A HORRORIST PARADOX
I killed you a long time ago, but I had to be sure. I had to go back and check.
I looked at you again.
The sweet stench of a rotting soul, a taste of why I killed you long ago.
A reminder, never truly gone unless forgotten.
I held you once more, an incurable addiction, back in my hands.
© Steve Laker, 2020
A parable perhaps of many things; toxic relationships, if you like. Minimalism is the art of the lazy writer leaving the heavy lifting to the reader.
The paradox of being a horror writer. If you can’t stop thinking, you can’t cease to be one. You can never escape the nightmares, so long as the cursed red ink flows through you.