Fantasy, Writing Prompts

Life without Death – 750 words

  • Word count: 750
  • Genre: Fantasy
  • Character: A vampire
  • Material: A pen
  • Sentence: “It’s too warm.”
  • Bonus: Winter is long and extremely cold.


“It’s too warm.” The old vampire whispered to his heir. Elliot sat next to him fidgeting with a pen. He didn’t know what to say to his master. They had never faced anything like this. Never in their lives, long as they had been, did they ever expect him to become mortal again. No one even knew how it happened. His master wouldn’t tell him anything on where he’d been or what he’d been doing. Now, he was dying.

Elliot pushed the logs on the fire around in an attempt to decrease the output of heat. His hazel eyes drifted up to the old man deteriorating before him. Where once a man of great power had stood, now the same had become feeble no longer able to get onto his feet. His black hair had become grey then white. It wouldn’t be long now.

After poking the fire, he set the stick aside picking back up the old fountain pen. It had been a gift from his father who had died a long time ago. His master had found him in the cemetery that day. He had promised that he would never die. He promised power beyond his dreams. He had promised a life outside of the mortal one. Not that it was true at all. At the time, he hadn’t know they could be turned back. It was one of the few ways to fight a vampire apparently. His master told him it wouldn’t happen to him, the old ways had died out, but here they were.

“Master…” He mumbled but the man waved his words away. Elliot almost let it go, but his anger stirred. “Master.” He said more firmly. Their eyes met. “If a witch has stolen your immortal existence from you, then the least we could do is repay the favor.” His master smiled at him. It infuriated him even more, but he held his tongue.

“Elliot…” His voice shook. “I told you.” He took a breath as if speaking was too much for him. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

He couldn’t believe the man. First, he went and got himself effectively killed, then said he didn’t have to worry about it. What if she came after him?! His nostrils flared. His master laughed enough to make himself cough.

“Don’t you understand, Elliot?” When his master got no response, he sighed. More gently, he continued. “A few days ago.”

“When the witch changed you.” Elliot interrupted with a growl. His eyebrows drew down darkening his expression. His master took a breath trying not to react to the provocation.

“A few days ago.” He continued pointedly. “I heard an old witch of mine. Alliessa. We knew each other centuries ago. She would hunt me. I would kill her kin. It was back and forth.” His hand gestured lightly in the air before falling back down. “Well,” He paused. “I heard she wasn’t dead but actually quite close to us. Hunting me quietly, but I heard about it from a friend.”  

Elliot hadn’t heard this part of the story. Hadn’t known it had existed. He focused his attention on what his master was telling him. His master wasn’t looking at him now.

“So. I decided to do the only thing I knew I could do. Without a doubt, I could handle the old witch.”

Understanding was slowly dawning on him. His lips twitched down. His eyebrows together and up. “Master…” He tried interrupting but the man didn’t stop.

“But…you would never survive were she to find us. So, instead of letting her come here. I found her. She was stronger than I had anticipated, but,” He smiled at his heir. “I had killed her for certain this time, but not without cost.” Elliot was staring at the floor feeling utterly horrible.

“Now you know why you don’t need to worry. Never had to.” He sat up with great effort putting a hand on Elliot’s shoulder. “I had become a vampire centuries ago because I thought there was nothing left for me in the mortal world. When I found you, I found what I had wanted years ago, but couldn’t enjoy. Now, I can at least enjoy my last few days with my son.” Elliot pressed his lips together. Human emotions bubbled up pushing past his barriers and down his cheeks.

“Master.” He choke. At the beckoning call, Elliot went over to him laying his head on his shoulder. “Father.”


Fantasy, Writing Prompts

It Was Her – Writing Prompt – 300 words

  • Word count: 300
  •  Genre: Fantasy
  •  Character: A superhero (White Crow)
  •  Material: A bottle of whiskey
  • Sentence: “It was her!”
  •  Bonus: Your character has lost someone dear.



    “It was her!” He slurred sloshing his bottle of whiskey when he gestured to the man next to him. Tears brimmed his eyes. “Why don’t you understand?” He shook his head with a growl. “It…was HER.”

    The man next to him didn’t seem to react except to press his lips together. How could anyone know how to react in this situation? It didn’t make much sense. A drunk man rambling on, even if the drunk man was a ‘superhero’. He had single handedly stopped the Ellis of Uthuan from continuing her rampage. Anyone would have been proud, welcomed home with honors, but when he had returned he didn’t really talk much except to say. ‘It was her.’

    Not many knew who the Ellis was, only that was her name and she came from the north with an army and magic at her call. Her power was rumored to destroy human soul. When the White Crow had come from his secluded home, people had been hopeful. He had shown up only during dire times, but always brought peace in his wake. His life was entirely secret as he disappeared once his task was finished.

    Now, he only stayed in their city drinking his days away muttering those three words. People had tried to understand what it meant. Many had asked him trying to shake it out of him. Villhem leaned over putting a hand on the once great superheroes’ shoulder.

    “No one knows what you mean, but I can tell it is a great burden to you. Your tab is paid by me.” He told him simply letting his hand fall. The drunk turned to him staring into his eyes with his own entirely white eyes.

    “It was her…” He whispered. “Why don’t you understand?” White Crow shook his head. “It was my wife.”

Romance, Writing Prompts

Short- To A Fresh Start

  • Word count: 700
  • Genre: Romance
  • Character: A heart-broken lover
  • Material: A pencil
  • Sentence: “I don’t want to ask for too much.”

Bonus: Your character is loved by everyone.


“I don’t want to ask for too much…” He trailed of unable to continue speaking. His fingers  continued turning and twisting the pencil in his hands. His green blue eyes stared at the curtain rippling from the A/C unit. He didn’t really see anything at this point. The whole situation had overwhelmed his mind and emotion to such a degree nothing was processing. “I mean. I had just…hoped.” He stopped talking again.

Hope was all he had at this point. A fragile thing glinting on the edge of a cliff teetering between falling into the abyss and rolling back to a lush forest.

“I…” He turned his gaze up at the woman standing there in her yellow sun dress. She was beautiful by anyone’s standard. Her brown hair  fell around her face curling lightly on her pale shoulders. While her make up was flawless, and her clothing well chosen, her beauty did not extend beneath the surface. Her narrowed blue eyes cut deep into his hair sending the glimmer of hope off the cliff. He swallowed hard. “Ok.” He whispered standing up from the wooden chair and tucking it into the table.

The woman folded her arms and turned from him effectively cutting him off. It wasn’t even as if he had asked for anything. He only wanted them to work out. She didn’t even want to be with him it seemed. This was it. The end. He didn’t think he could take any more of the cold shoulders, the ignoring and silent treatment.

Carefully, he set the pencil back in the cup so expertly arranged with the other items on the dining table. This place had been his home for three years. It was beautiful like the woman he had shared it with.

“If this is the way you want it.” She didn’t respond to him like she so often did. “I’m done with this.” That barely caught her attention. Perhaps, she thought he would be crawling back to her because tto her they always did. “If you won’t act like an adult.” He shook his head and took a deep breath. This had long been in the planning stage. It was spur of the moment, but now was as good a time as any. “I’m done with being treated like you should be worshiped but treat me like crud. I am a man.”

“I wish you would act like one.”

The words stopped him but only for a moment. “I am a man. It’s not because of sex like you will tell everyone, but because of your behavior. Your coldness.” He could tell she was pretending not to listen, and maybe she really wasn’t, but this part was for him. “You refuse to support me even on the best of days. Only when I present you with the appropriate gifts will you then maybe do something for me. I need someone that will be there for me.” He turned facing the door. “I’m actually glad you refused to marry me.” He could see her twitch from the corner of his eye. “Now I don’t have to serve you papers. “

He started for the door no longer hesitating. Only once he had all his things, he faced her again. “There will be no more gifts, no more money. I have cut you out of my life.” Now he had her full attention. Even as he stood there, she began screaming at him. She threw vases, bowls, or whatever she could grab. He had waited until he was at the door so he could use the door as a shield. He wasn’t even sure what she was saying at this point, or if she was saying anything. At first, he had intended to say more, but it felt done so he closed the door. His suitcases were in his car. Soon, her place of luxury would be gone. He would sell his house and move somewhere else. Some place that wouldn’t remind him of the long term mistreatment.



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 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 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.