By The prompt for this scene was to write an artist going mad as they attempt to complete their magnum opus, their great work. And the pieces that were written were fantastic. I know some very creative people. These pieces defiantly had a horror vibe.
Trigger Warning: Blood. Self mutilation. Read at your own risk.
Writing That One Scene
I have to get this right. There is a word I’m missing, a turn of phrase. I know if I can just figure it out…
The wall is a blank canvas. It stares back at me, a void. I map out this scene over and over and over. Trying to get just the right amount of energy into it. Trying to make them, these people that started off as just characters to fly off the page. The figments of my imagination dance in my mind, staying frustratingly there.
Typing.
Re-typing.
The battery dies.
Picking up a pen, I cover page after page. The same scene, the same but different. Over and again.
Ink bleeds and sweat stains the notebook. Dripping, dripping from my hands.
“No, no, no!” I cry, not my imperfect words smugged beyond all recognition.
Tears join the sweat. I was almost there. Almost.
Almost.
I dig, searching for something that won’t smudge. A pencil but unsharpened. A knife.
Scrape, scrape, scrape over wood. Scents of cedar fill the air. Barely even hissing as the knife digs into my thumb. This graphite needs a point.
That blank wall, that blank canvas beckons me. Fleshing out the scene, the people in my mind now dancing, dancing on the wall, they stumble when they should flow. In words and graphite and dotted blood. But still…
But still why, why are they not right?
Maybe, maybe if I write in my blood? Maybe if I give them my chaos?
Where is that knife?
Thank you KW Photography for allowing me to use your wonderful photos!
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McGee Travel Tales 