The Art of Sin

 

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The Art of Sin

   I used to love the United States, bumbling humans milling about throughout their lives believing in some form or another that they are important.  Sinning isn't just a hobby for these people, it's an art form and no one paints these scenes better than big business.  McDonald's, for example, is pure gluttony on your street corner shoveling crap food substitute down your throats. Its sneaky underhanded sin making you pay to sin more, truly devilish.  However I take my sinister roots in the halls of the New York Stock Exchange.

    I was leaving soon, the  tired old skin sack I was wearing was a CEO of some bank or something. It wouldn't matter much longer, I thought smugly.  He had a wife, two kids, and a mistress in the city.  He had a home that he gained by foreclosing on some sorry schmuck who defaulted on a loan.  This man had set reservations in hell for some of its swankiest tortures, but it just wasn't enough.  He deserved more, call it honor, call it justice, call it what ever you will, but I just needed to make sure his time in hell was as unsatisfactory as demonically possible.

     I had just dumped the rest of his money into a bum stock.  When it failed he would lose everything.  I shook out of him, pulling my ethereal form out from his gullet.  Now was the time to sit back and enjoy the chaos.  The CEO was disoriented and confused, as one should be after a one week blackout.  He jerked his head around the familiar settings, running one hand through his hair and putting one hand into his left pocket.  Then he felt it.  If I could have smiled in my true form I would have.  He pulled the crinkled receipt from his pocket and unraveled it reading it slowly again and again trying to find a mistake.   A thousand words of hate and anguish spouted out from the man.  His meltdown in the crowd was spectacular, chest heaving, fists flailing, voice breaking as he strained his vocal chords.  His sinful spiral down to hell confirmed, until a young man approached.  "Having a bad day?" he asked.

"More like hellish," the older man sighed, "I emptied all my accounts into a stock... I'm ruined."  

    The young man pondered this for a moment then pulled out a check book scribbling down a number before presenting it to the older man.  "Here this won’t cover it all, but it should help," he said and then walked away before he could be thanked.  The CEO stood there, stunned, and pulled out his cell phone, finger on the call button over his mistress’s portrait.  No no no, I thought while rushing to re-possess him, but I was sent sprawling!  “We need to talk,” he said as he left.  It was too late, he was saved.  The damned moment of turn around, forgiveness, amends; and I led him to it!  I hate the United States, the land of opportunity and second chances.     

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Christy DiLella

Wonderful first short Read for Chris....great job

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