Discussion in 'Writing Prompts' started by Adenosine Triphosphate, Jul 21, 2014.
Write anything you want to within five or six hundred words that isn't extremely obscene.
We need a prompt. Can you give us one? 'Write anything' is just too vague.
It was narrowed down to five champions. I still had a chance, but not an extremely large one. I clutched the harpoon to my chest, not sure how to fire and even more unsure if I wanted to try or not.
A girl, Pheydey, leaps at me with dagger in hand. I just manage to duck out of the way, though she slices my left arm. I gasp in pain and try to aim the harpoon; it's tough because I'm shaking, and I haven't the slightest idea how to fire one. But I pull the trigger anyway, and the arrow flies out of the launcher, and almost hits her. But she prances away, and tucks the dagger in her black boot so she appears a helpless champion.
I reload the harpoon, and take aim again; I shoot and miss. I yelp, as a wave of pain falls over my arm.
"C'mon, wimp! You can barely aim a harpoon, you're not fit for this! How can they call you a champion--" Pheydey yowls as my harpoon spear enters her arm. I tug it back and fire again. Again. Again, until Pheydey is left on the ground in a puddle of red.
I rip some cloth from her sleeve and tie it around my cut. It turns red pretty quickly, but that's when all chaos breaks loose.
Spears fly overhead, and knives fly in between your legs, barely missing your calf. Two champions crumple immediately, but there's still one more I have to defeat--I have to defeat her or die.
Blood trickles from her lips, her arms, and her right leg. Her only defense is a dagger, but I'm pretty sure at one point she had a gun or something.
"I--I'm going to..." she starts, before a crystalline tear squeezes out of her eye. I realize this girl never had a gun, she only ever had her dagger.
"I can't do it!" She cries, throwing the dagger down. "I can't kill a stranger! I was always taught to never kill! Just do it, get it over with!" But I can't do it either. I try, I aim, but I can't, I won't pull the trigger to launch the harpoon.
"Please," she whimpers, "make it quick. She'll kill us if you don't. Please."
I won't throw down my harpoon, because I feel like something is awry. But I can't do it. I sling it over my shoulder and shake my head.
But she, that girl, pulls out a knife. A traitor of the Hightest Seas. Of course. Her tattoo ripples through the grey nylon suit, and two top teeth are filed into fangs.
She throws the knife down. A traitor of the Hightest Seas? "Please," she begs. "I can't do it."
I hesitate before saying, "I can't either."
The dome segregating us from the rest of the world lifts, and it's all black, until two stage lights flick on, one focused on the Judges and the other resting on us.
"One of you," a girl Judge with the skin color of chocolate, "will stay. The other goes home and faces consequences."
We nod. And we both know who's staying for more torture.
I got it close to six hundred, I had to caught out a lot of good stuff to even get it this close. The ending was rushed because of word limit.
“Dance my pretty!” the evil witch cackled.
Dorothy couldn’t help herself as her feet continued to kick wildly into the air. Like an unheard demonic melody was playing that she could not resist. Quicker and higher her legs kicked as ash she struggled to keep her body up right.
“You’re a terrible old witch to do something like this to our poor Dorothy” whimpered the Cowardly Lion from his three foot high cage on the ground.
“Silence you! Or I’ll let you play with my ravenous coked up flying monkey Jumbo.” the witch snapped.
The Cowardly Lion whimpered sadly in his cage as he saw the distress coming over Dorothy. If only she had not let the Wicked Witch of the West convinced her to trade in those shabby ruby slippers for the cursed purple high heels that now emitted their glowing venomously green light.
“Oh what am I to do now?” Dorothy thought to herself now as panic took its hold over her. She tried to look around the room for anything that might help her but the motion of her feet made focusing a desperate challenge.
The witch raised her hand and the shoes slowed. “Had enough my dear?” before Dorothy could respond she was cut off by the evil witch “Oh, sounds like another song!” and she lowered her hand as the shoes began to move again.
Dorothy was now profusely sweating. She reached for the hanker chief tucked away in her dress. Dabbing it her wet forehead she had a moment of inspiration.
With a new intensity Dorothy moved. Her movements no longer the jagged back and forth of her body struggling to stay up right but now became something more, something unexpected. Dorothy began to dance with her whole body.
“Well this is unexpected.” the witch murmured to herself “better kick it up a notch.”
The witch raised her broom and pointed it towards Dorothy’s feet. “How about some river dance!”
She cursed purple shoes began to move with an amazing ferocity, but Dorothy kept on dancing in time.
To the lion in his cage nervously bit at his tail as he watched in horror. He bit too hard and yelped. He instinctively raised himself bumping against the top of the cage hard. This noise caught the witch’s attention.
“I thought I told you to be quiet?”
“Well Ms. Witch you actually said for me to be silent” he nervously replied rubbing the top of his head.
“I’ll show you to back talk to me!”
At this moment the witch redirected her broom away from Dorothy’s feet and pointed it directly at the lion. The shoes slowed.
This was Dorothy’s chance. She had collected her sweat in the hanker chief now dripping in her hand. She flung the soaked piece of cloth at the witches face who was distracted in a malevolent gaze at the lion.
Slap! The hanker chief hit the witches right side of her face. Almost immediately there was a hissing sound as her skin reactive to the water in the sweat.
“AAAAAAHHHH!” the witch grasped at her face. “What have you done?!” now a small amount of steam begin to seep from the putrid green flesh of her face.
At that moment the large wooden framed door of the stone room fell forward crushing the witch’s body.
On top of the now collapsed door stood a giant winged ape and further up on its back sat the Tin Man and the Scarecrow who was holding Dorothy’s pet dog Todo.
“I hope we’re not too late. Jumbo here needed some therapy from the scarecrow about his crack addiction” the Tin Man shouted down.
“Oh you’re just in time.” Dorothy was on the ground pulling off the purple high heals.
Nothing explicit but a minor warning for racism, violence, and suggestive language.
It was another one of those nights, the kind where you wonder why the hell did they ever allow democracy in the first place. Damned system stops working when you hit the million populace mark and nevermind being spread out over a drastically large and varied typo graphy.
It wasn't the first time those thoughts occured to me as I stood with the mob, kicking the life out of a crimnal alongside them. Though, the real pressing matter is why did I wear my white sneakers again. I think, deep down p[sychologically, I enjoy ruining my new shoes as some sort of penance. I didn't like what I was doing but that's just how it was here in Little Saintsburg. Yes, the irony does not elude me.
"What are we killing him for?" a woman's voice rang out over the thumping of shoes on skin.
"Rape, I think," the man next to me answered, bare feet covered in blood. What a whackjob.
"No, it was pedophilia," someone else called out in the crowd.
"Can we decide later? We already voted to kill him, might as well finish the job," the bare footed man said. "Spoiliong the mood."
Just another night of lawful demoncracy. God bless New Canada.
"Isn't he one of those seperatists? A Kwabacker?" another voice asked, nearer than the last.
"Quebecois," I correcteed him. "Bunch of seperatist freaks. Think they're too good for New Canada." My words reminded me of all those mid-afternoon propaganda commercials I saw on TV as a child, when New Canada was still just Canada.
The beatings generally lasted half an hour, giving a chance for everyone in the mob to get a few kicks in. Though, they only ever really lived for a few minutes before dying from blunt trauma. You had to come early and get in on it early enough if you wanted to do it while the were still alive. Though, only the real sickos made sure to be upfront, everyone else just wanted to help dispense justice.
I always head toward the edge of town, after court adjourns, and watch the wild prarie from a safe distance. I've always wondered why in the hell did Karl Haggart sold the praries back to the natives. Ever since, passing through their lands was a death wish. I'm pretty sure he sold for a promise to stop the riots all over the country. Good lot that did. Now there's more of them than there ever was and they're better armed and organized. Thank God they keep their promises because it will take time to build a bomb big enough to blow them all straight to Hell.
It was peaceful though, watching the breeze ripple through the long stalks of grass. Beautiful even. A kind of permanent and rare thing in this fucked up world we called home.
Tonight, though, the wild grassland was oddly quiet. The crickets weren't at their violins and the coyotes missing from sight and that unerved me. When the animals hid, it was generally for a good reason. Only then did I notice the distant sound of hoofbeats and the approaching panicked whimpering of a man.
"The hell?" I stood up and peered in the dark.
"Hah! I'm over the border you native, flea bitten, incestious freaks! Can't touch me, nuh uh, not one bit!" The man was out of breath, wheezing from his run with death.
"You know they'll 'accidently' loose an arrow in the dark and have it fly and kill someone on the border 'accidently', right? They're allowed that." I mention, motioning for him to duck.
"No th-" An arrow zipped by his head and he planted himself face first to the dirt.
I could not see them but I heard a very low muttering followed by the receding sound of horses. Seemed they had enough of chasing the man.
"You alright?" I went toward the man, making sure he hadn't bit nicked by the arrow.
"Fine as a feather now that those barbarians are gone." He looked around himself. "Which side of the border am I on?"
"Border? This is all Canadian land, you just escaped from the Wilds. If you're talking about America the Brave and Beautiful, she's way the other direction behind us."
"Thank Little Baby Bhuddha, I thought I'd accidently escaped back into America the Faithful."
"Oh, you're one of those Americans. How's that wall working out for you?"
"Keeps the Jellyfish at bay." He shrugged. "Town?"
"Winnie-the-Pooh-town." I answered.
"Winnipeg. We renamed it a dozen years ago as a reward for excellent civil obedience. We were all allowed to get smashed on Vodka and create a single new law. We ended up renaming the town."
"Ah, I heard you Canadians had some fucked up ways of doing things."
"We also have to report all Americans to the mayor so he can deal with you. Uusually we just throw you back to the prairies." Even in the lack of light, I could tell his expression turned to horror. "You got good legs, you'll be fine."
"Look, if you keep me a secret, I'll give you the best blowjob ever," he begged, falling to his knees a little too eagerly.
"I wasn't going to report you yet. Too late in the night for it now and I don't really feel like going outside tomorrow. Had a long a night of dispensing justice."
"Oh, thank you." He sighed, wearily.
"I'll still take you up on your offer, though. You need a place to sleep tonight or the Vagrant Officers will get you. We have a zero-tolerance policy for foreigners, gypsies, homeless, wanderers, and the like.
"Alright, lead the way." He motioned for to lead. "Name's Jack."
"Terran. You did this before?"
"A few times. I reserve it for the lookers."
"I'll take the compliment."
Heading back to my house for a round of passionate and rough love-making, it never even occured to me I had just taken an American spy into my bed that would change my life forever. I was just thinking about satisfying my rigid erection.
This is the very first thing that came to my mind when I read the prompt "Write Anything".
My dreams and nightmares come in 2 different ways. The first is just an impression as I wake up. The second is vivid in your face color and action that leaves you feeling its imprint on you as you wake. My nightmares hold just enough of reality to make you jerk awake and my dreams leave only enough to make you yearn to not wake up. At least until Reality smacks you silly.
The bunker was mostly silent, except for the whirr of the air-con, the light coming from the flickering screens.
Gabriel sat at the controls of C.A.S.E (Complete Annihilation of the Sentient Error)
The planet had been divided into twelve sections six in each hemisphere.
C.A.S.E had completed eight sections so far.
“C.A.S.E status update,’’ ordered Gabriel.
“Sector nine complete, no sentient life detected, Sector ten complete no sentient life detected, remaining sectors ongoing.”
Gabriel looked at the screens, one through ten just showed gray, eleven had a scan bar moving across it.
A green spot started to glow in the bottom left corner.
“Sentient life present in Sector eleven coordinates 4276/ 93 YS2, instructions please,” announced C.A.S.E
“Locate and terminate on my mark.” Gabriel entered the code and hit the key.
There was a small flash on the screen.
“Sector eleven complete, no sentient life detected. Sector twelve complete, no sentient life detected. Overall task Complete, all sections complete. Operator will follow instruction set FPT 8745. Opening box A221.”
Gabriel went to the drawer that had just snapped open and removed the small container, the instructions on the side said; Take one last thing, then retire.
“Opening compartment B222.”
A small door slid open to reveal a glass of water, Gabriel took the tablet and lay on his bunk.
As he lay there, he thought, at last peace on earth, no more war or hunger and disease, no more inequality, just the animals, the birds and the insects, no more humans to fuck it all up.
A small green light on the console flickered and went out.
C.A.S.E announced ‘Task fully complete, powering down.’
©Francis de Aguilar
a letter to my brother. please proofread and tell me thoughts. this is also somthing im doing less for publicity and more to get it off my chest
Blake, i just want to let you knoe that im sorry, i took out a lot of stress and anger on you that most of which i shouldnt have. You only come once maybe twice a year and i blew it. I fucked up so badly. Everyday since that night in november ive been thinking about what happened. I miss you so much and since that day ive been wondering if youd come back. The reason why i acted that way was because whenever i look a you, i see myself. I realize that i am going down the same path that you did. Whenever i see you, i see what i am, and what i will become. And to be honest, it scares the shit out of me. And it makes me feel like crap because i have a perfect example of what will happen if i continue down this path and yet, i still do it. Whenever i see you i also get painful memories. Some good, some bad but all hurt so much. I miss those days so long ago, and i would give anything to relive those days. i get nightmares from them and recently have had a growing interest in beer. Whats worce is that unlike a lot of people that i have met, i am fully aware of the downwards spirel i am falling into. I fucked up Blake and im not sitting well with it. I miss you Blake. And i love you.
If you do come back, i do not know if i will have the corrage to act any different than i did that that night. So if you do come, and if i am an asshole like i was that night, whatever happens, i dont mean it and i love you more than you know. Hell, more than i know or even thought i was capable of.
I miss you bro,
I have to keep moving forward. I’m addicted to coffee and sleeping in but I'm going change that. The thought of getting more always meanders in and out of my consciousness, sometimes as a friend and sometimes as a foe, and it strikes hard. I can’t keep giving in; it simply isn’t who I am as a person. I’m strong; I’m intelligent and above all else I’m a winner. That’s why I refuse to fail: it is simply unacceptable.
I just bought a 12 pack of soda, which to a lesser mind would be deemed as a failure and nothing more, but I see there are more pertinent causalities at play. Because each time I fail I analyze the failure and learn from it. I may be taking 2 steps back, but I will strengthen my resolve and take 3, 4 or 5 steps forward.
I have to keep moving forward. I’ll spend more alone time to think about where my life is going, what I value and what I want to accomplish. I’ve been playing more guitar lately, and it’s time for me to step that up even more. I also have started playing Chess again, which will strengthen and develop my mind. When the time is right I’ll get back into computer programming, running, creative writing and anything else I so choose once I get started.
I have to keep moving forward since failure leads to sorrow, misery and degradation. Every time I put off a goals it’s equivalent to failing it. I refuse to fail which is why I’m going to make gradual steady progress. Like how an avalanche starts slowly then over time crashes down a mountain I’m going to apply constant pressure to my goals until my determination grows so strong no obstacle or hardship can get in my way.
I have to keep moving forward: failure is not an option.
Fennel and Varren of the Sheltering Forest located next to the Lake of Glass left their cottage for what was supposed to be a grand adventure. Having never really experienced the world the twin brother and sister duo brought with them an oversized picnic basket filled with three to five days worth of food, none of which truly travel worthy and their best clothes. Seven days later, they're huddled in a cave Gods know where. A fire blazing, courtesy of the lightning striking a tree next to their cave during the class three storm and trying to fend of a pack of mad goblins. Yes our young heros have indeed started their adventure off with a bang.
I can’t see. Where am I? He thought unable to fathom where he was, with the world hidden behind a heavy blindfold. In the stillness he heard the presence of another, by their soft footsteps as they came steadily closer to him. With gentle hands on the band of the blindfold, the veil was slowly lifted from his eyes. There leaning over him was a soft smiling face, that appeared to be hiding a much darker plot behind it.
“What do you want from me?” He asked unsure how to process the situation, knowing only that he could not move as he was bound tightly with ropes to the chair.
“You really think that you can resist me?” She said with a slight chill in her sweet dulcet voice, and her eyes glinted in the light.
“This is not real.” He said beginning to feel unsure of the fact. “I am dreaming, and this is just my subconsciousness playing off my desires and fantasies.”
Still leaning over him she giggled haughtily at him, running a supple hand softly across his cheek.
“That is amusing that you think this isn’t real. And yes you will submit to me.” She said in the seductive voice.
“Nope.” He replied with a matter of fact grin. “The odds that you could even possibly expect me to believe this is real. You think dressing in those scrubs would simply mean that this or even you are really here.”
“Oh that is cute.” She said prodding him on the nose playfully with her forefinger. “What would make you honestly think this isn’t real?”
“Bit contrived don’t you think?” He said trying to make logical sense of it all. “It is no secrete as as to why you are here and dressed in such a manner that I would find pleasing. Let alone the setting with which we just so happen to be in.”
“Well you could say that you’re a bit transparent on that end. Though to your credit, most men imagine me much more scantily clad, or completely nude.” She said to him. “Not you, but then again there is a nice appeal to you seeing me in a role of authority.” Her expression relayed that she was being honest with him.
Nodding in acceptance of this, unsure whether he should be grateful of the compliment as he was unsure of her intent.
“Well now there are really only two ways we can go about this.” She said taking a seat on the mobile stool and coming up to his side, resting a gentle hand on his bound arm. “You will accept the fact that you will give me what I want from you. Or I will use all that is at my disposal to convince you to submit to my will.”
Her words hung heavy in the air, and on his mind. A chill crept up his spine, and mixed feelings played across his mind. On one hand it would be much simpler to play along and give her everything that she wanted. The other he could simply cling to the notion that this is all an elaborate fantasy playing out in his imagination. There was no clear answer presenting itself to him, and he could not find the power to speak his mind to her.
“I will decide for you then.” She says in a sweet authoritarian way, rubbing his arm thoughtfully. She giggled darkly rolling from his field of vision. Resigned to her will, he braced for whatever she had in store for him.
It's the end of the world as I know it yet no one believes it but me.
Others here continue complacently contented murmuring memorized songs
beneath frog-laden croaking trees, gazing at darkening skies through barred windows
in stupefied wonder as the faltering sun gradually refuses light and birds begin to deny sibilant song.
“As long as hearts pump thickening blood through green twisting veins there is
hope!” the head nurse shouts.
Who here knows anything about the thundering clock but me?
If I could just only claw my way out of this padded cell and leap
across the snake-roiling floor to save their innocent souls they’d be free..
Dream snatchers are at it again. This time they took Mark Antha-Dnay's spiraling, dancing, three-headed maidens. What's next, will they steal the elegantly dressed pub elephants who speak as though they are congressmen? And more importantly, why are they stealing peoples' dreams? And where are they storing them? Must be a special built jar, most likely made out of glass, with a steel frame. Has to be glass, they must want to see the dreams they store. Perhaps they're building a museum?
"Joye D'may," said constable Pat-rick of the Psychological Engineering corps as he fiddled his mustache.
"I want you to gather a list of all glass makers in the entire dale, find out if they've had any unusual requests from odd-looking fellows," the constable said.
"Right away sir, that would be only one though, sir," Joye D'may said, dressed in a colorful suit with one thousand buttons all over it.
"Excuse me?" constable Pat-rick said, instantly halting his mustache from escaping his face. He had a huge face with twenty eight eyes and three mouths that moved irregularly.
"Well, there is only a single glass maker in the dale, sir," Joye D'may responded and used one of his fifty eight fingers to pluck out a bugger from one of his noses, he stuck it underneath his roman sandals that fitted poorly with his pink-thousand-button suit.
"Well, then you better get on it, before all of our dreams are lost forever!" The agitated constable Pat-rick shouted with two of his mouths, while the third cited random Shakespeare quotes.
"I would sir, but you see... it appears that we are stuck in a jar of glass with a sturdy looking metal frame, there is no passing that," Joye D'may said, tapping the glass with his forty seventh finger.
Man this is a good story! Wish I had such an imagination and the skill to write it. Thanks for sharing!
Separate names with a comma.