My mom was always telling me I would never be a successful writer. “Ronny” she’d say, “Ronny, if I told ya once I told ya a thousand times, you’ll never be a successful writer. Never, never, never.”
That was until I wrote a horror story where she was the main character and things changed. Big time. I wrote the story all in one night at a fevered pace. When I was done and exhausted, I crashed into my bed like a zombie. I musta slept for hours and never moved a muscle. You know how you wake up all stiff and realize you didn’t move at all? Like that.
My room was cleaned up so I knew my mom must have been working in there but I never stirred. Before I had crashed last night, I had dropped my story on my dresser and it was gone so I knew mom was reading it. I began to skulk around the house looking for her but trying not to look like I was looking for her, you know? As I crept around I started to recall the story of the thing that gets her. I shuddered even just thinking about it to myself. In my imagination and story the monster was huge, maybe ten times the size of our house. It was furry all over and had this horrible, sinister face with glowing yellow eyes and huge fangs. Whiskers fanned out across the things face and twitched and danced. For it’s size it was nearly silent as it moved through the yards of our neighborhood, on the hunt. Maybe the most amazing facet, aside from it’s innate ferocity, was the thing’s physical ability. It could leap miles, up or forward. It had retractable claws on all four feet and could eviscerate someone in seconds with any one of them. Lost in the imaginings of my fanciful story I almost missed the sound coming through the front window. Ragged breathing with an underlying whimper.
I crept to the door and peered out and to my utter astonishment, the thing from my story crouched there in the front yard. I was frozen with fear. The sounds were coming from my mother who hung limply out of either side of the monsters mouth. A trickle of blood ran from her mouth down along the side of her gray nose. One of her eyes bulged helplessly at me, not seeing. Mother gasped and shuddered and then with a flip of its’ head, the thing tossed her upwards. My mother spun in the air as her tail flew limply around her like a string. She landed on the ground with a thud and then horrifyingly, three smaller monsters leapt from the forest of green blades and converged on her. A calico-colored monster batted her clumsily with one huge claw as the other two, one gray and the other orange-striped, vied for her tail. The big monster suddenly rose up to it’s full height and gazed over the smaller ones with something like supervisory approval. Mother was gone, her limp body nothing but a monsters play toy now. The big monster leaned down and began to lick the smaller calico monster on the back and it retaliated to spin and attack. The big monster retracted its’ head carefully and pushed the calico to the ground. The orange-striped monster grabbed what remained of mother and dragged her off through the green blade forest with the gray monster in pursuit. The calico pounced after them and the big monster slowly followed. I was left alone.
I silently crept back to my room and furiously began to write. I will too be a successful writer.
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