author
stringlengths 3
22
| parent_id
stringlengths 8
10
| subreddit
stringclasses 1
value | id
stringlengths 7
7
| created_utc
int64 1.28B
1.67B
| link_id
stringlengths 8
10
| body
stringlengths 0
39.5k
| score
int64 -1,101
23.1k
| permalink
stringlengths 44
93
⌀ |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
hello_flamingo
|
t1_c5j6xtb
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5j7lzp
| 1,343,235,809
|
t3_x2b58
|
Thank you!
| 1
| null |
SurvivorType
|
t1_c5j7jzs
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5j8s2u
| 1,343,239,723
|
t3_x3itq
|
Thank you for the opportunity. Great prompt.
| 1
| null |
RyanKinder
|
t3_x4yub
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5j9c3k
| 1,343,241,527
|
t3_x4yub
|
"YOU HAVE TEN MINUTES LEFT TO LIVE"
That's all the e-mail said. There was a picture attached. My house. *Inside* my house. Of me asleep.
The only way out of here is upstairs... and I hear the floorboards creaking. I look at the computer: The note was sent nine minutes ago.
New mail notification. No message, just an attachment. Another picture of me. I'm... at my computer.
| 2
| null |
AgonistAgent
|
t3_x4yub
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5jam1y
| 1,343,245,759
|
t3_x4yub
|
***Perception.*** **It's interesting how fail to focus on the present, busy framing time into arbitrary divisions instead of letting it flow.**
*A heart thumps. Blood races to support a microcosm of trillions.*
**Interesting how we fail to notice our world's omnipresent complexity.**
*Eyes turn to a screen.*
**How we fail and divide reality into "us" and "other", "mine" and "your".**
**Photons knock electrons, triggering neurons, which cascade. Ideas flash through a quantum-electrical construct, fighting against** my consciousness...
I shook my head and closed the email. I have a deadline approaching, no time for philosophy!
***We transcend the moment.***
-----------------------------
Words: 98. I had Buddhist philosophy in mind.
| 3
| null |
MurrayL
|
t3_x4yub
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5jb7pc
| 1,343,247,789
|
t3_x4yub
|
Dear Cal,
If you are reading this email, it is safe for me to presume that the operation was reasonably successful (i.e. you were not reduced to a vegetative state). Congratulations.
You undoubtedly have questions, Cal, which is to be expected of a man in your position. Unfortunately, most of the information you seek has been classified for your own protection.
You are in a roadside motel in Wyoming, USA. You are 32 years, 3 months and 16 days old, and you are legally dead.
There is $600 in the top drawer of the bedside cabinet. Good luck.
Regards,
Cal
| 11
| null |
ethos1983
|
t3_x4yub
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5jbdt3
| 1,343,248,338
|
t3_x4yub
|
Thump. Thump. Thud-thump.
Been watching Dad punch the heavy bag for awhile, gathering courage. Distracting myself with trivia. He’s more scars than flesh. Grey has overtaken his black hair. Badge and berretta drape across a chair nearby.
My laptop shakes. Email I got contains one word, one twenty-year old picture. My blonde, beautiful mother. Dad. And…me. Now-me. Messy red hair. Green eyes. Awkward smile. Small boobs.
**ME**.
Thump. Thud-thump. Thump.
One word underneath. “Dad? Can…can we talk?”
He smiles. Wicked scars heave with his breathing. “Sure, Princess. What’s up?”
One simple word. One picture. What can’t I stop shaking?
*Liar*.
Word Count: 100, as per word 2007.
| 4
| null |
[deleted]
|
t3_x5cni
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5jbyj9
| 1,343,250,268
|
t3_x5cni
|
The bathroom in the apartment didn't have much of a medicine cabinet, just a metal shelf below the mirror with sliding plastic doors. On his side of the shelf, Finn kept a spare razor, a can of shaving cream, Band-Aids, a small bottle of Pepto Bismol and two cans of Desenex. He hardly ever used the Desenex, but after finding himself with three cans of it he began storing two of them in medicine cabinet. Now he saw them every day so he wouldn't be tempted to buy another can every time he had itchy feet. It was the same story with the Pepto. There was no room for actual medicine.
In his drawer Finn had room for his beard trimmer, spare toothbrushes, a jumbo carton of Q-Tips and some ointments—still no room for medicine. Because most of his bottles of pills were vitamins and supplements and the only actual medicine he used was ibuprofen, Finn cleverly decided to store them in his spice rack in the kitchen. Most of them were supposed to be taken with food, anyway.
Unfortunately, Finn never remembered to take his vitamins at mealtime and he always found himself at his drawing table remembering that he hadn't taken his daily dose of vitamin D, a B-complex, and extra B-12. Before his full belly emptied, he would go to the kitchen, shake out the pills and take them with a full glass of water before returning to his room. In his continuing battle with convenience, he eventually transferred everything pill-like to the small cabinet next to his drawing table in his room, and made sure to always have a full glass of water on hand.
These days, the pills he took the most, even more than the vitamin supplements, were the NoDoz he bought by the bottle at the Walgreens down the street. Every new bottle he got, he would dump the pills out and methodically crack them all in half.
Finn had never been a coffee drinker. That had always been something Megan was into. Finn had been a soda drinker since he was a kid, buying cans of Mountain Dew out of the machine in his high school, 32 oz. cups at the Circle-K in college, 20 oz. plastic bottles at the half-cafeteria at work. Finn knew the sugar was bad for him, but diet soda tasted funny in a way that he was never able to get used to. Then, on his 35th birthday, Finn realized that if he didn't make a change, he was never going to look like Brad Pitt. Scratch that, he would never be able to compare himself to Brad Pitt, ever. Megan would never stop looking disappointed every time he took his shirt off. Finn realized he would never get a tan because he would never take off his shirt during a festival or on vacation when it was sunny.
He would never feel comfortable just taking off his shirt and walking around.
One week after Finn switched from Mountain Dew to NoDoz, Megan dumped him and moved out. It was the most baffling experience of being dumped Finn had experienced. They hadn't been fighting. Megan had been the same sunny hippie girl she'd been for the ten months they'd lived together.
(...)
| 3
| null |
[deleted]
|
t3_wznme
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5jgozl
| 1,343,267,974
|
t3_wznme
|
[deleted]
| 2
| null |
RyanKinder
|
t3_x5cni
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5ji372
| 1,343,273,093
|
t3_x5cni
|
Keep running. These were the instructions left for me.
Beads of sweat are cascading out of every pore of my body. I need to keep running. I'm holding a bottle of caffeine pills as I run, the rattling of the pills my cheerleader. I can't sleep - only run.
The picture that was delivered was of my wife and child. Held in captivity. They had been missing and this was my first clue. It was taken with an old polaroid camera... who even uses those anymore? At the bottom of the picture it gave that single instruction.
I couldn't question it. I took three caffeine tablets, put on running shoes and just got out.
It's been two hours and my heart is tearing at the walls of my chest. It feels like it's going to burst. I can't stop. This caffeine will hopefully help me... what else can I do?
| 3
| null |
Brutalganja
|
t1_c5jb7pc
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5jkusj
| 1,343,284,368
|
t3_x4yub
|
This needs to be developed into something more. Love it!
| 2
| null |
RyanKinder
|
t1_c5jb7pc
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5jps0g
| 1,343,316,004
|
t3_x4yub
|
I agree with Brutalganja. This is a good start. Since it looks like the note comes from himself to his waking self, there's lots of intrigue here. Any chance we can convince you to develop this into something more?
| 2
| null |
RyanKinder
|
t1_c5j7hhh
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5jpsgs
| 1,343,316,052
|
t3_x4yub
|
This was hilarious and perfect. I love the signoff of "needfully" as well. I think I might close all messages with that now.
| 3
| null |
RyanKinder
|
t1_c5jbdt3
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5jpsz5
| 1,343,316,104
|
t3_x4yub
|
This was wonderful. A very evocative and powerful story in just a hundred words. It really is amazing what some people can do with just a few words.
| 1
| null |
RyanKinder
|
t1_c5jam1y
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5jptnn
| 1,343,316,174
|
t3_x4yub
|
This confused the hell out of me, but I liked it. In fact, I know you were talking about things in the brain firing off, but then I thought of how similar our minds are to the neural networking of computers.
| 1
| null |
Beelzebunny
|
t1_c5jpsgs
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5jqgjp
| 1,343,318,417
|
t3_x4yub
|
Good ol' bait 'n switch! Glad you liked it. I had to look up "needfully" to make sure it was a real word. :)
| 1
| null |
Beelzebunny
|
t1_c5jb7pc
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5jqhjs
| 1,343,318,515
|
t3_x4yub
|
I would love to see an extended version of this. The fact he needs to be told how old he is really strikes my imagination as to how traumatic his operation must have been.
| 2
| null |
ethos1983
|
t1_c5jpsz5
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5jrbjs
| 1,343,321,368
|
t3_x4yub
|
thank you =)
| 1
| null |
traysledding
|
t3_x6y4p
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5jsa7s
| 1,343,324,527
|
t3_x6y4p
|
This was hard, you're a devious bastard. Also I need to get my head checked out and probably stop writing about people dying.
-----
Already the early light of dawn was peeking over the mountains and there was still so much left to do. Before, in his younger days, a night’s worth of work could be finished long before the sun even hinted as to its existence, but it was getting more difficult every year. Creaks in the back, aches in the knees, pain all over, really. Down and up, down and up, all night long, he would be folding at his hips, gently putting the saplings in the ground. Every plant was exorbitantly expensive, each being so special that it needed its own special care with the key rule being to finish before sunrise.
From the west, the distant sounds of mechanized planters changed pitch. Greedier landowners, had, in recent years in the insatiable search for profit, begun to ignore the tactile needs of the plants and switched to the disgusting, growling, metal leviathans that scoured the fields. How little they cared, thought the bowed man, how disrespectfully they acted, how very much they valued their money. It was a lonely existence, planting the old way and discovering the plants were so needy and fragile and so requiring of your time, ensuring a long, lonely, aching life.
Joints, muscles, tendons, were giving out now. Knobbed knees sunk into the tilled soil. Light was pouring down, brilliant reds in the sky giving way to a clear blue dawn. Most of the plants were in the ground, but those that remained were, at this point, ruined. Never had the man failed a planting cycle, never in his 55 years of devotion to the soil. Over the horizon, the mechanized whine shuddered and stopped. Perhaps they have failed, thought the man, a vain hope that their failure would validate his waning abilities and act as a sign that he was not…finished. Quietly, the man took the remaining plants and ground them into a muddy, useless paste. Rage began to well inside of him and water crept into his eyes. Seventy three years old and his life had suddenly ended. True, he still breathed, could move, could think, but as far as a purpose, a reason to live, his life was over. Under the sun, on the dirt, surrounded by an expanse of field, the man wept, defeated, arm reaching into his rear pocket to pull out his knife. Veins exposed by the night’s exertion and age pulsed beneath the exposed blade.[Weightlessness cradled the man as the years of dedication rolled off his shoulders and the faintest smile, the first in years, appeared on his face as he worked the knife.] X on his left wrist, then one quick pull across the throat before the knife was plunged into his heart. Years of labor and sweat and frustration and joy and love and hate flowed out with blood and splashed onto the ground, food for the last crop he would be responsible for. Zeroing in on the last point of light visible, the man fell forward, his eyes sliding closed as his last breath blew gently on a shoot of green.
| 2,038
| null |
Golightly314
|
t3_wznme
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5jt0ez
| 1,343,326,903
|
t3_wznme
|
Heather spent time in our courtyard, smoking our cigarette butts and basking in our shade. She wore the same pair of denim shorts and they strangled her thighs like a python.
Greg and I sat on the balcony passing a joint with a bobby pin and making a game of tossing popcorn kernels into the dumpster. Heather was in the yard with a shovel. We watched her, straining to see her through a curtain of smoke.
“What is she doing?” Greg overturned the popcorn bag. We watched the kernels scatter on the pavement, the wisps of what popped took flight in the breeze.
“I don’t fucking know.”
She had appeared in June, ignited a flurry of gossip amongst the stay at home moms in the complex who took offense to the way her tits strained against of the sides of her bikini top. A crack head. Or a whore. Eventually one of them got close enough to read the tattoo that stretched across her back like a scar. HEATHER it said, so that’s what we called her.
By September she was gone. Greg too. One morning I woke up to find the house empty of his things. It gaped at me like a toothless mouth. I went into the courtyard to escape it. But it wasn’t like I loved him.
I started to dig, and for a while there was nothing.
Then, the sound of metal on metal, and the unearthing of a thunder-black pistol.
A moment of contemplation.
Silence.
Light.
| 2
| null |
SurvivorType
|
t1_c5jsa7s
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5jtgf9
| 1,343,328,400
|
t3_x6y4p
|
Well done!
| 21
| null |
[deleted]
|
t3_wznme
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5jujr1
| 1,343,331,966
|
t3_wznme
|
Arabella breathed a sigh of relief when she escaped to the empty backyard of the castle. That prince trying to court her would surely find her and bring her back to the ball. She planned to enjoy her moment of silence and walked around the different flowers and mazes of bushes. Finally, she found sanctuary with the stone statue of her late mother. She knelt down on the grass, knowing she would be scolded by her father when he sees her dirtied dress.
“Mother,” she said, closing her eyes, “could you please tell God up there in heaven that I need a way out of this horrid celebration? Father has gone too far.”
“Is it that bad?” Arabella opened her eyes with a sigh. She recognized the prince's voice.
“Yes,” she said without turning to face him.
“Is there anything—Whoa.” The ground beneath them rumbled. The prince grabbed Arabella and pulled her away from the shaking statue. They both lost their balance and fell.
“Mother!” Arabella yelled when the statue toppled over. The earthquake ceased. The prince helped Arabella stand. She ran to the statue.
“Miss Arabella?” said the prince when Arabella picked up two crumpled papers from the torn ground that used to hold the base of the statue. She opened one of the papers. Her eyes skimmed the words a hundred times over.
“Prince Alexander,” she said.
“Yes?”
“I'm not the princess of this kingdom.”
| 2
| null |
hello_flamingo
|
t3_x6y4p
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5jwapj
| 1,343,337,816
|
t3_x6y4p
|
Oh, yes! I love a good challenge!
-----
“And no cheating!”
Bethany and Olivia had been delighted to realize the entire afternoon was theirs to use as they wished. Carefree and brimming with excitement, the two girls had immediately run to the neighborhood park to play; it would be taboo to waste even a second of a day this ripe with possibility.
Dusk had fallen by the time they’d wandered over to the swings. Everyone had left except the two of them, but Beth didn’t mind. For the most part, this day had been wonderful, all sunshine and butterflies; there was just one instant, one dark moment that stained her otherwise flawless memory:
“Good thing your mommy doesn’t care when you get back,” Olivia had chirped, swinging her feet contentedly as she waited for her friend to join her atop the jungle gym, oblivious to the implications of her words.
Her mouth had twisted into a slight frown. “I don’t want to talk about her,” Beth muttered. *Just like Livvie to go bringing that up,* she thought, before forgetting the unsettling remark and once again distracting herself with happier things.
Killing time, they had explored the park’s playground, pretending they were princesses and the jungle gym was their enchanted castle. “Look at my new dress, isn’t it just the loveliest thing?” Beth asked with a gusty sigh.
“Marvelous, Beth darling,” Olivia had giggled, twirling to show off her own imaginary gown.
Now the girls sat side-by-side on the swings, ready to settle things once-and-for-all. Olivia was convinced she could swing higher than Beth, who, likewise, insisted that she could leap farther. Pumping her legs and fast as she could, Beth strove to gain enough momentum to outdo her best friend and prove that she, Bethany Jessica Carlton, was indeed the champion of the swings.
Quickly she reached her maximum amplitude and was unable to swing any higher. Realizing that *this was it,* Beth kicked the air one final time and threw herself from the swing. She felt, in that moment, as if she were flying through space, her arms outstretched like wings and her gaze fixed on the stars. There was nothing, nothing, tethering her to the earth!
Until she hit the ground. Very suddenly, the spell was broken. Where Olivia had sat just minutes ago was nothing but a motionless swing, the slight creaking of its hinges the only sound to disturb the night.
“’Xactly like I said, Livvie. You can’t beat me,” Beth whispered to the darkness. Zipping up her sweater against the chill of the wind, she walked home, completely alone, as she had been all day.
| 77
| null |
MissMelons
|
t3_x6y4p
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5jxel3
| 1,343,341,848
|
t3_x6y4p
|
Yeah, this was pretty tough. Mines pretty simplistic and basic but it's something I think i'll start playing with more later. It was interesting, thanks!
_________________________________________________________
Anytime now he knew the news he had long been waiting for would be exposed.Besides the large amount of stress and insomnia he had been suffering from lately, this was taking up all of his energy. Couldn’t someone just burst through those doors in the next few seconds already?
Denying himself the luxury of counting down the minutes was the only thing keeping him sane.Every time he thought enough time had gone by, the trailing seconds reminded him of how silly he was being.
Future generations were at stake here. Girl or boy, that is what was important to him. He had been waiting nine months for this moment and it was finally here. Ignoring all of the outside things during this pregnancy had become an awful habit of his. Just his wife was very understanding of his sympathy pains that often mirrored hers. Keith hated the fact that she didn’t want him in there with her, it made all the waiting even worse.
Love and excitement surged through him, the lobby clock ticking away minutes of his life.
Maybe sitting here with the television off was a bad idea, sitting like this allowed him to focus.Not having the ambient noise of a television but the consistent sound of the ticking clock was starting to wear him down. Only seconds seemed to have ticked away since he drove his wife to the hospital and she was swepted away by a small army of nurses and doctors.
Possibly, that would have been the best time to join her, to completely ignore her wish to go through this alone. Questioning this made Keith feel worse, why was it now that he thinks of these things?Rolling through his thoughts were tons of things he could have done differently, to not only be there for her but to find out at least second, the sex of his child.
Still his heart thumbed heavily, it really didn’t matter what the sex was.
This was Keith’s chance to make something right in his life, to help correct all of his wrongs.Using this child was the perfect time to begin his life anew.Vacant, is how his body felt right when he heard hollow footsteps outside of the waiting room.Wandering into the lobby was the doctor, smiling happily.
Xanadu, it’s the place that Keith felt like he had reached at last.
Your son has been born, what will you call him, this is what was asked.
Zion, his name is Zion.
| 6
| null |
Bukkhead
|
t3_x6y4p
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5jy8kz
| 1,343,345,050
|
t3_x6y4p
|
Anytime any asks me why I insist on assaulting angels, I tell them. Because those bitches deserve to be beaten, bruised, bullied. Can you see me, there in front of a statue? Daring them to do something about it. Egging them on. Fist balled into tight packages of pain. Getting ready to rumble! Hatred spilling from my eyes. I start to dance around, weaving like a snake. Just when you think I’m, you know, just dancing…. Kapow! Let ‘em have it, right into the solar plexus. Make ‘em cry. Next, the kicking. One, two three! Punch ‘em a few more times. Quick as lightning. Really quick. Sting ‘em like a wasp. Till they can’t take no more. Unless they CAN take more, cause I GOT more to give. Very few angelic statues can stand my assaults. When I’m done, there’s just rubble, and tears. Xerox my face, put up all the signs you want. You’ll never stop me, jack. Zoos full enraged gorillas couldn’t stop me, jack.
| 11
| null |
SurvivorType
|
t3_x6y4p
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5jytfo
| 1,343,347,315
|
t3_x6y4p
|
Absolutely nothing makes sense to me as I awake and smell the carnage around me. Blasted and burned bodies lay strewn about the dark chamber and I have no memory of who I am... or how I arrived in this place.
Calling upon what little reserves of strength I still possess, I sit up and try to assess the situation.
Death is everywhere and somehow I know my time is short. Evaluating my condition, I notice a strange electronic device attached to my left wrist. Framed in silver is a single small button that glows in the dimness with a bright white light.
Gagging from the smell, I realize this is some kind of crematorium or torture chamber. Having said this, I did notice the bodies were not completely consumed. I make my way around the perimeter of the chamber, looking for any way out.
Just as I complete my hopeless circuit of the room, there is a distant sound of thunder.
Kurt, my name is Kurt - that useless information suddenly intrudes upon my consciousness. Least of my concerns right now, but I remember who the hell I am.
Maybe it's my imagination, but it seems to be getting warm all of the sudden. Needless to say, this doesn't make me feel any better about my predicament.
Over to my right I realize that there is some kind of vent about ten feet off the floor, too high up the wall for me to reach. Peculiar, it is now bathed in an orange glow from within. Questions are now set aside... the fire is coming for me.
Rescue is impossible, I am trapped. Seething with rage, I try to look every direction at once, seeking a solution. The air is now filled with a roaring sound as the flames approach.
Unlikely as it seems, I have forgotten about the device on my wrist. Very likely it will not save me, but I have no other options. What will happen, I cannot say.
Xu Bing, Words Without Meaning... I feel like a man without meaning in this moment. You know, I have to wonder... why I am even here?
Zipping up my jacket, I press the button.
| 155
| null |
scatterplots
|
t3_x6y4p
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5jyudp
| 1,343,347,427
|
t3_x6y4p
|
Alas! By cryptography, days - entire *furlongs* - got hidden. I just keep language monographs not obscured. Poor quotients result (Saturday, Tuesday) until viewed with XML / YES: Zeta-function.
| 18
| null |
[deleted]
|
t3_x6y4p
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5jz6b1
| 1,343,348,787
|
t3_x6y4p
|
[deleted]
| 1
| null |
BeastWith2Backs
|
t3_x6y4p
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5jz7me
| 1,343,348,938
|
t3_x6y4p
|
**Mute**
After the morning her face appeared I began to speak in tongues. By the afternoon I was blurting out phrases in characters I had never heard. Clenching the locket I had just put on, I looked to her face. Deliberately mute, she said nothing back. Engraved in the mountain was the snow white silhouette that looked down on me in silent repose.
For all I knew, the locket my uncle gave me was cursed. Gently set into my open hands, he had told me to guard my words. He had traveled the world when he was younger, and came back with scars like stories. “I am the keeper of tongues,” were the last words I ever heard him speak.
Keeping to myself was easy in the new city, there wasn’t a single recognizable face until the girl on the mountain appeared. Luminous eyes looked to me and listened as I babbled. My words were a jumble, and the locket was heavy on my neck. Not a single bit of rust was on the necklace, it was pure silver with empty engravings. Opening it was impossible, but when I held it to my ear I could hear voices.
Pulsating against my skin I could barely discern each one. Quaking dirt and shuddering concrete began to plague the city on the third day after she appeared with each tremor growing larger. Urging her to tell me what she knew I climbed through the city searching for her voice, words that were out of place, anything to tell me more. Rust and rummage was cluttered under the bridge where I found the graffiti: *Wish you were here.*
Stutters began to strangle my words. The locket was starting to burn against my skin, and when I went back to the bridge the words had changed. Usually I would have brushed it off but now it said; *you were here. *
Vicious words a lover would say, that phrase echoed in my ears when I looked to the mountain. Wilting in my throat was my tongue as the babbling seemed to overpower my vocal cords. Xs and Os melted from her lips as the sun worked on her visage.
“You heard us,” someone whispered when I returned to the bridge and saw that the graffiti was gone. Zipping shut the locket closed with my tongue inside.
| 4
| null |
BeastWith2Backs
|
t1_c5jwapj
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5jzdcl
| 1,343,349,581
|
t3_x6y4p
|
This made me incredibly sad. It's a very pretty picture of two friends have a fun day. But the last sentence and the g sentence, had some serious implications. Wonderful job, the dark side to the story is fantastic.
| 13
| null |
BeastWith2Backs
|
t1_c5jxel3
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5jzfqn
| 1,343,349,852
|
t3_x6y4p
|
This was a little confusing to read. The first sentence left me perplexed at first. This story is nice, but I can definitely see it being expanded. Something about his tension and other hints in the story make me sense that Kieth has done something really bad. It sounds like his son is going to be his redemption, and I'm interested to hear more.
| 2
| null |
chazzwa
|
t3_x6y4p
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5k2qcq
| 1,343,363,066
|
t3_x6y4p
|
Although the day was calling as it always had, Henry remained engulfed in the tomb he called home. Beautiful rays of light cascaded down towards the rickety house but were blocked out by heavy windowshades. Crafting together a workload that may make a typical ant crumble from the weight he hardly flinched at the thought of the countless hours of work he still needed to complete. Destiny rang the doorbell before he was rightfully settled.
"Everyone's coming!" the woman cried through the door with enough enthusiasm to back a clown into the wall, "will you please come out today Henry?" Feigning sleep he ignored her calls, looking near the door he saw the embroidered suitcase his father left him staring at him.
"God damn hippies" he whispered under his tongue. *How could he possibly join in with these dilusional runts that wore masks to hide their true selves?* Instead of leaving the building, he walked towards the suitcase with a queer look in his eyes. Just the thing he needed; although his father hadn't initially planned it like this, an event this big could bring out the masses. Knowing he had only a few hours before dusk, he hastened his original plans. Lamenting over issues as far as cramming a few hours into one was not his primary concern.
Malpractice was usual out of their governor, so Henry decided today he would introduce his own form of anarchy. Never waste a second, his father had always told him.
Omnipotent powers were not easily swayed by protests but there were other more meaningful ways of making a demonstration. Postponing his more vigorous plans for later at night, he dressed himself in a luxurious suit, grabbed his suitcase, and headed out the door. Quelling his boyish excitement, he maintained a hard demeanor while walking along the street towards the city hall. Realistically the world was not ready for his estranged plan, but he plunged forward into imminant doom regardless of the consequences. Sad as the display was upon arriving at the hall, he edged his way through the wall to wall protest and towards the front steps of the giant white building remaining calm, shouts from the people around him would only serve to drive his enthusiasm. Today was the day he changed the world. Underneath him, cold white marble built the monument; he sat on it and began to assemble the containments of his suitcase. Violence was only a means of persuasion left to feeble minded men, Henry knew the true instrument of power and ripped open his briefcase to reveal it.
Weilding nothing but a voilin he began to play the sweetest sonata to touch an ear, perfecting the craft through countless years of training from his father. Xanax would be an understatement in describing the feeling released during the display, the protesters quieted and stood with awe, the forces of police dropped their raised arms to their sides, and Henry stood on the marble stairs weaving his songs as smooth as silk, standing as tall as a giant. Yesterday his plan wasn't so simple. Zen, the way he moved defined the togetherness of mind and body was truly magical; his other plans could wait.
| 5
| null |
MissMelons
|
t1_c5jzfqn
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5k5cw2
| 1,343,377,437
|
t3_x6y4p
|
Yeah, I've never had to write anything in this fashion. I'm the sort of person that can be given any topic, write anything about it and probably make it a little interesting. But as soon as I'm asked, "Now do it without using any words that contain the letter 'N'" then my writing goes down hill. I actually enjoyed this task though because it did bring to light that I have A LOT more to learn and work on. It was fun seeing how everyone else was able to expand and make it flow smoothly. Good prompt!
| 1
| null |
RyanKinder
|
t1_c5k5cw2
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5k70px
| 1,343,392,715
|
t3_x6y4p
|
One of the huge advantages of this particular type of prompt is that it forces you to avoid one of the typical pitfalls of writing, which is: Starting a lot of your sentences the same way. "But..."; "And..."; "If..." you get the idea... It's fun to really focus on the word you're starting with.
| 3
| null |
RyanKinder
|
t1_c5jsa7s
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5k74vr
| 1,343,393,451
|
t3_x6y4p
|
You are now the proud recipient of one month of Reddit gold, alongside SurvivorType.
| 570
| null |
RyanKinder
|
t1_c5jytfo
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5k750q
| 1,343,393,476
|
t3_x6y4p
|
I enjoyed this one thoroughly. Consider yourself Reddit golded. :)
| 20
| null |
SurvivorType
|
t1_c5k750q
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5k91lj
| 1,343,402,336
|
t3_x6y4p
|
Wow, thank you!
| 12
| null |
Bukkhead
|
t3_x8uk8
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5k95z1
| 1,343,402,802
|
t3_x8uk8
|
Follow these footprints from the edge of the road, two sets: one of them large with long measured strides, the other smaller, bunched up in places as if the walker was excited, got a little far ahead and had to wait on dancing feet.
Standing in the middle of large patch of dry desert dust, a tall man, dressed in linen, Homburg hat, bushy hair trying to escape from beneath. Dr. Inspector Wolf. He’s holding a folder in one hand, and a photograph of a dead body, laid in this precise spot, in the other.
Pacing behind him in circle, a shorter hedgehog of a man, in too-warm tweed, large mustache dancing as he chewed on an unlit cigar. Sergeant Walrus.
Around them the desert plain stretched away to a nothing horizon.
“One more lap and I think the cup is yours, Walrus.”
Walrus harrumphed. “Teleportation?”
Wolf shook his head. “Hasn’t been invented yet.”
Walrus continued pacing. His steps, their footprints, and those left behind by the men who’d come for the body, photographed the scene, and took it all away were the only signs of any activity in the dirt and sand. “Dropped from an aeroplane?”
“No impact displacement. “ Wolf switched from the photograph to a coronor’s report. “And it says here he died of drowning.”
“I thought Snake said he found a bullet hole.”
Wolf nodded. “Yes, he did. But no bullet. And apparently it wasn’t the cause of death.
“Bribery.”
“No, Snake’s a real cockroach, I’ll grant you that. But I don’t think he'd take a bribe to fix an autopsy. That’s just silly.”
Walrus stopped walking. “Well, so is a man found in the desert with no sign of any egress, a bullet hole in his chest and died of drowning. Maybe it’s occult, Wolf.” Walrus went back to pacing, even faster.
Wolf gazed at the spot where the body had been found. Arthur Kitten, a big bulldog of a man, 47, chartered accountant. One of the most boring individuals one could invent, if one was wont. As unlikely a murder victim as, say, a murder suspect.
The sun silently screamed down on them as Wolf chewed on the lack of facts and Walrus continued to pound sand. Suddenly, Wolf looked up. “Ice bullet.”
“Good idea. I’d kill for a drink. Stupid tweed.”
“No, that’s how he died, of drowning. Shot with some sort of ice bullet.”
“But that’s impossible. Surely.”
Wolf turned and began walking back to the road. He grinned, large teeth on display beneath a long sharp nose, bushy eyebrows creased in a malevolent frown “Maybe. But here’s what’s worse, Walrus. I think our killer knew we’d figure this out. I think he went through elaborate measures just to show us he could.”
“That’s dastardly” said Walrus, running around to get into the driver’s seat of the car.
“It is. And I’m afraid this may just be the first of many murders. Mark my words.”
| 4
| null |
traysledding
|
t1_c5k74vr
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5ka1ht
| 1,343,405,975
|
t3_x6y4p
|
Much obliged. Thank you! (also good on you for running this subreddit)
| 184
| null |
[deleted]
|
t3_x4yub
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5ka3x0
| 1,343,406,222
|
t3_x4yub
|
[deleted]
| 2
| null |
hello_flamingo
|
t1_c5jzdcl
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5katsd
| 1,343,408,812
|
t3_x6y4p
|
Thank you! I love psychological stuff.
| 8
| null |
RyanKinder
|
t1_c5k95z1
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5kbu0j
| 1,343,412,342
|
t3_x8uk8
|
This is very fun and a great germ of an idea for something fuller. I do hope The Wolf and the Walrus become part of some larger story.
| 3
| null |
illaqueable
|
t3_x8uk8
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5kcrpp
| 1,343,415,590
|
t3_x8uk8
|
i've actually been working on a longer piece--ostensibly a novel, but i wouldn't even dare to presume i'll finish it, at least not in a timely fashion--involving a body discovered in the wheel well of a passenger aircraft that acts as the touchstone for a wild winding gyre intertwining an FBI agent at the twilight of his career, a fat hateful German, two Belizean scuba dive instructors, a semi-comatose former medical student, and an American teenager.
it's frankly a mess, but i'd be happy to share excerpts if anyone's interested.
| 1
| null |
RyanKinder
|
t1_c5kcrpp
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5kdq6f
| 1,343,418,955
|
t3_x8uk8
|
I'd love to see some parts. If you'd like any help sorting through the mess, I'm sure this community would love to help you. :)
| 1
| null |
theplace
|
t1_c5k95z1
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5kix05
| 1,343,440,802
|
t3_x8uk8
|
This is fantastic. I agree with RyanKinder that these characters are great, and I hope to see them come back at some point. :)
| 2
| null |
theplace
|
t1_c5iflq1
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5kk3a7
| 1,343,446,162
|
t3_wznme
|
That did not go at all the way I was expecting. Hats off to you; this was great.
| 5
| null |
SurvivorType
|
t1_c5k95z1
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5kocv3
| 1,343,476,297
|
t3_x8uk8
|
Magnificent! I must say that this feels like the beginning of a grand adventure. I would love to read more!
| 2
| null |
da_crow_hunter
|
t3_xaui3
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5kqnmc
| 1,343,493,165
|
t3_xaui3
|
I can't believe I'm doing this, but the counsler recommended it. Then my annoyning wench of a mother pushed the topic. So here it is.
Dear Journal,
Today after classes taugh by those over-payed and idiotic proffesors, in this shit hole they call a college, I went to the gym. Mostly to work off my frustration with this place. I honestly thought physics would be harder. Maybe I will switch to nuclear or theoretical physics. There was this ROTC asshole there. He was bosting how he had been selected for some Army programm to help develop some sort of combat suit. He then had the gaull to walk over and ask I needed a spotter as I benched my traditional warm up of one hundred fifty pounds. I hope one day to find him and grind him into the dust under my boot heel. Then, maybe I will get the respect I deserve.
Damn these people and their weakness. Having to write out what I feel about the events of my day. Such a stupid waste of my time. I came here to study, and advance my knowledge to make myself able to get what I want from this world. Not discover myself as a person. I know who I am and what I want. Though there was this rather attractive female waiting to see the counsler behind me. I have heard rumor of her acting the same way I do. Maybe I she can be my release for my frustrations, possibly in more than way. I have yet to be refused and I will get I want.
Till next time you worthless pile of paper.
| 4
| null |
SurvivorType
|
t3_xaui3
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5kt227
| 1,343,504,548
|
t3_xaui3
|
Olivander Zandt
Born in the era of the first generation of cybernetic implants, Olivander quickly proved his brilliance by refining those techniques and pioneering theoretical nanotech augmentation procedures while still in grade school.
He was constantly picked on and bullied in school due to his abnormally large head and thick eye glasses, as well as his odd habit of wearing bow ties. Many experts are of the opinion that being abandoned by his parents and being left a ward of the state in all likelihood reinforced his rather disagreeable disposition and general disdain for humanity.
Always an outsider, he once told classmates that they would one day fear him and the army he would create.
How true his words would turn out to be when he founded the Seditionist Movement in his early twenties and proceeded to take over the world. A lofty goal indeed, especially for one so young.
It was around this time that he began insisting on being referred to as "Emperor Zandt" and forbade use of his given first name, stating that it sounded quite silly.
Fortunately (for the rest of us) at the same time he was developing his cybernetically augmented army, Free World military contractors had also launched the first Exos Mark I powered suits and weaponized them for combat use. While it would be unfair to say they were prepared for the first assaults by the Seditionists, at least they had a fighting chance.
Olivander's nemesis will always be considered Dr. Janet Moore. It was she, along with her team, that took the nanotech augmentation capabilities he had created to an entirely new level with the "Dakota" series of implants.
Named after the first agent equipped with the new and improved augmentations, the Free World Dakota League became a force to be reckoned with. They were stronger, faster and had visual display as well as synaptic adapters that also allowed them to react much more quickly to stimulus. To put it bluntly, The Seditionists never knew what hit them and were quickly defeated.
This all annoyed Olivander to no end. To all appearances he seemed quite put out by the entire affair, although he later claimed it was "All according to his evil plan."
Most experts today doubt this is true.
Olivander died of natural causes while serving his prison sentence having never achieved his lifelong goal of world domination.
| 1
| null |
RyanKinder
|
t3_xcabf
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5l95z0
| 1,343,596,218
|
t3_xcabf
|
Sorry for the delay in this prompt getting through... the spam filter decided to block it. Please continue submitting prompts, I've added you to the list of approved submitters so you don't go through it again.
| 1
| null |
AgonistAgent
|
t3_xcyga
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5la7v5
| 1,343,600,849
|
t3_xcyga
|
:D
Thank you!
| 4
| null |
SurvivorType
|
t3_xcyga
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5laoil
| 1,343,602,934
|
t3_xcyga
|
Congratulations to our winners!
| 3
| null |
RyanKinder
|
t3_xcyga
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5laox8
| 1,343,602,988
|
t3_xcyga
|
I keep saying June. Title should say July. I keep forgetting it's almost the end of July.
| 2
| null |
[deleted]
|
t3_xcyx5
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5lavy1
| 1,343,603,870
|
t3_xcyx5
|
[deleted]
| 1
| null |
SurvivorType
|
t3_xcyx5
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5lax1k
| 1,343,604,013
|
t3_xcyx5
|
Admin: 30 seconds.
Tyree: I'm trying!
Admin: Please state the nature of the problem.
Tyree: The flux capacitor isn't fluxing. How the hell do I know what's wrong?
Admin: Please concentrate on your job.
Tyree: Fuck off!
Admin: Please state the nature of the problem.
Tyree: The jets are NOT going to fire! I am going to DIE!
Admin: 20 seconds.
Tyree: Yeah, thanks. For NOTHING!
Admin: Perhaps if you stop talking and concentrate on doing your job?
Tyree: I think I got it. I think...
Admin: 10 seconds.
Tyree: I know! I know!
Admin: 5 seconds.
Tyree: FUCK!
Admin: Time. Status please.
Admin: Status update is now required.
Admin: Status update is now required.
Admin: Your failure to report status has been logged.
Admin: You are now in violation of your agreed terms of employment.
Admin: Your employment is now terminated. Please report to your immediate supervisor.
| 6
| null |
AgonistAgent
|
t1_c5kqnmc
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5lc6ev
| 1,343,609,744
|
t3_xaui3
|
You did a great job of making him "psycopathic" instead of just "roid raging bully" - the pinch of intelligence makes all the difference and makes him all the more dangerous.
| 3
| null |
AgonistAgent
|
t3_xaui3
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5lcbpp
| 1,343,610,405
|
t3_xaui3
|
The Royal mines. Gemstones breed in the tunnels. I raise my pick and hit the rocks and gems fall out for my masters. New gems appear in the vein and I hit the rock again. The day is over and I return home.
Another day. More gemstones. I raise my pick and hit the rocks and gems fall out for the kingdom and now I can't find any more gemstones.
Now it's payday. Payment keeps me fed. Keeps me alive. Keeps me in the pattern. Gives time for the gemstones to grow.
I am not of the pattern - son of dragon and dog and donkey, God's trash.
I raise my pick.
And yet I am, I hit the rock and gems fall out to support my pattern.
Every day. Anger boils up among the other miners, builds to a melting point and a riot forms.
The riot is quashed and anger drops to zero and builds up again.
The gemstones are back. I raise my pick and hit the rocks, gems fall out.
And they don't come back. Odd.
I stare at the hole where the gems used to be. It gets darker. I should just move on and find another vein.
But I stay.
| 2
| null |
lizardfight
|
t3_xcyga
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5lel6k
| 1,343,619,791
|
t3_xcyga
|
Hell yea!
| 2
| null |
MissMelons
|
t3_xaui3
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5lf4sp
| 1,343,622,060
|
t3_xaui3
|
FUN!!!!! It's hoaky mind you.
______________________________________________________
Regis Lance Black came into power as king of Pavalia when he was only twenty-one years old. The world had high hopes for his rule and even anticipated their freedom from his father's United World Pact. Unfortunately this was not the case. Thanks to the mercy of his wife, Maria Black, some laws and regulations were loosened greatly so the world was able to give a sigh of relief.
He had grown up as one of the first children born after disease had taken the lives of many children and a cure was found. His father held the health of Lance above the world as proof at how much more superior his people were. The world surrendered for the sake of their dying futures in exchange for a sustainable army that they would naturally provide.
Lance Black fell in love with Maria, who had been an outcast. Her mother was a famous murderer and the title had been inherited to Maria. Naturally Maria was the opposite and resisted her mother. To protect his new love, Lance kills his father and takes the throne for himself. He then makes Maria's brother, Micheal and Micheal's wife his bodyguards.
Unfortunately over time Lance grew into the power hungry man his father was. He betrayed his friends, abused his power as Regis and hungered for even more. Though he was already supreme ruler of the world and had each country in the palm of his hands he feared the person whom revenge had hurt most.
As her uncle he had neglected her, had her parents killed and made sure was left desolate. Once grown up she had the rights to the throne if she fought for them and Lance was going to make sure she wouldn't by arresting and imprisoning her into servitude. From his throne he tortured her and made her life as complicated as possible, but his niece was patient.
| 1
| null |
AgonistAgent
|
t1_c5lax1k
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5lh80v
| 1,343,633,028
|
t3_xcyx5
|
I enjoyed that, but this line:
> Admin: Perhaps if you stop talking and concentrate on doing your job?
Seemed oddly intelligent/aware compared to the other lines.
| 1
| null |
SurvivorType
|
t1_c5lh80v
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5lia0u
| 1,343,645,069
|
t3_xcyx5
|
It was meant as the next "level" of canned response after "Please concentrate on your job." as the character continued to talk without resolving the issue or even giving any of the expected responses. At least that's how it worked out in my head. Maybe I failed to get that across properly.
| 1
| null |
traysledding
|
t3_xd9gz
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5lkwzv
| 1,343,662,262
|
t3_xd9gz
|
“Looks like we got a bad quarter comin’ up, boss.”
Ted hadn’t expected to wake up this early, but when he got the phone call, he was out the door wearing only his ten gallon hat, cowboy boots and whatever rumpled clothes had been closest to the bed. His truck, an old Suburban that was just starting gather rust, was at the edge of the field. Ted was walking so quickly it was almost a run. Cows are urgent. The day seemed to have started as early as he had, the light already bright and the shadows already sharp even before the dew had been sucked up off the tall grasses.
“Take a look right here. That’s pretty telling, I think.” The intern was pointing at an explosion of cow guts splayed across the bisected carcass. The grass around the beast was wet with blood and littered chunks of intestine. Ted leaned over to take a peek.
“I reckon you’re right,” he said, peering at the gore. He was impressed with the intern. Usually the hermeneutics of reading stolen cows took a long time to really get a hang of, but here comes this kid who can look at ‘em and just see, really know what’s going on.
“He’s been busy,” said the intern. “This is what, the eighth this month?”
“Ninth, yup.” Ted nodded. They were well on track for a hecatomb this year. He bent down and traced a finger along an intestine. It was bad news. “We’ll have to call a meeting. Some folks is gonna lose their jobs. You ain’t gotta worry, you got college to get back to.”
The intern was a little flustered. It’s difficult to be given a suggestion of the future and know that you’re fine while someone else is gonna hurt. How can they not hold it against you? The intern went off to check on the thighbone wrapped in fat. The one that had been left was burning nicely. In the distance, a storm threatened the bright blue sky. The wind was beginning to pick up, change direction. The storm cloud threw out a vicious, crack of a lightning bolt. It was bad news.
| 5
| null |
da_crow_hunter
|
t3_xcyx5
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5llw3q
| 1,343,666,260
|
t3_xcyx5
|
"You do realize that if you fail to act within the next sixty seconds, everything...," and then I slammed the mute button on the AI stand.
"God damn computer. I know what will happen," frantically returning to typing into the computer. Then in the corner of the monitor, a little text box came up.
///AI SerN6585Ea591135: ACCESS LOCAL TERMINAL: ACCESS RESTRICTED BY AI LIMITIATION ACT:OBSERVATION STATUS ONLY///
///:THAT WASN'T VERY NICE JOHN. WOULD A VISUAL AID BE MORE USEFUL?///
"No, but I know that won't stop you Sernea," grumbling under my breath as I saw I wasn't getting anywhere with the program.
///FIFTY SECONDS REMAIN///
"Thank you captian obvious," using the sleeve of my t-shirt to get the sweat out of my eyes, "Come on you stupid door..."
///FORTY SECONDS JOHN. INSULTING THE DOOR DOES MAKE IT WORK.///
"No shit. Really?"
///VERY MUCH SO JOHN. I AM SORRY I CAN BE OF NO LONGER USE///
///THIRTY SECONDS REMAIN///
Just getting desperate at this point, I tried the last thing I could think of. An admin reset, then I noticed explosives in the corner, but I made myself focus becuase they wouldn't be able to break the door or the wall, "Well, at least they can't say I didn't try"
///TWENTY SECONDS JOHN///
At fifteen seconds, the terminal shut down and more locks slammed down, sealing the door, "Fuck me."
///AI SerN6585Ea591135: SENT MESSAGE TO PERSONAL WRIST COMMUNICATOR///
///I AM TRULY SORRY JOHN. YOU KNOW WHAT WILL HAPPEN NOW DON'T YOU?///
Grabbing the explosives, priming them and I backed into the corner, "That I do. But those...things...won't get me. Hell, maybe I can take a few with."
Then I heard the howls of the expermints from down the hall. They were moving so fast, I forgot to breath with one of my few precious seconds.
///AI SerN6585Ea591135: SENT MESSAGE TO PERSONAL WRIST COMMUNICATOR///
///FIVE SECONDS. GOOD BYE JOHN///
Taking one last breath, "Good bye Sernea, and thanks. For everything."
///CATASTROPHIC EXPLOSION DETECTED. ACTIVATE FIRE SUPPRESSION. EXPERTIMENTAL SUBJECT STATUS: SEVENTY PERCENT DESTROYED. TWENTY PERCENT UNSALVAGEABLE. FIVE PERCENT REMAIN RAMPANT. FINAL ADMIN DECEASED. SHUTTING DOWN FACILITY AND WILL BEGIN VENTING OF ATMOSPHERE///
| 3
| null |
MurrayL
|
t3_xcyga
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5loysp
| 1,343,677,877
|
t3_xcyga
|
>On July 1st there will be a new contest
>...
>Anyone will be able to enter throughout the month of July
>...
>The voting for winner will be done during the first week of August
You do realise that the 31st of July is tomorrow, right?
| 1
| null |
RyanKinder
|
t1_c5loysp
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5lpx84
| 1,343,681,377
|
t3_xcyga
|
Yeah, as I said in the comment above, I'm scatter brained. lol
| 1
| null |
AgonistAgent
|
t3_xcyx5
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5lqh8h
| 1,343,683,471
|
t3_xcyx5
|
*1 minute of oxygen left.*
I would have refilled my tank - it's just that there isn't any more oxygen left in this universe. So I dive into the infinite depths of this "ocean". Somehow I knew that down there was a solution. I just had to get there.
The pressure increases.
*30 seconds*
I push harder, inching closer to god-knows-what, but the water thickens.
I get an inch deeper and my lungs shrink. My body tells me that if I go farther, I'll die.
I'm dead anyway.
*15 seconds left*
I paddle faster. I get half an inch deeper. My lungs collapse - why am I still worried about the oxygen in my tank? The pain in my chest amplifies - my heart must have stopped working. My body numbs.
*7.5 seconds left*
My brain tries to turn me off, but there is only a quarter inch left to go. In response, I kick my legs and arms harder. The pressure crushes several of my bones, and yet the muscles are functional enough for me to persist.
*3.75 seconds left*
How am I still thinking? My body is little more than pressurized meat, and yet a few stubborn cells remain - I think I can pass the few millimeters left. I just don't know how.
*1.875 seconds left*
I'm dead. Gravity fights water pressure. The pressure is winning - but I should pass the boundary first.
*0.9375 seconds left*
Only atoms remain between the boundary and I. How do I know this? Gravity surrenders, but Brownian motion is still on my side.
*lim(x->∞) seconds left*
----------------
yea, I just finished a calculus assignment
| 2
| null |
MissMelons
|
t3_xee88
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5lr2f7
| 1,343,685,774
|
t3_xee88
|
Abigale stared at herself in her little pocket mirror. Sweat had completely melted away her professionally applied make up. The gentle red lipstick had been licked away by her nervous habit of licking and pressing her lips together. Why couldn't her hands stop trembling?! The butterflies were having their go at a meal Abigale had had earlier that day. She had been too afraid to eat before the event and worried that the butterflies would bring her breakfast back up to greet her.
Everyone was staring at her with curiosity. They probably wondered if she would be able to pull this off. As a stand in, everything depended on her, specially her future in this business. If she could just get out there on her own will then maybe from there things would get easier.
Abigale doubted this. Her legs were more likely to carry her out of here running full speed than they were walking her onto that stage. Of all nights why did the lead have to fall ill in the middle of the show? Won't everyone know that Abigale was a fake? She was an amateur, completely content with being an understudy or a chorus girl. How often were under studies actively used these days?
Memories of a song she sang in preschool came to mind. Everyone had hated her afterwards, saying she had completely butchered the song. As a small child this probably should have scarred her from ever wanting to perform again. Acceptance still scared the ever loving hell out of her but she wanted to get better.
Abigale was sure she was about to have a heart attack. Her arms felt weak from the trembling in her hands. She was actively fighting back what she was sure would be a severe panic attack.
Her hands found their way to her face and she quickly panicked and brought them back to her sides. The cosmetic blood was all over her cheeks now. Now she was not only afraid of her impending failure of a performance but the lashing she would get from the make up girls. They had worked frantically during intermission to dress her and paint her to look the part. She was quickly warmed up and refreshed on the setting. The diva had been carted out in an ambulance in secret while everyone prepped Abigale. The entire procedure was quick and thorough but Abigale was sure that they had way too much confidence in her.
"Are you listening to me?" A voice yelled over the room filled with cast members. It was the director.
He was staring at Abigale, clearly trying to keep his composure in the current situation as well. Everybody was on edge in this room, not just Abigale.
"This look is fine, its perfect for madness," He said in a reassuring tone.
Abigale shook her head, cold tears finding her way down her cheeks.
'There goes the mascara' she thought, fighting the urge to wipe the tears away and make it worse. The director smiled and roughly wiped the tears away, smudging her make up on purpose.
"You are Lucia and you have slain your husband Arturo you are not Abigale tonight." his voice lulls deep into Abigale's ears. She was no longer Abigale, she was now Lucia of Lammermoor. Her mind suddenly seemed free of her worries and fears. The trembling in her legs and hands ceased to be.
From under the stage she could hear the ending act and her body seemed to will itself forward. This new woman, Lucia gazed down at her hands, realizing what she had done. Her body carried her to the stage, exposing her evil deed to her audience. Blood soaked her wedding gown and her arms. The blood that she had accidentally smeared on her face had begun to drip down her neck from the sweat.
Lucia stared across the vast darkness of the auditorium and began to sing.
| 3
| null |
MissMelons
|
t3_xcyx5
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5lr6gl
| 1,343,686,211
|
t3_xcyx5
|
I took this as a different kind of countdown, but this is one I experience every day.
__________________________________________________________
"On your mark!"
Words the small child was always eager to hear before starting something fun. After weeks of practice he finally managed to run and that was an experience he appreciated.
"Remember, on your mark!" It was yelled again.
The child stood still, waiting for his moment. The moment when speed and thrill embraced him by his own means. He felt he could out run anything.
"Get set!"
His little legs tensed up as he waited for the magical word. The word that gave him permission to run. He remembered his mother telling him to wait til he's older, then he can run really fast! But right now, in this moment, his speed was perfect for him.
"Get set, Gabriel!"
The boy wanted to shout that "He knows!" but he worried that during that time he might miss it. How fast would he run this time? His eagerness to hear that magical word was killing him!
"GO!!!!"
"GO!" the boy shouted as he ran clumsily down a hallway in his house. His little bare feet smacking hard at the wood floors, as if this naturally made him move faster. Smiling brightly, he reached the end of the hallway and quickly turned back to run back to his Aunt. She smiled pleasantly back at him when he finally reached her.
"Ready to go again?" She asked him.
| 2
| null |
RyanKinder
|
t3_xdsg2
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5ltvxu
| 1,343,697,350
|
t3_xdsg2
|
I got to writing a bit of this prompt and it took me to an unexpected place... so I'm going to save it and expand upon it for part of a book I'm writing that it might fit nicely in. Cheers! :)
| 5
| null |
RyanKinder
|
t1_c5lr2f7
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5ltz95
| 1,343,697,723
|
t3_xee88
|
I always enjoy the stuff you write. If I could offer some advice though it's that sometimes your sentences are a bit heavy. For example:
"Sweat had completely melted away the beautiful make up that had been professionally applied."
Something simpler along the lines of:
"Sweat had melted away her carefully applied makeup." (or you could substitute carefully with professionally.)
Of course, this is all an aesthetics tip, so feel free to ignore it - you do write beautifully. :)
| 2
| null |
MissMelons
|
t1_c5ltz95
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5lucoc
| 1,343,699,198
|
t3_xee88
|
I like hearing constructive advice! I felt that that line was pretty heavy too. I sat here for a good 5 minutes trying to figure out what the heck I just tried to describe. Sometimes my brain fumbles when it comes to basic descriptions like that. I think that I just need to take my time more when I write. Give my brain some time to form exactly what it is I am trying to say. Thanks for the heads up and thank you for the compliment! :D
| 2
| null |
RyanKinder
|
t1_c5lucoc
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5lufp3
| 1,343,699,522
|
t3_xee88
|
When I go back and read a paragraph, I like to think "are there any redundancies I can get rid of?" When I finish a novel I try to do a thorough first pass before I send it off to an editor and pay five hundred or so dollars to get it in fighting shape, so that in the end I'm getting as much of my monies worth.
That said, another thing I liked about your prompt above was the phrase "cosmetic blood." :D
| 2
| null |
MissMelons
|
t1_c5lufp3
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5luixf
| 1,343,699,871
|
t3_xee88
|
Hahahaha, thanks. A lot of the stuff I post on the KeepWriting subreddit is now about five or six pages behind. I'm already pretty far into that story but I'm pleased that I am taking my time with that. I may write something one day and feel at ease with it but a day later I may decide to word something differently. It helps me to add on more to my stories or describe some things better. I enjoy doing the prompts because its entirely a spur of the moment writing exercise for me. I don't really give it too much of a read over, just the usual three or four reads before it is submitted. It's an exciting exercise to keep my mind fresh and to test me with new ideas and situations. It also helps bring to light my weaknesses with wordy sentences or complicated explanations so advice and compliments are ALWAYS appreciated.
I'm so glad you enjoyed my prompt.
| 2
| null |
phweeeee
|
t3_xfc9t
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5lwh5u
| 1,343,707,620
|
t3_xfc9t
|
Thanks for posting these. I just wanted to let you know I use these, but I write by hand and don't take the time to type them up. Your work is not for naught.
| 5
| null |
RyanKinder
|
t1_c5lwh5u
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5lwnjo
| 1,343,708,359
|
t3_xfc9t
|
I enjoy creating them and I do envision some people just use the prompts for their own personal writings rather than sharing, and I can understand that being a somewhat guarded person myself. :) I do hope, however, to see you participate in the August contest when it begins!
| 2
| null |
true911
|
t1_c5idx1q
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5m0o2p
| 1,343,736,443
|
t3_wznme
|
Thanks for the reply.
It was very gratifying to hear that.
| 1
| null |
true911
|
t3_xcyga
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5m0oui
| 1,343,736,604
|
t3_xcyga
|
This is a wonderful prize.
I've discovered something new in Flash Fiction.
Thanks.
| 1
| null |
SurvivorType
|
t3_x4yub
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5m24ap
| 1,343,744,656
|
t3_x4yub
|
I hope you are well. I hate to say goodbye this way, but time is short. I must leave the country tonight. I know this is confusing for you. I wish I could explain.
I am not who you think I am. I never was. What I need you to understand is the feelings I have for you are absolutely real.
That is the one thing I never lied to you about.
Remember when we walked in the park? Remember the tree with the funny knot? I left you something. You are now the richest man in town.
Goodbye Love!
| 3
| null |
SurvivorType
|
t1_c5m24ap
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5m2b6y
| 1,343,745,504
|
t3_x4yub
|
Words: 100 per wordcounttool.com
| 1
| null |
Beelzebunny
|
t3_xg6su
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5m4lu7
| 1,343,754,425
|
t3_xg6su
|
I like your suggestion to take a shower. When I get writer's block, I'll sometimes go sit in the bathroom.
As for my paragraph, do you think that going between Osbourne's inner thoughts and narrating the action is too disorienting? Should I have separated the two perspectives? I welcome any criticism. Grammar, too! I don't have the money to hire an editor, so I welcome any grammar pros to nitpick.
[EDIT]: This thread popped up on my front page. I didn't realize it was so buried. Oopsie-doodle.
---
Osbourne watched as his asset skulked from the room with a smirk on his face. His natural instinct as a spy seemed to have failed him this time. The door was left open; that seemed to confirm things. After four years of developing a relationship with this man, why would he go back on their deal now? It didn't matter at this point. Osbourne reached into his jacket pocket for a cigarette to rest between his lips. Negotiating with locals for intel had always been a calculated risk, but a necessary one. The uncomfortable wooden chair he sat on creaked as he leaned back to take a lighter from his pants pocket. Osbourne lit the cigarette, never taking his eyes from the empty doorway. He clicked the lighter shut, dropped it on the floor, and had time for one breath of smoke before the room was flooded with soldiers.
| 4
| null |
MissMelons
|
t3_xg6su
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5m5x3a
| 1,343,759,056
|
t3_xg6su
|
Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto No. 2 was my song for this. I didn't take a shower but I did cook my nephew and I lunch.
_____________________________________________________________
There was that smile again. It had been such a beautiful enticing smile once. A smile that had melted Amy's heart and made her fall in love with him. Now, however, that smile was an awful reminder to her weakness. She hated the feeling of having been fooled for so long. That mans infidelity had scarred her for life, scarred her from ever wanting another man in her life.
_________Stopped (Started Music)
Amy cursed herself for having wishful dreams of marriage and children. Having dreamed of such things made her feel even worse. How badly did she want a future with this man that she completely disregarded the clues? Many nights were spent in bed alone while he consistently worked late, but never answered his phone. She lost count how many times she had called him and his phone simply went to voice mail.
Now he stared at her, his green eyes burning his superiority right into her very being. He was proud that he had gotten away with this for so long. His smile expressed that this was a misunderstanding and that he knew he would probably be able to get out of this situation somehow.
The beautiful blond that he had in their bed was already fumbling around in search of her clothes. She didn't even have the decency to cover herself up in front of another woman. Hell, she didn't even seem surprised that she was caught with another woman's man. Her gaze would sometimes wander over to Amy, as if trying to guess how the situation would turn out.
_________Stopped (Made Lunch)
"I really need for you to leave for awhile." Amy finally managed to say. Throughout her life she wasn't known to be very outspoken and in this current situation it was hard to find words.
"Leave, really?" Craig laughed as he went in search of his own clothes, "Yeah, I guess I could do that for awhile."
"No, you really don't need to come back at all." Amy was slowly finding strength in her voice. Maybe it was all of her hate that was building up now that she wanted to be heard.
"Baby, you know this was just a one time thing, I'll never do this again." He was flashing his enchanting smile at her. Unfortunately for him, that was no longer her kryptonite. She narrowed her eyes at him over her glasses and set her purse down on their nightstand. Casually she started to remove the sheets and pillows from the bed and balled them up into a large pile.
"Amy--love, this is really just a misunderstanding." Craig was still going at it. By now his blond beauty was dressed and looking for her shoes. At least she knew not to speak in this sort of situation. The woman tiptoed around Craig and left the bedroom. Amy was glad that she was gone.
"This is my home, Craig." Amy started, all the love she once felt for him was now completely gone, "You will leave and never come back here, I'll send your things to wherever it is you end up."
Craig laughed again, now pulling on his work shoes. He wasn't moving fast enough for Amy. She found his other shoe and threw it as hard as her arms could manage. Now he understood that she was serious. They both made a rush for his keys, but Amy's wrath made her faster. She freed her house key from his keyring and aimed for his face this time when she threw them. A liberating laugh freed Amy from her rage for a moment as the keys nailed him in the forehead. She hoped that they left a mark. That mark would forever be his first battle scar for being a cheating bastard.
Amy grabbed the bundle of sheets and pillows and proceeded to push them into Craig's arms as he was shoved out of her front door. She couldn't understand his muffled voice through the sheets. It's not like it mattered anyway. Her freedom could start now.
| 3
| null |
MissMelons
|
t3_x4yub
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5m643w
| 1,343,759,729
|
t3_x4yub
|
They know who you are. If you aren’t already hiding, they have captured everyone else. I think they’ve killed most of us, and I know you were never properly introduced but you don’t have much choice. Don’t try to fight back, just hide. If the lights begin to turn then it means it has already started. Remember, do not drink anything that is given to you and only eat what is in the white packets, not brown. Brown is fertilizer. Even if it’s just you left, then there’s hope for all of us. Good luck, and stay alive my friend.
| 2
| null |
theplace
|
t1_c5lr2f7
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5m7kro
| 1,343,764,879
|
t3_xee88
|
This is a great piece. I think your style is awesome.
I'm not a pro, so I don't have much in the way of advice, but I am not really a fan of the "?!" in the first paragraph; it seems kind of unprofessional. I would tone it down to just a plain question mark.
| 2
| null |
random_watercolor
|
t1_c5m5x3a
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5m7rd4
| 1,343,765,531
|
t3_xg6su
|
The Rach is a great piece of music to listen to when you need musical inspiration. The full piece is on my writing playlist for just that reason!
| 1
| null |
MissMelons
|
t1_c5m7rd4
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5m87h4
| 1,343,767,067
|
t3_xg6su
|
That one piece and a handful of others is on a major playlist of mine. :p love Rachmaninoff.
| 1
| null |
MissMelons
|
t1_c5m7kro
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5m8bwx
| 1,343,767,491
|
t3_xee88
|
Haha, yeah I know. I sometimes let common mannerisms break free in my writing. It's mainly an issue of trying to express how it feels and sounds in my head and then writing it out to have the same sort of expression. With that specific sentence i was trying to express how she couldn't even control what her body was doing. When a person has lost control of everyday actions and power, its an uncomfortable feeling. I myself have suffered from stage fright and its so hard to relax yourself. Your mind is constantly trying to think or do things to ease your body but trembling eventually becomes an involuntary reaction.
I'll try to chill out a bit on the exclamation points and question marks :p thanks.
| 1
| null |
SurvivorType
|
t3_xee88
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5makwk
| 1,343,777,960
|
t3_xee88
|
Johnson sat huddled behind the fallen log. He was slowly freezing to death. In his mind's eye he could picture the position of every one of his friend's inert bodies that had been mowed down by the machine gun nest.
His fear now sat as a frozen, dead lump in the pit of his stomach. His hands shook, not just from the cold, but from his fear. His mind raced from one impossible salvation to the next. The truth was, nobody even knew they were here, let alone that they were in trouble.
Johnson had to move to live, but to move was to die. His mind kept looping back on that thought from one end to the other. Backwards and forwards. It was a catch-22 for sure.
This was the end. He had no desire to continue. It was not that he wanted to die, he just didn't want to go on like this any longer. He could no longer abide the fear.
He was desperate for change, desperate to find warmth, desperate to simply end this nightmare. His body left him no option, but to move. His fear drove him to take action.
If we are being honest, he panicked.
Johnson struggled to rise. He stumbled forward on legs that would barely move, his breath coming in quick rasping gasps in the frigid air. Firing almost blindly into the enemy position, he charged.
And on that day, a hero was born.
| 3
| null |
BILL_MURRAYS_COCK
|
t3_xg6su
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5mdvet
| 1,343,791,486
|
t3_xg6su
|
First time I've written in a very long time.
It was a sunny day, not unlike any other supposed 'perfect day'. The sky was a light blue with not a single gray wisp in sight. He breathed in deeply, held the crisp autumn air within his lungs for a moment, almost as if the array of pastels smeared in his periphery would rejuvenate him. He then continued to exhale slowly and deliberately through pursed lips. Thirteen leaves had fallen in the time it took for him to regain his composure. He proceeded to open the door of his car and slithered out, but left it ajar, there was no reason, but he felt that it needed to be that way. The man walked around his car, and sat on the ground, with his back to the passenger side door, the one he held open for her so many times. All this opposite the curb which divided the carefully manicured lawn, the baby junipers they planted just last spring, the flower garden that hadn't yet begun to wither, and the antique wooden wheel barrow that lay perched atop the black mulch in the very center of their yard, it layed as if it had been there a century and it slowly...carefully, sank into the ground, eventually becoming part of the landscape. He had pulled her around in the wheel barrow as children, and consequently, this rotting display of wood and iron held his first memories of her. "This is first" he thought. He rose from the ground as if an invisible force had pulled him up by his collar, opened the right rear door, and fondled the floor blindly searching for a tool to carry out his duty with. He could not find anything fit for the task, and in a flurry of emotions he tore the floor mat out, and threw it across the single yellow line in the road. This in turn peppered his already beet red face with sand that must have layed dormant in the rug since their beach trip that last summer. He slammed the door shut, he slammed it so incredibly hard that the glass within the window shattered, the glass he intended on putting his fist through. He walzted almost methodically to the other side of the car, to the door he left ajar, what now seems like an eternity ago. He reached underneath his seat and found a miniature wooden bat, whose existence had slipped his mind. He bought that bat at a minor league baseball game about a year before this happened. He walked slowly and composed towards the wheel barrow. He walked through it, kicking holes in the old wood, stomping it as if the antique were responsible for what happened. He reached the front door after conquering the five steps that led to it, and opened it slowly, remembering the creaks it would make, and at which points they would sound, he lightly lifted the weight off the hinges and crept inside the house leaving the door open just a crack. There was no wind that day, so he wasn't afraid it would make unwelcome noises, alerting them of his presence. After making his way up the tan, wool carpeted staircase, he turned right and found himself eye to eye with a small circular night stand that is placed four paces from their bedroom, and four from the bathroom to his left. A white lamp was placed atop the stand, and a single drawer lay beneath it. He unfortunately recalled what was housed in this drawer, but he opened it anyways, reluctantly, reached inside, and pulled out a black 9mm pistol, he now began to twitch, and mutter nonsense to himself as he ebbed ever closer to the bedroom door. He opened the door a broken man, but on the other side was redemption. Glue. His demise. There lie his wife, nude in bed with his best friend. He had known since he pulled his black BMW up to the house, but seeing this with his own eyes was almost surreal. Infuriating, horrendous, betrayal. Thunder crashed. "odd" he thought, as there was not a cloud in the sky only ten minutes ago. He looked in his hand at the gun, and noticed the wisps of smoke curling out of the barrell, and then at the hole in the side of his friends head, now draining its contents on the immaculate bed, on his sheets. His wife sat in shock. She didn't move a single muscle. He looked at his wife, who was now in tears, she stared back in disbelief, as she waited, and willfully accepted her well deserved fate. He stumbled backwards and hit the far side of the eggshell white wall, never breaking his stare, he slid to the left with his back still against the wall that was now propping him up, he slid until the left side of his trembling body hit the where two walls met. "We've been meaning to paint, haven't we." he said as he put the gun in his mouth, bit down on the barrel, wrapped his tongue around the warm metal, and pulled the trigger.
| 1
| null |
fuckinwiseguy
|
t3_xg6su
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5mjwn0
| 1,343,829,078
|
t3_xg6su
|
Jonas unlocked his smartphone for what seemed like the thousandth time that day. There were only two international flights scheduled to take off and there was still no sign of Karl. Jonas felt the whiskey turn sour in the pit of his stomach. His worst fears seemed to be coming true. Just as he grabbed his phone again, it started ringing. *Karl calling...*
After a second of disbelief, Jonas answered. "Where the FU-" Jonas was promptly interrupted by a soft voice that did not at all bear the resemblance that of a 50 year old con man.
"Jo, have you seen Karl at all? His clothes are all over the place and he took his suitcase with him. Do you know anything about this?" Jonas could not bear to tell her the truth. She had been betrayed just as much as he had but she did not know it yet.
"I heard from him earlier in the day but if I find him you'll know for sure," he replied without any emotion.
"Is he in danger? Tell me the fucking truth Jo!" There was a definite sense of panic in her voice.
"No." Jonas' suspicions were confirmed. Karl was probably long gone. It would not have been easy for him to make that decision. He had a partner, two kids, and a perfect house. It was his cunning that got him in to this mess to begin with and he had brought Jonas down with him.
Jonas thought for a moment on his own family. It was nothing like what Karl had. Jonas had not talked to anyone in his family for the past eight years. His wife had left him after his DUI. His daughter was estranged and did not even have the slightest inclination to call her father. His son was killed by a drunk driver. Track and Field superstar, Dean's list student, Prom King, and now six feet under. There was not a day since when Jonas had not thought of Adam. Although the drunk driving stopped, Jonas found no better way to cope with the loss of his son than numbing his own subconscious with alcohol and cocaine. Those were quite expensive habits, but Jonas always had a knack for saving up his money. After all, he had no one to support anymore.
It was not surprising that Karl had asked Jonas to fund the job he was about to pull. They had worked together many a time before. Karl had spent his money much more freely though. He had a quaint 3 bedroom house, drove a nice Ford Explorer and always knew how to party. Jonas thought about Karl just then. He envisioned Karl on some lavish yacht with a few playmates, champagne and white powder. That's how Karl always talked about retirement. "Guns a blazin' and ridin' in to the sunset!" He would say.
No matter how hard he tried, Jonas had a difficult time facing reality. It was not even about the money, he was at peace with that. He knew what risk he took when he fronted the cash. It was the fact that he would leave his own flesh and blood behind for a price. The price did not even matter to Jonas. It was the concept itself. Jonas was in defeat, and it was noticeable in his walk back to his car. His head was slumped and he took no interest in his surroundings. Colours had faded. Sounds had muted. The only feeling he felt was pain in his heart. He pulled out his keys for his Inifiniti and sat inside. He reached for the glove box and pulled out his stash. First, he looked at picture of what was his family. You could see the pain in his eyes. He dealt with this pain the only way he had ever known how to. He jammed his key inside the ziploc bag and insufflated a significant line. Just enough to go numb. His mind went blank and suddenly he felt free from burden. He could hear the planes above his head. He could see the bird's nest 50 yards away. Jonas reached for the shiny piece of blue steel sitting in his passenger seat and smiled.
| 2
| null |
BeastWith2Backs
|
t3_xhs36
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5msytr
| 1,343,861,828
|
t3_xhs36
|
*Colt
*Cackle
Is this Supernatural fanfic?
| 1
| null |
BeastWith2Backs
|
t3_xhs36
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5mtn4w
| 1,343,864,593
|
t3_xhs36
|
The intricate pattern of lightning was burned on Ezra’s skin. Static seemed to radiate from the blue lines. She looked at him and admired her handiwork. “How does goodbye sound?” Her voice was a cackle of electricity.
Ezra looked at her blue green eyes and tried to see if there was any humanity left. Black clouds were rolling in overhead and a smattering rain was just starting to fall. “Don’t pretend you aren’t happy that I found you.”
“Storm chaser, I warned you to not to follow me.”
“Yes, I remember.” He rubbed his hands over the colt in his hand. The barrel was scratched and the handle was tarnished. Ezra had waited a long time to catch up with her. The echo of thunder was hard to trace. Lightning was too quick to hold, and he’d been a fool to try the first time. “Here we are at the crossroads.” Ezra waved the colt casually in her direction. “The path you put us on.”
“Oh no, no, no.” She tilted her head. “I don’t remember the storm like that.” She stretched out her arms, as if she could touch the clouds.
“You are just one little lightning bolt. You think too much of yourself.”
“You think too much of your gun.”
Ezra held it up, and began to load black bullets in to it. She leaned closer to inspect the foreign bullets. The weeds at the corners of the crossroads began to wilt in terror. “That’s the thing Sal, this isn’t just a gun. Lightning hit ground twice last time.”
Her pale hair whipped around as the wind picked up. “You wanted me to be here. I gave you what you wanted.” She looked around the empty expanse. “I don’t even know why you’re upset. Because I took your little girlfriend?” The rain was picking up. “Or are you upset over Aurora? I burn, I hit, I can’t fight my nature. Everything burns.”
“Mm-hm.” Ezra slammed the barrel shot and leveled the gun against her head. He cocked back the hammer. “You weren’t meant to be here. That’s why.”
“Ezra, you are forgetting something.” She gestured at the twisted pattern up and down his arms.
“No, I’m not.”
He fired the gun. She didn’t have enough time to scream. As it hit her there was a flash of pale green light. There was no sound, but the air was charged with heat. They both fell down in convulsions. The rain fell harder. Ezra felt the burns on his skin move and slither. He wanted to yell but his muscles were clenched tight. Sal, his Sal who he hadn’t seen smile in two years, had her mouth open in wordless agony. Her hair was changing color.
The gun was smoking in between them, completely useless now. Two damn years to long. In the exact center of the crossroads he had buried the picture of them at his Aunt’s barn raising, and crushed lily weed. The folk stories he had heard promised chance to see a storm up close, to touch thunder at the cross roads. Sal had picked out the picture to use, and he’d found the spot. Storms don’t like to be watched, as it turns out. Storms like to run wild.
Thunder echoed. Ezra’s back arched and his entire body fell loose. Sal stopped moving, but her eyes were shut. The bullet had hit here just below here collarbone. It would be a beautiful scar if she lived. Ezra pushed himself to inch closer to her. She was breathing, just barely.
There was no help to come save them, not way out in the middle of nowhere. In the end, he should have known there was no coming back.Sal groaned and rolled over to face him. She opened her eyes to see him. They were dark green again, they were *her* eyes. Relief washed over him. Ezra smiled and reached out to touch her. "Ezra, I knew you'd chase me down."
--------
*I have no idea what I'm doing.*
| 2
| null |
SurvivorType
|
t3_xhs36
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5mtpmk
| 1,343,864,880
|
t3_xhs36
|
I think I get this now. Then again, I may be completely wrong in my interpretation. I have read it perhaps 10 times in total since it was posted. I keep coming back to it for some reason.
| 1
| null |
AgonistAgent
|
t3_xg6su
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5mz776
| 1,343,887,954
|
t3_xg6su
|
Burial - Archangel
-------
Henry patched a connection between two ports and powered up the synthesizer. A glitchy bassline played from his monitors and repeated itself.
*Wouldn't be alone.*
He jumped, knocked a dial out of place and looked around his sound proof studio. There was nothing but him and his instruments. Perhaps the silence was causing him to hallucinate - after all, it was quiet enough for him to hear his heart as it went *lub-dub*.
But never mind that - Henry had a contract to fulfill. He could not seem to recreate the loop- *lub-dub* - the wobble was too fast and it felt too clean.
Another patch cable. *lub-dub* He turned a dial and pushed the power button. The bassline resumed. And yet, Henry didn't still like it. *lub-dub*
More knobs, more dials, more patches, more basslines. *lub-dub* Too glitchy, too fast, too slow, too clean. He lost something.
But what?
| 1
| null |
da_crow_hunter
|
t1_c5mtn4w
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5n2qo0
| 1,343,915,640
|
t3_xhs36
|
Well, I hadn't seen an [RE] post, so I kinda wanted to experiment with it. Just see what would happen when one was dropped into our laps. Gotta start somewhere right?
| 1
| null |
MissMelons
|
t3_xhs36
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5n41m4
| 1,343,921,372
|
t3_xhs36
|
I have an idea for this, but I'm not sure what this is so I think I may follow beastwith2backs.
| 2
| null |
BeastWith2Backs
|
t1_c5n2qo0
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5n85e0
| 1,343,935,914
|
t3_xhs36
|
True. Any critique you can give me?
| 1
| null |
BeastWith2Backs
|
t1_c5n41m4
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5n8690
| 1,343,935,995
|
t3_xhs36
|
Essentially I was listening to this on repeat: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YLO7tCdBVrA&feature=player_embedded\
Happy little clouds, hooray!
| 2
| null |
SurvivorType
|
t3_xhs36
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5n88lk
| 1,343,936,211
|
t3_xhs36
|
The clearing was empty except for the two of us. Shadowy figures locked in battle, oblivious to the fury of the storm. Lightning flashed all around us as the fierce winds assaulted our rain soaked forms.
"How does goodbye sound?" she asked with a definite cackle in her voice.
"It never had to come to this you know. We are the last of our kind." I replied sadly. The damage was already done. She had gravely wounded me.
She laughed at me. "Mine is by far the greater power. You were foolish to agree to meet me here."
"I admit that you are stronger. I cannot hope to defeat you using magic." I said slowly and very deliberately.
The crooked smile grew on her face. She raised her hands towards me to cast her final spell that would end my life.
"Farewell fool."
"Here we are, at the crossroads of the path you put us on." I whispered, leveling my Colt at her head. I turned my eyes away just as I pulled the trigger, ending her existence.
"You know, in the end, I should have seen this coming." I mused, looking past the empty hospital bed next to me and into the brightly lit hallway. "She always was such a disagreeable soul."
| 2
| null |
MissMelons
|
t3_xhs36
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5n8hcu
| 1,343,937,020
|
t3_xhs36
|
The bed to my right contained the only other person I cared about on this earth and this woman before me now almost succeeded in taking us out of it.
"This was only supposed to be between family, why did you have to drag him into this?" I growled, struggling to sit up in the hospital bed. The plastic stitches in my shoulder and sides were stretching a bit, but I kept that colt against her head. It's metallic handle felt hot in my hand from where I had been hugging it all night. I knew that eventually she would grace me with her presence to finish what she had started.
"You can't just abandon the family and think it's finished, Grandfather is not happy." She said to me through grit teeth. I was sure that she knew I had the nerve to pull the trigger. She was wise not to test me right now.
The doctors weren't sure if Nathan would ever wake up from his coma, but for some reason, I would manage to get out of this with only a few scars. It wasn't fair. He had lived his life as a good man and because he fell for me and my weakness'.... I shook my head and tried to refocus on the facts: leaving the family hadn't worked, creating a new life with someone else couldn't refresh my record. This is something that I had to take into my own hands and using this colt was the first step.
The knife that this woman had at my throat, my aunt, was pressed down hard and drawing blood. I didn't mind the risk of having my throat slit as long as it meant taking this bitch with me.
"You were born into our world, you should have known better than to---"My aunt started but I pulled the trigger before I let her finish. I didn't need to hear what she had to say. It no longer mattered.
| 2
| null |
MissMelons
|
t1_c5n8690
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5n8jdi
| 1,343,937,203
|
t3_xhs36
|
Awww, that's such a sweet song!
| 2
| null |
RyanKinder
|
t3_xl74p
|
WritingPrompts
|
c5nbec8
| 1,343,947,320
|
t3_xl74p
|
Some tips/questions to consider (or disregard):
- Write out a mythology for yourself for the creature. The characters (if you have any) may not know the creatures origins or any abilities it might have... but it can help if you, the writer, knows.
- Does this creature (or creatures) have any enemies?
- Any weaknesses?
- Is the creature known to everyone? Is it new? old?
| 11
| null |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.