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I love this idea!! I’ll totally be joining in whenever I can! Definitely not this month, maybe next month, but I’ll definitely be able to do it more once the new year rolls around. 🙂
Write what should not be forgotten. — Isabel Allende
This sounds fun, I’m in. It might help me churn out some actual writing for once😂
He is perfect in Justice, yet He is perfect in Mercy, even when we fail Him. For this, He is good.
I do have a prompt in mind, but if someone else wants to start, go ahead.
"You need French Toast."
Maybe. I am usually pretty busy with school, but depending on the time limit, I could participate.
🏰 Fantasy Writer
✨ Magic System Creator
🎭 Character RPer
📚 Appreciator of BooksDo you guys want to start?
how long would we have? because idk if many ppl would be able to do it over thanksgiving…
I rolled the log over and underneath was a tiny little stick and I was like, "That log had a child
👍😁
I rolled the log over and underneath was a tiny little stick and I was like, "That log had a child
Depending on the prompt, I might join in, too. It sounds fun!
"Real love is for your good, not for your comfort." -Justin Whitmel Earley
1st prompt
500-1000 words
Write a story in first person about someone with a great inner struggle.
That’s it. Genre is whatever.
Will posting our submissions on the last day of November work? That’s a week from Thanksgiving, Nov. 30th. If that doesn’t work out for you, we can change it.
"You need French Toast."
Ok, I went ahead and did it. I don’t know if anyone else did. Regardless, I’m sorry Rae, but you left too obvious of a exploitation in the prompt, and I had to take advantage, and it came out in a high degree of jest.
This is experimental for me, and I promise I wasn’t on anything XD!
My Entery: The “Inner” Struggle
I clutched death in a hand who’s fingers each told a story of how they should have been lost. The hand bore each finger like a tired mother chastising her children. Children that bore death.
“Is that a good monologue?” I asked.
“What was that?” Sonia, my assistant, asked in return.
“My monologue. I’m trying to sound deep and brooding in my mind for the next act.”
“You’ve hardly recovered from the last one. Kav, look at your head!”
“Well, I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be bald.” I point out, checking the mirror. My scalp had a chard, black texture. My last stunt involved only a little fire.
“You’re gonna get yourself killed one of these days Kav.” she said.
“That could be a cool stunt!”
“Kav!”
“Calm down, I only jest.”
“I can never tell with you.”
“Thanks! It’s an art.”
Sonia rolled her eyes. “So what is it gonna be next time? Pogo sticking on a shark’s nose?”
“Not what I was planning, but a great suggestion for later.”
“Then what?”
I held up death. Death that my finger children bore, death that I bore. Death that I bore with the depths of my soul, the soul of a finger who’s a child of a hand. A hand I bore with the depths of my soul, not the soul of a finger, but the soul of a hand… no wait…
“Quit monologuing and tell me what you’re doing with that sword.”
I watched her, thoughts of only sadness dampened my mind, as she rudely interrupted the monologue, and ruined my intrigue to make people wonder what “death” was referring to. I sighed a deep, emotionally dull sigh. No, not dull, emotionally void, like really dark pit hole void. Really void. Yeah…
“I was thinking about sword swallowing! What do you think? I think it will catch people’s interest.”
“Doesn’t that take like 10 years to master safely?”
“Define ‘safely’?”
…
Time passed. An eternity has passed. A really long forever soul sucking eternity. Like the soul of a mother hand who can’t keep track of the time… or her finger children.
“What are you doing? You just pitched the idea to me twenty minutes ago Kav! Where did you get the crowd?” A voice called in my earphone. Sonia’s voice, but only a conceptualization, my conscious drifting, telling me things…
“If you die Kav, I’m the one that has to do the paperwork.” Sonia’s voice indeed…
I stood before a crowd. A crowd of people who don’t know suffering. Bodies pressed against one another. They murmured and shoved one another with spoiled hands. It was a dead sea of eyes watching me. Eyes so dead, it was like the souls of their hands lost their children, because they were dead. Wait, I referenced their hands earlier, didn’t I? shoot! That could’ve been a great poetic tie to show my wit. Wit that was empty, empty like the empty soul of a hand.
“What’s with the weird hand monologue!” someone shouted from the crowd. An empty echo, like a hand whos five children can’t…
“Get on with the show!” Another called.
“Thank you all for coming! Today, I will do the impossible.” I held death in my fingers. The blade, a clean shimmering metal. Metal, a symbol of growth, yet a symbol of cold destruction. Destruction of the soul, held by the hand, and the soul of a hand.
A shark fell from the sky. A shark who’s nose would be perfect to pogo stick off of. The pogo stick, a weapon of equal and greater destruction, then the death a blade brings, and a hand must bear. A pogo stick requires two hands, two hand souls.
The shark came upon me. Crashing into the stage, smashing everything into the dark empty void of oblivion. Yet I rose unscathed, denied the release of death. I still clenched death, firm in my grip. Death was not unscathed. The blade’s tip, malformed. Malformed beyond recognition. So malformed to the point that the soul of death was dead…
“Sorry! I was transporting the shark for next time!” Someone called from above.
“As I was saying. I shall do the impossible!” I rose death. Gasps sounded in the crowd, as I sunk the blade down my throat. Nothing happened. I had indulged in the dazzelments of people, yet gained nothing. I might as well been an empty finger’s soul.
I raised the blade. Stunned faces faced me, but stunned in the wrong way. I looked at the sword, and found that the malformed tip… was missing.
“Ah! I’ve thought of another stunt!” I exclaimed, then collapsed into a dark void, a void so dark, it was like a finger who was disowned by its hand.
…
“He’ll live, but we’ll need to do some surgery.”
“Thank you doctor.” Sonia said. She then came up to my bed. “Idiot.”
“What? Was my monologue not authentic enough?”
“You could have died!”
“Well, that will have to remain my last stunt.”
“You have a piece of sharp metal, currently in your stomach, and you’re still thinking of stunts?”
“I know! It will be my next challenge. Survive ingested sword! I even have a great title for the show! ‘The Inner Struggle’. It will go wonderfully with my monologue!
“Lose the fake monologues please, they don’t even make any sense.”
I pondered on her heretical suggestion. Could I go down such a road? No, it would bring me down a road of insanity. Insanity as insane as taking a hand and…
“At least lose the hand thing!”
“Alright, fine!”
The End
He is perfect in Justice, yet He is perfect in Mercy, even when we fail Him. For this, He is good.
Lol that was great XD 👏👏
I kind of forgot about this.
Any noun can become a verb if you don’t care enough.
😂 Great job!
Nice loophole-finding/exploiting.
I forgot about this too.🏰 Fantasy Writer
✨ Magic System Creator
🎭 Character RPer
📚 Appreciator of Books
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