- This topic has 422 replies, 26 voices, and was last updated 18 minutes ago by
.
-
Posts
-
@highscribeofaetherium @grcr @jonas @beth-torres @thearcaneaxiom @euodia-vision @esther-c @hybridlore @smiley @trailblazer @whoever
@savannah_grace2009 posted our next prompt:New Prompt: A person who keeps their emotions bottled up inside/won’t acknowledge their own pain to others.
Who would like to participate so we know? We don’t have a story due date or a word limit yet, but just so you know we are starting.
"You need French Toast."
#AnduthForever (hopefully 💕)I’m going to be on vacation for the next week, so I’m not going to be doing this one.
A donation has been made in your name to the Human Fund: Money for People.
Okay! I’m not sure if I’ll do it, so you can just count me out, but I’ll let you know if I change my mind and randomly start writing one xD
Some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again. ~ C.S. Lewis
@everyone
We can give everyone 2-3 weeks? Is that too long?? No less than 500 words and no more than 3,000 words.
Lukas&Livia
#Lalbert
Sef&Chase
#HOTTOLINE
LEFSE FOREVER!!!!!! <333Oooh, I have an idea for this one… I’ll be doing it!
Write what should not be forgotten. — Isabel Allende
- Rank: Chosen One
- Total Posts: 8156
@rae I’ll try to participate! (but I make no promises, I’m afraid XD)
@savannah_grace2009 Nice prompt 😜Oops… I did write a short story for the first prompt and then totally forgot I had to post it lol. It doesn’t really matter… I don’t have a title for it anyhow.
"Real love is for your good, not for your comfort." -Justin Whitmel Earley
You did? Let’s see it, not for the prompt but just to see it anyways cuz you wrote it. I’m very curious.
"You need French Toast."
#AnduthForever (hopefully 💕)@rae Ok. I just quickly gave it a name. It’s historical fiction set in the 1800s.
A Father’s Wish
Hudson Thurman shoved his hands into his coat pockets and kicked at a dead leaf skittering across the cobblestones in his path. Another day of studies done; another day passed in boredom. Spending his days in the courtroom and learning law left him empty and yearning for something more. But becoming a lawyer was his father’s wish, and Hudson knew that to go against his father could result in the loss of his right to the family estate, or worse, being disowned.
Tipping his hat to a lady in passing, Hudson forced a polite smile and continued on his way to the stable, where Briar, his horse, was waiting. Briar was so named for the habit he’d had as a colt of wandering into patches of briars and needing to be untangled and treated. Perhaps that was where Hudson had learned to love the art of doctoring. Whether it be people or animals, he always seemed to come alive when he was treating someone with a wound or illness. Not that it happened often, of course. Hudson was not trained as a doctor, so in the case of a life-threatening injury, a real doctor was always called in. But Hudson had spent hours pulling thistles out of Briar’s legs and rubbing salve on the wounds, and he had patched up his younger brother Bennett on several occasions, when he had done something stupid like falling out of a tree.
Shaking his head, Hudson brought himself out of his thoughts and untied his horse from the hitching post. No use dwelling on circumstances beyond his control.
“Ready to go, Briar?” Hudson patted the horse’s neck, and Briar gave a weak whinny in response. Swinging himself into the saddle, Hudson grasped the reins and nudged the horse with a knee. Briar stepped out of the stable into the autumn chill.
Someday you’ll have to make a decision. Lily’s words remained in Hudson’s head as tangibly as the sweetness of her perfume lingered in the air even after she left.
Someday, Hudson repeated to himself as he stood out in the moonlit garden alone, staring up at the myriad of sparkling stars in the sky. He sighed. Was pleasing his father and staying in good repute with society really that important if it meant living discontent for the rest of his days? Sure, he could live in luxury and inherit the estate when his father passed on, but was it really worth it? Deep inside, the desire to do something meaningful screamed that a life in material comfort and temporal peace could not compare to living a life outside the box, a life that others may scorn, but a life that would restore a missing piece of the puzzle to his heart.
Hudson already knew how Lily felt. She urged him to choose the narrow path, the path of going to medical school instead of law school.
“The consequences will be worth it,” she said. “You’re not happy in law school, and you never will be. If we’re going to marry one day, I don’t want to live with a man who is not content with what he does. I don’t need an abundance of material things if I have a man who loves me, loves God, and walks in the path God has called him to. God has clearly created you to be a doctor, Hudson, and someday, you’ll have to make a decision to either walk in His plan, or please your earthly father and grow old with regrets that you never fulfilled what you were here on this earth for.”
It was time to make that decision. Hudson knew what he had to do. He drew in a deep breath and pivoted, staring at the mansion awash with moonlight. It was now or never.
“You’re what?” Anderson Thurman drew himself to his full height, his eyes blazing as brightly as the fire in the fireplace behind him.
“I’m quitting law school and going into medicine.” Hudson knew his father had heard the first time, but saying it again helped him to resolve it in his heart.
“I will give you one chance to change your mind about this, son,” Anderson warned. “If you choose to disgrace our family this way, your presence will no longer be allowed in this house.”
“My mind is made up, Father. This is what God created me for.”
Anderson drew close to his son, their height matching. Hudson instinctively took a step back, bumping into Father’s study table.
“If that is your choice,” Anderson hissed between his teeth, “Then you can go and pack your things! I want you out of this house by midnight!” He jabbed at Hudson’s chest with his pointer finger. “And don’t take the liberty of returning unless you are summoned.” He grabbed Hudson’s shoulder and spun him towards the door, giving him a shove.
Fighting back tears, Hudson hurried from the library and darted up the stairs to his room. It didn’t take long to fill a satchel with the few items he needed. He could ask Mother to send the remainder of his items later.
As he perched atop Briar, Hudson took another look at the mansion he had called home for 22 years. Tears spilled from his eyes. He was no longer welcome there.
No. He must not cry now. There would be time for that later. Hudson firmed his jaw and faced forward, nudging Briar into a trot. As difficult as this choice had been, a sense of peace pervaded his soul. Yes, it was the right decision. There might be more trials ahead, but Hudson knew he was only doing what God had called him to do.
"Real love is for your good, not for your comfort." -Justin Whitmel Earley
I like it. I really like how you added a small character arch…I really shoulda done that instead of leaving just a poor Glace…
Are you gonna join this prompt?
"You need French Toast."
#AnduthForever (hopefully 💕)I think I forgot to congrat you!
CONGRATS!!!!!!!!! You won our first prompt contest✒!!!!!!!!!🎉🎉🎉🎉💕💕💕💕
"You need French Toast."
#AnduthForever (hopefully 💕)If anyone’s wondering, I have no idea how to correctly use emojis
"You need French Toast."
#AnduthForever (hopefully 💕)@rae lol!!!
Here’s a story I wrote for this prompt…I didn’t revise it so it probably isn’t that good…but………..anyway…
@jonas @thearcaneaxiom @highscribeofaetherium @anyoneelseinterestedFragments
Her very soul aches.
Her heart is frozen.
Her hands are shaking.
She desperately wants to cry.
But she can’t. She can’t show it. She can’t let anyone in, she can’t let anyone see how she’s about to fall apart.
So she forces herself to smile and laugh, even though it’s like pasting a lie on her face. Even though her heart is too numb to make the smile real.
She turns the basketball in her hands, staring at it. It feels cold and unfamiliar to her. The rough skin of it against her fingertips, the distinct smell of it reminds her of memories she does not want to remember. She gazes at the world with her blue eyes, that have glazed over with numbness. It used to hurt. She used to cry herself to sleep. But she’s a big girl now. She’s a freshman in high school. She can’t show how much it hurts, she can’t show that she really cares.
What hurts the most is that no one sees her. No one sees the girl that is about to fall apart. No one sees how she flinches every time she misses a basket. No one sees that she really does care. All they see is a clumsy girl who’s worthless to them. She can’t help their team win, so they don’t want her. Good thing it’s just P.E. class. But it still doesn’t take away their judgemental stares, their snickers as she trips over herself on the court, their whispers at her shooting form.
She doesn’t belong in their school.
She doesn’t belong in their friend group.
She doesn’t belong anywhere.
She’ll never be enough.
She tries to console herself. I don’t care what they think. I don’t care. I don’t, I don’t, it doesn’t hurt, it never did. She repeats it over and over to herself until she almost believes it.
She doesn’t care what they think. Who needs sports? Who needs people? These words become her anthem. She cuts herself off from everyone. She won’t become vulnerable. Not again. She’s trusted people…people that she shouldn’t have trusted. She can’t, she won’t make that mistake again.
All she can trust is her words.
She’s always loved words.
Words are the calm in her chaos. Words won’t betray her, stab her in the back. Words are her only friend, words are the only thing that makes sense.
She can trip over her own feet in basketball, she can biff it in athleticism, but words flow naturally, pouring out her soul onto the page. She’s a writer. She doesn’t cry. She bleeds onto the very page.
When she hears their whispers, telling her she’s worthless, that her opinions don’t matter, that she’s only a nerd, she retreats deep within herself, to her words, to her characters, to the worlds she designs. She surrounds herself with her imaginary friends, the characters which are fragments of her heart. Her stories are not just stories. Her characters are not just characters. They are the very essence of her heart.
Nobody sees that.
All they see is a girl who buries herself in her writing. They talk about her in whispers. What is wrong with her? What is wrong with her that she refuses to play basketball? Is she mentally ill, they wonder?
But inside, she’s a girl who wants to be seen. She’s too afraid to speak, but she is tired of being alone. She’s tired of being numb.
And most of all? She’s tired of being too afraid to tell anyone.
Lukas&Livia
#Lalbert
Sef&Chase
#HOTTOLINE
LEFSE FOREVER!!!!!! <333I haven’t decided yet if I’ll join this prompt or not. It depends on whether I can come up with an idea or have the time to do it. I have a lot going on with Christmas coming up!
"Real love is for your good, not for your comfort." -Justin Whitmel Earley
- You must be logged in to reply to this topic.