Tag: Dark Fantasy

Writer’s Exercises are prompts to get the creative juices flowing. They can be bits of world building, character creation or totally random pieces. You can find a description of the writer’s exercise prompts I use here.

It must be done quickly. The flesh will morph before your eyes if you’re not careful. It wants to go back to it’s original form from the moment the last breath escapes. If it can achieve this, the soul will be released and the flavor utterly ruined. A good chef need do his own butchery here for the succulent beast to retain the magical essence.

Waste nothing. Only a fool neglects to collect the blood, with the current price per ounce. If the beast has teeth good value can be had from jewelers. And of course the organs can be sold to the corpse pokers and hedge wizards. An economical cook can regain almost as much as was spent obtaining the thing, making it a great choice for a large feast.

Once the frame is divided discard any parts that have reverted. They will taste bitter and sour. Do not let your sense of economy bleed in here, a reverted part is useless. Anywhere you see skin, especially if it has tattoos is a bad review waiting to happen.

If you are planning in advance, the meat must now be frozen. This is less than ideal, as parts will continue to revert until fully frozen. Also it can only be cooked from frozen in a sealed environment, as it will begin to rot upon thawing and oxidizing.

If you are preparing to cook straight away, which I hope you are, set your ovens up to accommodate the various cuts. Cook each piece on low for 3 days, no more or less. Be precise. Allow the finished meats to rest an hour before serving. This dish requires no garnish other than a smatter of herbs. Don’t embarrass me.

Writer’s Exercises are prompts to get the creative juices flowing. They can be bits of world building, character creation or totally random pieces. You can find a description of the writer’s exercise prompts I use here.

There once was a small boy. He had never been off the front step in his life. His whole 8 rotations spent inside the compound. Every memory occurred within the building behind him.

He had once thought of leaving. He had even put his best shirt in a bag, gathered his teddy and made it as far as the hall. The door had been more intimidating than The Mother that day. The sun glare through the windows felt as though it was pushing him backwards and he abandoned the plan.

He could hear The Mother shouting. It wasn’t his real mother, she had died well before his earliest memory. The thing chose to use the word like a title, hoping the authority of it would be recognized by the children. The children were obedient, but that had nothing to do with the title.

The boy knew he was running out of time. Once The Father returned his opportunity would be lost. It should not have been a big deal. The end of the street was visible from the step. The other kids told stories of people who walked on the road, though no one had ever actually seen this.

He took a hesitant step forwards. Nothing happened. No killer gas or assassins as the boys said. He took another step. The kidnappers and savage animals The Uncle had warned them about failed to appear. His toes reached the top of the first stair and the only thing of note was the nothing he experienced.

The boy released the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He stood there, just breathing. A part of him was surprised he had made it outside. He didn’t really have a plan from here. His insides slid south a little as his mind drifted to The Father, and what he would do if he saw the boy.

Gingerly, his food shaking as he moved, he took a step. And then another. The bottom of the stairs came quickly. Sight and sound seemed suspended as he stared across the road. Of all the things he could have seen, that was the last he would have guessed.

by Cassandra Wellsmore