Surrealist Horror Quotes

“I want to see, I want to see, I want to see you dying.”
― Michael F Simpson, Hypnagogia

“Looking at her with a wolf’s gaze, with a hunger satiated only by violence and destruction, he pulled back only slightly with the sight of blood trickling from her nose. When she smiled at him, her teeth stained red, her tongue running over her gums, however, Blossom’s entire body juxtaposed the idea between sweet and innocent to malicious and coarse. She was as sharp as a blade, yet as sweet as a flowering bruise. And his affection for her was as equally a perfect mixture—balance—between the desire to destroy her, tear her limb from limb, devour her, and protect, nurture, save her from all the evil in the world, including himself. But what he didn’t realize, as she batted her lashes back up at him, her body molding under his fingertips so easily he for a minute was convinced she had been created for the sole purpose of him, was that she was a wolf, too. A wolf in sheep’s clothing, a false prey. A predator of equal conviction.”
― Kate Winborne

“Slowly, however, her lips curled again, her jaw locking open, baring her teeth with too much gum in a wrenching scream. The bloodcurdling sound ringing through his ears while her nails clawed at her chest, hands violently digging through the soft connective tissue and tearing it to ribbons, blood gushed thick and black over the pink of her dress, painting it red. It was then that Henry saw that there was something terrible inside her, attempting to break its way out.
It shattered the marrow of her ribs and slithered from her belly, melting away from her, into a grotesque creature with razor-sharp canines and claws drenched in blood. Her screaming becoming louder, Henry was sure his eardrums were about to burst, and he was caught in a state of paralysis, stuck watching her tear herself apart until all that was left of her was this monstrosity.”
― Kate Winborne, Blossom

“Before he could speak his mind, eight black psychopathic needles came out of my mouth, sharpened and clean. They pulled at my already weakened jaw and drew out an abyssal creature, angry, great and strong.”
― Michael F Simpson, Sempiternal

“Reminding him of when he was young and he’d stuff packets of gummies into his pockets, sucking on sweet licorice candy until his jaw ached. Yet, there was still never anything as tooth-rotting as Blossom James.”
― Kate Winborne, Blossom

“Because all of our thoughts are just encrypted messages carried through electrical pathways by weird, deformed insects in our brains. It’s only when you start to hear them drilling caverns in your skull that you realise how crazy this is, and you learn what true insanity is — pure, human conscience.”
― Michael F Simpson, Sempiternal

“Eating became an automatic action. Take the food. Place it between the jaws. Tear it apart. Drag it deep into the abyss to acidify, to dissolve, to delete. Such violence to maintain life. In the end, it’s how all things are sustained. One thing must be destroyed for another to grow.”
― Michael F Simpson, Sempiternal

“All running and playing beneath the heavy heat of the sun, children filled the park while their mothers—women cradling purring babies with pinched cheeks and sore bellies—sat on knitted picnic blankets along the sides, sipping on bubbling white wine and eating salted crackers with softened slices of warm cheese, watching their daughters prance and swirl with light dresses billowing around their boyish hips, plastic dolls tucked to their sides as squealing giggles ripped from glossed lips, reminiscing of a time when they were so ignorantly blissful, stupidly innocent, unaware that one day, such a thing would be turned sour, like the sticky juice of peaches whose pits were filled with squirming maggots. So unaware of the void that had been left in the center of the Town, gaping and cold.”
― Kate Winborne, Blossom

“At first glance, The Town seemed like every other. Its suburban landscape, however, had become infected. Below sharpened blades of green grass that bent under the weight of heavy raindrops, worms wriggled and dug through damp soil, establishing intricate systems of rot; intertwining the roots of tall-standing trees and invading overgrown weeds, harboring all the people’s secrets, filling with blood and pulsating such as the empty womb of a woman overcome by a withering sickness. And unknown to the stranger who slept under a heavy blanket of ash and liquor, but this sickness had also nestled itself —as real and consuming as her organs—within the girl who wandered the streets of the Town. Flickering yellow lights shining through bounds of thick white locks, she could feel it inside her, sliding into her belly, residing alongside the trauma that coated her tongue like honey; sweet as ripe tangerines but bitter against the back of her throat like coffee grounds.”
― Kate Winborne, Blossom