Hurricane Elsa’s Horror Story

Warning this fiction story contains graphic content and blood.



It’s raining, it’s pouring, I can’t go out and the night is quite boring. Hurricane Elsa sweeps into St. Petersburg and I must tell a scary story! What else is one to do on a rainy night?

Hurricane Elsa swirled across St. Petersburg, and she realized that no one would ever love her.


No one ever had.


Tonight she twisted her legs around his body, and her eyes rolled behind her head as she screamed. When they were done he walked away, and left her with no comfort.


When would a man ever come to terms with the fact that she could get herself off better than he could? 


He could not accept it so he failed to return to her side to gently brush her hair behind her ears and hold her.


Instead, he left her alone on his bed, shut the door, and attached his eyes to a screen. On that night she turned cold, her words were stolen only by the blank pages which spilled her heart upon them. 


Where was a woman’s place in this world if it were not on top? And why could no man be brave enough to let her sit upon her throne in ecstasy without shutting her out? 

The woman walked over to the mirror and looked through the thin layer of dust into her eyes. She felt as if she was walking underwater and each time she looked through to reality it mocked her. 



She slid a blade out from the dresser drawer and drew blood from her hand. She smiled as she licked the knife clean. 

“Darling” she called with words smooth as butter.

 “What are you watching?” 


he responded with an apathetic sigh “just a show.” 

The rain pattered outside the backdoor and trickled into the pools of water which had already formed.


 There was no “where have you been or what are you writing?” 


How dare he utter the words “I love you” to her last night. How dare he abuse such magic that slips from the tongue without ever having read her prose. 

Silence trickled in like the rain as she drew her blade behind him. 





Her left hand slipped down his chest to feel his heartbeat. Her right hand slid the sharp blade across his sorry neck and warm blood spilled across the floor as she laughed. Loneliness would be her sobriquet.


she disappeared into the storm and became one with the raging hurricane.

who’s next?


Don’t allow anyone to silence your voice, and if they try. Show them what you are made of, and let them watch as you rise to fly. 

"The most courageous act is still to think for yourself. Aloud.”

Do women run the world yet?...⏰

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