We asked for opening sections of stories or novels with a maximum of 450 words and you did not disappoint us. We received some wonderful and very creative submissions.
Thank you to everyone that entered and congratulations to all of our winners.
1st Prize: £150.00 David Long
2nd Prize: £100.00 Karen Davidson
3rd Prize: £75.00 Michelle Crawford
The Body Artist
by David Long
He caressed her neck, her shoulder, nuzzling her throat, licking at the soft salty skin. She smelled inviting, lying provocatively revealing, he imagined that she wanted him again; opening herself up to the delights he could create for her. Her breasts were small, pert, and he trailed one finger over them, closing his eyes and imagining her shuddering with pleasure underneath his touch. He arranged her body so that it teased him again, legs apart, whore-like but this time he felt a sense of frustration, not pleasure. Her unseeing eyes, now misting over, her body growing cold even with the radiators on full blast, she was no longer alluring, having given in to her death far too easily.
His sexual pleasure was over he realised, wishing now he had extended their fore-play savouring the intensity and growing lust as he had forced her into submission. In his extended experience, he realised that they all cried no but really meant yes. Women were fickle creatures. Their brains told them one thing; their bodies announced their eagerness to be dominated. She had been particularly exciting and he had peaked too soon, tightening the cord around her neck.
He sat back, waiting for his lust to completely subside before he started the next phase of his masterpiece. He was an artist; he celebrated pleasure and pain and embraced art. His victims became models ensuring that they achieved a celebrity status in death that they could never have achieved in life. This one would be spectacular. His talent grew as he found more women to practice on.
He prepared his paints quickly and began to work, painting large swirling deathly designs across her torso. A beautiful butterfly caught helplessly in the beak of a raven. The grim reaper painted on her shoulder and down one arm. When the front of her body was dry, he rolled her over, noting her firm buttocks and long back, she had been truly beautiful he reflected, drawing large eyes on her shoulder blades, remembering how she had looked when he had tightened the cord around her neck. Her eyes had filled with tears, grown large as he choked her and the blue of her eyes had been so mesmerising, that she had forced him to lose control. He hated her for that.
His time was up. He took a series of photos and then slipped silently from the room. Soon it would happen all over again, but this time, his vivid work of art would be the talking point of the city. His next victim would escalate him to fame as the body artist. Women of London beware.