This is your opportunity, as a writer, to add to a soap opera type of blog
I think we're going to need some additional information here, C S. For instance, what exactly is a soap opera type blog? Will we be getting paid to write for said blog? What exactly does this project entail? Etc. etc. etc.
OK.. here is my contribution…. you guys can take it from here...
No, Travis, she exclaimed.. I am your step mother… we couldn’t possibly…
Travis gazed into her eyes, sneered and then pulled it out…
Oh My, she yelped…
The bloodied knife fell onto the floor, which was thickly carpeted, taking some of the sound, absorbing quickly her bodily fluids. “Stepmother” was supposed to have been a safe word, a little too late for that now, or so he was thinking.
“Why didn’t you say it sooner?” he cried with what may have been sincere regret.
She did not reply.
soap opera jive-
Cain-you outta work, i'm outta work what we gonna do?
Tessa-let's kiss it don't cost nuttin
cain-sweety you have a soap opera soul
That is your fathers watch you hold in your hand. After he died he said it would belong to me! It vanished for 6 months and now you have it! How ,how did you get it ? The message was engraved for me.
The drive to the Hill from town was short. The automatic gate opened and he drove into the garage, he could not wait. He was tired from an 18 hour flight but he was more excited than tired.
He picked up the bottle of 1996 Dom Perignon and the bunch of variegated tulips from the passenger seat, took two steps each to get to the third floor and there she was on the bed, as he envisioned.
Clad in her white silk pyjamas with paper all over the bed.
He took a little time to look at her and thought "This was how I had always envisioned it would be" and she smiled and said "Hey handsome, welcome home."
She looked at him as she took shallow breaths; she was fading fast as her blood poured onto the carpet.
"I'm sorry," Travis begged when he realized what he had really done. "It wasn't supposed to be like this!" he cried in fear of what would happen next.
As I had expected, my father stumbled drunkenly into the wretched parlor, not noticing the horror.
I was here for the thrill, a mere witness to what should have been a beautiful ritual, the bonding of man and woman. Sitting on a low arm chair, my only duty had been to remain silent, to not move. In my hand I held no pen or paper, only my conscience would know what had happened. The organ played so well in the background, this subtle hymn from a higher power.
The knife dripping of her blood my only reminder of what i had done, and then he looked at me, bloodshot eyes, and a face of terror, anger, no rage, "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"
Like the Man from Nantucket.. I stood there with my shame exposed to the word
At that very moment, I heard a hissing sound, looked up, and felt a cold and slimy creature wrap itself around my neck. Papa's favorite snake had been sitting there staring at the ritual, the murder, all along. Now it was staring straight at me, holding my hand with the knife in a paralyzing stranglehold.
Then I work up from a terrifying dream. Imagine waking up to a bell full of crumbs and empty food wrappers. A pair of gummy snakes on my neck, I picked them up and licked their sweetness. I put down the knife next to me and stared at the chopping board with a pile of bacon on it. Then I peered into the dark kitchen with a fridge door half opened. It is nearly empty and the remains of uneaten food litter my kitchen.
This is my reality. I suffer the sleep related eating disorder. There is no treatment for it. I know my childhood memories haunt me. There is no solution for my suffering, or maybe there is...what about writing my nightmares down? Anyone interested?
You want some soap opera, what about this one?
As it turned out Jessica was pregnant with her ex-husbands child and she has cancer, alien cancer.
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