This was posted on a forum, for a writing game. The challenge was to take a character's name, and create a scene with that character. It could have been whatever you wanted it to be - it didn't have to be as gruesome as I decided to make it!


'He was reaching into the unlikely bulk of leather that was Alison's purse, when he was caught by her brutal gaze, which tore the matter behind his eyes like needlework. She pulled the thief from his hiding place, her long fingers clasped the now-feeble boy's wrist; the perfectly manicured, matte white nails pushing dents into his skin. Her whole body seemed to multiply in size; the air around them grew close; a shadow seemed to form itself under her long face. She took a step forward, the clack of her high-heel shoe piercing the muted world around them. She hunched over the small, quivering shape beneath her, lowering her face downwards steadily until it was almost pressing against the terrified little face; the boy began to decay in size, his body shook spasmodically as his bones began to crack and squeeze together; the force of Alison's hatred twisting the matter from the boy like a brittle sponge. The boy began to shake harder, his screams wavered and weakened. Alison's face grew larger and sunk lower, until the boy was a broken configuration of painful shapes. The tremors weakened until he merely rattled like a leaf in the wind . The boy's face was distorted with mismatch shapes and sizes - features that didn't fit the small head. She dropped the strand of skin and bone which used to be the boy's wrist; straightening her back and relaxing her shoulders, she rose upwards, standing tall with an elegant, impervious posture. The boy now barely reached the hem of her old-fashioned skirt, his body was wrought into what looked like a melted, malnourished garden gnome. She pinched the boy's malformed head with her slender fingers - a nail chipping off a wayward piece of matter that had defied the shrinking - and lifted the boy like a dirty garment, placing him into the purse he once wished to steal from. "Now you are home," she uttered in a shrill whisper. She clicked the lips of her purse together, and sat back down at the long, wooden bench. The world around her bustled with birds' tweets and friendly conversation, as if nothing had ever happened.'