Disclaimer: This post contains profanity, violence, misogyny, and basically is just kind of sick. It is simply for the sake of my meager attempt to be in a character that's not anything like me. It was a basic writing exercise that was pretty freeflowing and unplanned. Please, please, please, please don't bother reading this if you are squeamish or easily offended.
Activity: "Finish the story. Start with: He had a scar."
He had a scar. Norman Speltman woke up with it 5 years ago. It started life as an incision into his arm, where the nurse cut out tissue damaged by a spider bite, or bacterial infection, or whatever the fuck she felt like calling it. To him it was nothing more then cock blocking, swollen mass of goo. As time went on, the hole in his arm became a hard mass of scar tissue. Now it was an ugly lump of skin that disturbed the beautiful inked lines of his tattoo sleeve.
"Where did that scar come from?" his young lady caller asked.
"Crack pipe broke."
She immediately put her hand to her mouth in a gesture of surprise and sympathy. In Norman's mind, there was no such thing as sympathy. Rather the internal harddrive in his cranium double clicked on a file 'norms_dictionary.txt'. A quick search provided this information: a .jpg depicting a giant pile of male cow manure. But hey, when pussy's involved even fake sympathy will do.
"Don't be upset it was stupid mistake. My old man called to tell me My mother died 3 hours ago. She had been on cancer treatment for years. We knew it was coming, but that didn't make things easier. I guess I felt I just couldn't handle it all..." Go ahead, lap it up like a good girl. Bitches eat up that momma's boy shit. Mothers and Aunts and teachers and sunday school teachers like to tell their darling little clones that boys that respect their mothers will respect you too. It's one of those passing minor details that are supposed to allow girls to make important decisions like whether 'he's the one'. Ridiculous.
The ignorant young woman leaned in to hold him as if to say "You poor baby, I'll take care of you now." Sitting on the edge of his motel bed, Norm looked straight ahead into a large mirror, observing the young beauty holding his figure, her face buried into his chest. A smirk crept onto his face as he admired himself and this situation in the mirror. He felt a moving painting of a religious icon comforting the weak sheep.
Who needs kids, and a house, and a yard, and extended family, and boring neighbors, and cubical job, and their entire life sucked out through day to day bullshit. There four things that must change on a day to day basis for Norm. The city he's in, it has to change. The motel room he's staying in, it has to change. The bitch underneath him, definitely has to change. And the finale that makes him ejaculate, it has to change. Tonight was the night that Norm would try the one thing he's wanted to do his whole life. Thirty years of repressed fantasies unleashed themselves as the final moments of his grinding ontop of her came to a halt with an explosion that started from the barrel of a Glock and worked it's way through her lower jaw, ripping it's way through grey matter only to turn into beautiful red shrapnel on the headboard. He stayed there for a minute, reveling in the ecstasy taking life. Slowly the chaos shifted from elation, to concern for his own well being. This was not going to be fun to clean up.
Click here to read Caos Dulce's interpretation,
I think yours is original. I don't know why you would say it isnt original. I think some of the ideas need to be flushed out more - but having said that I realize you were just writing and didn't proofread or anything (that's what i do too). I think its a great start and activity.
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