Creative Migraines R Us

And now ‘Witnesses’. 

To say Chuck was surprised by his own imagination was to be speaking an understatement. Though he was beginning to get used to the way his head took him at odd angles to his original plans.

Rubbing his face with a hand steadier than he would have believed, considering the amount of alcohol he’d imbibed recently, Chuck started typing. He needed to get these scenes out of his head, so they’d stop plaguing him, shifting and swirling and dancing in crimson splashed circles behind his eyes. 

Contrary to what his fans, his publisher and even his editor thought, Chuck didn’t actually put everything he saw, everything he wrote, in the finished drafts. There were more than a few things he’d come up with that were part of the whole story, part of the overall plot, that were… not exactly necessary to further the plot. 

Those things were written, obviously, but he kept them in a separate folder on his hard-drive, where only he could get at them. 

Some of the things he’d written made him ill to even think about, let alone re-read, so he put them in the folder and tried to forget about them, to forget that he’d actually come up with them in the first place; there was no way anyone would want to read that stuff.

Some of the things were just a bit too raunchy, even for his books, so those went in the separate folder as well (those scenes just embarrassed him; if he attempted a re-read, it felt inexplicably like playing the part of a voyeur and that just made him squirm, so he cut the scenes down to what his publisher wanted and left them at that.)

What he was typing up now was interesting. He honestly wished he knew where he was getting all this stuff from, especially considering he hadn’t really read his Bible since he was a kid. But it was interesting, if a bit scary… and gory. 

He wrote the deaths of the other Hunters, in all the detail he could muster, feeling strangely upset at their loss, and dreading writing Dean and Sam’s reactions when they discovered what was going on. That was going to be fun; he hadn’t come up with those scenes yet.

When he was done, he sat back, stared at what he’d written; a sense of horror slowly filtered through his senses. 

Quickly, almost as if he were afraid someone was watching him do it, he cut out the worst of the scenes, copy-pasting them to a new file and saving them to the separate folder. There was just far too much going on that he didn’t want anyone else to have to read. 

Feeling more than a little bit defeated by his own brain, Chuck saved everything and closed the laptop with a sigh.