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I thought i could capture the stories of the city on paper. i thought i could write about the horrors of the city. horror stories you see. i tell you i didn't have to look far for material. everywhere i looked, there were stories hidden there in the dark corners. . . . i wrote and still there were more. . . . no one would publish them. 'too horrible,' they said. 'sick mind,' they said. i thought i could write about the horrors of the city but the horror is too big and it goes on forever.

-Grant Morrison

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I Thought I Could Capture The Stories

Grant Morrison

I thought i could capture the stories of the city on paper. i thought i could write about the horrors of the city. horror stories you see. i tell you i didn't have to look far for material. everywhere i looked, there were stories hidden there in the dark corners. . . . i wrote and still there were more. . . . no one would publish them. 'too horrible,' they said. 'sick mind,' they said. i thought i could write about the horrors of the city but the horror is too big and it goes on forever.

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    <p style="font-size: 1.2rem; font-style: italic; margin-bottom: 10px;">"i thought i could capture the stories of the city on paper. i thought i could write about the horrors of the city. horror stories you see. i tell you i didn&#039;t have to look far for material. everywhere i looked, there were stories hidden there in the dark corners. . . . i wrote and still there were more. . . . no one would publish them. &#039;too horrible,&#039; they said. &#039;sick mind,&#039; they said. i thought i could write about the horrors of the city but the horror is too big and it goes on forever."</p>
    <footer style="font-size: 1rem; font-weight: bold;">— Grant Morrison</footer>
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Topic

Writing Dark Horror Stories

More From Grant Morrison

I like "rock, paper, scissors two-thirds." you know. "rock breaks scissors." "these scissors are bent. they're destroyed. i can't cut stuff. so i lose." "scissors cuts paper." "these are strips. this is not even paper. it's gonna take me forever to put this back together." "paper covers rock." "rock is fine. no structural damage to rock. rock can break through paper at any point. just say the word. paper sucks." there should be "rock, dynamite with a cutable wick, scissors."

Too sick and freaked out not to want a bullet for every passer by, too sick and freaked out to breathe, too sick and freaked out to care, too sick and freaked out to think of anything but the annihilation of my mind and denial of my life. so sick and freaked out that i think everyone is my friend.

They'd had fun, for sure. they laughed and enjoyed being together. but if she was painfully honest with herself, something was missing. something in the way tim looked at her. she remembered her mom's word. "i saw the way he looked at you...he adores you." maybe that was it. tim looked at her on a surface level. he smiled and seemed happy to see her. but when cody looked at her, there were no layers left, nothing her didn't reveal, nothing he couldn't see. he didn't really look at her so much as he looked into her. to the deepest, most real places in her heart and soul.

Has the dark shadow really disappeared? or is it inside me, concealed, waiting for its chance to reappear? like a clever thief hidden inside a house, breathing quietly, waiting until everyone’s asleep. i have looked deep inside myself, trying to detect something that might be there. but just as our consciousness is a maze, so too is our body. everywhere you turn there’s darkness, and a blind spot. everywhere you find silent hints, everywhere a surprise is waiting for you.

There was no sign of jules. “bad news,” said elliot. “the man is sick. you’re going to have to settle for me.” “sick?” vee demanded. “how sick? what kind of excuse is sick?” “sick as in it’s coming out both ends.” vee scrunched her nose. “too much information.

The day is cold, and dark, and dreary; it rains, and the wind is never weary; the vine still clings to the mouldering wall, but at every gust the dead leaves fall, and the day is dark and dreary. my life is cold, and dark, and dreary; it rains, and the wind is never weary; my thoughts still cling to the mouldering past, but the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast, and the days are dark and dreary. be still, sad heart! and cease repining; behind the clouds is the sun still shining; thy fate is the common fate of all, into each life some rain must fall, some days must be dark and dreary.

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