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The Prose Masquerade Think about what monster or creature you would most enjoy emulating if you were forced to become it for the rest of your life. (You can't say a businessman is a monster and take the easy route out). Within the realms of ghouls, ghosts, vampires, centaurs, etc., pick your poison, and craft something that shows how you would cope at your worst, your best, in your newfound existence of monstrosity. Let the words run. The winner gets a trick or treat box from me.

Truth

Hysteria.

hysteria hys·ter·i·a (hĭ-stěr'ē-ə, -stēr'-)

n.

1. Excessive or uncontrollable emotion, such as fear.

Is that why I thrive on the concept?

Fear is a chemical at which is only derived from the mind.

Maybe the heart.

But pointless, nonetheless. Which is why as I feel your pure, unmasked terror, I feel no need for remorse whatsoever. Your fear is strictly your choice.

Consent was involved, if you must.

I can make the beads of sweat trickle down your succulent, unprotected skin with the appearance of my teeth, the tremors of your limbs will be apparent with a glimpse of my nails.

Your blood-curling screams of terror will melt the matter of your mind with the sight of my demented, bloodthirsty eyes.

And as you lie there, taking your last, unnecessary breath, my cackle will ring in the distance.

"Why so serious?"

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