good.”
That solved it. Quesadillas tonight and pizza tomorrow. She had about around ninety dollars left in her account until Friday, anyway. What else would she spend it on? She ran to her room, changed, and returned to the kitchen. Wrath turned to her fridge and pulled out a wine cooler, passing it to Keene.
“Let's get cooking then,” she stated with a grin. Pride beamed, sloth slumped in the corner and Wrath went and turned her phone’s youtube on. Soon enough, Keene was dancing with her sins as she made a dozen quesadillas.
“Eat up!” she cheered.
“Uh… We don't actually eat…” Sloth slurred from the corner, drowsy.
“But hey, freeze those and BAM! Quick dinner on those horrible nights when we have to do everything but tie wrath down!” Lust licked her lips at Wrath, who winked back. Keene wasn't sure she wanted to explore that too deeply, considering Lust looked like her grandmother. Lust looked at her, “Hun, I wasn't always an old lady. Remember High School?”
“Yeah, no thank you.” Keene mumbled, turning red. These people knew too much about her.
“Of course we know too much about you. We are you