Envy (4 of 6)

(Credit: DrewTheUnquestioned on DeviantArt,  drewtheunquestioned.deviantart.com/art/Manifestation-of-Sin-Envy-84326679)

(Credit: DrewTheUnquestioned on DeviantArt, drewtheunquestioned.deviantart.com/art/Manifestation-of-Sin-Envy-84326679)

Gary slumped onto the bed with a grunt. Why did Henry always get all the attention? He wasn’t even that good a cook. In fact, he wasn’t even fully trained because his stupid master died too early. But even though he was just an apprentice the family still agreed to hire him, the lucky bastard. And now Laura was favouring him. And why? Gary had been there longer. Was he not dependable? Was he not always ready to do her bidding? And had he ever complained even when she gave him undesirable tasks? It was unfair, so very unfair! He pulled his hair. If only he has a picture of Henry to rip apart. If only he could rip Henry apart without consequences.

The door to his room slammed open and he jumped. The doorway was filled by a furie, he even thought he heard sparks crackling in the air.

‘Gary!’ said Aurelia.

‘Ladyship,’ Gary went down on one knee.

‘I hear you’ve seen something.’

‘Seen something, your ladyship?’ Gary looked at the hem of her dress with wrinkled brow.

Aurelia looked behind her and his room seemed to lighten slightly. Then she stepped inside and closed the door.

‘At lunch,’ she said, ‘did something happen? Something out of the ordinary?’

He could feel her eyes scorching the top of his head, but suddenly it was not entirely unpleasant. The only question was how to tell Aurelia about the terrible thing he had witnessed. And he would have to suppress the smile until she was gone.

Roses

(Credit: funmozar.com/black-rose)

(Credit: funmozar.com/black-rose)

‘I do love roses,’ she said, caressing the red petals with a finger. ‘Do you love roses too?’

‘Uh, s-sure,’ he said. The fragrance in the garden made him feel slightly light headed.

‘Did you come here to see my roses?’ she asked.

‘Actually,’ he began, but then she threw a black lock over her shoulder and smiled at him and instead of continuing: ‘I was just lost’, he said: ‘I came to see you.’

She chuckled and he was reminded of silver bells.

‘I have white roses too,’ she said, ‘and pink, and yellow and even some that are black. Have you seen that before? Black roses?’

He shook his head, mouth slightly open.

‘Let me show you then,’ she took his hand and he felt a stab in his heart and a numbing thrill spread through his body as she lead him along the garden path.

‘Here,’ she stopped and gestured, but everything other than her had become a blur.

‘Beautiful,’ he said, looking into her dark eyes.

‘Would you like to stay with me?’ she asked.

‘Of course,’ he said, ‘I could stay here forever.’

‘Forever?’ she placed a hand on his chest, ‘are you sure?’

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘if it’s with you.’

‘You probably won’t last forever,’ gently she pushed him into the rosebushes which at once wrapped themselves around him. ‘But then you can be part of the roses. And as long as I’m here there will be roses.’

He hardly felt the thorns.

This sentence was written

(Credit: Matt H. Wade)

(Credit: Matt H. Wade)

On his deathbed the sage said to his student:

Write me an epitaph, when I’m gone. Do not flatter me in it. You can write of my virtues, but only the ones you have seen with your own eyes or felt on your own body. Beauty is truth and truth beauty, so write something true.

Let it be something that people can think on. Something philosophical in nature would be fitting. Make it at least as philosophical as you know me to be. I want people to remember how deep my thoughts were when they read it.

However, do not be too scholarly when you write it, do not make it seem aloof to the common man. That would just make me unpopular among them. People fear or sometimes hate what they do not understand. So write it so that anyone can understand it. And do not use too many long words either. In fact, keep it short all in all. Brevity is the soul of wit, so the shorter the better. As long as it says something.

The sage has now been interred and according to his wishes, his student wrote an epitaph which has been engraved over the entrance of the mausoleum. It says:

This sentence was written.

Rhymes

Kangaroos-jump

Do you still grue

For tomorrow or is it your yesterdays you rue

Or find intimidating? Don’t go through

All the dark times again. It’s a flu

Of the mind, ruminating. If you blew

Your nose more often and looked away from your shoe

You would see that the sky is blue

Right here, right now, coo coo ca choo

It’s true

And you already knew,

But I would still spew

These trivialities at you

Even if you withdrew

All the way to Timbuktu

Even on the loo

I will find you

To remind you

That when you were two

You wanted to be a kangaroo

When you grew

up. And you might say: ‘Screw

That. It was a stupid dream.’ But I dream too

The stupid dream that one day you

Will learn to be here,

In the now

With me.

Can I?

(Credit: 7-themes.com/6968639-sunset-beach-scenery.html)

(Credit: 7-themes.com/6968639-sunset-beach-scenery.html)

‘Can I?’ he asked as the setting sun had painted the sand orange and the grass beyond turned blue in comparison.

‘Can you what?’ she raised her head from her knees.

‘You know,’ he glanced at her trousers.

‘I’m afraid I don’t,’ she said.

‘You know, will you let me,’ he looked up and down the empty beach. ‘Oh, come on, you know.’ He edged closer. Their arms touched.

‘I’m telling you I don’t,’ she said searching his face.

‘Don’t make me say it outright,’ he said.

‘Well if you don’t, you can watch the rest of the sunset alone,’ she pushed herself up.

‘Wait,’ he took her wrist, ‘can I,’ he swallowed a lump in his throat. ‘Will you let me try on your trousers?’

Summer, I know you’re there behind the rain

Summer holidays, here I come!

I had my last exam Friday, so now there is just one year left before I officially become a Master of Mathemagics!

And I even wrote a bit yesterday (I just forgot to post it), so there’s a post coming just after this one, and then I hope I can get back on track with the updates during the summer.

I hope you all have a fantastic summer!

Missing Post?

What do you mean?

What post?

I am Jon Snow; I know nothing.

All right not completely Jon Snow; summer is coming and that means exams are coming too. So my head is filling up with algebraic topology and commutative algebra, but it’s driving other subjects away.

Maybe I’ll find a post that’s not soaked in mathematics tomorrow.

Wrath (3 of 6)

(simonprocter.blogspot.dk/2012/09/simon-procter-portrait-of-astrid-berges.html)

(simonprocter.blogspot.dk/2012/09/simon-procter-portrait-of-astrid-berges.html)

The slap echoed down the hallway. The maid stepped back, hand to her cheek, her eyes were wide.

‘How dare you?’ said Aurelia. Her cheeks were pale in stark contrast to the rouge on her cheekbones.

‘But ladyship,’ said the maid.

‘How dare you!’ Aurelia raised a bejewelled hand again. The piles of hair gathered on her head resembled a storm cloud, complete with pearl droplets.

‘But it really happened,’ said the maid.

‘Slander!’ Aurelia shook and a pearl fell. Her blood felt aflame, ‘I’ll have you flayed!’

‘I’m telling the truth!’ The maid fell to her knees and covered her face with her arms, ‘Lady Laura kissed Henry on the cheek. I saw it!’

‘My daughter would never.’

‘I’m sorry m’ ladyship,’ said the maid, ‘she did. Gary saw it too.’

Chest heaving, Aurelia lowered her hand.

‘Was anyone else there?’ she asked.

‘No,’ said the maid in a small voice, ‘just Lady Laura, Henry, Gary and me. And I wouldn’t have been there if I hadn’t been told to clean the drapes.’

Aurelia stared at the trembling figure before her, jaw clenched.

‘If I find out that you’ve lied to me,’ she said.

‘I swear,’ whimpered the maid.

Aurelia gathered her skirts and swept down the hallway towards the servant’s quarters.

Sloth (2 of 6)

Just five more minutes.

Clara saw images move behind her eyelids. They turned red, when she turned her head towards the window. So she turned her head into her pillow and sighed.

She imagined lying on a beach, the sun baking her back. But outside the rays of the sun were at their most dangerous, while her personal rays were only pleasant.

She took another deep breath with a smile.

Her stomach growled.

Breakfast time was long gone, but maybe lunch could still be had?

She could ask Henry to make her eggs if Laura was done with him.

She scratched a rib, stretched, yawned and rolled into her eiderdown.

Just five more minutes.

Gluttony (1 of 6)

(Credit: www.sketchoholic.com , Magnozz)

(Credit: http://www.sketchoholic.com , Magnozz)

Laura poured it all down her throat, honey glazed pork, roast chicken, pasta with tomato cream sauce. Her slurping and smacking of lips mingled with the heavy smell of food held back by the velvet curtains. It all conspired to make the air in the room practically solid even though there were many meters to the ceiling. Reaching for the potatoes, she saw Henry standing beside the table, hands folded in front. There were marks from his toque where his straw coloured hair was plastered to his forehead. His half worried half hungry eyes followed each morsel from her plate to her voluptuous lips. She decided to throw him a bone and beckoned. He blinked at if woken up mid-dream and came closer, shoulders hunched.

‘The chicken is especially good,’ she said, dabbing her mouth with a napkin, ‘well done, Henry.’

‘Thank you my Lady,’ Henry bowed his head.

She beckoned again and when he bent closer, gave him a smooch on the cheek.

‘Thank you, my Lady,’ Henry’s eyes shone, ‘thank you.’

‘You can return to the kitchen,’ she said and he backed away from her bowing, one protective hand over the wet mark she had left on his cheek. Her chuckles sent ripples down her chins, across her breasts, over her stomach to her thighs enveloping her chair. Then she felt a rumbling which had nothing to do with her laughter.

‘Gary, the bucket,’ she said. He was there at once and up came pork, chicken and pasta with tomato cream sauce and honey.

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