[ Daniel swatted at something distractedly, checked his wristwatch, made sure he still had plenty of time to make it to the morning meeting, then stepped out into traffic. ]

Daniel swatted at something distractedly, checked his wristwatch, made sure he still had plenty of time to make it to the morning meeting, then stepped out into traffic.

The Transit Authority had come under fire for perpetually being late to nearly all of the stops within the tri-city area. In order to instill faith in the service and revamp its image, the TA actively encouraged its drivers to make the stops on-time "or else."

The 7:50am bus, already loaded to the gills with commuters, slammed into Daniel, pulping his flesh against its grill. Daniel flew away from the bus as if from a catapult directly into a taxi, with the subtlety of a bowling ball through a plate-glass window.

Alive. Alive. Dead.

"Good day to you, sir."

A voice--inside his head? outside?--spoke to him. "Unnh," he replied. The last thing he remembered was checking the time, then thinking about his presentation, then--whammo. Or ... something, at least. Couldn't place what happened to him after his thoughts trailed to work.

"I said, Good day."

Daniel pried his eyes open and looked at the man speaking to him. He was very smartly dressed, his suit obviously hand-tailored in the finest silks. His hair was neatly cropped and there was a nice, designer mustache resting on his upper lip. For some inexplicable reason, the tall, dark stranger sported a hint of smugness about him. Picking himself up, Daniel brushed his suit of any debris which he was positive should be on him. None was, but that didn't stop him from tapping his shoulders just to make sure. "Right," he said, addressing the man. "Thanks, I think. I should be going to work, now." Try as he might, he really couldn't take his eyes off the dashing man.

"Oh, there is work to be done, tis true." Again that faint smile playing at the corners of his lips, as if he was imparting a personal joke at Daniel's expense.

Even though he should be incensed at being played the fool, Daniel just couldn't work up the nerve to be angry with this strange man. Truth be told, he was a little enthralled with the guy.

With an elaborate flourish, the strange man produced an antique hourglass, complete with little granules of salt within it. Currently, all of the salt beads were resting at the bottom and there seemed to be a prodigious amount of them. Still, all this was taken in at a glance, more of an annoying glance since Daniel found himself not wanting to look away from the grinning man before him.

Tapping the hourglass with a well-manicured finger, the man said, "This is your fate. None of us thinks we deserve whatever happens to us. But it happens to us all the same. You have seven hours to either meet your fate or escape it." With a tip of his hand, he inverted the hourglass, sending the first trickles of salt pouring down below into the empty half-chamber. "Do not worry yourself. If you make it through, I will be waiting here at the end to greet you. I am the first and the last of everything." That enigmatic smile permeated through Daniel, filling his heart with happy energy.

One moment he was conversing with the superb man and the next his senses were enveloped and caressed at every angle.

Reclining on a luxurious sofa-bed, a woman of godly beauty regarded him with intense desire. Daniel had never been especially handsome nor unpleasant to look at, but this woman's attention made him feel as if he were the only man alive on the planet. Her golden skin sparkled when she moved, Daniel finding it difficult to pry his eyes off of one part of her body to look at another area of her skin. Unbidden, but also not exactly unexpected, there was a stirring through his loins. Immediately that area between his legs ached abominably; it was an excruciating pleasure that sent ripples radiating outward within his body.

When she parted her lips to speak, the sound was like wet leather. "I am Luxuria and this is my queendom." She breathed deeply, her bosom rising and falling gently beneath her translucent red gown. Daniel immediately wanted to throw that bodice up and over her, discover what was lurking sensuously beneath. She seemed to sense this, smiling invitingly to him. Patting the place next to her, she conspicuously trailed her eyes over him, lingering on specific areas, knowing the effect it was having on him.

Daniel wanted nothing more than to race across the sparsely decorated room and dive into her cushions. He imagined himself thrusting into her with all the savagery of an animal released from a cage. Steeling himself, he walked slowly and deliberately over to where she leaned forward, drinking him in.

"That's it, Daniel. Just a little closer. Let me do things to you you've only ever dreamed of. Together, we'll reach the highest points of ecstacy two beings never believed existed." She noticed his eyes lingered on her cleavage. Trailing a finger between her glistening breasts, she traced a line up and down and looked up at him longingly. "Sit down and I'll help you out of those. Oh! To look at you. Feel you. Taste you."

Hypnotic, she was. Without realizing it, Daniel felt himself drawn closer to her. She made no attempt to reach out and grab him. "Seven," he whispered, half to himself.

"Yes," she cooed in response. "We can do all those seven things you're thinking about right now. I need your hands on me, exploring me, finding me."

"Seven?" he said again, looking for a connection for some strange reason. The strange man forgotten now, Luxuria basking immediately below him, the heat from her body coming off in waves and lapping against him. "No, I mean," he started, trying to remember exactly what he meant.

"Yes," she breathed, her tongue wetting her lips, then retreating to lay just under her front teeth. "Anything you want. Seven. Just come with me."

He had an image then, of him frolicking through the waves, holding her hand. He'd always loved Luxuria, always would. She would be with him to the end, never leaving his side. She looked past his flabbiness, saw to the center of his being. How could he not entwine himself within her loving arms?

Sara awoke to find herself before a seemingly rich man. Sara's eyes widened as she looked around at all of the gold casually laying around. There were gold necklaces, statues and platters. In her former life, so long ago, she had been a basket-weaver, selling her wares at the bazaar. Every now and then an important merchant would walk amongst the stalls, adorned in all his finery, his servants carrying great chests of gold, which he would use to nonchalantly purchase whatever he fancied. She also remembered the pain she felt that she would never have such riches in her life, born and bred to a lowly station.

The man, who seemed to be swimming amongst the gold in his palace, clutched a mallet and saucer-cup, both made of gold, to his breast. He was seized with an intense desire directed at Sara. "Can it be?" he said, to no one but himself. "I have every conceivable item in gold, but one. A living, breathing woman of gold." His eyes roamed over her body, but not in lust as they had when she was Luxuria with Daniel; his eyes were searching her gold-dusted skin to make sure he was not mistaken.

Sara realized this man was thinking she was gold incarnate in flesh. She realized she wanted nothing more than run her hands over all of the gold which he was obviously hoarding at his end of the expansive room. "Sir?" she inquired, "may I?" She was gesturing towards the gold.

Clutching his gold ever tighter, even his legs seemed to be cradling an ornate, golden birdbath, he replied, "Take my gold! Never! I'll never give it up. Never. Except. Are you really gold? You're wearing something. Some other thing that is not gold. Invidia cannot see past it. It is an evil, non-gold color. Take it off at once so that I may see you."

Realizing she had some form of a bargaining chip, Sara said, "Invidia, I will disrobe if it pleases you." By the look in his eyes, she could readily tell that it would. "But," Sara said, holding up her gold-tinted finger, "I want to feel and touch your gold as well. I want it with me. I want to feel it as a part of me. In me."

Invidia, never taking his eyes off of her for one moment, not even to inspect that all of his gold was still in his possession, said, "Anything for you golden beauty. One last item. With you, my collection will be complete. I just need to have you to gaze upon and then I will be satisfied."

Removing her red, translucent gown, Invidia was delighted to see that the gold was across her entire skin. His eyes lingered no more over her breasts as they did over her knees or shoulder-blades. He reached out to take her in, feel her in his grasp, ready to shout to the heavens that he had all the gold in the world! Sara reached out as well, her hands feeling the curves of the golden pottery, delighted that there was strands of gold in the corner; she immediately put these to use and started making a basket of gold.

Richard's hands fell through empty air. His golden beauty was gone. All a dream. His gold was gone, too! Crumpling to his knees, he retched in grief and pain. Howling and cursing, he cupped his hands over his eyes so that he wouldn't see the nonexistence of gold before him.

"Er," said something close to him. "You're sitting on a chicken-leg that I'd particularly like to eat right now."

Richard shot up off the floor, trying to get the chicken-grease stain off of his golden trousers. His eyes alighted on the monstrous form in front of him. He felt like he couldn't back away far enough. She seemed to be occupying the entire room, most of which was filled with platters of succulent meat, cabbages, ice cream and cheeses of all kinds.

"That's a boy. Now, I'd get it myself, only I can't quite reach it. Be a dear and put it on me chest, will you?"

Richard, surprised at his greatly diminishing lust for gold, felt his stomach rumble. "All this food. All this food and you don't even want to share?"

"Share? Can't really share what doesn't belong to you, now can you? This food is mine, by the way. I bought and paid for it. As soon as I get some more money, I'll buy and pay that food as well. You think I'd give it up for the likes of you? I have to eat. I have to keep me energy up. You're all skin and bones. Why, I could eat you in one gulp." She actually seemed to be considering it.

"Look, I don't have much. What I've got is your's. I just want some of your food. I haven't eaten for what feels like ages." His stomach rumbled in displeasure again. That chicken-leg he'd been kneeling on earlier was calling his name, he was sure.

Licking her lips, not entirely successfully to dislodge food from the corners of her mouth, she said, "Gula could make a deal for more food. You're looking at that chicken-leg from the floor, right? Tell you what. You give Gula a little bit of that and something else and Gula will give you the rest of that chicken. What do you think about that?"

Richard's eyes were looking over the food like a fisherman that had just dredged up a sunken treasure chest. There were all kinds of food just waiting to be eaten by him. He wanted, no, he needed all the food that she had. It wasn't right that she had all this food to herself. She hadn't earned it like he had for giving up his gold. "Sure," he said to Gula, grabbing the chicken-leg off the floor, never mind that it was encrusted with bits of cake and lime-jello. At the same moment Gula grabbed his arm to bite into it, Richard tore into the chicken-leg voraciously, already grabbing more food to shove into his gaping maw.

Betty's teeth closed down with such force that, when they struck each other, there was actual pain in her mouth and her gums started to bleed a little. It was as if the simple act of being transported here had shaved off a considerable amount of her weight. She had never been some slim-jim gal, but by rights, she felt herself again.

Avaritia immediately jumped down off of her perch, heading directly for Betty. "Hi and welcome to my little domicile. I am Avaritia and you are?"

Betty looked past Avaritia, what a strange name! It reminded her of something she used to call herself. Gorda? No, that wasn't it. There were oodles of strange toys, archaic writings, long and rare wood-carvings, glowing parchments, exotic plants and funny-looking creatures strewn all over the place. "Where did you ever get all--"

"No time for too many pleasantries. I'm a busy woman. I know what I want and I go out and get it. I can tell by your walk that you're like me in that regard. Am I right? 'Course I am."

For some strange reason, Avaritia was wearing about three pairs of pants, four shirts and enough bracelets to probably circle around the planet. Her eyes were continually darting in every direction, though not necessarily interested in all the possessions behind her.

"Ooh, what kind of opossum is that? Never had me one of those in my gullet. Wait," Betty stopped herself, shaking her head as if to try to wake from a dream. "Why would I eat something like that?"

"Good question, good question, my dear. Can't say as I want to wait around to hear the answer, if you catch my drift. Now, I'm not one to pry, but I see you're wearing a cardigan sweater with six buttons down the front. I, myself, happen to own one of those very sweaters, except mine has five buttons down the front. As luck would have it, in you walk and I immediately see an opportunity that would benefit both of us."

Betty took a step backward, better to gauge all of Avaritia's belongings behind her. It was also because the strange, bird-like woman was scaring her. "What do I get out of it? Wait, you want to take my sweater off of me?"

"No use in you keeping something that doesn't look right on you. That sweater you've got on is in pure shambles, but me? I like things in shambles and whatnot. I'll take it off of you for free, even. I'm doing you a favor by taking it. You obviously don't want it, or it wouldn't be in such disrepair. Name your price for your six-button sweater and we can get moving here. It's a busy day, I don't have to tell you that."

"But I like this sweater," Betty said, although she couldn't help but look at all that stuff behind Avaritia. It was enough to hold ten consecutive lawn sales and barely make a dent.

"Drive a hard bargain, you do. All right, I'll make a deal. I'll take that sweater off your hands and you can take a look around my establishment. It's not much, but it'll have to do for now. I'll be getting a better place down the road, soon. You can look, but don't touch. You break it, you buy it. And I'm not selling, if you know what I mean."

Betty began undoing the buttons in front of her, all six of them. She took off the sweater and handed it to Avaritia, who took it in quick, stuffing it into the back pocket of one of her jeans she was wearing.

"Fantastic. Love a good morning when the deals are fresh and the business is brisk. Now, while you're perusing the aisles, hands inside at all times mind-you, we can discuss what you want for those pants, crinkly and disheveled they may be."

Betty reached out and found that strange opossum, bringing it to her bare chest. With all of this stuff around her, she'd never want for anything again. She'd already forgotten all about Avaritia or whatever her name was anyway.

Ava didn't even break stride when, all of a sudden, the person she was talking with had changed into a man sitting on a couch. "And whom am I speaking to, kind sir?"

"What's that you say?" the man on the couch replied, waking up as if from a light nap.

"It's just that I couldn't help but notice you reclining on that couch. It's really not fit for you, any fool can see that. And I'm no fool. I'll take it off your hands gratis. The only thing I'll accept as payment is your gratitude."

"Take it off?" He rubbed his eyes blearily. "Aw no thanks, sister. What would I use to catch some much needed 'Z's? Feel free to rest a bit. Oh gosh!" He said, yawning dramatically. "Too much talking, not enough sleeping."

Ava went over to the couch and made to inspect the pillow the man was resting on. "Hmm. A nice feather-down pillow. Can't say as I have one of those specifically back at the ol' shop. It would be a rare item, indeed. What did you say your name was again, sir?"

"I didn't," he said, his voice muffled from the pillow. "Oh, what the hell, it's Acedia. Yeah, I know. Apparently my parents wanted to play a cruel joke."

"Right you are, Acedia. But your parents were angels sent from a loving God compared to the discomfort you're experiencing by plowing your face into that pillow. Feather pillows are notorious for causing sneezes and one errant feather is all that's needed to poke you in the face while you sleep. No sir, you don't look like the kind of man that wants to be troubled during his sleep time. Because I'm the kind of kind person I am, I'll take that pillow off of you without any payment. Heck, I'll be doing you a favor and we both know it."

"Fine, take the pillow, just let me be for a sec here." Acedia wrenched the pillow out from under his head and sent it flying across the room.

Ava went on unperturbed, "Now that that's taken care of, we need to discuss what's currently happening to your back by sleeping on that godawful couch."

"The couch? Jeez, lady. Don't you have some yard-sale you need to get to? Can't you let a guy take a doze once in a while?"

"Absolutely, Acedia. I could let you doze on that there couch. But doing so goes against my principles. How can I let you doze on a couch that is obviously trying its best to dislodge your vertebrae? That couch is a chiropractor's dream come true. Why, it's obvious already what's it's doing to your spine alignment."

"All right, crazy lady. I'll let you have the couch, too, only if you promise me you'll sleep on it. If you don't sleep on it, I'm not budging an inch."

"Does it still have the tags on the underside?"

Acedia looked genuinely perplexed and frustrated at this. "How should I know if it has--just promise you'll do it! We could both use some sleep about now, I think. Gosh! I've never been so damned tired in my life!"

Ava sunk down on the couch, feeling herself letting go for the first time she could remember. The couch was surprisingly comfortable and she felt she could go to sleep for at least a little while. What could a couple hours or days hurt? It's not like she was pressed for time, right?

Arthur stretched, causing his joints to pop all over the place. "Oh Christ, what a nightmare that gal was. Wherever she got herself off to is great as long as it's far from me." He lifted up his shirt and scratched his belly, digging some lint out of his navel. The pieces of couch fluff fell from his bellybutton to the floor.

"GOD-DAMN-IT!" A voice from across the room shouted. "I just cleaned that floor. And here you go dropping shit on it like you own the place."

"Whoa, buddy. What's your problem? It's just a little lint, ain't gonna bite you on the arse or nothing."

The man, who was wearing an apron and was busily sweeping up bits of dust at the other end of the room, dropped both and raced over to Arthur. "Oh, you'd like to think that, wouldn't you? I can tell just by the looks of you, what with your unkempt hair, unshaven appearance, you don't give two shits about what ends up on the floor. Tell me I'm wrong. Oh, God, please tell me that I'm wrong."

Arthur held out his hands in a placating gesture. It's obvious this guy was nuts. Ironically, him pissing and moaning was tiring Arthur out. There was only so much action a poor guy could take. "Easy there, fella. See? I'm picking it up myself, all right? If it makes you happier, I'll stick it in my nose."

"Who the hell are you, anyway? I don't remember inviting you into my house."

"I'm Arthur, at least I think so. I'm kind of groggy right now. Just give me a sec to get my bearings. Don't worry, I'm not going to take a shit in the corner, okay? And you are?"

"I are irate! That is, I'm Ira. How you could not be angry at a time like this is beyond me." Ira stormed off in the general direction of his dustpan and broom, sweeping things into a pile again.

It was obvious that Ira was a fastidious man. Every surface was gleaming with cleanliness. "This won't do," Ira said, looking over at Arthur. "You're a mess and you just being here implies that I accept messes in my house."

"So, what? You're going to throw me out? Nice hospitality there, man. Remind me not to kick you in the jimmies before I leave."

"Oh, so now it's my fault, is it?" Ira's eyes blazed with fury at this insufferable accusation. He'd been called a lot of things in his time, but an ungrateful host was not one of them.

"You think you could even throw me out? Huh? You little weasel of a man! I have half a mind to beat you within an inch of your life! Calling me some lazy slob. I've got two knuckles that are dying to be introduced to your nose, pal."

Ira, incensed at being called a weasel, flared his nostrils wide and hiked his lips apart to reveal his menacing teeth. Arthur, took his fists out of the robe-pockets and brandished them before him. Both of them reached back at the same time and then pivoted their hips to deliver bone-shattering punches across the jaw.

Daniel swatted at something distractedly. He looked around, feeling foolish. He checked his wristwatch, relieved to find he had plenty of time before the morning meeting, stepped out into traffic. Before he was hit, he looked at the bus driver's face. He never thought he would ever see such an amazingly superb(ia?) set of features ever again.

He couldn't be more wrong.