When I was a teenager I wrote a story about some depraved psycho who crawls into the Dumpster behind the abortion clinic and stuffs the discarded foetuses into his mouth with one hand while doing something else with his other one.
Hey, I was fourteen! And at the time, I didn't know that they totally cremate baby corpses. I wrote it for shock value, and it's only the most gruesome because other people find it gruesome. (My brother ruined me on my own ability to be shocked by feeding me horror movies when he was supposed to be babysitting. haha)
The feedback and freakouts were like this: My cousin thought it was hilarious and brought it to his high school, where he and his friends made copies and passed them around.
Their teachers were horrified. Luckily, my cousin was nothing if not loyal, and despite his detention and suspension, he wouldn't tell them who wrote it. My dad guessed anyway, and my denial is the only lie I can remember telling him in my whole life.
The feedback and freakouts were the best thing about the story.
