Writing Prompt

“Cisne en agua de sangre”

Un cisne blanco cruzó el atardecer,

nadando en un lago que no quiso ver.

Las aguas no eran cielo ni rocío,

eran rojo espeso… dolor sin vacío.

Su pecho era nieve, su alma canción,

pero el agua dolía como traición.

Cada ola teñida de antiguos dolores,

reflejaba gritos… en forma de flores.

No huía el cisne, no alzó su volar,

quizá su destino era flotar y sanar.

Como si di...

**Scene 7**

****

****

****

**FADE IN:**

****

**EXT.CAR DEALERSHIP-EVENING**

ASHLEY glances at the body, then quickly looks back at the officer, JOHNOTHY.

INSPIRING MUSIC begins.

ASHLEY

“Look, in my life I have murdered eight people. Which sounds real bad, right? It’s like, cocaine. Yo...

I’m not a perfect person; that’s what the world would say about me. You wanna know why I did it? You wanna know what turns a nice human being into a sick cold blooded creature that lives off of the scum on the streets? Society and its compelling needs to label. I don’t expect you to understand me as I don’t understand myself. My dad had the same issue, but then he went and killed my mother. Labels...

The weight of the thick honey dripping to the ground sucked me dry. The blade, it’s base, it’s new home- well, if I’d actually done wrong, it would have been more like a court.

So to you, my dear, happy New Year’s Eve!

To make the night just a little brighter,

I picked out the most colourful fireworks,

And gently pushed them down your throat,

Stick up,

To light upon the dreamiest night sky,

And w...

That’s always the most popular question when someone is murdered… “Why”? Everyone has to have a reason, an understanding, or an explanation, but my question is not “Why do it”?, but “Why must there be a reason”? I will never understand people’s need to have an explanation for everything; it adds so much unnecessary stress and frustration. The one question that no one ever asks is “Why not”?, and I...

As I stared down at the lifeless, mutilated corpse of my latest victim, a weird question pooped into my mind: why am I doing this?

I had never stopped to think super hard about the answer.

“I’m doing this to rid the world of filth and trash.” I said to myself. “Seeing as everyone I kill is nothing more than a plague without any purpose in life, I guess I’m doing the world a favor! It’s like I’m ...

The apartment was my sanctuary, my control room. It overlooked her building, a silent sentinel watching over Amelia's every move. From this vantage point, I was a god, orchestrating the symphony of her life without her ever knowing. It was a distance that I cherished, a necessary buffer between my obsession and the potential for disruption.

Each day was a meticulously crafted ritual, a dance of p...

Someone has to do the job. In a world where governments fail to protect their citizens, I believe I’m heaven-sent. All my victims deserved it and none of them is missed. How do you kill your own children to hurt your ex? How do you open fire on your own people to protect your position and title? How do you enjoy the luxury you buy from the money you don’t pay your employees while their children cr...

When I was little, I never dreamed of being a killer. I was a normal kid. I wanted to be a marine biologist, or a doctor. I think it all started when I was seventeen. I was involved in a hit and run, and damn did it feel good. I only thought about it one or twice every day.

That kinda thrill never leaves you. It consumes you. There’s this itch, it chases you, haunts you until you satisfy it. Eve...

Nobody understands. I don’t want to do this. I have to. If I don’t, then I’ll die. Now, some people may try to argue that. “It’s ok for these people to die so you don’t have to? Wouldn’t it be better if you died?” Right, maybe, but I don’t *want* to die. And every day I don’t kill I get worse and worse. The longest I’ve been able to make it is 13 days, and by that point I couldn’t eat or sleep and...