Sometimes my active imagination refuses to take a break, even in sleep, and so this is what happens. It is a scene I might try to use sometime…
>Dark haired, blue-eyed, pale woman in a black tanktop and shorts, in fear for her life and being brought back into what she felt was slavery, holding a fork..
She approached the man that was sent (or so I thought) to retrieve her for his master (and I was jealous – his master is supposed to be my master, the man I was to marry, but whenever this woman appears I am always passed over by the one I want; yet my dearest confidant and loyal bodyguard to our master was there to get rid of her on our master’s orders so she would stop trying to persuade me to run from our master). She was shaking, fear clearly visible on her face and in her movements. The man reached for her, and gathering her courage, she plunged the fork into his left eye with a POP! and twisted. He screamed in pain, and struggled against her. When he pushed her away, I watched with horror as the dull brown eyeball came away with her, trailing nerves and blood vessels behind it. I had just entered the scene, and gasped, bringing my presence to their attention. He turned to look at me in shock, a large bloody hole gaping in his face, and suddenly he feared for my safety, as he found his voice long enough to shout “Correre, mio caro! (Run, my dear!)”
Instead I found myself picking up his gun as he fell, and pointing it at her head. With a shaky hand I called my love, still believing that he had sent his bodyguard to retrieve the woman that I had mistakenly thought was his love.
No Method, Only Madness 