Writing Prompt

STORY STARTER

Inspired by Maranda Quinn

Take a famous romantic quote, or lyric, and use it as the opening line to a horror story.

The line must be related to the story.

Writings

Paparazzi

“Baby, you’ll be famous… chase you down until you love me…” I sang to myself, watching her from a far enough distance that she did not notice my obsessive, longing gaze on her petite figure.

Who is she, you may ask yourself. Well, she is my absolute worst enemy… and my number one love (obsession) interest at the same time. It was very confusing, but… I was so madly in love with her that I did not generally think about the never-ending animosity lingering between us… especially not when I was following her, like this.

She was just so… irresistible and… perfect. The bittersweet taste of her name in my mouth surprisingly did not disgust me, it was somewhat delightful, in a way. I just wanted her so badly, and believe me, I had asked her out before. But she shut me down instantaneously. Now I was following her, chasing her down until she loved me, and if that never happened… well, if I couldn’t have her, no one was going to.

In other words, if she decided NOT to accept her fate and date me, she would die… and consequently, so would I. Killing her would kill me, but as I said before, if I couldn’t have her, no one was going to. And if she wouldn’t have me, no one else would.

She began walking further down the street, and I followed suite, keeping my distance and blending in with the crowd. After a while of walking straight down a boring, bland street, she ironically took a sharp turn into a dark alleyway. I sped up. This was my chance.

Splitting off from the crowd unnoticed, I rushed into the alleyway, quickly, yet silently. Somehow, she still hadn’t taken notice of my looming presence, and she wouldn’t, until it was too late for her…

With a sudden, swift move, I came up behind her and pinned her to the wall, one hand covering her mouth… and the other… holding my switchblade. She struggled against me, but I was stronger than her, and I held my ground.

“Well, well, well… we meet again, my darling. I’m afraid that I must repeat my question from a few weeks prior to this… will you go out with me? This thing is… now the stakes are higher. Say yes and we will live a happy life together, forever. Say no and… well… I think you know what will happen to you from there.” I said, smirking as my switchblade danced within my fingers, the blade shining in the soft beam of moonlight.

“So,” I whispered. “What will it be? Me… or death?”

I pulled my hand just far enough away from her mouth as to let her speak. “I choose death.” She stated bluntly.

My eyes widened in shock. “Why?”

“Because,” she said. “I would never, ever date a sick, twisted bastard like you. So, if you must… kill me.”

I wanted to say no, to refused to kill her, but I had already dedicated myself to this plan. And goddamnit, I was going to follow through.

With one swift flick of the wrist, I slit her throat. Blood spurted out everywhere, painting the walls a potently vibrant red. She twitched violently for a moment, until her motion ceased.

I smiled softly at the sight before I slit my own throat too. Just like her, I twitched until I didn’t, and then I was dead.

Papa-paparazzi…

Together, forever.

But you'll never be alone, I'll be with you from dust till dawn. And I made sure of that. I remember when you came home from the bar, bleeding out. I slapped my hand over my mouth as I saw the crimson staining your white graphic tee. Your usual fluffy hair was drenched in alcohol, I could smell it from across the room as your curls stuck to the back of your neck and forehead. As I approached, I could see the shards of glass lodged into you. I rushed to get the first aid kit, before I heard a thud. You had used up all your strength just to get back home. Something snapped inside of me. YOU PROMISED. YOU PROMISED WE WOULD ALWAYS BE TOGETHER. YOU PROMISED YOU WOULD GIVE ME THE BIGGEST HUG ONCE I GRADUATED FROM MEDICAL SCHOOL. All this work for nothing. I let out a small fit of laughter before digging through the silverware. Whatever I could find to substitute for a scalpel. I didn't even bother to snap on a pair of gloves before grabbing your beautiful head. What could I retrieve to take with me? I had considered an eardrum, but that would rot more quickly... Maybe the lens of your eye? Yes! That should do it. The work was very messy, but after ten minutes, I found it. The knife was of no more use, and I tossed it carelessly. The bloodstains on my hands stained the little thing, but it didn't matter. Now we could truly be together, forever. After I had scrubbed off any trace of scarlet from my body and the carpet, along with buried you in the woods, I headed to town. At an arts and crafts store, I found a small bottle necklace, where I could put the lens in, and carry around with me everywhere effortlessly. I jumped for joy as I kissed the lens before dropping it into the bottle. Together, forever.

Choir

“Take me to church” she begged. I saw fear in her eyes. In a restroom with a warm orange light chained to the sink, i kept her like a dog. Every drop of blood around her had met with one another like a pool and every drop was a sin of her’s.

“I CAN REPENT…I CAN REPENT” like a broken record. It was annoying to listen to. The chains were finally weighing her down. She was about to witness what she always denied.

“God would not want this”, i laughed at that. “Look at you, in a pool of blood, knowing you are about lose your life, yet you deny” i said to her with a smirk. She kept crying for some reason. I was going to free her, send her soul to where it came from, I WAS DOING HER A FAVOR.

She had it coming. IT WAS HER FAULT. The wounds i had given her on her arm were healing, Her shaved head was growing hair again,…I HAD TO! WE HAD TO LET GO, WE HAD TO BREAK THE CURSE, YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND, SHE HAD TO GO, SHE DESERVED IT!

So i did. Her “I CAN REPENT….PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE” Was making my ears ring. I could not feel…anything? The surroundings went cold…It felt as if i can see myself in third person. Out of my body. Like ecstatic.

I got closer with the sledgehammer, “PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE”

i could not hear anything over the ringing ears.

“PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE”

i keep moving, losing my vision, it all seemed hazy.

“I CANT REPENT, FORGIVE ME FORGIVE ME FORGIVE ME”, She kept crying.

enraged, annoyed i told her to stop, “SHUT THE FUCK UP” i screamed.

she did not listen - “PLEASE I REPENT PLEASE FORGIVE ME PLEASE”

i lift the hammer “I WILL REPENT PLEASE” she says. I felt a tear rolling down my face, and It came back to me “NO AMOUNT OF REPENTANCE IS GOOD ENOUGH FOR HOW YOU RAISED ME MA” i whisper, sadly.

Through her redundant “PLEASE” and “FORGIVE ME” I swung the hammer. It all went silent. I lost my vision the moment her blood hit my face.

In that moment, i felt my mother’s love for the first time. We laid unconscious, no worries in our heads, no head left for her to have. That moment was my heaven. I sent her to church.

Stained

“I hope that I stain through your memory.”

Tears stream down her face, coated in sweat as she pants and holds the gun, fighting to keep it steady as she aims it at his chest. In his eyes, an expression that seems a cross between disdain, torture, and longing. He breathes rapidly, deeply as he stares her down, refusing to look anywhere else but directly into her eyes. Refusing to even blink.

She lets out a cry of anguish, faltering for a moment as she loses aim. But as he goes to move towards her again, she pulls the gun back into position as she blindly holds him at bay. Tears begin to bead his eyes, “You would rather me die than fix what we’ve done.”

“We??” A chuckle of disbelief escapes her sobs, “I didn’t put us in this position. I didn’t do ANY of this, it was all you!” He attempts to step forward, and she begins to thrash the gun violently in her hands, “DON’T FUCKING COME CLOSER!”

His hands are up beside his shaking head, “You’re not going to do it.”

She chokes on her own spit, her nose clogged and her eyes blurry as she manages, “Don’t come near me again. I won’t let you do this to me again. I WON’T LET YOU HURT ME AGAIN!”

Fury rushes to his face through his tears as he balls his hands into shaking fists, “I DIDN’T MEAN TO HURT YOU! I DON’T EVEN REMBER DOING THAT TO YOU, I WAS DRUNK!”

“YOU ALWAYS SAY THAT,” she keeps over and takes a moment to hold herself, overridden with pain, anxiety, and betrayal, “IT’S ALWAYS THE SAME, IT NEVER GETS BETTER. JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!”

He takes the chance to take a few cautious steps forward, “You know I can’t do that.”

A wail of defeat leaves her throat, her hands to both sides of her head as a splitting migraine makes residency, the gun still tight in her right hand. She contemplates turning it into herself for a moment. The fastest way to ensure she’s never in this position again. This never-ending cycle of adultery, violence, substances, and false promises. Those delightful little false promises, the very same ones broken and left with her begging to be set free. To not be plagued in her mind by the thought of him and where he was, whether they were together or not. Whether she was the only one. Whether he would come home drunk and heavy-handed tonight or not.

“Listen…,” he moves closer, keeping eye contact with her as he lowers himself onto the ground nearby herself, “I know we’ve had our ups and downs. We both need to accept where we’ve both done wrong and do better. We can make this work. We can do better. And I know I’ve done wrong, but this isn’t just me.”

“We’re both just as guilty.”

She sits on the floor, her knees folded up to her chest as she clings to the gun. Her last lifeline. Its now or never, and the longer she tries to fight for herself, the longer and narrower the hallway leading to escape seems to be.

Could she really be as guilty? Could it be that, with every return she makes, she buries herself alive in his presence? Was she allowing him to mistreat her?

“…&%@$!%^?”

She looks from the hallways up to his eyes. She’s right where he wants her. She knows it.

The longer she stays with him, the more she wants to bash her head into the bedside table, over and over again. The way he manipulates and gaslights her, makes her question her reality, pushes her boundaries and limits daily as easily as he breathes air. He may as well be the one bashing her head into the bedside table. And if it were not figuratively already, it would be literal in time with the way he had just tried breaking her arm that night.

“….Please just hand me the gun.”

She shakes her head, her heart quickens in pace, and she knows she must make a decision. The pressure had been building, warning signs flashing that she was about to fall off the cliff. To exit the ride as quickly as she could.

And yet, when he looked at her that way, she could see him. The humanity in him. The part of him she had fallen for and loved so adamantly. He had come to the surface again, who knows for how long this time, but he was here.

The cliff was approaching rapidly. He reached his hands out for the gun. She could easily point it back at him, run out, leave, never return. But he would never allow that. She knew it. They both knew it.

She was branded by his touch, her ring finger scarred and disfigured from the abuse he called love. And in every way in her life, no matter where she may hide, she would forever be haunted by him. The feeling was… addictive.

He pried the gun from her hands slowly, placing it onto the floor within his reach yet outside of hers, and forced his way into her arms in an embrace.

The doors slammed shut, a free fall from the cliff as she missed her que to press the ejection button before the crash.

Is there anything more horrific than to allow yourself to be eaten alive just to feel the rush of being loved by another?

Your Fault

"To love is to burn," he whispers, "To be on fire." Burning, I defenitely am. My stomach is churning, boiling, protesting. The glass that slipped out of my hand lays on the ground. His hand is softly caressing my cheek. Once, the touch comforted me, made me feel safe. Now, the touch leaves a cold trail of shivers behind. Not of pleasure, but of fear. He leans in, his breath hot on my neck. He continues stroking my cheek, supposedly lovingly. But I know he doesn't love me. He's obsessed with me. My lips tremble, but I can't move. My heart is beating slower with the second. I know I don't have much time. "Oh, Selene. If you just could've seen what I was doing for you.", his fingers graze my neck. "Do you feel it? Do you feel your insides burning? That's what it felt like loving you, Selene. It felt like being on fire." I feel a hand snaking its way up my skirt. He squeezes my hip, not gently, not affectionately, but way too hard, and he is hurting me. Hot tears continue flowing out of my eyes. I try not to look at him, look at the ceiling, the lamp, the cupboard I once thought was so innocent. "All I have done," his hand rakes up and down my leg. Goosebumps follow in its wake. "Just so you could see. See that the right person was right in front of you from the very start. Me, Selene. You should have chosen me." No, it's your fault!, I want to say, You were the one who made all the wrong choices!, but the only thing coming out of my throat is gurgling. I can't move, can't speak, can't breathe. His face is the only thing I can see now, floating in front of me, I barely even hear his voice, can't feel his fingers on my leg, I feel myself slipping into unconsciousness. "Your eyes say it all, darling. You blame me, because he's gone now, don't you?" He scoffs. "It's not my fault. It's yours." I feel the last warm tear rolling down my cheek as I close my eyes. My fault. He's right. I deserve this, I deserve to die alone with him, because it's all my fault. "Remember, love. Even after, even when your soul leaves, that it's your fault."

My Fault.

If I am killed for simply living, let death be kinder than man.

I saw the deer on the side of the highway, unmoving. Its eyes were open, filled with terror but also acceptance. Like it knew this day was bound to come, where it would end up as a limp corpse on the side of the road. I thought about its life, maybe it had children. I wonder what they would think once they found their mother on the side of the road. Dumped and discarded like it meant nothing like she didn't once have a life. I made eye contact with my father, his hands were bloody. I turned to the car, the front was dented and bloody. I realized what happened. My father was looking down at his hands, in horror, he couldn't fathom what he had done, even if it was accidental. I turned back to the deer, I wanted to reach down and close her eyes, give her the rest and sleep she so desperately sought after. Even after death. I looked up at the sky and prayed. I was never religious, nor have any beliefs of any kind. I prayed to whoever was listening, that this deer and every other deer before and after her would go to some kind of heaven. One with sweet tall grass, and sweet reunion where the mothers could finally see their mothers again. I prayed that they never have to be scared, run, and live in the constant fear of the fast lights on the rocky roads we called highways. I prayed that if they were killed for simply living, let Death be kinder than Man. We got into the car, and drove off.