It’s a writer’s worst nightmare.

The moment when you just couldn’t come up with anything, absolutely nothing, when the well of creativity dries up. It’s frustrating. Us writers call this menace writer’s block, it preys on us from the dark reaches of our minds; it is the killer of imagination.

I myself had experienced this annoyance on many occasion, but this one time I found a solution…

I had sat at my desk, fingers at the ready to tap away at my keyboard in order to spin elaborate tales out of my mind. Just as I pressed the first key I stopped myself. I had gone totally blank.


Frustration flourished throughout my body as I lost all thought processes. This had started to become a more common occurrence, I just couldn’t think.

Now what you didn’t know about me was that I adored the horror genre, the grisly, gory and downright sinister just appealed to me like a moth to light, and soon after taking my first dip into the dark area I began to write creepypasta. It seemed like a fun little hobby to distract me from the mundane nature of the real-world. I could envelop myself in these fantastical stories whenever I wanted. But recently, I had begun to fall short, the stories I submitted were never accepted, they got more cliché and much duller. I wasn’t proud of myself at all, I spent weeks questioning “What had happened? Where did my spark go?”. I would spend nights on end staring blankly into the wall opposite my writing desk, with not a single word to put onto paper.

To be honest; I grew angrier by the day. Then I realised I just needed some inspiration….yes, that’s exactly what I needed, something to rekindle my creative passion.

And I knew exactly how to get such inspiration for my little tales…

The next day, I began to enact my plan. I exited my house and walked briskly down the street, all around me was the bustling of every-day life; the busy chatter of passer-bys; the melodic rumble of traffic and the odd car horn or two.

I began to scope out my target, someone who would be…entertaining. Then I saw her in my peripheral, the sun combing her delicate brown hair, she seemed to be excitedly chattering away to her friend; a slightly taller but thin man with short cut blonde hair.

It was perfect. I stalked them for a while until they isolated themselves.

Haha. Big mistake.

There and then I took my chance, acting swiftly with purpose I bludgeoned the two of them over the head, there was a sickening crack as the metal pipe impacted their skulls. There I had them; my two pretty faces for my masterpiece of a story.

I dragged them to my nearby car and hastily stuffed them inside. I got in and began to drive at a concerning speed towards my house. It was almost dark when I pulled up, taking as little time as possible I pulled them from the car and sluggishly dragged them painfully slow into my garage.

Then I shut the door and waited for them to wake up.

It took hours, but eventually, the couple’s eyes flickered open like broken bulbs. I decided to greet them with a pleasant smile.

“Oh, good, you’re awake. I guess we’ll get started”

The couple stared at me with pale expressions, panic flaring in their eyes as they realised the restraints on their wrists.

“Now, don’t be flustered. I simply need something from you…some inspiration”

I glanced over at the corner of my garage at a single wooden table. On it was numerous playthings; tools.

I was surprised they didn’t struggle at the sight of these, I guess this is what they called shock. I ran my fingers over the tools, pondering on what to pick to begin my experience. I finally settled on a carving knife, the rusted edge just beckoned me.

“That’ll do, then.”

I began carving like a carpenter would working on a sculpture and I took pride in my work as I cut deep into the man’s exposed back. I was thoroughly enjoying myself. I moved onto my next dish, the woman. I smiled as I made the first incision, cutting into her soft, delicate skin. The knife cut through like butter and she gave off a soft whimper. I cut deeper and she wailed in agony, I continued and she continued to screech in a way that would outdo a banshee. I didn’t hear painful cries, I heard a sorrowful melody that pleased my ears.

Over the hours, I tested each toy on the both of them, the woman was the first to die; her mangled and mutilated corpse sat idly staring at the ceiling whilst the man clung desperately to the last shreds of his life. With one satisfying motion I sliced his throat, the warm liquid ran over my hands and with that, his body fell limp and lifeless.

My inspiration was over and I could already feel the effects. I had to began to fabricate elaborate plots and so I walked to my desk to begin writing.

And I couldn’t wait to submit this story.

Credit: Ryan Davies

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