Intros!

Okay, here's three possible choices for the introduction story to Seven Deadly Stories. Pick which one you like best!

#1
Robert stood at the window looking out at the stars and the smiling skull face of the moon. He was wondering just how he was going to finish his spaceship and get to the nearest bordering galaxy to answer the mysterious telegraph he had received that day when a voice spoke up behind him.
"I don't want to go to Aunt Laurie's house!"
He sighed and answered his little sister without turning around.
"I don't want to go either, whats your reason?"
"It's boring and it smells funny and last time she locked us in the attic and wouldn't let us out!"
He sighed, "Yeah I know, but we have to go."
"Why? You're old enough so that we can stay alone for one night."
He turned away from the window and looked at her pouting in his patched up beanbag chair. "Because they think she's just a lonely old woman who needs company. She's not but thats what they think. So they send us over there and then they go to the movies."
"Why don't they just go over there themselves?"
Robert turned back to the window and thought about his visit to D-7 again. "Because they don't thats why. They just don't."
"Kids? Are you ready yet? Get your butts down here!"
Trying to smile he took his sister's hand and they walked out of the kid friendly comfort of his room and the warmth of the house and dreaded the long hours ahead.

Of course, like last time, Aunt Laurie was all smiles but as soon as the sound of her sister's car was long gone into the night the veneer of friendliness fell away.
"Pain in the ass kids, thats all you are! Pain in the ass kids!" She thought she was muttering to herself but Robert and Ann could hear her quite clearly. They looked at each other but kept silent.
"Now go play in here," she said and shuffled them into a small empty back room, locking the door behind them. They heard the TV come on and several farts, followed by a long series of snores.
Robert looked at Ann, shivering in the cold. "Well, its better than the attic isn't it?" He tried to smile again.
"At least in the attic there were boxes to look through...whats in that filing cabinet thingy over there?"
They walked over and opened it. Ann looked like she was about to burst into tears. "It's just a bunch of stupid paper, what are we going to do now Rob!"
"Well, theres writing on it and...hey, whats this?" He reached back into the cabinet's dark recesses and pulled out a small hardcover book. He read the cover: "Seven Deadly Stories: Tales of bad things happening to bad people."
Ann brightened up. "Read it to me Robert!"
With a sigh he sat on the floor and opened the book to the first page...

#2
Deep within the recesses of D-7, far below the big metal cities full of people of various alien races going about their daily lives, far below the secret government shelters where the secret police could come and go onto the surface as they pleased, there lay the famous D-7 prison holding tanks. Here in the luxurious confines of it's small dank rooms sat the scum of the universe, awaiting execution. Filfal fungus provided light but if you've ever had to use it, say you were stranded on the far off moon of Menton-6 at night, you would now that its barley enough to see by, least of all keep the Callan wolves at bay. Gorhan picked at a piece of it and put it in his mouth to see if he could eat it. It burned his tongue and he spit it onto the damp ground.
"Formehental gheminey!" He cursed in his native language. He heard a voice laughing behind him and quickly turned around. It was just that stupid old man again. Gorhan wondered if he could eat him. He'd probably taste better than the muddy slop they were fed through tubes in the ceiling everyday.
Gorhan frowned, "Whats so funny you wrinkled old toad?"
The old man laughed his annoying crazy laugh again, "You my fine purple friend, you are funnier than a Doctorian clown-man!"
"I'm orange you blind old fool. How long have you been down here?"
"I've always been down here, and will be long after they've dropped you off the Montorain cliffs!" He laughed again and Gorhan seriously considered taking a bite out of his wrinkled old neck, just to shut him up.
"Would you like to hear some stories young man, it will help to pass the time. Or were you just going to try and eat me? I don't have much meat, here take a bite!"
He offered Gorhan his twisted warty arm.
Gorhan held back his gag reflex. He sat down hard and the ground smooshed under him.
"Okay old man, what have you got? These better be good or I'm cracking your head open and eating your brain. I don't care if it is full of parasitic worms."
The old man smiled, oh these are good. I've had a million years to think these up. Oh yes you will like them very well, yes you will. You will like them so much that liking them will be all that you can think about, like them so much you will, in fact..."
"Get on with it you senile old bag!" Shouted Gorhan.
The old man coughed and cleared his throat for a very long time before starting...

#3
You are lost in the jungle. The rest of your crew died horrible deaths to disease and animals with large teeth, leaving you to find your way back to civilization on your own. It's not looking good. You've wandered for many days and nights and all you've seen is trees and animals that want to eat you or drink your blood. You have no clean water left and have been surviving by drinking rain and eating small insects and lizards. Thankfully none have been poisonous yet. Wearily you push through the thick trees and hack at vines with your machete. You're thinking of the man who sent you on this mission to find the lost tribe of GanuGanu and how you'd like to break your fist off in his face when you stumble on something and fall hard to the ground.
Looking up you see the outline of something through the trees. As you make your way over to it, you see that it is a large temple shaped object, possibly a temple. For no good reason you can think of, you start up the steps to the top.
The weird looking thing in the small room at the top of the temple shaped object smiles at you as you enter. It looks like a small monkey but wrinkly and man sized. You want to pet it and feed it a banana. It speaks and its voice is like if you crossed Tom Waits with Britney Spears. Now you just want to slap it.
"Would you like to hear a story young man?"
"Well, I'd like some food more." You reply.
"And I want a DVD player and an Asian hooker to shave my back hair," The thing replies, "but it ain't gonna happen."
You sigh and sit in front of the disgusting but somehow cute looking thing and pick the bot fly larva out of your arms.
It opens it's mouth and starts to speak...

Updates!

Okay, just to clear some stuff up heres a post just before beddy-bye time. I am going to finish Saviour Machines and publish it eventually but it seems like a much bigger project than my meager writing skills can handle right now. It'd be like painting the Sistine chapel with crayons. I need to get better by writing small stuff first.
I suppose I can give away what I'm working on right now since whats really keeping me going is feedback I get on here. I'm writing seven short stories, each one based off a different deadly sin, which is probably going to be called Seven Deadly Stories. Most of them are going to be pretty loose like the rough cut of the one I'm posting now called Sloth which has nothing to do with the sin. I just took the word and ran with it. It's only about little over 1000 words so far and I think it needs to be expanded, but here it is spelling and grammar errors and all:

Sloth
I remember it all so well, like it happened yesterday. Maybe it’s because lately I’ve been having nightmares about it, about him. It’s not something you would forget quickly though and I do still have these scars…but I’m getting a head of myself.
I grew up in a small town. We were small town people with small town values and everyone knew everyone else’s business, or thought they did. Everyone had their secrets too though. Ours was hidden away in the cellar. I remember how we’d be sitting down eating dinner, making small talk about how our days went when that noise would come up from down below, that low moaning cry that sent chills up my spine. I would look down at my plate and pretend I didn’t hear it but then Dad would glare at me tell me to go and feed it. Then I would slowly get up, taking as much time as I could and go into the kitchen to get it’s bucket of old potatoes and table scraps. What’s “it” you ask? Well I call it “it” since I don’t think it was quite human. My parents had named it Lawrence but I had nicknamed it sloth.
It didn’t look much like a sloth, in fact it didn’t look much like anything God in his wisdom had created on this earth, but that’s the closest thing I could compare it to. It had this nasty matted white fur and these long sharp claws, like sloths have but it wasn’t slow, in fact it was damn quick. It’s face was this horrible scrunched up mess of scraggly sharp teeth and it’s eyes were this horrible red color. That was the thing I hated the most about it, those damned eyes. It didn’t like the light so we kept it as dark as possible down there, and when I went down to feed it all I could see were its eyes glowing as it moved back and forth, scraping it’s claws on the ground, watching me.
It hated me and I knew that if it ever got loose it would kill me. Dad told me that was nonsense, that the thing was harmless and he would go down with me to pet it. It always played nice when Dad was around, it would innocently sniff at my hand and let me pet its horrible matted fur but when I tried to grab its scrap bucket away it would snarl and snap at me. One I got too close and it swiped my forehead. I had to get 5 stitches. Dad acted like it was my fault, like I had been teasing the horrible thing. I tried to tell him what really happened but Dad never listened to me. He loved Lawrence more than me and I never could understand it. Even after it got loose and…well, I’ll tell you what happened.
I had horrible stomach cramps that night and couldn’t fall asleep at all. I rolled around in bed holding my stomach till almost three am when it finally let up and I started to fall asleep. That’s when I heard it. That horrible scraping sound coming up the stairs. It would go up one stair and stop, like it was listening for something. It was so quiet that I could hear its breath, a slight pant, like a dog. I sat straight up in bed. There wasn’t going to be enough time to turn on a light, I rolled out of bed quick and grabbed a baseball bat that was leaning on the wall. Then I stood and waited and listened as that scraping noise got closer and closer till it was right outside my door.
It was hot that summer and I hadn’t closed the door tight so once it got up the stairs all it had to do was push it open. In my nightmares I can still see those eyes floating in the darkness, those damn red eyes staring right at me. Then it came for me and before I could react it was on top of me, scratching at my body, trying to get at my face. I screamed and above the its awful slobbering breath and throaty snarls I could hear my parents come running. My Dad slammed the door open and flicked on the light, the thing didn’t like light so he was able to pull it off me easily, dragging it back down to the basement.
Crying and in hysterics I yelled at my Mom, “Why don’t we just kill it? It’s horrible and I hate it, why don’t we just kill it?”
My mom just stood in the doorway and looked at me, her 12 year old daughter sitting on the floor covered in white foamy spit and blood and said “because your father loves it that’s why. Now go get cleaned up and get back in bed.” Then she walked off, probably to go smoke a cigarette outside.
I didn’t sleep for three whole nights after that.
I told my Dad that I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t sleep at night, I was scared that he was going to get me. My Dad just smiled and said that he had put a stronger chain in, that he couldn’t break this one. He even said I didn’t have to feed Lawrence anymore. This wasn’t very heartening to me. I had to get rid of the thing and I had to do it soon…
I waited till a few days later when Dad was at work and Mom was at the grocery store , then I grabbed Dad’s 12 gauge shot gun and headed down the dark cellar steps. I think it knew what I was doing, it seemed restless, pacing back and forth and snarling at me. I pointed the gun at its head and it ran at me, hitting the end length of its chain and choking itself. Suddenly I didn’t want to kill it. It didn’t seem fair, it was like shooting a dog in a cage. Then the chain broke and it hit me full force, knocking me to the floor. I was screaming and it my head, I could feel its teeth trying to rip away flesh as its claws tore and scratched. I still had the gun in my had but I couldn’t get in position to fire. That’s when I heard my Dad yell and come running down the stairs.
“Don’t hurt him, Oh God don’t hurt him please!”
Then he came running and he started kicking me in the head. He was kicking me because I was punching it in its ugly face trying to get it off of me. I got my legs up under it and give it a hard push, landing it on its back and giving me time to get the gun back in position before it jumped on me again. It jumped and I pulled the trigger.
I heard Dad scream as the gun went off blowing a large hole in the thing’s midsection, spraying blood and flesh and bits of spinal cord out its backside. Sloth lay on the ground trying to get up, trying to get back at me. Before my Dad could get over to it I had put the gun to its head and pulled the trigger, turning its ugly face into a mass of brain and blood and skull fragments. Then I stood over it, breathing hard, blood running in my eyes.
“I hate you,” I whispered, “I hate you you stupid ugly thing.”
Then I felt a hand on my shoulder turning me around and then someone hit me full on in the face knocking me down. It turned out to be my dad, tears streaming down his face.
“You stupid girl!” he screamed “You stupid small minded girl do you know what you just did? Do you have any idea?”
I yelled back “Yeah, I saved my own life no thanks to you, you and your stupid fucking thing!” It was the first time I had ever cursed at anybody and I didn’t even realize it.
“You stupid girl, you killed your brother! Lawrence was your brother, Oh God!” Then he threw up on the floor.
A week later I went to live with my Aunt out in the country. I asked her why Dad had loved Sloth so much. She said she didn’t know but she thought it might have had something to do with a puppy he had when he was a little boy that had a messed up leg. That didn’t seem like a very satisfactory answer to me.
Oh I remember, I remember alright. Some things you can’t forget no matter how hard you try. And I still have these scars…

So yeah...its total poop right? Certainly not something anyone would buy to read, yet anyways. I can't stay awake any longer, good night.