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“I’d like to propose a bill” ZAP! (No you were told to) “That would reduce government size” ZAP! (I one branch and increase it in ten) “I’ve talked this over with my party” ZAP! (K street) “And I think” ZAP! (Ha! Fat chance of that!) “That this will be of benefit to the entire nation. Allow me to lay out the benefits of this bill. It would”
ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! Zap! Zap! Zap! Zap!@anybody Write a story about Cobalt (Yes the Cobalt) trying to convince a depressed young lady not to jump off a bridge.
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‘The girl was just sitting there— legs dangling over the edge of the bridge, slumped dejectedly beneath the weight of a soggy black hoodie.
Cobalt scratched his nose. Not the safest of places to sit. Maybe she was lost. Tugging lightly on his draggled, jewel-toned scarf, he got up from his bench and crossed to her side of the bridge. “Hey,” he said.
She jumped, and turned wide, shadowed eyes to his face. “Oh,” she croaked. “Hey yourself.”
“So, uh… nice weather, huh?”
She glanced up at the low, drizzly grey sky, then around at the gleaming grey pavement and the cars whizzing past through the puddles. “Um… whatever.”
Not a promising beginning. “Hey look.” Cobalt flashed his most winning smile. “You lost or something?”
She shook her head. “Nah.”
“Oh… just like looking at dirty water?”
She gave him a withering glare. “Look, mister,” she snapped. “Buzz off.”
Cobalt grinned, and stepping back from the railing he gave a low, flourishing bow. “Happy to be of service.” He turned on his heel and started to walk away. “You know,” he said abruptly, turning back and staring at her inquisitively, “That’s not the safest place to sit.”
She didn’t answer.
“Hellooo…” Cobalt prompted. “Lady… Honest, you could fall.”
She twisted sharply and glared at him over her shoulder. “Don’t you think that might be the point, wise guy?”
Yikes. Desperate, huh?
“Wow.” Cobalt drifted back to the railing. “Wow. You’re in really bad shape, you know that?”
“Ha. Don’t need you to tell me that. It’s the story of my life.”
He rubbed the side of his nose with the sleeve of his hoodie. “Um… wow, you know, I don’t think you really want to try this.” He leaned over the railing and peered down at the river far below. “That water looks awful cold. Not to mention dirty.” He glanced at her hopefully. Her expression was as dull and grey as ever. “Why should I care? Won’t make much difference to me.”
Now what? Should he get the police? “Uh… you got any family?”
She sighed and shook her head.
“Um… pets? Canaries, dogs, rabbits, guinea pigs?”
“Look, kiddo,” she growled. “I told you to buzz off. Don’t want you trying to fix my life— I can’t, you can’t.”
“Oh, I’m not!” Cobalt raised his hands defensively. “I’m just trying to save both of us a nasty dip in a very dirty river.”
A little frown appeared between her brows. “Both of us? What do you mean?”
Cobalt blinked solemnly. “I’m a professional spy,” he whispered. “You think I don’t know how to swim?”
“What?”
Cobalt grinned and shrugged. “Simple fact of the matter is, you go in, I go in, and don’t come out without you. Spies don’t like it when people try and drown themselves. It’s not nice.”
For the first time, the hint of a smile touched her lips.
@writefury how did I do, how did I do?!?! Did I absolutely mutilate it? š@kate-flournoy It seemed pretty authentic overall. What’s you’re writing prompt by the way?
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Ooops… Um, write this moment: All that remains of earth’s ravaged population is now living inside an enormous glass dome to protect itself from the hostile wasteland remaining. One day, a dusty handprint appears on the outside of the glass.
Actually, that might be a tad too complex for a short prompt… write a scene that begins this way instead: ‘The dragons who lived downstairs were up till two in the morning, and the banshee who lived upstairs was up at six doing vocal exercises.’
Or ‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Ghosts hate McDonalds.’Your choice. š
Oooh @writefury you’re back!! *jumps excitedly up and down on tiptoes, grins wickedly* come see what the President of the Cobalt Fan Club did with him!!!
Honestly, I think I murdered it. š
“Two o’clock. Time to sleep.”
“I agree.”
“Goodnight.”
Three scaly dragon lay down on the paved floor and started to snore. All of a suddenly a screech filled the air. The three dragons leaped a mile into the air and crashed into the ceiling of their basement. They banged back onto the ground and looked around dazed.
“What was that?”
“My head hurts.”
“What time is it?”
Another high pitched note filled their ears and they put their long fingers in and plugged them.
“It’s the banshee.”
“Singing off key.”
“Like normal.”
The singer continued singing, oblivious to the discomfort of the dragons.
“We must do something.”
“What?”
“We could singing ourselves.”
A wail.
“I can’t sing.”
“Anything would be better than the banshee.”
“Or we could play musical instruments.”
A squeal.
“Something.”
“Anything.
“Okay, you play the trumpet, I’ll play the drums and you play the cymbals. Ready.”
And on the count of three, the dragons launched their homemade band.
And whenever the banshee sang, the dragons played and they all lived happily ever after.
(Except that the dragons were always a little tired in the morning, since they used to sleep till 10 in the morning.)I don’t know if this is too hard, but write a story about the fable: Do not put off till tomorrow what you could do today.
Why do babies need a party anyway? thought Hecta, as she glared at the half-written invitation before her. Itās not like they can enjoy it.
She sighed and picked up her quill. Oh well. If the king and queen wanted to host an elaborate party for the newly-born Princess Aurora, then it was her duty as a loyal scribe to ensure all the invitations were sent out.
But that doesnāt make it any less of a pain. she thought.
The twelve fairies were powerful and important allies to the kingdom. They were also among the most important guest being invited to the party, and because of this, no one less than the Royal Scribe was qualified to make their invitations.
Which sadly, was herself.
Each invitation was painstakingly handmade. The paper was coordinated to the signature color of each fairy and lavishly decorated with hand-painted pictures of each oneās favorite flower. The elegant (yet readable) writing on the inside was her own signature style, one that had taken her years to perfect. It was some of her finest work, and truth be told, she couldnāt help being proud of herself. She had been working on them for the past two days and had finally reached the last one.
May Princess Aurora never have any siblings. thought Hecta, as she wiped her quill clean with a victorious flourish, and collapse into her seat. She sighed contently, relieved to finally be done. Her tranquil was soon disturbed however, when a knock sounded on her door.
āEnter.ā she practically growled.
A terrified pageboy shuffled in and shoved a note into her face. Hecta snatched it out of his hand and sent him running from what he must have viewed as the dragonās den. She opened the note and glanced over its contents, her eyes growing wide as she clutched the side of her chair in an attempt to contain her rage.
āNot another one!ā she shouted.
But alas, it was true. The king had recently learn of a thirteenth fairy and wanted to extend to her an invitation. A wise move considering how easily offended some of their kind could be. In the note was written her signature color and favorite flower; black and wild roses.
Hecta groaned and placed her head in her hands. It was already past her standard working time. The sun had set, which meant sheād be working with black paper by candle light. Not to mention sheād have to mix some new ink in a color that would show up on the black paper. And who liked wild roses anyway? All she wanted was to lay down in her nice, soft bed and rest her cramped hands. But no, they just had to invite one more fairy the night before the invitations had to be sent out. She scowled at the note, and if looks could burn, then the paper would have burst into dragon-fire.
Cringing at the thought of picking up her quill one more time, she tossed the offending note on her desk. She’d just…do it in the morning. Sure, she might have to get up earlier in order to finish it before the courtiers departed, but she should be able to complete it in time. The invitation might be be a little more rushed than the others, but surely her skills could compensate for her lack of time. Secure in her reasoning, Hecta rose from her chair and practically ran to her bed.
The midmorning sun peeked through Hecta’s curtains and slowly roused her from her sleepy haze. She sat up in her bed and yawned, her unfocused eyes blinking lazily.
Until they snapped awake as her mind flooded with panic.
Oh no, oh no, oh no! she thought, dashing down the corridor with her robe flapping behind her.
She yanked open her office door and rushed to her desk, desperately hoping that maybe-
But no. The invitations were gone. All that was left was an uncut piece of black paper.
Hecta grasped the top of her chair in an attempt to steady herself as she fought down the bile rising in her throat.
Maybe, maybe it wasn’t so bad. The last fairy was new to the kingdom. She probably didn’t even know about baby Aurora. It was silly of the king to invite her anyway. It would be fine. It would be fine.
After all, what was the worst that could happen?
Whew! I do believe this was my first official short story. That was fun. Now for a prompt, hmmm…
Write a story where the main character runs into someone (or something) he/she never expected to see again.
Oh, @vanna I like both what you wrote and your prompt.
Late Autumn had begun to set in and a cool breeze blew through the hills of the Shire. Frodo Baggins sat in his rocker and blew out the smoke in his pipe in the shape of O’s. The seventy-year-old Hobbit, realising that it was time for second breakfast, stood and entered through the green door into his home. Walking into the kitchen he spotted a letter.
“I don’t remember that being there before” Frodo mumbled as he picked it up. His name was written in Elvish on the back of the envelope. Opening it up he pulled out a chain. The second he saw the gold ring on the end of the chain memories flooded into his mind. The Hobbit let out a small gasp and looked at the card.“I hope you are ready for another adventure.
-The Fellowship.”Alright, I think my prompt would have to be a writer who suddenly forgot how to write.
Theater kid. Currently depressed because I can't stop listening to sad musicals.
The rain … it had fallen endlessly at an angle, for … how long? Had it ever begun? Would it ever end? She might be tied to a chair, in a cinderblock, windowless room, with a hairy fur carpet that smelled funny and could have been genuine Wookie, but she could still hear the rain.
The metal screech of hinges announced the arrival of a visitor. She doubted he would be very friendly, by the clunk, clunk, clunk noise his boots made as he strode across the concrete floor. The clunking stopped behind her chair, and she struggled to breathe normally.
No fear … no fear … no fear …
She felt a sudden jolt as a strong hand grasped the back of her chair, swiveling it around to face him. He wore a mask or some dark, hard-looking stuff. It was hard to tell exactly in the dim light from the doorway.
He left it open.
Still grasping the wooden back of her chair, he reached and switched on a dusty desk lamp with the other. She blinked painfully as it lit up her face.
How long have I been in the dark?
“Hello, my lady, how are we feeling today?”
Why does he call me that?
“Are you … comfortable?”
She had a vague impression of steely, glitterless eyes. What a gravelly voice …
“What, is this your gratitude? Not even the grace of a civil reply?” He placed a hand on each of her arms and leaned in until she could smell his sharp, minty breath. “Listen, cupcake, if you don’t shape up pretty quick and do as they ask, it’ll be the worse for you.” He traced her jawline with a gloved finger. “I wouldn’t want anything to happen to that pretty face of yours.” His voice was mocking, tinged with regret. He lingered there, gazing at her for longer than was really necessary, before backing off to pace the room.
Wow, He’s pretty good. I could almost believe him to be genuinely concerned about me.
He stopped midstride, and asked, without turning, “I’m your last chance, Kitten. Will you write the treaty? Please?”
His sudden shift to pleading took her by surprise, and she hesitated, balancing her options. “They don’t want me to tell you this, but you’re the only one who can.”
But, I can’t! I can’t write … I don’t remember …
He looked her in the eye, shock laced his words. “You can’t remember?!” She froze as an icy chill raced along her spine and tingled in her fingertips.
How did he hear my thoughts?!
He froze also, and she realized he had done it again … and was as surprised as she was? What?
Then she felt words that were not her own. They seemed to float on the air and drift towards her.
… twins? How? I … I’ve got to get you out of here.
She strained against her chair. Did you just say …
He took a step closer. No, I just thought. You heard me too?
She closed her eyes. I’m not playing this game … whatever it is.
It is no game, my lady, and we’re wasting precious time. Here’s my plan. We’re getting out of here whether you like it or not. Listen …
My Writing Prompt: “Go jump in a lake!”
@overcomer I love what you wrote! I want more of that story. Like now! Also, thanks for the prompt!
I was so mad at him, waving his hands around like that, pretending like he loved me, and then BAM betrayal–short and swift. Straight into the lake. May as well have been shouting “Go jump in a lake!” Because that’s certainly what I did.
I ran after that ball as fast as I could; my feet digging into the ground as I pushed myself further ahead, faster and faster until the cold bite of the water pushed in around me. The tennis ball flopped into the water just ahead of me; I was gulping in air, and of course a little water, because doggy paddling just isn’t graceful enough to really avoid that whole spluttering nonsense with water.
A little bit farther and my jaws locked around the tennis ball. My ball. My good ball. The human and I had managed–somehow–to keep this one for a while now. It was stringy in my mouth, but I loved it.
I love my human, even though I am sometimes mad at him. Because, I’ll be honest, I wanted to jump into that lake–every dog wants to jump into the lake–and he let me.
My prompt: Break the fourth wall (Have the character be aware that they are a character or aware that the goings-ons aren’t real) and run with it.
"When enemies attack your kingdom you don't flee you show them why it's your kingdom. With your lightsaber."
@spradlin what’s the fourth wall???
@kate-flournoy *shamelessly share wikipedia article* YE SHALL LEARN TODAY! š https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fourth_wall <– Linky. It’s actually a really cool concept basically where the character in the story is aware that nothing is real or interacts with the audience even though they’re supposed to be hidden behind the “fourth wall.”
"When enemies attack your kingdom you don't flee you show them why it's your kingdom. With your lightsaber."
Disclaimer: I am not the first-person narrator.
Lincoln’s hand reaches out and brushes a loose strand of Alexia’s hair behind her ear. She leans forward, and their mouths draw close-
“No way!” shouts Alexia.
Wait. I didn’t write that.
I lean back in my seat and stare at the screen. Yep. Still there. Okay, don’t panic.
“I am not kissing him!” she yells, pushing Lincoln away.
“What are you doing? We’re not supposed to speak to the author!” he shouts back.
Welp, I’ve officially lost it. Now might be a good time to call my mom. Or a phyciatrist. One of the two.
“Look, I’m sorry, but this whole set up is ridiculous. There is no reason we should become a couple right now!” says Alexia, shooting a glare at me.
Okay, that’s it. It’s bad enough my mom ridicules my writing, but not my own creations too! My hands start typing furiously. “You two are perfect for each other! Why would you say that?”
Alexia huffs. “You want reasons? Fine. The mafia AND the police are after us, we just met three days ago, and we’ve been fighting nonstop since! This scene is not consistent with our current characterization and it comes completely out of nowhere!”
“So? Lots of couples that seem to hate each other fall in love.”
“Name one.” says Lincoln.
“Pride and Prejudice. Darcy and Elizabeth.”
Alexia rubs her temple. “Look. We’re grateful that you made us, but this is a mystery thriller, and Jane Austin you are not.”
Well that stung. My finger twitches towards the delete button, but sadly not quick enough.
“Exactly,” says Lincoln. “At least give us a bonding moment or something. All we’ve done so far is yell at each other.”
“And wait ’till later in the story,” she adds. “We’re on the run right now, and this sudden romantic moment isn’t just silly; its dangerous. We know Corbel and his goons are near by, and yet we’re still stopping!”
“Enough!” I yell-write. “You two are MY characters and you’ll do what I tell you!”
“Nope, sorry. We’re putting our foot down on this one,” say Alexia.
My hands are shaking with rage. The nerve of those two! I skip back to where I stopped and begin typing. Sadly, the only thing that appears is a line saying they were both glaring at me.
“Ugh! Fine, you win,” I type. Stupid characters not doing what they’re told. I should have listened to mom and stuck with painting; at least those don’t talk back to you. I think. Might want to look into that.
“Glad to see your being reasonable,” says Alexia, smirking with victory.
“Unlike some people,” says Lincoln.
And with that, the two go back to scowling at each other.
I delete the offending section while sighing with frustration. “I’m going to have to rework my outline thanks to you two. I hope you’re both happy.”
Our conversation disappears, which I take as a “yes”. I switch over to my outline and crack my knuckles.
Stupid characters.
Fun! I love fourth-wall breaking. Prompt: A character suddenly remembers something he’s forgotten. It could be anything from his identity to an errand he has to run.
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