Last uni semester our writing class was tasked with putting together a folio of writing tasks based off a series of prompts, a different one for each week. This prompt was to write a 200 word twist story featuring a pen.

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As soon as I pushed open the door I knew something wasn’t right. Though the room was how I’d left it that morning – curtains drawn, lights off – the eerie glow of the laptop illuminated Brea’s distraught expression.

Flicking on the bedside lamp I sank onto the tissue strewn bed. “What is it Brea?”

The brunette sniffed, and wiping more tears from her eyes she took a deep breath. “She’s gone!” Another sob left Brea’s lips as a fresh wave of tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Wait, what?” I frowned. Putting a comforting hand on her arm I spoke again. “Who’s gone?”

“She k- killed her! I can’t-” sniff, “believe-” sniff, “she killed her!”

“Who killed who?” I battled to keep the frustration from my tone.

“A knife, blood…so much blood! I loved her! She didn’t deserve any of this! I read thirty something chapters for this to happen! Who let her pick up that pen and write fanfiction anyway?”

As realisation dawned on me and I had to resist the strange urge to laugh.

Brea stared at me with something akin to determination as she aggressively wiped the last of her tears from her cheeks. “She needs to be stopped.”