Greetings, fellow sojourners in the shadowed realms of narrative. Today, I invite you to delve into an exercise in creative writing with three distinct goals: to craft a scene where vulnerability transforms into control, to breathe life into a human personality with an authentic internal monologue, and to bring believability to interactions between over-the-top characters.
With my mission thus defined, I sought inspiration to create a tale by exploring the crumbling walls of my inner citadel. There, among the refuse of my mind dug through the papers, planks, rags, and other media which bear my manic scrawling and found an elegant cloth napkin stained in... Let's stay on topic, on this napkin, I read the words, "A meet ugly between the personification of music of Type O Negative and Pantera."
I remember meeting a Little Miss Scare All, one of my few survivors and immediately imagined her as the protagonist. I paired her with a nameless killer from an unworthy manuscript locked away in the oubliette for not nearly long enough, but I had need of him. I paired these two and frantically wrote fifteen thousand words or so. The next several weeks were spent rewriting and refining the story. I fell in love with my draft, and is often true with the one you love, I had to destroy it. I wept and the shreds of prose before me and stitched it back together as a Shelian abomination. I was as wonderful as it was ugly and wholly unready to leave the laboratory that served as its cradle. The procedures it endured brought a beautiful madness that I am proud to unleash it upon the world.
This 9,444-word story became the inspiration for "Foreddom's Fugue." It is not a proper introduction to either character, and the pacing is uneven, but it infected my thoughts with a growing fungus that I will nurture with the festering shit of my adolescent years.
Content Warnings
Strong Language, Violence, Psychological Distress, Substance Use, Mature Themes, Death and Grief, Mental Health Issues
Recovery
The sky is a mix of cobalt and amber. Unnaturally vivid. A cold wind whistles in the distance, and as you glimpse an old house of wood and stone, an unseen fire crackles nearby. Fog descends, clouding your vision. It is a nauseating miasma smelling of rancid spew, unwashed bodies, animals, urine, and alcohol.
The wind returns, carrying an unknown lullaby and blowing the fog away. The lullaby is both soothing and haunting. An invisible pull tugs at your feet, guiding you to an old well, its rim worn, stone sides a testament to its age. Gazing into the well's depths, a momentary shimmer reveals a stone tablet, engraved with symbols both arcane and mesmerizing, sinking into the abyss. Then, the fog returns…
Your head throbs painfully, and the world whirls around you. What did I take?
Beyond the cocktails of odors, the scent of woodsmoke teases your nostrils, mixed with an unfamiliar metallic tang. Hell of a party! you think. A party, a deeper thought flits by, there hasn’t been a party since... the night before everything changed.
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