Hello everyone,

So far, so good. I have managed to write something new every day but one this month. I have managed to hit my minimum word goal each week. I have a new story that is about to go to editing and another that is going to need to be edited before I can submit it. All in all, this is a positive writing year.

I have also entered my first contest. I submitted three poems to a contest on meditation, quiet and silence. As soon as I get results, one way or the other, I will let you know.

I am still submitting my novel to agents and seeking representation. Wish me luck.

L. E. White


I watched the gray bars of the old cell move into place, sealing me into this box with one tiny gap to let the light in. I see the animals in their cages, and they look at me like I am their next meal.

They have no idea.

The judge didn’t need much time to decide what to do, three dead in what he described as the most horrific scene in his career. I would be going to trial for murder.

All eyewitness testimony was thrown out. Nobody that wasn’t there believes we were any more than a bunch of stoned hippies. They believe that the rednecks came there to cause trouble, but they don’t believe that I was in the right to kill them.

Even though they can’t explain how I killed them.

The sound of the door locking is followed by the disappearance of other sounds. The hum of the electricity for the lights fades. The crisp clacking of the guard’s heels gets softer as they walk away. I hear the click of their door shut and the block is quiet.

For about five minutes.

Then other sounds start. There is the creaking of metal springs and the panting breath of exertion. There are grunts of pain and satisfaction, sighs of pleasure and release. The worst part is the sound of muffled words, voices pleading into pillows for this to end. I hear skin hitting skin, and I can hear gagging, like someone forcing themselves to throw up.

I begin to shake when I hear the bedsprings behind me.

“You and I are gonna come to an understanding.” The voice is deep and rough. I can tell it is from a point that is above my head, which means he is taller. “If you don’t want to be raped. If you don’t want to be beaten into submission. If you don’t want me to whore your little white ass out to anyone who wants a go at it, then you are going to do your best to make me a happy man. Do you understand me?”

I hear him shift his feet to widen his stance. “I asked you a question bitch.”

I turn around, making a slow circle on my heel. I start at his shoes, and let my eyes work their way up to his head. He outweighs me by at least fifty pounds. He is more than four inches taller.

That won’t matter.

“You will leave me alone, or I will tear you into pieces. You decide which.”

He looks into my eyes, and the muscles in his jaw clench. “Fine then boy. You are going to regret that.”

I frown and look at the beefy hand that he is curling into a fist. “Probably, but not as much as you will.”

I don’t know if I could have dodged the punch. Even if I could have, I don’t think it would have mattered. He would have thrown punches until one hit me. I know nothing else would happen until I get hit. So I don’t even try.

He is strong, and I feel my cheek bone crack when he hits me. I fly backward, smashing into the bars and splitting my scalp. The floor rushes up to meet me, and I see him step closer.

Then it starts. The red hot flash of pain in my face triggers a string of explosions down my spine. My body tenses, the muscles seizing so hard that I hear other bones crack. I break into pieces. I should be in agony from the broken bones, but the stabbing pain in my chest as my heart stops is worse.

He is leaning down to grab me and drag me up, when I make eye contact with him. He sees the differences. First in my eyes, then the skin that is breaking and splitting as bone and muscle below it moves around. He stumbles backward, all of the confidence replaced by fear. He knows he won’t touch me again. Before I lose consciousness, I see that he realizes he won’t touch anything or anyone else, ever again.

We both scream. His is a primal reaction to what he sees, mine is a primal reaction to the pain.

Then I black out.

I wake up strapped to a hospital bed. I am in the infirmary, and I don’t remember a thing.

Beside me is another bed. A sheet with large red blotches covers a couple of lumps that don’t look like they used to be a man.

I feel the tear slide out of my eye. It burns as it makes its way down to the pillow below my head. That is all I have left; nothing else. Just the burning of tears making tracks on my skin as I wait for my world to come to an end.

I will be alone for the rest of my days. Missing her, hating them, and wishing I could remember what happened.

  1. January 30, 2015 at 12:10 PM

    the inner cells of the man to the cell in which they try and contain him – nice

    • January 30, 2015 at 1:00 PM

      Thank you.

      All things are reflected. Even though his environment is supposed to be controlled, the reality is that chaos is born from within. The lack of control involved in classic lycanthrope stories is, in my opinion, one of the most frightening things in the world. I love writing about it.

  2. January 31, 2015 at 8:15 PM

    You did an excellent job setting the mood in the prison, and describing his transformation from 1st Person even with the requisite blackout. Well done!

    • February 2, 2015 at 11:28 AM

      Thank you. I am glad you enjoyed it.

      I hate doing black outs from that POV. I always worry that it is going to sound cliche.

      • February 3, 2015 at 1:34 AM

        It really can be cliched, and is far to often used as an “out” in poorly written stories, but your use here was appropriate and truly fit the story.

      • February 3, 2015 at 7:46 AM

        Thank you. I really appreciate hearing that.

  3. February 1, 2015 at 10:51 AM

    Scary stuff!

    • February 2, 2015 at 11:24 AM

      Thank you. I am glad you enjoyed it.

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