It’s been one year since I published my first horror story Distorted Tracks, so I’m doing a giveaway over on my Twitter! I’m very new to Twitter and no one there knows me so you have a good chance of winning! Just follow me there and retweet this post to enter. One randomly picked winner will get the full set of The Fallowing e-books and a $15 Amazon gift card!
This prompt (in brackets) is taken from Complete the Story by Piccadilly Inc.
[Even after a long day at work, my mother’s hands worked tirelessly: chopping vegetables for dinner, stitching our clothes, whatever needed doing. I loved her hands and admired them. I wanted to be strong like her. But at the time, I couldn’t be. I would have, and gladly, if I weren’t so] afraid of what I had to do to gain that strength. I didn’t dare. I could only watch those hands cook and clean and mend. I could feel them on my own hands, the muscles in them rippling over my flesh, the veins pumping strong blood through them, the fingers gripping mine as if to say, “You are not enough to have these.”
But I knew I would have them one day.
Back then, all I could do was take the sharpest knife from the kitchen and creep into her room late at night or early in the morning. I could stand by her bedside and watch those hands of hers twitch as she dreamed, see them clutch the covers as if to crush them, paw at the air as if to strangle something. I could grip the handle of the knife, but I couldn’t bring it to her wrists. I couldn’t cut off those hands for myself.Continue reading