Writer’s Group

So this week I was invited to a local writer’s group in the merry old town of Kingston. I decided to go, and boy am I glad I did! Everyone was nice and there are some amazing writers in the group. When I went to Regent way back in the day, we had a small writer’s group and I missed the camaraderie. Getting that back was certainly a wonderful thing, but the best thing this evening was the writing prompt assignment. I think all writers know about writing prompts, and while they can range from painful to pleasurable, this one was definitely the latter. As a little treat, I thought I’d share the two inklings of story I produced this evening below.

The first story I wrote was a horroresque one, prompted by the phrase “when her eyes glazed over”. Here it is in all its glory:

Sometimes, in the dead of night, i remember their screams calling to me, beckoning me to somewhere deep inside the blackness, tempting me to join them. I must confess, the pull of them is strong, and it is only when i strangle them that I gain the power to overcome their macabre Siren’s call.

As I sit here surrounded by the urine-soaked walls, the mutterings and ramblings of those for whom sanity has never existed my only companions, I think back to those moments just before death, when the struggle to live is gone and the soul waits patiently for the filthy flesh to release it into the ether. It is then when they are at their most beautiful, their most innocent. But none were so beautiful as Alice, and when her eyes glazed over, finally accepting her fate…that was the first and only time I felt remorse. It was, in fact, the catalyst which led to my capture and current incarceration.

But she had to be stopped. I swear to you, she had the blackness within her that all flesh has, yet she also had something else, a word I had always heard but never experienced. Alice had hope. She made me want to be a better person, but she also made me want to be a dirty little boy…and Mother abhors dirty little boys…

Mother…she would have been so proud of me, the way I never gave in to their blackness, no matter how loudly they might scream. Yet I feel her, standing in the corner there just to my left, a disdainful smile playing across her wizened face. “Jeremy,” she says, “Good boys don’t get caught. Good boys do God’s work, and God rewards them by keeping them safe from the laws of the self-righteous hypocrites rutting like wild hogs in heat.”

I would try to explain Alice to her as I have to you, but Mother is much wiser than I, and even dead she does not suffer fools lightly.


Well, that’s enough for this time. I hope you enjoyed it. I’ll share the other snippet in my next blog.

Until Death Is Defeated,



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