One of which was a man who looked perfect and dashing in a crisp tuxedo and stood over a woman in a elegant black cocktail dress. The dress was torn in places and she was suspended on two metal hooks around her mid-section. It wasn't gruesome in a bloody sense, there was very little blood on the display, only on her skin near where the hooks disappeared into her. Something about it stayed with me, for whatever reason. I wasn't disturbed by it, nor horrified. I forgot about it as soon as I stepped outside with my friends and never thought it again.
At least until two years ago when it became the inspiration for a scene I wrote in my newest release, Blood Fever.
I lifted my head to see why I couldn't move. To my horror, I saw an oversized steel clamp suspended from the ceiling on thick black iron links. The clamp tongs flared out wide from the bottom link and speared into my sides. If I shifted my weight slightly, I could feel myself pivoting on points that met somewhere deep inside of me. My healing abilities kept me alive despite the hook and I realized every time I moved, I reopened the wounds. Each time I took a breath, my weight on the suspended hook shifted and I had my explanation as to why I felt as if the pain would never go away.The pale blue cotton t-shirt I'd been wearing was now a dark red color. My arms and hands were coated with streaks of dried blood as well and I could only imagine what the rest of me looked like. I felt as if I'd stepped into a bad horror movie or some freak show exhibit.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how authors get their inspiration. ;^)