Prompt: Horror

Horror Prompt

Grotesque

Hey I’m back! This prompt was a bit different for me. Instead of doing my usual planned out story I tried my hand at description and found out there’s a lot I don’t know. I figure there should be away to convey and conceal information through the five senses but its not something I’ve practiced so I feel this prompt came out a bit like building blocks without a blueprint. I stacked and stacked and then rebuilt piece by piece without a real sense of scene. I’m hoping I can learn to plan out the senses so I can use them more like a miniature story that raises questions within the reader but I’m not that good right now so until next time enjoy this prompt! And of course try it yourself, if you have the stomach for it. Till next time, Ransom.

 

 

Rot, pain, agony, bliss. The thing that hangs felt it all. The hooks loop through the meat of her shoulders, weaving around the bone. She lets out a moan, her voice gaging on itself as if she swallowed razor blades and the skin healed leaving bits of weeping skin and scar tissue hanging over her throat.

A few greasy strands of hair fall down her exposed body. Knotting around each other like a broken noose that spins from a withering tree.  Warts cover her left breast, an inflation of fungi that sprouts like a kaleidoscope around her yellow-brown skin. Her right breast a broken sphere, scars stitching flayed flesh into manageable clumps.

This creature lets out a low laugh twisting her neck as the metal scrapes along her muscles. The buds of her shoulders twist up toward the pain. She smiles rows of well-kept teeth forming a white gate into her flayed throat.  Her lower regions were as sickly as the rest of her, black-blue blood sprouting roots from the nubs of her legs. The dead flaps of her throat roll up in laughter.

The door to the room opens. A man follows. Like the woman he wears nothing. Scars mark the cords of muscle that run along his chest. The door closes as he enters, a plate of red something loaded onto his arms. He rests it on a table beside the woman.

Her lips part, spreading the white warts that cover her lips. Her gum’s, lit by a candle flickering in the giants hand, hold the yellow hue of her body. She sips down the contents of the fork. Placing it back onto the plater the giant dabs her lip with a kerchief. This is repeated. The giant occasionally stops to rub the hollow of her stomach, meeting her lips with his. She returns this greeting with a tongue as healthy as her teeth.

The pile of organs dwindles, her body just as shallow as when he entered. They part with a kiss. The door closes. In the distance screams can be heard, voices begging for mercy. The woman laughs as she listens to the concerto her children had gathered for her. A scream begins and before one can finish the next is brought to a boil.

She lets out a moan as the next batch is started upon, a burning takes over her body, a fever in admiration of her children.

The screams bend till they break in a gargle of blood and bile.

The woman is overjoyed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

An impossible contradiction

A turnabout

Two plus two does not equal four

Within the orb of light bodies are piled. Naked men their bodies intimate as lovers as they rest on top of each other. They have the frozen in time look of the recently deceased. Their skin pale but not turning yellow with rot. If it wasn’t for their freshness the pile would smell of leaking fluids. If it wasn’t for her the pile would have felt real. She gave the room a touch of spice. Their flashlight bounces off the floor.

Gone then in front of them.

A girl in a summer dress and a straw-hat. Darling or cute would describe her perfectly.  Her black hair reaches to the bend were spine meets hips. Her hair sways as she looks up. That, hangs in her mouth. She resembles a puppy dog wandering over to sniff something new.

She drops the arm in front of the boys.

Being brought up in a right household and being admonished recently by her mother the girl swallows her meal. Wiping of the red that stains her lips like a Popsicle.

She cocks her head to side as if asking, “Whatcha looking at?”

The boys flee tossing themselves back down the stairs the floor boards of the old foyer crumbling.

The girl looks out through the crumbling wall. The boys shrank as they went down the crumbling road. She licks her fingers closing the door as she returns to her meal.

 

 

Hey its next time. Well not next prompt next time but its still next time. Just a quick note for any aspiring writers out there, research is important. It sounds stupidly simple but research is a big part of writing. Hopefully most young writers know this but if your like me its one of those things that you don’t utilize often. Writing certain details, like grotesque horror, with out research is like trying to draw a city without any reference. You get general shapes but the real sparks of life that make a city alive is lost. To summarize, research is really important for realistic writing.  Welp, see you at my next post, Ransom.