Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Zen, Oct 17, 2012.

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  1. Despite there being another exercise about blood, it didn't touch upon gore or death. Which leads to this exercise:

    Your challenge is to write at least two paragraphs describing a violent scene as graphically as possible. I want you to make the reader cringe and clutch at their sides, as if they can feel the wound on their own bodies. I not only want to see blood, but I want to see intestines and brains. I want to see heads lobbed off or limbs cut off. Make it as gorey as you possibly can. Death is definitely encouraged in this exercise.
  2. Re: Writing Exercise: Gore

    I don't know if this will satiate ones taste for gore, but I do hope it is an enjoyable read and I encourage feedback so here is an exerpt from my writings.

    As the lantern shed light upon yet a new horror, a grisly depiction of one's twisted thoughts were alivened upon the walls of her dank imprisonment. Secrets which would never see past the labrinthian mind, were betrayed in the form of a scene of the atrocity one could do with idle hands. The lamplight flickered and then was extinguished, as if the candle wished to spare her of enormity she was about to behold with a cerulean gaze. The shroud of darkness would not allow her to see the ensanguined walls, but but her ears were not deafened to the steady drippage of the fresh splatters all around her. As she stepped cautiously, fingers riding the air current blindly, she felt the sticky splashes of what she could only imagine to be the the end product of a releasing of one's vital fluids upon the floor. The fetid stench of freshly decaying entrails seemed to permeate the stale air,her hearing attuned to the sound of wet plopping upon the earthen carpet she now stood upon. She felt itchy, as if the diseased stench itself was enrobing her. What happened here?

    Without her sight, she could only hear and feel the portrayal of gore which now seemed to be fertilized of the emotions, closing in on her.Walls that were distant were now entombing her. The acrid taste of vomit surged up her delicate throat, screams were like fingers strumming a tune upon her vocal chords like a cacophonic melody on a long forgotten lute. Malignant veins fueled of rancid,clotted blood seemed to slither toward her, as if to bind her feet in place. Then they would start a slow ascent toward her torso and upper extremities, a mass of oozing fetor twisting and wrapping about her like living tendrils. She was now rooted to the middle of the room, the shedding remnants of long decomposed offal falling upon her like shriveled leaves of Autumn. The pulsing mass had reached her mouth, branches of a sinewy substance had begun to stitch her eyes and lips closed.

    The world was shut away, she was alone with her thoughts. She relived the voices, the taunting whispers silkily lapping at her ears. It was like music. Suddenly the vessels of her own plagued inner vision struck her like fanged mouths, congealed liquids of lifeblood seeping down her cheeks and chin as she struggled against the substance that blinded and silenced her. Something in her mind was broken, something that was still repairable. She could simply dispel the thoughts at any time. She didn't wish to. The house, architected of her dark fantasies had done her bidding for a long time. There would be evidence of rotting limbs strewn across the floor like some sort of morbid decoration, fecal aromas of recently loosened intestines falling from divided flesh. The tortured bodies were suspended like marionettes, in a still levitation above the ruddy, blood soaked earth. Some were affixed to the walls in an act of crucifixion, hollowed bodies displayed for the world to view. She was the mother cyst, the living subjects would cease to breathe at her very whim. Listless husks of men were asphyxiated, the wicked tendrils encircling their necks until the sound of broken spines could be heard, constricting air and bloodflow until the permenant severing of life from their bodies.

    Others were drawn and quartered, useless limbs dangling about as if they were forever immortalized as part of her sinister structure. If she bidded so, the anethema of her own design would forge razors of its flesh, and she would orchestrate them to act in sometimes a surgical precision to extract the bodily fluids, or flay flesh from bone. Other times her mind was distracted from the screaming and bubbling of blood from the throats of her playthings, and this would cause her to become enraged. The razor tentacles would react to this, becoming an outlet for her sheer ferocity. Enucleated heads would be discarded to the floor, an eye or two pitched toward the walls with enough force to make them explode on impact. The jelly housed within would leak down the walls like a coat of wet paint. Skulls were crushed and the brain within fed upon, as her horrible imagined dollhouse would gain the memories of the subjects and become more sentient with each victim.
  3. Re: Writing Exercise: Gore

    The scent of animal filled the dragon's nostrils, a rutting beast of male moose, the stench of the season filling the air about him. It was feeding time. With a powerful lurch, the dragon threw himself skywards to seek out the precious carrion that would be made of his next meal. The dragon could already imagine the taste of fresh blood washing over his tongue, the smell of the animal defecating upon itself as it drew labored breaths from punctured lungs. He could imagine the feel of the pathetic creature wiggling within his powerful clutch of his talons tearing through hide and muscles that made up the frame, the way precious crimson life drained over his onyx scales. How the poor animal would cry out in harmonious agony as he flew off with it. Again it was feeding time. The aroma of meat grew strong with every passing moment, yet it felt like eons to the dragon. That's when it came into sight. The fiery green gaze of the dragon were like hawks upon the moose, and on silent wings he glided towards his target. The capture would have to be quick, he wasn't going to let a lesser animal flee him. No, he was going to have his meal, and he was going to play with it before devouring the beast. Talons stretched out like swords that could pierce steel plating, a barbed tongue flicked across daggered teeth. Silently he dove, the winds kissing scales darker than a starless night sky. Before the moose's mind could register what had happened, the dragon was flying off with it in his clutches. The cry of pain fled its mouth, and with it came the triumphant roar of the dragon. For miles around the night silence was disturbed, the call of victory so loud that even the Earth Trembled at its might. Blood bathed the scales that surrounded every talon. The dying moose bucked and squirmed to break the grip of the great creature that held it tightly, and it was all in vain.

    The free limb of the dragon grasped the rear legs of the moose as predator and prey flew on. Slowly the dragon pulled till there was a loud audible pop that came forth from the joints of the moose. In one single tug, the dragon had dislocated the hips, knees, and ankles of the moose. Another cry rang in his ears, the aroma of blood filling his nostrils. The blood held the scent like that of the most decadent desserts, so sweet that it was almost tooth-achingly sweet, that is if dragons could get tooth aches. The dragon brought the moose up to his powerful maw as daggered teeth were revealed. Slowly the dragon bit in the hide of the moose, his teeth sank in as if they were a hot knife cutting through butter. At this point the moose defiled itself by immediately evacuating its large intestine into the night air. Seems the dragon would take a bath after this feeding. Biting through, he pulled a chunk of flesh from the upper portion of the rump of the moose, not even chewing the dragon swallowed. No time for savoring such flavors of fresh meat, he wanted to loose control and gobble the moose down, antlers, hooves and all.

    Again the daggered teeth sank into the hide, but this time it wasn't a chuck of meat that the magnificent winged creature pulled off. This time teeth sank into bone, and with a tug, the dragon pulled away the rear legs from the body of the moose. The sockets of the hips were mangled with torn hide and muscle, streams of blood pouring out into the chilling air. Quickly he devoured the legs, with every bite, bones shattered into fragements, splintering in the flesh. As they flew on, the dragon placed the moose into the grasp of both talons, and tugged at the spine. With a quick snap and groan of the spinal cord, the dragon had split the torso of the moose in twain. Intestines, liver, kidneys dangled between each section of the trunk as blood sprayed along the chest scales, making them shine in the moon light even more. Oh how fun this was to tease this poor creature as it finally died. The last groaning breath escaped punctured lungs as the neck went limp.
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