Prompt Day # 50: Hitchcock’s famous shower scene from Psycho never actually shows the blade penetrating flesh. Emulate this: write a highly disturbing scene without actually showing gore. If this is too difficult for you gorehounds, try to use the viewpoint of a blind killer.
Not sure how I did on this one. I get the prompt, I am just not sure that I did a good job. We’ll see. Feel free to comment your thoughts. Still dealing with wifi difficulties and new job time consumption. I am Hell bent on keeping up with this challenge and I am really trying to write one ahead of time so I can get back on track until I get my wifi which the ways things are going up here, who knows when that might be. All I know is this challenge is the best thing I have ever done for myself as a writer and I am going to do every single one of them if it kills me. Meanwhile, I am working on a novel based on one of the prompts earlier. I’m excited at the prospect and the idea of it. Still in a basic outline and research stage (because working as a full time Ob/Gyn, writing a prompt a day and researching and outlining a novel consumes a lot of my time. Eventually, I may have to cut back on the words per story from the prompts to focus more on the novel but for now, I’m juggling. Somehow….Thanks for hanging in there with me.
The Mother of Death
He knew she was drunk. She wouldn’t be going home with a stranger if she had her wits about her. Obviously, he was taking advantage of that. He frequently took advantage of women in bad situations; they suited his “victim profile” as the FBI would say. The problem with the FBI was they didn’t realize he was a serial killer. They weren’t trying to develop victim profiles. This was because, in his humble opinion, he was the smartest serial killer in American history. Every victim was different and every method of dispatching the victim was individualized. This woman, for instance, had told him she was a midwife. She delivered babies. “I bring life into this world every day” she’d told him, smiling proudly. That was when he decided she would be the one. He wanted to say I take life out of this world as often as I can, but he didn’t. Instead, he bought her another drink.
Now here she was, falling all over him in his home. He led her to the bedroom and laid her down on the bed. She was so drunk; she could barely get herself undressed so he took care of both of them. He pulled out the knife he kept between the mattresses. He made love to her with the blade. She screamed which simply aided in his plan. Her own life was delivered from her much the same way she herself delivered life from others. He watched it spill out of her fascinated. More and more with each scream. He wished her heart could be delivered in the same manner. He picked the knife back up and opened her. There was now an empty cavern in her belly allowing him easy access to her heart. She was no longer able to scream; to push, push, push as a midwife would say. So he played the part of the hand of god, delivering her heart through the artificial womb he’d made. The final scene was a work of art. He stepped back and surveyed the scene. It was too beautiful to destroy. He took several Polaroids, because he knew when he got her to the drop off, he would never be able to recreate this pose. It was art. He would call this one The Mother of Death.