*This was a writing assignment that was due on the 19th of January.  Again, it was only supposed to be one page long. We were to write a series of vignettes (very short stories) that culminate into a larger one. The prompt was to compose a story based off of one of the seven deadly sins. Orginally, I was going to write about gluttony or pride, but I ended up letting my pen lead me, and I ended with wrath– a common sin to write about. I hope you all find this enjoyable. I’ll be trying to compose some more poetry shortly. Cheers. ~Chels*

What not to do: Don’t let Brick stand dead square where I told him not to. “Move. Damn it. I told you to stand so the light hits you so. Chin up. Look at the sun. No! Not that far. How many times do I have to tell you?”
***
“I think it’d be better if I stood here and posed like this…” Peter said.

Snap. I flash the camera in his face. “Move it. Come on. Don’t have all day. Got to get this shot. Got to get the picture. More photos, more money.” Peter moves his hand to his hip and arches his body a little more toward the light. Not much better.
***
Jed bends his head just so the hard line of his jaw is exposed to the lens. He runs his hand through his hair so that his bicep seems perkier than it would at his side. I snap the shot. “Tilt your head a little more.” Jed looks into the light. This kid has talent. He needs little direction. I get the shot, and I buy him a beer.
***
But then there’s Brick and Peter. Separate, they are awful. Together, they are hideous. I tell them, cock their heads. “Look less gay. You’re friends, not lovers. This isn’t Abercrombie, look rugged. Warriors, that’s what you are.”

The camera goes click. Flash, Flash, Flash. Stop. “What did I tell you Brick? Quit looking like a pansy, Peter.”
***
Brick is stupid. You can’t tell him anything. I pop a cigarette in my mouth and watch the kid bumble around the set. When’s he going to learn that when the light hits him like that he looks like freaking Bea Arthur on steroids? I flash the camera once, twice, and put the lens cover on.

“What are you? Some kind of idiot?” I scream at Brick.

“No,” he says.

“Why do you never do what I tell you?”

Shrug.

“Get off my set.”

I don’t get the shot.
***
Something in me is seething. I can feel it—the poison coursing through, pumping my heart rate so that I start to shake. Where is he? Now, he’s late. I’ve had it. How am I supposed to get the shot? How can I get the job done when there’s no kid? Brick better show. Or I’ll punch his face. I’ll break that two-hundred-dollar-an-hour smile.

Brick stumbles in; he’s plastered.

“What the Hell? I’ve been waiting for a half hour now.”

The kid smiles, his teeth twinkle at me.

I clench my jaw. I can’t throw him out again. I have to get this shot.

“Get dressed. We don’t have time for games,” I say. “And make my time worthwhile for once. You’ve already wasted enough of it.”

Brick’s eyes flicker—some darkness overtakes them. He clenches his fist. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

Enough.

I take my camera and flash it in his face. “What’s the matter, sweetheart, can’t take the heat?” I snap it in his face again, blinding him. The kid stumbles backwards into a wardrobe rack, taking it with him to the floor. I follow him down and keep clicking the camera in his face. “Let’s go. Come on. I don’t have all day.”

Brick meets my eyes, his face surprised. Then the darkness seeps in completely. He grabs my camera from my hands and chucks it across the room. Then he takes hold of my shoulders and picks me up like I’m as light as a camera strap. He carries me to where the artificial sun stands and forces my jaw upward.

“No, Cassie,” he sneers. “How many times do I have to tell you? Look into the light.” He forces my face into the blinding light. “I don’t have all day here.”

I latch onto his hands with my nails and dig in. Around me, everyone—assistants, other models—stand still. Brick lifts me higher then he throws me to the concrete floor.

“I’m off your set,” he says and walks out.

***

I lie in the cot the hospital designated to me. Smells like old people in here. The white walls and bay windows would work perfectly for a shoot.

-Chels

*Okay, before anyone reads this, I wrote it in between classes. And it is a joke– nothing else! My friend, Kayla, is going to be making it into a graphic novel, so check back for that!*

Gwen McClullers jabbed Phoebe in the back of the head. “Didn’t ya hear Ma? She said to quit it.”

The walls were the kind of white that if you pressed against them the stamp of your body would show. Phoebe had already tracked muddy leaves in on the wood floors, and Gwen was worried she’d mess something else up and get them kicked out.

“Now, just sit here. Cindy’ll be back soon. She’ll tell us what to do,” Gwen said.

Three months ago, Cindy had come to their trailer with some of those triangle sandwiches that have the crust cut off and asked Gwen and Phoebe to be in her wedding; they couldn’t hardly believe it. She said she needed Gwen and Phoebe as a junior bridesmaid and a flower girl. They hadn’t even figured they’d be invited to the wedding. Now they were going to be in it! Of course, Ma had raised a mess. She said she couldn’t afford to buy them dresses. And, yet, that is all Gwen wanted—to be whisked away by her own Prince Charming. They had begged and pleaded with Ma. Finally, she relented, but only after Cindy said she’d pay for everything. Cindy could afford it, Ma said.

And now they are here, standing in the biggest church in Cleveland—people just outside the bridal suite’s door, fluttering around the chapel like bats on acid. Gwen envisioned it was her wedding day. She pretended that her lavender dress was white and flowing back behind her in a train like the one she had seen in pictures of Princess Diana on her wedding day. And, on her head, instead of a veil like Cindy’s, sat a tiara hidden among the curls she had had piled high.

Phoebe yawned, accidentally elbowing Gwen in the gut, causing her to release a gush of air.

“Phoebe, be careful. You heard Ma. You best not break nothing or they’ll throw us out of here,” Gwen hissed.

Phoebe’s eyes got all big, but, before she could reply, a woman dressed as a princess came through the door, almost knocking Phoebe in the head.

“Oh, sorry, honey,” the princess said. She bent low and bestowed a kiss to Phoebe’s forehead.

The princess looked energized—she kept twitching her eyes, which kept going all over the place like they were thinking about stuff way too fast. Her dress, made of white but decked in jewels that glittered in the light, shimmered if she moved at all. The gold of the Princess’s hair fluttered as she picked up the folds of her gown and stepped around Gwen and Phoebe.

“Girls,” she said. “I need you to stand at the front of the line here and, when the music starts, walk through the lobby, into the chapel, and down the aisle.”

Gwen moved to the front of the line, making sure Phoebe stood before her. And, when the organist began, she made sure her sister walked forward to distribute the flowers along the carpeted aisle. Gwen went soon after, and she was followed by the other bridesmaids. Then, finally, the Princess came out. She glided up the aisle, and it seemed like she wasn’t moving her legs at all.

Gwen looked at the Princess’s prince then. The Prince smiled at his bride and his adam’s apple slid down, as he swallowed. He removed one of his hands from where it had been crossed in front of him and wiped his upper lip. Gwen looked back at the Princess and saw her smile back at her prince. Tears flowed down her face. When she reached the Prince, they held each other’s hands and gave a short laugh. Then the man dressed in black began to speak and the couple pledged their lives to each other. To Gwen, the Princess looked incredibly happy—her smile clean and white and her dress the same.

And then it was over. The Princess and Prince walked down the aisle—man and wife forever and ever and everyone followed them out of the church. They stood at the doors, everyone cheered them, and they lived happily ever after.

But, wait!

The Princess and the Prince stood there. They were going to live happily ever after but just as the Prince stepped off of the church step, a fireball fell from the sky—unseen by all—and landed on his head. Prince Charming was obliterated. It was like he never existed at all.

For alternate endings, pick your poison:

A. I was just dumped.
B. My boyfriend/husband/significant other cheated.
C. I am just straight up happy being single, yo.
D. I’m a sap, and I want to see him live!

A. The Princess and the Prince stood there. They were going to live happily ever after but just as the Prince stepped off of the church step, John Wilkes Booth stepped out from behind the doors to the church and shot Prince Charming dead right there. His head was obliterated. It’s not like he ever used it anyways.

B.The Princess and the Prince stood there. They were going to live happily ever after but just as the Prince stepped off of the church step, a grizzly bear came bounding from the crowd—ignoring the onlookers—right toward him. Sadly, before the Prince even had a chance to run, the bear mauled him right there and then (I can testify to the fact that he screamed louder than a woman giving birth to a ten-pounder). The bear tore him limb from limb. I’m pretty sure his blood didn’t taste like honey.

C.The Princess and the Prince stood there. They were going to live happily ever after but just as the Prince stepped off of the church step, Beyonce floated down from the sky, landing right in front of him. She proceeded to sing a song about women empowerment and the Prince dropped dead on the spot. He couldn’t handle a strong woman. Sucker.

D.Yeah, right. Go read another blog!

-Chels