“Greed,” he said as the blade came down with a thunk. The head of the businessman fell into the basket with a thud. Some workers came by to move the body out of the way so that he could continue. He never paid much attention to the workers. He winded up the guillotine, hoping this next one wouldn’t splatter all over his clothes again. He caught a glimpse of the head of the businessman. The face was contorted into a scream. The number of selfish people like this man that come through is increasing, he thought. Suddenly there was a buzz. The light above the door lit up and he knew he would have to consider the increasing difficulty of his job later. Right now, he needed to work.

A large man entered the room. Not overweight large, just bigger than the previous man. The large man wore a shirt with the words “Firefly” written on the front. His hands had Cheeto stains on them, as did his shirt. He looked like he had just woken up. It was disgusting. The chute spat out the slip that told The Executioner everything.

“Can I…,” he began to ask, but was cut short when the workers grabbed him, and shoved his fat neck into the guillotine. He actually started to cry. Not controlled sobs, but full on little girl crying.

“Please…,” was the only word the large man was able to get out before The Executioner pulled the lever.

“Sloth,” he said as the blade dropped and sliced through all the layers of neck rolls that the large man had. There was still a lot of blood, but luck for him, there wasn’t much in his direction. The workers showed up and began to drag the body away into another room. He had always wondered what happened to the bodies, and why the heads went somewhere else. There were three doors in the room. One for the people coming in, two going out for the workers. It was strange. Just as he was about to question it, another person walked in. This time it was a girl, about fifteen. She wore a short skirt and a rather strange top. He didn’t need to see the slip to know what she had done to end up here. She looked confused, and simply gaped at him.

“Who are you? Why am I here?” She seriously had no clue what had happened. He didn’t feel like telling her. She was put into the guillotine by the workers, not crying like the last bloke. She was simply confused. He pulled the lever.

“Lust,” he said as the blade sliced through her like she was paper. Not a lot of blood this time. He was happy. The workers dragged the body to the left door, and the girls head to the right door. Before they left, The Executioner opened his mouth to ask a question. The buzzer went off. He sighed as he started to wind up the blade. Next time, he thought.

A man in army attire entered, with a look of guilt. It was a sad, lost puppy look. He got into the guillotine without being forced by the workers. It was the easiest one so far.

“I deserve nothing less.” That was it. No begging, no crying. The Executioner was actually upset.

“Wrath,” he said as the blade lobbed off this man’s head as if it were a watermelon. Sighing, he forgot to ask the workers about the doors. It was too late. The next buzzer went off. This time it was a woman, in her twenties. She had a strange look about her, the one that made you want to just smack her upside the head. He figured out why she was here without the slip as she willingly entered the guillotine.

“I just want you to know…”

“Pride,” he said as the blade cut her off. He will never know what she was going to say, but he really didn’t mind. Because he was grinning, he forgot to ask about the doors again. He really needed to pay more attention. The buzzer went off.

This one needed help. It was a girl, this one younger than the last. She looked a little chubby, but looks could be deceiving. The chute spat out a word, and The Executioner took one look and almost thought there was a mistake. But taking a closer look at her index and middle finger, her teeth and just her overall look, he could understand why she was here. She resisted the workers, and was forced into the guillotine.

“Gluttony,” he said as the blade went towards the ground. This one sent blood everywhere. It splattered all over him, and he was too busy with getting the blood out of his hair to ask the workers about the doors.

“Damn,” he said under his breathe. This next one shouldn’t distract him enough to make him forget about the doors. The buzzer went off. A little boy entered. He was about six years old, and the youngest person The Executioner had ever seen in this place. His stomach fell as the boy ignored the workers and went straight towards the guillotine. He placed himself into the openings, and waited. The chute spat out the sin. He read it, and without thinking, did something stupid.

“Why are you here?”

“I wanted an I-pad, like Timmy.”

That was all.

“Envy,” he said as the blade came down.
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