Serenity Martinie

EDU 214
Saladino
3/31/17
A Method Author

The author sat in his leather chair in the corner of the room holding a brown and pungent

cigar. The smoke filled the air and he watched as it slowly crept towards the ceiling, dancing and

making patterns around the air. His wife had become extremely adamant about that dream of

hers, How I oughtta stop writing the terrors and torments all stored up in my brain. The author

said out loud to the empty black air. Now look at me, he thought, a product of my own disgusting

creations. The author stood for the for the first time in hours looking at his reflection in the

window, that was all the courage he had, a mirror would have brought reality to a harsh vivid

light. Staring back at him, a grotesque monster, a mosaic of the horror that bled from his mind

and now bled from his face. Every rotted character had lept from his pages and onto his face. The

casted out green haired clown who went blind in one eye. The cracked doll with smudged

lipstick and filled with worms. The big toothed witch with a seeing eye who was decapitated in

Salem and the trigger happy teenager who added a hole to his own face. All of them showed

through. I made this mask, now I gotta wear it, but Ill be dead during the parade, then the

author typed, The end. on his own story.

Darkness floods the pavement in the black of night, street lights cease to glow, nothing to

tell an illusion created by the twisted compartment of your imagination from the reality of the

moment. A red medium paints the the ground and a man who's lost his innocence lies without

feeling. Dawn breaks and morning light reveals the morbid picture the night has painted with

cruel detail.