Writing Prompts

Writing Prompt – 500 words

I’m trying out a new writing prompt site. I’m kinda liking it. The site seems to have everything I need for writing. Lately it’s been really crazy over here. My computer got locked, so I couldn’t do anything with it. It was so frustrating, but luckily someone was able to help me out. Now I can get back to writing!

Word count

500 words

Genre

Suspense

Character

A bank counter

Material

A fridge

Sentence to use

“I can’t see you.”

“I can’t see you.”

 

The words drifted out filling the dining room dropping the temperature. Willard stopped writing on the paper. The numbers, facts, and figures blurred in front of his eyes. His throat convulsed reflexively. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest. The voice just didn’t go away. He thought if he could make it leave him alone. If he could hide. It hadn’t worked.

 

“Where did you go?”

 

The voice drifted out again almost making his eyes roll back in their sockets. It didn’t sound like a child, or a woman, or anyone he recognized, but somehow all of them. He thought he felt in the voice he could hear someone he knew, but also there wasn’t anyone who sounded like that. The sound seemed to change every time he listened like it was trying to find the correct voice to use. Its indecisiveness was his only relief. It hadn’t found a voice that worked well enough yet. As long as it didn’t, he could continue on.

 

“Why are you hiding?”

 

He steadied his hands so he could keep writing. His work needed this in by tomorrow. At first, he hadn’t wanted to, but he didn’t finish at the office in time. What else was he supposed to do? He really needed this job. This company gave him security and good pay. The work wasn’t demanding most of the time and he got sick leave.

His thoughts were abandoning him. He found he was having a harder time thinking now that it was 10 p.m. The voice only called out at this time. When he had first moved in, he had asked about it but no one knew what he was talking about. Not wanting to be the resident crazy, he had kept it to himself.

 

“Are we playing a game?”

 

He took a deep breath. Why wouldn’t it leave him alone? Despite his best effort, he found himself responding.

“No. I’m not. I’m trying to work. Now leave me alone.” Willard said.

His hand ran through his dark thinning hair as he tried to compose himself. Talking into the air made him feel even crazier. What if this was a symptom of something? Was his mind breaking? His family didn’t have any tendencies.

 

“Oh? Aren’t we?”

 

His eyes unfocused off of the paper onto the fridge in front of him. He really shouldn’t respond. Yet, it enticed him. “No.” He shook his head dropping his gaze to the numbers that had once looked so familiar. He had moved the fridge in front of the wall to block where it was coming from.

The voice was deciding too quickly. Responding more often. It had once seemed like a friendly neighbor talking with him or at him. After a few weeks, he had noticed it sounded less ambiguous and more, familiar. He would swear he could feel it trying words in its nonexistent mouth. When it settled, he felt fear grip him. He had lost.

 

“I am.”

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Writing Prompts

Writing Prompt – First Line 2

random word count – 445
First line – The house wasn’t the same to her any more

The house wasn’t the same to her any more. Sure, the paintings were all in the same place. The colors were the same. The entire layout was the same. Something felt strangely different. This was her home but not. She couldn’t quite place the feeling at first. The place didn’t feel the same.

She went about her day cleaning up after the little ‘party’ she’d had, but now she felt alone. It wasn’t like she always had to have someone around. There had always been people around once upon a time. After moving out, she had become accustomed to her house and the way it was. Now, it had changed for whatever reason. It felt empty now.

The party hadn’t been very big, so the clean up had ben brief. Whatever it was that had changed still bugged her. She went from room to room scanning, searching, but never finding whatever it was.

Whatever it was, she would have to deal with it tomorrow. She began making dinner, basic since she was put out from cooking so much the day previously. The smell of Italian food filled the air, but didn’t delight her like it usually did. The sauce came together. The pasta finished cooking. Putting it all together in a bowl, she took it into the front room plopping down on her fluffy couch. She smiled when the tv came on for once flicking to the her favorite channel. There she ate her dinner and watched her show without any interruption. It was relaxing. Something she hadn’t been able to do for quite a while.

Finishing up her meal, and episode, she cleaned up after herself without any issue. She hesitated once in a while, but nothing ever happened, so she continued. A knot was forming in her belly. Her instincts were telling her something was wrong, so so wrong. She hoped with a distraction she could place whatever it was.

Dinner was finished with everything cleaned up. The place was probably cleaner than it had been in a while. She didn’t have work today or tomorrow. Without cleaning, she felt her schedule would be free to do whatever she wanted for once. A happy little thrill shocked through her popping a smile up on her face. She could possibly paint. Turning on her heel, she went to the door leading to the basement.

The door was open.

The door was never open.

Her breath held. She swallowed hard. Had someone opened it when the party was going on? Her hand stretched out touching the doorknob but there was no electric charge stinging her hand like usual. This wasn’t good.

The demon was gone.

Writing Prompts

Writing prompt -First line

Random number- 1251

They’d had a lot of freedom back then and not just because their environment was safer – few children had been allowed to roam as much as they.

Perhaps this was the reason they had a certain fearlessness about them. Together they claimed they could conquer the world. The whole neighborhood had become their playground. No tree was safe from being climbed. No hole was left hidden. And when even their whole neighborhood had become too small for them. They turned to areas outside of their street. As long as they stayed together, neither felt afraid. They ran to the grocery store for Popsicle, or went to the park. No one ever bothered them. It was like something told everyone they were going to be okay.

Once in a while, they wondered why they were allowed to roam so far and freely, and the other children couldn’t. At first, they thought it was because they were so responsible. Their parents thought they were old enough, strong enough and good enough to be on their own. But as time wore on, they saw more and more parent with their children. More and more they began to wonder after their own. They would go home and there they would be wondering why they were back. There wouldn’t be much of an answer except for them to go back outside to play. In the beginning, there was no hesitation. With each year that passed, it was like something was screaming at them to stay, to yell at them to care if they were there or not.

They began to see their freedom as a lack of caring in their parents. Together, they postulated. What if something had happened to them when they were out? Would their parents notice? They began to test how much their parents cared.

At first, by just staying out too late, or leaving earlier. Their parents said no word. They brought home increasingly strange items. It would never matter what. The longer they stayed out, the happier their parents became. Or so they soon found out. One night, they even chose to stay in their treehouse all night. They watched to see if their parents would come out crying wondering where they were, but they saw adults going over. Bottles appeared in their hands. They laughed, watched the tv more, played games and did things they never did around them.

The morning after their night in the treehouse, they sat together thinking of what to do. Their parents didn’t care where they were here or there, home or not. They barely even acknowledged their existence. When they were there, they were sad. She even told him once, when she went home without him, she saw their mother crying. That had solidified it. They were going to leave. They weren’t ever going to come back. If their parents didn’t want them there, he told her. It didn’t matter. They would find someone who did want them.

He led her into the house resolving to get their things and leave.

“Last night, was the first good night we’ve had in a long time.”

They heard them talking.

“I felt like I was finally free.”

The relief in their voices brought them both to tears. They didn’t have to ask if they really wanted them or not. To them, it was clear. Their parents never did want them. That’s why they were always drinking from those bottles when they were near.

“Come on, Ellen.” He beckoned her. As they walked down the hallway to their bedrooms, they froze in the door way. There was nothing there. Their beds. Their toys. Nothing was there.

As they turned around, trudging towards the front door. He tried to console her as she sobbed in his chest. Their parents must of heard them because they stopped talking.

“Bye, Mom. Dad.” He managed to say as he went back out the front door.

What had they done? Did they do something wrong? Were they not good enough? Maybe they just didn’t want kids and they had come along by accident?

Standing out front of the house, they looked back at the house. They both quietly said good bye again before wondering off down the street. Now, they felt confused as to why they had such freedom. Why they hadn’t been wanted. Why they drank from those bottles when they were around and celebrated when they left.

That night was the worst. They sat all alone in the park swinging not sure what to do now. The days prior had been filled with such happiness, but now nothing seemed to hold the same thrill. A stranger walked by looked over at them before going wide eyed and hurrying on. That seemed to be the reaction to them these days.

“Sam.” Ellen whispered almost not daring to ask. “Why do think everyone seems to hate us? Did we do something wrong?” She turned her head to look at him on the swing next to her.

“I don’t think so.” He replied trying his best to be strong, for her at least. “I think it’s the same reason it’s always been.” Jumping off, he spun around trying to be enthusiastic to make her happier. “We’re responsible. We don’t do anything bad. Ever. We don’t hurt any animals. The police never have to worry about us. We don’t damage people’s stuff. We’re good kids. Now, come on, Ell. Let’s go find somewhere else to play. This place is gloomy.”

Turning on his heels, he began to lead her from the park, but seeing a woman standing there unnerved him. He put his sister behind him wary. They had never been afraid to be out at any time of day or night, but this woman scared him and Ellen. He puffed up trying to appear bigger than he was. It was his job to keep his sister safe.

“What do you want?” He asked in his strongest voice.

The woman came closer to them. Her greying hair tied back in a tight bun. The clothes were covered in flour, but had recently been patted with wet hands. Her blue eyes were soft and loving. The wrinkles on her face told of countless hours laughing and smiling.

“You look lost, Little Ones.” She said.

The girl clung close to him not sure what was going on. He tried his best to step away but now it felt impossible.

“What happened?” She sat on the stairs to the playground not coming closer as if sensing their distress.

“We…We can’t go home.” He told her, though he wasn’t sure why. “Our parents don’t want us any more.”

She nodded knowingly, even sad. “Why do you think that?”

Taking a deep breath and steeling his upper lip, he told her everything they had seen, all that had happened.

“Oh, Little Ones.” She went over to hold them both. It was a feeling they hadn’t felt in a long time. A glimmer of memory stirred in their heads.

“Grandma?” They asked. When she nodded they held onto her even tighter.

“My Little Ones.” She said again kissing their heads. “Come. Let me tell you about what happened.” Drawing them close, she sat down on the stair. “Your parents love you very much. It isn’t because they don’t want you. You see, there was an accident. They don’t see you because they can’t.” They looked up into her face somehow understanding now.

“It’s time to come home.” She smiled.

Letter from the Author

Sorry For the Lack of Writings

Hey Everyone,

 

Sorry for the lack of posts, stories or otherwise. This year has been a real tough one for me. Someone I thought of as my best friend used, abused and in so many ways misused me. I have forgiven the debt she owes me just to end that connection. She took as much as she could from me and took advantage of my trust. She hurt my dog, my son, my other, and myself. Who knows what else she did.

I think the worst part was when she did it. I would have been ‘ok’ had it been most any other time, but my dad passed and it was the anniversary of that date. She had promised to be there for me and in the end hurt me in the worst way possible on one of the worse dates possible making the cut extra deep then had the gall to tell everyone how it was all my fault because she couldn’t possibly stand to have it be her fault.

In the end it was a huge mess, with lots of fighting, arguing, and lots and lots of bitterness. I’ve worked through most of it, but seeing her in such a terrible way now doesn’t make me feel any better. Not that I did any of it, despite her blaming me for anything that goes wrong.

She had been my best friend for 17 years but she’s become someone I don’t know. Or maybe, I just didn’t realize how easily she justified manipulating and using people was for her.

In any case, it has been hard getting my creative writing down on paper. I have lots of ideas and lots inspiration. I’m feeling a lot more excited about things. I wish things hadn’t happened the way they did, but with the support of friends and family. I’ve begun to move forward again. It makes me especially grateful for true friends and family.

Thank you for your patience.

Writing, Writing Prompts

100 Word Writing Prompt 2

In 100 words or less, write a story that includes the following: a nudist, a souvenir, an old photo album.

 

Sitting on the beach bum crusted in sand, he flipped through the old photo album. It was just pictures of himself with his ex. They had come to this beach. He had changed his lifestyle for her. People had laughed when he said he was a nudist. They said it was just because she was naked. But…He loved her. Passionately. Beyond sex. The souvenir he had bought her, a small music box, played its song for the millionth time. She had left him. Dropping the album to the sand, he stood stepping into the waves for the final time.

Writing

100 word writing prompt

In 100 words or less, write a story that includes the following: a paranormal investigator, an old pocket knife, and a can of beans.

 

Yesterday, everyone was here in the house he was investigating. The next day, all that was left was an old pocket knife in a drawer in the front room, and a can of beans in the pantry. Some furniture was still here, covered and dusty. He scanned the knife and can, but there was only an inscription on the knife. The activity from before had disappeared. The family from before gone. He wondered if it had been a vision since he’d walked in the door. Had he arrived yesterday, or had he just walked in?

 

 

 

I find the shorter writing prompts harder than longer ones. It is a good exercise as I cut a lot of excess words out and find the real story.

Writing, Writing Prompts

More Writing Prompts

This one happens to be a rather short one.

Write a complete story in only one sentence about a packet of seeds.

It was all that was left, as it dropped it’s last seeds into the packet; the only thing left of his life with her.

 

That was so short, I decided to do more than one here.

What happens when a webcomic artist starts seeing mythical creatures everywhere.

 

He had always assumed it was because he hadn’t been out in a while. Fantasy and myth had always interested him, but he had thought the interest was because it was cool or such. Myth and legend drew him in like no other stories did. His mind would fill with images of flying horses and giant reptiles breathing fire. That was what had pushed him to start the webcomic. It was centered on a select few who had been chosen by the gods and such. It seemed cliche, but he loved it. He had tried less conventional ideas but they never interested him, and because of that never got continued. It was his fantasy comic he worked on the most.

Strange thing that. He had just taken the story where ever he thought it should go, but had his thoughts somehow been altered? In the story, the select few had been attacked, originally for drama, but the last one standing ended up hiding among humans. He forgot who he was. This panel had been what had startled him. He felt stupid writing like this because it felt so much like he was drawing and writing about himself. He feared someone would come along and mock him. Still, he couldn’t stop. Whenever he tried to take the story some other direction, add in new characters, it never felt right.

As he stood outside in the rain, he felt he should go to the hospital. He didn’t feel ill. His head didn’t hurt. Nausea hadn’t crept up on him. His chest didn’t hurt. No. Nothing quite so dramatic. It was the little people with wings dancing on the railing of his balcony. He shouldn’t be able to see that. They looked like they were laughing and using the decorative posts like a slide. An urge to draw this into his comic felt almost overwhelming. The people flew up sitting on the top railing. He was barely paying attention to them, so it took a moment for him to realize. They weren’t sliding back down.

His eyes dropped to one. Words formed into his mind. The sensation of them watching him settled on his mind.

So, what are you going to do?

He was so startled by the clarity of the soft feminine voice, he stumbled backwards. His breath hitched. One of the people flew up the rain breaking into droplets around her.

You know. Don’t you?

He didn’t say anything. What was he supposed to say to that?

I was wondering how long it would take. 

He wasn’t certain what she meant by that. Five of the people flew to his hand each taking a finger drawing him forward. His mind felt like it was going a thousand miles per hour. They drew his hand forward. No. This wasn’t real. The people stopped staring up at him.

Do you really believe that? 

He opened his mouth to say he did, but stopped. This seemed to make them happy letting them lead him forward again. Adrenaline was pumping into his body, but he couldn’t exactly figure out why. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. He didn’t know why he had been worried before. Stepping up to the railing, he watched them drop his hand on the cold, wet metal. They flew up dancing in patterns around him. Their little voices chanted. The words were impossible to get out of his head. He stepped up on the bottom rail. His body felt so light. He didn’t…know if he could think well.

Come on. You know. We are just on the other side. Everything you know to be true. 

Something dropped in his stomach, but he still swung his legs over the railing letting himself sit on the top. The cold rain drenched his clothes. Little trails of water racing down his face, and arms falling around him. The little people were right. The humans weren’t where he belonged. He had drawn the creatures because he had once seen them. The story he had written was exactly what had happened.

Setting his heels onto the bottom rail, he straightened. The little people, what he knew were fairies, called to him. They beckoned him forward. A small something in the back of his mind twisted around fighting, but it didn’t seem important. Taking a deep breath, he felt the hole that had always been there. The one telling him he didn’t belong. These people wanted him. He would be back with those who wanted him. Finally, someone would want him.

His eyes closed as his hands released the railing. The wind flew around him thrilled his mind. For a moment, he felt lighter than ever. He felt suspended in air. Zero weight gave way to the sensation of falling. A scream shocked his mind into reality as the ground rushed up to meet him. A distant voice, a light weight on his head.

The last one has been killed. We need to return to let them know. His friends couldn’t save him. Such a pity. 

The little people flew off quickly as humans rushed over trying to keep the man alive. People shouted at each other about what they had seen. Police would arrive soon. Medics to try and revive him. But it would all be forgotten, except by those who had tried to save him. The ones who had tried to grab his clothes to pull him back. The one who screamed knowing he would die. The others had finally won.

fan fiction, Writing, Writing Prompts

Writing Prompt – Skyrim fanfiction

I would appreciate it if you call me Peyton, you will hate me in the end.

I don’t take the moral path. I don’t believe in the ethics of normal people. Your beliefs are not my own. All my life, I have fought against the traditions of my ancestors. Polite. Mannerly. Moral upstanding citizens of the world. In this time period, they are meaningless. My family members are just another part of the species that share a similar blood structure. The people that came before me. Nothing but dust.

So many get offended when I talk about the dead like that. They gasp putting a hand over their mouth unsure how to react as they’ve never found another with my…ideals. I don’t care about the lives that lived before me. They may have had a hand in my existence but that is where it stops. There is nothing more they mean to me. Dust is what we all shall be. Dust is what you shall be.

It’s not like I have particular beliefs about death and dying. I wasn’t traumatized as a kid. Or. Not that I remember. No. My parents were caring, loving people. Each trying their best to instill in me a love for honor and tradition. Like all other children, I had tried to follow my parents.

It wasn’t until I was older when I suppose I faltered.”

“I was walking home from school when I heard a groan from the woods by the path. At first, I was unsure but I was curious. After I’d gone off the path, both figuratively and literally, I saw…a man.” His face lit up with wonder. “His arm raised like the arm of God. Sword sparkling in the sun. He brought it down again and again. Blood splattering the bushes, trees and ground. The man hit the other with such force it sprayed blood even the distance to me. I remember because I had speckles of red on my skin.” The awe from a second ago tempered with reverence. “The man didn’t even bother to clean up the mess. He just lowered the sword watching the man twitch and writhe on the ground not yet dead. The coldness of his face. In his eyes.” His eyebrows twitched up millimeter by millimeter. “I didn’t realize you could be anything but good, moral and ethical. At that moment, I saw what you could aspire to become. This…god among men. He was a true god. Not this figurative thing people talked about. No. He was

“I didn’t realize you could be anything but good, moral and ethical. At that moment, I saw what you could aspire to become. This…god among men. He was a true god. Not this figurative thing people talked about. No. He was truly…truly something else.” He breathed. “I don’t know what happened in that moment, but I couldn’t get the image out of my head. Him standing there like an avenging god uncaring for the life of another. Blood soaked sprayed all over him. His lips turned in a curl of pleasure. The ice he had for eyes. How calm he looked. Not the fear I saw on everyone else’s face when they talked about the frightening. No. This man knew no fear. He was the beast they feared.” His head slunk back against the wall. “I think that was the moment. I wanted to be like him. I wanted people to fear me like they did him. I wanted to bathe in the power drenching me.” A small laugh escaped his nostrils. “I didn’t want to be this fake god they spoke of trying to make me fear. No. He was what I aspired to be.” His eyes closed looking for once to be calm and peaceful. “I couldn’t get the image out of my head.”

It took a moment before Peyton continued talking. The man had captured my attention completely at this point. This man with the confidence to speak like this. I never would talk about the taboo and evil this way. He did it so naturally. I was thoroughly convinced he meant every word he said. Peyton interrupted my thoughts drawing me back into his story.

“I don’t think he saw me. When I think about that moment that changed my life so thoroughly. I don’t think he really saw me.” He turned his head to cast those cold eyes on me. “When I got home, I constructed the best effigy of him I could make at the age of twelve. I hid it in my wardrobe. And soon. I began to add things to this makeshift shrine. I began to draw him more and more always in red.” Shifting in his position against the wall, he drew a knee up to rest his arm on.

“I knew after a while it wasn’t enough. Not enough. Not nearly enough. He was demanding in his presence in my mind. He needed…He needed something so much more than crude drawings, wax and prayers.” He grew distant like I was no longer sitting in front of him. It was times like this I forgot to continue writing. “My family had a cat. It was old. I didn’t think anyone would notice when it didn’t come home.” He took a deep sighing breath. His shoulders relaxed their tension. The euphoria that took over his face sent chills down my spine. “I picked the cat up one evening before it got dark. It purred in my arms relaxed and unaware of the danger it was in. That alone made the act so thrilling. With my pocket knife my father had given me for my twelfth birthday, I held the cat down and stabbed it. I was scared at first but feeling the warmth. It was so absurdly warm. I hadn’t expected it. The cat tried to get away fighting with everything it was worth but I had it by the neck. Pinned unable to move. I stabbed it again. Then again. The glee that followed would dominate my mind from then on. I tore the cat apart throwing the blood everywhere laughing with as one in a drugged state. The carcass in my hand limp and heavier than I had really anticipated. It was tiring. I set the cat down and like my father had taught me. I skinned it. I took the skull wrapped it in the fur and tossed the body away beneath a tree. I was quite the macabre scene I’m sure, but no one was home and the ground took the blood from my shoes. I washed up after I got home having set the skull and skin to dry in a place no one ever went where it would be safe until I could retrieve it.”

He leaned against the wall again his remembrance having excited him. “I did that night what I had never done before. I’d never had the sensation before, but the memory of the cat’s pain. The whole…thing. I found a fire in my loins as had never happened before. It was only with that memory and myself did I find relief. The memory served as material for a long time afterwards.” He took a large breath letting it out all at once before continuing. “After the skin and skull were dry, I set it in my shrine. Many more would be added to it over the course of the year. Some small some larger. I even found the skull of a human at one point. I became paranoid, however. My parents seemed to be aware of what was going on in some form and I knew what I was doing was…wrong to them and so many other and knew I shouldn’t ever let it be seen. I moved my shrine to a small luggage bag taking it to the place I first saw my god in all his glory.” He was watching me now as if trying to gauge how I was taking all this information, but it was just because I had stopped writing.

“From that point on, I would take anything I had blood, bone, skin and sacrificed it to him there. I even began killing things on his shrine in dedication to him. I would pray for him to send me more victims. I asked him to teach me how to do more. I needed more. I couldn’t …couldn’t get enough.” He was breathless again with a vague look in his eyes. I had long noticed his arousal but I wouldn’t mention anything of the sort. Not when I knew what type of person he was and with everything he was saying. “It took me by surprise when one day I had killed a dog on the stone I had set up in front of his shrine. I pinned it with steel camping stakes. It whined gloriously. Beautifully while I killed it taking so much pleasure in its continued pain. I’m not sure when the man had come up, but I suppose he had been watching the entire time. Only when he got closer did I realize, he…” His eyes teared up and his voice broke. “He was my god. The one I had worshiped for years now. There he stood. His sword in hand. His cold eyes on my flesh. If he struck me down then, I would have reveled in the joy it brought me. No, he looked at what I had done.” He choked on his emotion. “No. I had pleased him. He was. He was so happy at what he saw. I had done something he was proud of.” It took another minute for him to recover.

“My god then showed me the way, the path and everything that came with it. He taught me how to slaughter the weak, the helpless and make it hidden. He taught me so much more than I could have ever learned on my own. It wasn’t until I was older did I realize I was his apprentice and our craft was of blood. He took me places I had never been. He brought such…peace and joy to my life.”

My pen paused as a question drifted up. Peyton seemed to sense the question waiting for me to ask. “So…you left home with him? Didn’t you ever think…” I didn’t finish. I didn’t have to.

“No. I left with him without a word to my family. I didn’t care. They were nothing to me and to my god. He had chosen me and called me to a greater work than they could have ever realized. They didn’t know. Nor would they.” He stopped a smile twitching his lips. “Or at least, not for a while.” I found myself frowning as I wrote this down as well. Peyton continued once again.

“It wasn’t until I was sixteen that he first introduced to me a new way. He showed me how to scare others with my craft. How to cut so the blood sprayed in a pattern that terrified normal people.” His hand made a cutting motion in the air. “Then.” He smiled readily. “He gave me a sword of my own. That night we went slaughtering like men and women go caroling. From door to door. From place to place. All. Any. He had taught me well enough no one could stand against us.”

My eyebrows drew together. “If you were both, so good at it, how did you get caught?” I asked looking up into the killer’s eyes.

“I wanted to be.” His smile faded becoming softer.

“You…Wanted to be?” I asked searching his face.

“My god died a few years back ascending into the heavens with a fury of fire. As was his request.” He looked sad, if a man like him could ever be. “But I only let myself be ‘captured’ for one reason and only one.” He looked back at me. “It’s time I took an apprentice.” Cold rushed through my veins. I swallowed hard looking back at him. “The Dark Brotherhood awaits.”

 

 

 

 

(Part 1 of the Apprentice Fan Fiction)

Writing Prompts

Writing Prompts

Today, my brain feels like it’s in a funk. It feels like my brain is just in a fog and hasn’t quite woken up yet. So, instead of working on my books, I’m here. Trying to get my brain to work. Enter, writing prompts. I know it sounds weird, but it can really help. When you have to write from the view of a broken appliance, it really get the brain working. It’s amusing, it’s frustrating. It gets my brain working again.

I’m not sure if they want me to ask for permission to post a link, but the website is http://www.creativewritingprompts.com. Hopefully, that sets up a link you can click. I find it so much easier when you can click the link to take you there. Usually, I right-click the link and open up in a new tab so I can stay on the same page I had been on.

The writing prompt I got for today is write from the point of view of a broken coffee maker. I think it’s writing prompt…188. Yes, it’s 188. This is a very…interesting prompt. I’ve never been a coffee maker, contrary to popular belief. I may love my coffee, maybe more than the next person. How is someone supposed to function without it? I’ve tried. I don’t function. I stare like a zombie at people wondering strange things like. If a flood started up, would we be able to escape from where we are and survive? What type of world would we live in? Would it turn into Waterworld? What would I be? Would I be the crazy guy who ends up trying to eat people or just…What was everyone saying? I would look around from person to person as they stare at me.

“What? I was just imagining life post-apocalyptic where everyone has to fight for survival possibly killing and eating each other trying to establish a new dominance in a system that  doesn’t work.” They would continue to stare at me then laugh nervously and quickly switch the subject. You see. I’m the special one in the group.

You see. I’m the special one in the group. I think strange and off-kilter things. I wonder what it would be like to feel a knife buried into my belly. What it would be like to die. What would it be like to be reincarnated? Would I retain my memories? It seems most people don’t think of these things. Or at least, I’ve found most people are highly surprised when I mention I was wondering what would happen if the mountain exploded due to the negligence of a federal officer who set off a nuclear bomb that through us into a nuclear winter. Most of my ramblings tend to be catastrophic. If you hadn’t noticed. I wonder about the weird building off in the distance. The strange person staring up at a giant tree looking like their are contemplating climbing but afraid of the social stigma of an adult climbing a tree.

I fuel my writings with these thoughts. Pour them into books, short stories or whatever else I feel like. Hopefully. You will enjoy them. Yes, I know I’m procrastinating writing about a coffee pot that is broken and neglected.

 

Twitch. I don’t know what happened. Hot liquid poured down my back. Bitter, tough, grainy stuff shoved into my mouth. My belly was removed and now. Twitch. I feel weird. This energy keeps making my brain go weird. I’m trying to serve my master the best I can. He’d always been kind to me. Some others don’t get bathed. Some I’ve heard get used once then thrown away. That is the scariest thought to me. What if I don’t do well enough and my master throws me away. Twitch. I’m working the best I can. He’s come over to me. His face is red and whistling. His water must have boiled too quickly. I don’t know what’s the matter. Twitch. I feel weird yes. But I’m still trying to do my job. Can’t he appreciate that? Ouch! What the hell was that for? He’s hitting me?! I’m just doing my job. What? No! Don’t touch my…

My energy…It’s gone…I feel…even more strange. My master has picked me up. It feels like he’s cradling me in his arms. Is he crying? I don’t know. Maybe his boiling water just leaked out the top. He doesn’t work right when he doesn’t get the bitter stuff that is my job to make. His water always boils too quickly. But…Where are we going? Is that…Is that the trash can? Oh…I…I didn’t mean to make it wrong! I swear! Please….I’ll do better? He’s just walking away not even talking to me any more. Whatever happened. Apparently, I can’t make it better. His hand puts something over the top of me, over the top of the trash can. With everything dark, there is nothing left to do. The whole experience has left me with a bitter taste in my mouth. Work hard for someone for years and this was always what happens. Cruel irony to have happen that which was my most feared thought. Oh, well, perhaps. Perhaps the place after the trash can won’t be so bad.

 

 

 

 

I hope you enjoyed the short writing prompt. I don’t even know what more could be written. Suppose I could write about the coffee pot’s trip to the dump and it’s fight for survival. That would be strange. Maybe fun. Maybe another time. For now. This has been another rambling writings by me.