Your Throat

I love your throatMy, what a lovely neck.
Mind if I give it a little squeeze?
Yes, both hands. It's because I've got small fingers.
Mmmm, that's nice and warm. Good throat.
Why the struggle? Stop fighting baby. Stop it.
I'll let go once you a bit turn blue. I promise.
Sorry, I can't hear what you're saying. That was blue?
I'm colorblind.

Welcome to my humble writer’s dungeon!

I sometimes refer to it as The Pit. This is where wholesome stories are birthed, tortured and dismembered.

The writing begins with a happy-ever-after intention but, like life, reality butts-in to include an uncomfortable truth or two.

They say truth is stranger than fiction but that in itself is subjective. Truth has multiple depths and those who swear by it on the ground floor often swear to another on the next floor. Truth is flexible, changing according to the most desirable outcome.

The one thing I know is pure truth can be a very dangerous thing. The more we delve into our truest feelings, thoughts, dreams, the deeper into the rabbit hole we go.

Fantastic discoveries are made in the darkness of that hole.

Prepare yourself. Discovery comes with teeth.

So, if you came looking to find a cliche of hope and happiness here, just take a seat Cinderella. I’ll pop these cuffs around your ankles. There you go. Now let me talk to the adults.

For those with a stomach strong enough to read my style of dark fiction, click here to begin your journey.

Oh, don’t worry, if you’re off to explore these tunnels and think you’ll miss all the action while you’re gone, you won’t. Cinderella will be here when you get back. You’ll return to see her eyes grow wide with fear. I’m in no hurry to start working on her.

I always take my time.

Always.

-M

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