Holidailies Prompt: Your favorite thing that you wrote in the past year, and why.
This was my favorite story that I wrote this year.I wrote for Halloween- it is about a monster that I have always found a challenge to write about and I think I did a good job at it, plus I h fun writing it.
Inspired by the Experience Writing Prompt: Fear Is A Monster
“Design Committee” by Aaron Jasinski
A dark heart driven to be beat by anger
instead of blood it is feuled by despair
razor sharp teeth, curled cruel claws
freed from their prison of flesh and bone
when the Moon is full.
Photo J..M Moscoso
It was raining the night Agatha decided to become a Vampire.
She was sitting on her porch, perched on a lawn chair covered with slick rotten autumn leaves and bird poo when a bolt of lightning hit the oak tree at the side of her yard and blew one of it’s limbs off.
That lightning strike was a sign.
Tonight was the night Agatha would leave the world of shopping on line, waiting at the same bus stop at the end of her street to get on the bus in the morning that took her to work where one of her co-workers had shaved his head save for a top knot perched on top of his head.
He dyed it pink and it looked like a severed thumb had pushed it’s way out of his skull.
Good by and so long to all of that.
Tonight was the night she would fly free from this dull colorless world just the lightning charred arm from her oak tree did.
She got up from her seat. She knew what she would tell her husband and her two teenage children and of course their phones which had replaced each of them in this new world that had been created for them by their preferred cellphone carrier.
She pushed her living room door open, she strode down the hall to their dining room and she bellowed as she kicked a fallen chair over on her way into the half lit room
” I’ve decided that tonight I am going to become a monster. Tonight I’m going to become a Vampire, a merciless cold blooded killer. What do you think of that?”
From their places around the table where her family were sitting with their faces in their plates, their breakfast food clotted with vomit and blood leaving half dried gelatinous masses haphazardly splattered on the cream colored linen table cloth, had her family been able to say anything from the ruined faces created by Agatha’s shotgun, the words ” are you crazy” would not have been among them.
