For this Writing Slam we had 7 minutes to write about either the word ‘savage’ or the word ‘raisins’. Not sure why that odd choice of words had come up, but some wanted to be savages, some wanted to be raisins, and we didn’t question it. I, of course…
The microphone came down with a sickening thud. Already it had found purchase countless times within the now unidentifiable smudge that had been music producer Todd, but now it was just adding insult to horrible death. It was as if his death had become a game for these… things. These horrible things. Once the music lover had finally been beaten to a fine pulp with the aid of microphones, plastic white shoes, and overly large sunglasses, the beasts jumped in to drink up the valuable musician nectar.
Claymations they were once called, at least before they were possessed by the ghost of that cult of demon-worshiping Nazi-sympathizing, serial-killer, werewolf-transformed, zombie-vampire, monster-clones, but now they were alive. Alive, and with an unquenchable thirst for revenge. Lo, how it had been a mistake to fashion them to resemble the driest of fruit. For now they had a terrible need for the blood of musicians that could never be sated because of their dried out husks.
These horrible things. These horrible savage raisins.
Tastes Like Ovens!