The Horror of the Horror Story

February 24, 2010
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I start to write. As my fingers fly across the keyboard I lose control and suddenly dark black vines begin to erupt from my laptop screen. My fingers cannot move fast enough. I am stuck to the keyboard like a bad dream, pushing, pushing to try to get through. The vines come closer aiming for my heart. I fend them off as best I can but my fingers are SO SLOW! I cannot type any good words fast enough!
My eyes widen with terror as the vines lengthen and sprout more black, silent tendrils. Moving not much faster than my fingers, they struggle against my words, my life’s work. They grasp any small breath from me they can, suck, pull, block. The black whatevers are picking up speed, continuing towards my unprotected chest and my barely protected beating heart…the only thing between it and me was a layer of skin and I didn’t want to find out how it’d feel if I let those black……FINGERS! They now looked like fingers! How? Why? Why me? My hands are moving so slowly, slower than normal… I struggle as the black fingers slowly brush my throat and continue for my horribly loud heart, my fingers racing against theirs. I want to use my hands to fend them off but I know it’d do me no good. The blackness would not be solid to my fingertips
So I continue pushing through my work, And finally. Finally. FINALLY!
I finish typing the words
“They lived happily ever after…”

And it was all over
I was alone in my room again.
I was myself,
With nothing to remind me of the encounter except the beginning of a horror story with a happy ending on my laptop. I gave it one last glance and then quickly (before my resolve
weakened) pressed DELETE.





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