Saturday, July 31, 2010

Dark Glasses

Prompt: When I'm in a neon green mood . . .


Response: Dark Glasses

"When I'm in a neon green mood I . . . I like to watch people." The teenager rubbed his elbows. He glanced up at his therapist, gauging her reaction. She was unreadable. "I put on dark glasses and my neon green socks and jacket and I go watch people."


He shrugged. "I just like to watch them."

"What do you watch them do?" She was maybe nervous - she was biting her lip on the inside, he noticed. She caught his eyes and he flicked his gaze away.

"Everything." He shrugged again, uncomfortable with the question. "Sometimes I go to the park, sometimes the cafe."

"What do you watch about them?"

He glanced up. She was looking intent. She was biting her lip again. Her eyelashes were touching her eyelid, her eyes were open so wide.

He chewed the edge of his nail. "Their eyes and their hands. Sometimes I watch them eat. Sometimes I watch . . ."

"Watch what?"

He rocked back in his seat, looking at the back wall. He could picture how the couple he had been watching right before his session had looked - every detail, every color and every movement. He watched them again in his mind. His mouth moved but he didn't bother to wonder what he was saying.

"When I'm in a neon green mood I like to watch people. When I'm in a neon green mood I like to watch people. When I'm in a neon green mood I like to watch people."

The therapist closed her notebook and paged the nurse. He was gone, he wouldn't say anything else for maybe a few days, maybe a few weeks.

Notes: I'm leaving day after tomorrow for a week, but you can expect August's weather forecast on the blog before tomorrow's prompt.

Friday, July 30, 2010

The Summer and The Fall

Prompt: Write a story that starts with: “Like a fish, I spent my summer…” Do not, however, use any of the following words: wet, waves, stream, drink, pond, pool, ocean, water, liquid, swim, creek, deep, float, sea, or flow.


Response: The Summer and The Fall

Like a fish I spent my summer - in the trickle of tears and the damp of dankness. Like a camel I spent my days - holding my worries deep inside me and taking things every other step. Like a panther I spent my nights - panting in the heat and hiding in the shadows. I stepped into fall like a vampire into sunlight. The sudden orange exposure burned.

Notes: I missed by a few minutes, I know. Most profound apologies.

Thursday, July 29, 2010

Presque Vu

Prompt: Sand


Response: Presque Vu

My bones ached as I crawled into bed. I felt as though I had been thrown under a steam roller. My body was taut with anxiety and pain that lanced up my leg from my twisted ankle.

My head throbbed as I settled into my pillow - my temples pounded with an uneven, heavy tempo. I just wished I could return to the beginning of the day before and remove that day altogether. I cried myself to sleep, ashamed of the hot tears but unable to smother them.

I stood in a long green hall, that twisted like a snake. It moved with me as I walked and disappeared as I passed - when I looked back nothing existed. I saw him as the hall twisted to the right, he disappeared when it returned. I could never quite see his face.

His hands reached out to me and I heard a voice though I could not be sure whose it was, or if it was even male. It sounded distant - fluctuating from inaudible to deafening, but its clarity never increased.

The floor humped as I approached tipping me at his feet. I looked up at him - as still as a wall etching, two dimensional in deep relief. He was all sharp edges - razor sharp. And then he smiled and I could not help but smile back.

I stood. He kept smiling the exact same smile.

"Where am I?" I found myself asking.

I noticed something in his teeth as he kept smiling - as he did not answer. It looked like a grain of sand. The instant the thought entered my mind, little grains of sand began trickling out of his smile, between his teeth. It began pouring from his mouth.

I screamed and suddenly the hallway was a glass room, filling rapidly. My fingers slipped on the smooth surface, leaving streaks of blood as my grasp became desperate - as the sand rose higher.

I could feel it crawling up my skin, sliding into my clothing like wriggling worms.I struggled. I screamed - it sounded muffled as though I was outside the box rather than behind the glass. When I looked behind me, the man was smiling. He never seemed to be covered by the sand. The voice echoed around the enclosed space, though I still could not understand what it said.

The sand slithered into my collar, came up around my neck. I scrabbled at the walls, bleeding on the glass. The grains of sand began to fill my mouth and I was sinking, drowning in a sea of sand.

I woke gasping for air, clawing at my sheets. The man's indistinguishable was still ringing in my ears - his smiling face flickered behind my eyelids when I blinked.

My breathing slowed and I shifted in my bed, trying to get comfortable. When the sun peeked through my window the next morning I could not be certain whether I had fallen back to sleep during the night or not.

The garbled words of my nightmare seemed on the cusp of cipher, I had heard him speak before - I was certain of it. The phrase rotted on the tip of my tongue, making me uncomfortably awake despite an acute desire to return to the embrace of sleep.

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

The View from Behind Cut Glass

Prompt: Use at least three of these five phrases in a story or poem: "ashes of youth", "nectar thoughts", "ruined feathers", "O Muse", "falling stars and eagles".

Source: Modified from:

Response: The View from Behind Cut Glass

Looking out of windows

broken panes of breaking pains

at the falling stars

and eagles and west wind blowing

death shrouds like an

eagles ruined feathers

or what used to be an angel's

nectar thoughts - honey sweet -

I double over in agony of memory

in mourning for the ashes of youth

and talent and bravery. I cry out

in the west wind

O Muse, let me touch them again,

let me make them see.

Let them see me.

But no answer I hear in the sweeping still.

No sound but death shrouds blowing.

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

The Sun Set on the Hill

Prompt: Create a story using words of one-syllable only, beginning with “From the back of the truck...”

Source: Modified from:

Response: The Sun Set on the Hill

From the back of the truck

I saw the sun set on the hill

red like blood. It lit up the trees -

made them red.

I was still

but the truck. Shook

on the bumps

of the long red road

under the low red trees and hot red sun.

I could look and see

the sky. Burn with light

like the end of the world.

And the truck drove far from there

far from light of the blood and burn trees

on the red and long road

to the blue night beyond.

Notes: I do NOT know enough monosyllabic words . . .

100 Posts (+ 1)

Just a happy boppy little note - this makes A Prompt a Day's 101th post! I must say that even though I seem to be boring my viewers, I am very proud of myself for getting this far.

Monday, July 26, 2010

Mark, Fuzz, Bears, Bonobo and Ms. Lillian's Valium

Prompt: Mark is a thief, but after his third burglary, he is caught by police. Write his story in first person (from Mark's point of view), omniscient point of view (the all knowing, all seeing "God-like" voice), from limited third person, switching between Mark and one of the police officers who arrest him.


Response #1: Fuzz and Bears

I looked down at the bear figurine. It was glaring at the crystal balloon it was holding with an expression that could only be called scary. I once heard you can tell a lot about a woman from the contents of her purse. Well that guy should have seen the inside of her house.

It was creepy, all those dolls and little glass bears looking at me, but I had a job to do. I'd heard old lady Jamison kept enough Valium to last a year on stock in her house - I just had to find them then I could get out and away from the disturbing little bears.

"If I was a little old bag's Valium, where would I hide?" I mused.

I shuffled through drawers until I finally found them - I was pretty sure there was more than a year's supply there. "Jackpot."

Then I heard it - a creaky old voice. "Jack-wagon."

And then she hit me on the head. With a frying pan. Twice. I think she thought it would knock me out. It didn't, but I almost wished it did. It hurt.


"Get out of my house, let go, get out!" She used the frying pan like punctuation while she tugged on the bag of pills I had. I wondered if she had ever been an English teacher - her inflection was perfect.

"Get off me, you psycho!"

"Psycho? Psycho? You are in my house, you psycho! Let go!" She wrenched the bag free and took off creaking back down the hall to her bedroom.

I grabbed them away easily enough and then we were playing a ridiculous game of tug-o--war and I was thinking I should get out of there but that muchmedication could make me a fortune.

We were still yanking the bag back and forth when her friendly neighborhood busted in. I tried to run, but I couldn't bring myself to leave the bag. I tugged as hard as I could and the little old bag toppled over, still clutching her prize. That's when the coppers jumped on me and cuffed me.

The stupid little bears were laughing at me. I wanted to break them all to pieces.

Response #2: Ms. Lillian

The wind whispered through the space between the sill and the old woman's window, wafting over her body as she sat propped up in bed texting. The glow of the cell phone illuminated her face, failing to highlight the crevices of wrinkled that she had long since stopped trying to iron out. Her fingers flew and she smiled as she responded to her granddaughter - a college sophomore in the next time zone.

If the wind had been any stronger, it might have made it through the open bedroom door and out into the living area. On a night when the wind was stronger, it sometimes blew far enough into the house to cause Ms. Lillian's precious glass wind-chimes to jangle together.

As it was, it was silent in the other room. Her collection of cartoon bear figurines watched the intruder without a noise.

He rummaged through the doors - willing to make a little noise on the assumption that the house's owner was asleep. The bears watched. He found nothing.

The young man puzzled for a moment, musing, "If I was a little old bag's Valium, where would I hide?"

Ms. Lillian sat up straighter. Her hearing was sharp despite her age. Pressing the panic button on her nightstand. It would call the police that were circling the block after the recent bout of burglaries. In the meantime, she grabbed her vintage frying pan from the wall and tip-toed out to confront the thief.

He was opening a bag as she came up behind him.

"Jackpot," he said.

"Jack-wagon," she replied.

Then all became a mess of tugging and hitting and screaming, until the on-duty cop - a man with an unfortunate resemblance to an ape and the more unfortunate name of Daren Bonobo - burst in.

Giving a final tug, the young man knocked Ms. Lillian to the floor, where she lay smiling while he was cuffed and led out.

Response #3: Who You Gonna Call? Officer Bonobo!

Daren Bonobo slumped behind the steering wheel of his patrol car. He was tired and wishing he had not pulled this shift again. It was only because there were a bunch of rich old people with connections on the block that the station had even bothered posting someone. It was unlikely the punk was going to come back - he was probably in the next state already.

Officer Bonobo sighed. He had the Ghost Busters theme song stuck in his head. If only his kids would move on already - they watched the movie everyday and had been for weeks. There was no peace in the Bonobo house and now Daren could not even find peace in his own head.

Down the street, Mark Even slipped quietly into a house. He breathed easy and slow - he was finally getting the hang of breaking into the houses of complete strangers and it was paying off. He knew that if he found as much medication in the house as he had heard, he would be set for a very long time. He knew that, as creepy as the decor was - bear figurines with glittering eyes - any discomfort would be worth it. He mumbled to himself, he was pretty such the old lady was asleep and even if she was not, he knew she was in her eighties and probably deaf.

What Mark did not know was that the owner, one Ms. Lillian, was still awake and that when she heard his absent mumbling she pressed a panic button - summoning Officer Bonobo.

Mark fought for his prize - thinking about how much he could make off of such a haul and Daren came into the house just in time to watch Mark topple Ms. Lillian with a particularly violent tug. Indignant, he jumped on the would-be burglar and cuffed him right there. Kids these days, he thought self-righteously.

When he stood he found himself face-to-face with a bear holding a shimmering crystal balloon. What a stupid kid, he revised. Who would want to steal ugly little bears? And with a little shudder he lead Mark out to his patrol car.

Notes: Though I don't feel particularly enriched, I hope this is making me into a better writer . . . This was not a very fun prompt for me and I'm feeling selfish and missing my readers. . . Yeah, I'm glad this project is just for my benefit.

Sunday, July 25, 2010

This Just In

Well, two new WEbook things: 1. I've started using the chat feature on the A Prompt a Day project. It's a new way to suggest prompts or project/blog improvements and 2. I've also started a WEbook group for this project. I'm hoping it will garner some attention and, hopefully, it will have some members interested in doing some big'ol writing projects.


Prompt: Finish this thought: "I didn't go to ____ looking for redemption,"

Source: modified from:

Response: Spires

I didn't go to the Spires looking for redemption. I don't know why anyone would - it itself possesses only a few redeeming qualities.

I slipped out without anyone seeing me, for which I was grateful. I was tired of being looked at like I was going to grow foot-long fangs and sink them into the nearest person. It was a long walk to the Spires, but it didn't bother me as much as it normally would have. I just thought about the heady scent of the place and the raucous conversation, the magic dancing and the parade of handsome young warlocks.

The climb was long enough to deter most of the uninitiated. The Spires are situated at the top of a gigantic cathedral - an ancient one, but it's much bigger than any mortal could build or even imagine. The building's massive spires cut right through the floor of the club while the ceiling rests on their points. The clouds usually cover it so even without magic, humans wouldn't think to look for it. They hardly ever look up.

To get to the Spires you have to climb up the side of the cathedral. Without magic you'd have to be Spiderman to get up there. Even with magic, it was a strain. I enjoyed it. For previous few days, no one had allowed me to do anything. They were all afraid of what I might do if they gave me any leeway.

I entered the dirty, warehouse-sized warily. I knew the crowd in the Spires would know what everyone else in the entire city seemed to know, but how they would respond to me was anyone's guess. I coughed as I came inside in reaction to the incense-smoke that floated in curls through the air - circling the pinnacles like holiday tinsel.

Everyone looked up, which was abnormal for the Spires, certainly, but nothing I wasn't used to. Still, it was a tense moment while I stared at them and they stared at me. Then Will, a twenty-something warlock with vibrant purple eyes, raised his glass in my general direction, leaning around the blond witch on his right side, "I'll buy you a drink, Dalia, if you promise not to bite me with your butt."

I grinned, allowing my tail to whip out. The nearest people flinched as the snake-head, Benji, at the end gave a hissing yawn. "Cross my heart, Will."

And just like that the room relaxed. All of a sudden I was laughing and drinking cider and one brave warlock was offering scraps of meet to Benji. And all I could think was - this is as strange a place as any to find forgiveness.

Notes: I'm not sure when I knew Dalia would have a tail . . . Anyway . . . I hope that I haven't lost all of my readers/participants . . . I know I've been a bit boring and hit-and-miss lately and I apologize. If there any suggestions for improvement of this project, I would love to get them.

Saturday, July 24, 2010

Conflict of Interest

Prompt: I need you to understand something before I kill you.


Response: Conflict of Interest

I looked at the man at the end of my sword. He was as good as dead already - I could not spare him now, it was too late.

I chewed the inside of my cheek. He looked up at me with his snake eyes and his lightly scaled flesh. He was so beautiful for one of the serpent people, but his beauty could not save him. Nor could our history together.

I hoped he understood - he had to understand. He knew, just like I did, that this battle had to be won by one of our peoples. We had spoken of it on more than one occasion, aknowleging that one day either of us could be killed by each other's subjects. I hoped he remembered those conversations.

I bit my cheek again, so hard it bled. Of course he remembered the conversations, I chastised myself, he knew how important this was just as I did. I opened my mouth - I felt a trickle of blood leave the corner of my lips. "I love you," I whispered.

Then I beheaded him.

Friday, July 23, 2010


Prompt: His mood matched their weather; inclement.


Response: Dreams

I watched Lawrence's wings curl downward, the black edging bleeding into the naturally sky-blue membrane. His face was absolutely stoic - as usual - but he had looked dejected for days.

I did not say anything - it was not even my place to notice, much less comment on, his mood. I just watched and worried. The lithe faerie kept very much to the inexpressive mandates of the royal court, but his wings were always perked and a smile usually danced like water ripples in his eyes.

He noticed me watching. His gaze was imperious - perched as he was, high above the patio on a bench formed by a fallen tree that had grown right back into the house. The storm clouds at his back made him look like an avenging deity. "Is there a problem, Catherine?"

"No, my Lord." I could feel myself flush with embarrassment at being caught looking. I had been chosen to serve in Lawrence's house because I had an innate ability to mind my own business, but it was impossibly difficult not to pine after my master. He was perfect - pure blood and royal and kind and libidinously attractive.

He flitted from the bench so quickly I almost lost track of his movements. He landed lightly right in front of me - looking down at me. His expression was haughty yet apathetic. He looked as though he could not be bothered to care.

My eyes darted to his wings. They hung loose and languid - I mourned for him.

He was glaring when I looked back up at him. He leaned close - close enough that I could smell the royal court on his skin, an indescribably desirous spice - and a spark of anger entered his voice. "Keep your pity to yourself."

He strode away. I wanted to call him back - to stand up to him. Had it been one of my many dreams of him I would have called him back. I would have told him he was a coward, I would have yelled at him and told him he truly deserved my pity he was so unable to express himself. And he would have turned back, he would have flitted back to me and smiled at my accusations. He would have apologized. He would have kissed my indignation away with gentleness.

The Lawrence I dreamed about would never have left me to clean the patio - chastised and crying in the impending rain.

Notes: I'm pretty big on fantasy and I've come to realize recently that I haven't written any real fantasy for this project thus far (except maybe Second Life and, of course, Azure). So, with that in mind, you can expect the next few prompts to have responses that may or may not involve fairies, merpeople, centaurs, shifters, sirens, sorcerers and perhaps even vampires (but probably not).

Thursday, July 22, 2010


Prompt: Use this cliché anywhere in your story: burn the midnight oil


Response: Coincidence

It was mere happenstance, our meeting. I was burning the midnight oil, working on a deadline. I was crouched in the park, taking pictures of the haze around the streetlamp. The air was heavy and wet - I thought it might rain so I was just finishing up. I didn't want to damage my camera and I hadn't thought to bring one that was waterproof.

I had left my apartment in a rush. My roommate and I had been fighting for a couple weeks - I had had to leave to get away from the frosty silence of my dorm room. I left without a jacket; I just took my camera. I was so fed up with her antics.

I knew I would have to go back soon. It was cold and it could begin raining any second, not to mention it was pretty late and I had a Business test in the morning.

I stood up, stretching my stiff back. I turned, taking off my camera, and froze.

"Hi," he said. When he smiled I could see elongated fangs in his mouth. He looked at my expression. "Oh, sorry." He pulled the fangs off of his teeth and waved the edges of his velvet cloak. "Costume party."

I breathed a laugh that was partially a sigh of relief. "Great costume."

He gestured up to the college. "You go here?"

"Yeah, you?"

"Yeah." He stuffed his fangs into his pocket and reached out to shake my hand. "I'm Gerald."


"You a photographer?" He had a charming crooked smile - he squinted one eye when he grinned.

"Yeah - well, I dabble. I'm in a photography class. We have a project coming up." I bit my lip - I had a habit of saying too much when I first met people. I held my camera awkwardly. It seemed strange to put it away while we were talking about it.

"So you're pretty observant?"

I shrugged. "I guess so, yeah."

His eyebrows knit and he frowned slightly. "Then I guess I'm sorry, Christine."

I smiled - confused. I figured Gerald was overly creative with his flirting. "Sorry for what?"

He didn't answer; he darted forward and wrapped his arm around my neck. I heard my camera crash to the ground but it sounded far away. My only thought was that Gerald was weirder than I had originally suspected. And then my vision went blurry - then dark.

Notes: I hate this prompt. This is my third attempt - eventually I got a one word prompt from to spark some inspiration. The second prompt was "coincidence". I don't know exactly what made this so hard, but it was. Perhaps it's because, as a writer, I avoid clichés like the plague . . . LOL.

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Second Life

Prompt: Write a story in which a ghost serves as your main character.

Source:, prompted by: InkyShadows

Response: Second Life

I floated in the corner, a ball of translucent anger. Furiously festering as I watched him live on. I dripped with silver-sheer blood, it threaded down my chest from behind my ear, flowed in rivulets between my fingers. I had been bleeding for so long, watching him.

He kept the knife. It no longer bled for him - but it never stopped bleeding for me, shiny ghostly blood. I wanted to rip him apart as he used the kitchen blade to slice tomatoes and apples and blocks of cheese. He devoured them and my spectral blood flowed from his mouth in morbid torrents.

I hung suspended - unfound, unable to leave, watching him. I was angry and I was trapped watching him.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Sleeping Handsome

Prompt: Write a story which puts a new twist on an old legend.

Source:, prompted by Mara Jade

Response: Sleeping Handsome

Prince Dathan stood over the lovely sleeping girl - her golden hair spread like feathers over the embroidered pillowslip. She was as lovely as he had been told she would be - the girl who was supposed to become his wife, the girl frozen in time high in a tower. All he had to do was kiss her still lips and she could be his.

Dathan sat down in a dusty chair. He looked at the girl - Rosaline, the beauty in the tower. He had been told since he was a little boy that he would find her in the tower, that he would hack his way through the brambles around her castle, that he would free her from her endless sleep and they would be married.

Rosaline lay still - disconcerting in her breathless stillness - and Dathan did not want to touch her. She was so perfect - like a woven tapestry of flesh - and so lifeless - frighteningly so - that the thought of laying his mouth on hers made him cringe.

But he had to, he knew. He was betrothed to Rosaline - she had waited for longer than he had ever lived. So Dathan stood and walked closer to the bed. He looked down at Rosaline. She was indeed beautiful - perfect and beautiful.

Dathan put his hand gently on the bed. All he had to do was kiss her - that was all.

He hovered above her for what seemed like an eternity, lips lightly pursed. He pulled back.

"I can not do it," he muttered.

Dathan kept seeing his best friend's smiling face. Elinor - with her wild black curls and freckled button nose - had never spoken to him about Rosaline, but he knew that as soon as he brought her back Elinor would fade slowly into the background of his life.

"I can notdo it." Dathan walked toward the door, only to stop at the last instant.

"I have to." He returned to the bed, leaning so close he could feel his own breath reflected. He hung above her. Beautiful Rosaline - perfect Rosaline. Just one kiss. "I have to," he reminded himself.

Dathan straightened, rubbing his eyes. "I have to, I have to . . . No they will not know - she was not here. I can tell them she was not here."

He looked back at the beautiful statue of a girl. "No, I can not do that."

Suddenly Rosaline sat up. Dathan let out a squeak of surprise. He stepped away as she rose from the bed like a specter.

"Oh my stars, Dathan! Do not do it if it is such trouble then."

The lovely girl pointed a finger at Dathan. Her voice was steely, "Lie down, Prince."

Dathan did as he was told, cold with shock. Rosaline put her long finger right in front of his nose. "You were given simple instructions, Prince Dathan. Because you failed to complete them, I sentence you to a hundred years of sleep." She smirked and Dathan felt himself recoil in fear. "We will see how anxious some unsuspecting girl is to kiss you awake when I am through with you."

And with that, Prince Dathan fell asleep. Rosaline mussed his hair and clothes and drew a mustache on him. Then, primly, she left the room with a swirl of her dusty skirts.

Notes: I posted the weather forecast for the rest of July - remember there are no surprise prompts anymore.

Also it's my mom's birthday today so I guess this is dedicated to her (though it is not an adequate present). Happy birthday, Mom!

Monday, July 19, 2010



Source: "Pictures to Use as Writing Prompts"

Response: Unmarred

Ezekiel leaned his head against the wall. The heavily scented spice and sugar air of the bakery drifted around him. Though it was usually a consoling smell, a comforting smell, it held no comfort for him.

He let his paperback copy of King Lear close in his lap. He had not taken in any of it anyway in the whole last hour he had been reading.

Zeke knew it was only a matter of time before his dad decided he had had enough time with his homework and called him in to put on his apron and work behind the counter so he thought he might as well enjoy the small amount of personal time left in his day.

He looked down at his hands where they sat limp in his lap. They were back to normal - all the swelling and bruising was gone - but he could almost still see it there.

Ezekiel turned his face away from the kitchens - a habit to make sure that his parents did not see his suffering. He had seen Jesse back in school that day. Jesse had not fully recovered yet - his face was still a mass of mottled bruising. Everyone could see the neurological damage too - Jesse walked with a limp and held his right arm in a cradled claw.

Even though he had been acquitted, Zeke had kept his head down all day. He had not wanted to see his fellow students judging him. Not when every night he heard Jesse's lawyer's closing statement - This is a boy who bashed another boy's head in with his bare hands; a boy who caused permanent physical and neurological damage to another high school student.

Zeke clenched his fists. It was bad enough to hear his thoughts calling him a cruel abuser daily, but the nightmares were back as well. They had come back the day he heard Jesse was coming back for the end of the school year - the nightmares that were more memory than anything else. He always began the dream by hearing Ellie's screams. He always was walking down the alley - trying to run but unable to move any faster. Then he saw her; Jesse's hands in her hair, yanking her hair. Then he was smashing Jesse's face into the ground, picking up rocks and grinding them into him. Zeke could feel the shattering of Jesse's skull and the splattering of his blood and the fear pounding in his own veins.

Zeke felt a tear slip down his cheek. He brushed it away in irritation.

He cleared his throat as he heard the bakery door open. He knew it would be Ellie. They had not talked about that day. Her bruises had taken longer to heal than his - she had worn a turtleneck for several weeks, but it did not hide the bite mark on her jawbone or the bruises on her cheek where it had been pressed into the pavement. They still did not really look at each other - not really. Ellie had been his best friend, but Jesse had made it uncomfortable for them to even look at each other.

Zeke suspected that Ellie remembered how she had egged him on and that she had watching him bash Jesse's head into the ground. He knew that he still remembered it - he could still hear the hurt and desperation in her voice, her harsh scream that had changed from fear and pain to rage in an instant.

Ellie walked through, pulling her hair up into a ponytail. "Hi, Zeke."

"Hey, Ellie."

Ezekiel cleared his throat again. He knew any second his dad would call for him and he did not want to be on the verge of tears. He found his page in King Lear and dogeared the page. When his dad called for him, he stood and put his book in his backpack. Zeke put on his long apron and went to work, flexing his unmarred hands.

Weather Forcast - The Remainder of July

I will be posting a Weather Forcast every month that lists all of the prompts for the month. I was planning to do it at the beginning of this month, but I was out of town so here's what's left of this month:

July 19 -

July 20 - Write a story which puts a new twist on an old legend.

July 21 - Write a story in which a ghost serves as your main character.

July 22 - Use this cliche anywhere in your story: Burn the midnight oil

July 23 - His mood matched their weather; inclement.

July 24 - I need you to understand something before I kill you.

July 25 - Finish this thought: "I didn't go to ____ looking for redemption,"

July 26 - Mark is a thief, but after his third burglary, he is caught by police. Write his story in first person (from Mark's point of view), omniscient point of view (the all knowing, all seeing "God-like" voice), from limited third person, switching between Mark and one of the police officers who arrest him.

July 27 - Create a story using words of one-syllable only, beginning with “From the back of the truck...”

July 28 - Use at least three of these five phrases in a story or poem: "ashes of youth", "nectar thoughts", "ruined feathers", "O Muse", "falling stars and eagles".

July 29 - Sand

July30 - Write a story that starts with: “Like a fish, I spent my summer…” Do not, however, use any of the following words: wet, waves, stream, drink, pond, pool, ocean, water, liquid, swim, creek, deep, float, sea, or flow.

July 31 - When I'm in a neon green mood . . .

The rules have not changed at all - I will still only work on a prompt on the actual day it is for - this is just to make it easier if I miss a prompt. Also, if someone else wants to write ahead, this will enable them to.

Sunday, July 18, 2010

Azure: Part Five Continued

Prompt: I once dreamed about . . .


Response: Azure: Part Five Continued

The sun beat down making Selim's clothing cling uncomfortably close to her body held by the sweat that trickled like a pattern of rivers over her body. As she brushed a damp errant hair behind her ear Selim wished for thte green cool of the woods. She would almost prefer to be working in a well - at least the mud that seeped from the forest's wounds was cold.

Selim scraped at an uncooperative piece of mortar with her fingernails, procrastinating the real work of replacing the crumbling bricks. She listened intently. The edge of Davenwood was only a few feet behind them - its recesses resentfully silent, as though the entire wood was watching them with contempt - but to their right the practive field could just be seen and the noise of the knights sparring drifted to them on a dry, hot wind. Selim looked up as she realized the voices were getting closer. She looked down again as she realized the knights - Sir William leading and an entorage of squires behind - were walking directly toward her.


Selim jumped. The knights were all smiling as they walked closer. Their gaze and smiles made her uncomfortable. She could not have heard them correctly - surely none of them knew her name.

"That is your name, is it not?" William was smiling as he asked. He perched himself on the wall next to where Selim was working and Selim noticed that he was in white again. As she noticed, she blushed. Selim had a sudden flash of memory - she had once dreamed about William. He had been all arrayed in white armor and riding a white horse.

"Lass, that is your name, is it not?"

Selim nodded, pushing the dream out of her mind, not trusting herself to speak. She did not want to sound fawning or foolish.

"We heard you were sick."

"Yes," Selim wondered if she should add "Sir" or "Sir William", but she did not. "But I am . . . better now."

"We are glad to hear it," William flashed a smile and leaned too close. The other men smiled too and leaned closer as well. Selim shifted uncomfortably. She glanced around, looking for her family - looking for Namen or even Mortimer or her father, but they were nowhere near.

Selim was not certain why, but she was profoundly uncomfortable. She was aware of her sweaty back and palms - her frazzled hair. She had no idea why the knights were talking to her - why they were showing any interest in her at all. She was still baffled as to how they even knew her name.

"Thank you," she said uncertainly.

William gave a half-laugh and Selim saw him run his tongue over his teeth behind closed lips. He reached out and touched Selim's cheek with his thumb. Though she thought she should have swooned, she flinched.

"Frightened, lass?" He seemed amused.

"I need to go back to work,"

"Let us help you," William offered. Selim was aware of the other men around her, like they were surrounding her.

"I will be fine,"

"Come now, let us help," William smiled.

"Yes, come now, lass," One of the squires mimicked, tugging at her long braid.

"Stop," Selim could not contain the panic in her voice, though she wondered where it came from.

"Let her alone."

He was dressed in the tunic and breeches of a knight, but Selim could have sworn she saw a flyaway feather in his dark hair. His emerald green eyes flashed to her and smiled for a moment before turning on Sir William.

"We just want to help," William glared at him.

"Yes, well, perhaps your time would be better spent practicing." Azure raised an eyebrow tauntingly.

"That was chance." William's jaw clenched.

Azure raised his hands. "Well I doubt that harassing a helpless girl will help you much with your swordsmanship."

The two men stared at each other. William pushed himself off the wall. "We were just leaving. Good luck, lass."

The group of men walked back toward the practice field, leaving Selim shaking.

She felt the brush of fingers on her shoulder and looked up into Azure's emerald eyes. "Are you all right, love?"

"Are you a knight at the Keep?"

"Today I am. I could not let them near you."

Selim looked up at him. Why did he care? she wondered. Who was he anyway? "Thank you."

"It was nothing." Azure leaned down and brushed Selim's cheek with his fingers, then his lips.

Selim was surprised how different the action was when it was preformed by Azure than by William.

"Would you like help with this?" Azure gestured at the wall.

"I will be all right."

"I am sure you will be. I will not be far - they will not bother you again."

Selim watched, unblinking, unbelieving, as Azure - smiling - became a golden bird. He soared into the air and circled around Selim once, his nearest piecing green eye passing right by Selim's gaze. The wingbeats of the hawk blew the air around her as she watched him sail away.

July 17, 2010 - Azure: Part Five

Prompt: Write about a "scoffing sun"


Response: Azure: Part Five

Selim blinked - the sun was glaring through hole in the window covering, scoffing at her as she coughed dryly. It was no surprise that the sun would agree with the trees, she thought dazedly. The sun was probably second only to the trees in the hatred of the King. The sun was king of the sky and the King thought he could do as he liked.

"I would wager the sun does not like that," she muttered.

"Well look who is awake." Selim heard her father's voice pierce her mind and she squeezed her eyes shut. "You took your time waking up, girl,"

She opened her eyes to see her father and Mortimer leaning over her and knew that they would have her off of her pallet in a trice and that they would be working all day. They looked haggard and poised for an offense - ready to jump on any shortcoming and tear the offender to pieces.

The rain had made the earth soft - treacherous and mischievous - and the scent of the trees and the rain lingered in the air above the smoke, lanolin and grease of the Keep. They would have been foolish to work in the wells. They were occupied mending a wall on the very outskirts of the Keep's territory.

Throughout the day, Selim felt the sun blocked by a bird's shadow. She kept seeing the flash of golden wing - though she could not quite connect it to her fevered daydream of a tall, dark-haired man who had somehow found her deep within a well.

Notes: Sorry, I wanted it to be longer, but I missed the day by 31 minutes anyway. I will finish this part and the story (or at least the section of the story I'm going to be doing this time around) tomorrow, pinkie swear.

I apologize for missing my day, but I was finished before midnight, so I am exempting myself from my penance.

Friday, July 16, 2010


Prompt: Do this prompt step-by-step! Don't read ahead and don't worry if your answers don't seem to fit together. Think of a person you know (or of a character) 1. Describe the person's hands.

2. Describe something they are doing with their hands.

3. Use a metaphor to say something about a place.

4. Ask the person a question somehow involving #2 and #3.

5. The person gives an answer that shows they only got part of what you said.

Spend some time turning your answers into part of a poem or story.

Source: Modified from: fictionwriting.


Character: Azure

1. Long, graceful fingers with wide, open palms. Trustworthy hands. Gentle hands.

2. Dabbing gently, cleaning with care.

3. The touch of clear, rippling water.

4. How did you get into the well?

5. You'll be perfectly all right.

Azure: Part Four

Selim thought the shifting might be an animal that had fallen into the shaft. She made a motion to shake it off, but her arms would not move. It was darker than the last time she had looked at the sky, she was sure, even though she could not see much through her slitted eyes which refused to open any farther.

She could feel water trickling around her. Her first thought was that the well had collapsed - she could imagine the torture of drowning while immobile; unable to cry out or raise herself above water - but after a panicked moment she realized it was a heavy rain dripping down into the pit.

A hand passed her eye - a pale, wide hand with gently tapered fingers - an unfamiliar hand. Selim's eyes flew open and she flinched.

"Hold still, there," The voice was quietly accented - an accent that Selim did not recognize. She felt a soft brush against her brow - the touch of clear, rippling water - a feathery soft touch.

"H-how did you get into the well?"

The stranger's face came into focus as he spoke. His hair fell in dark ringlets across his strong jaw; into his large, caring eyes. Selim realized he was beautiful and no part of him more beautiful than his lips - she could not tear her gaze away from them. "You will be perfectly all right."

He obviously had not heard her, but she realized that how he got down the shaft was not the most important question she could ask him. "Who . . . are you?" she managed.

He smiled. As she looked at him Selim thought for a moment that she could see feathers in his hair. "My name is Azure."

Selim squinted. His eyes were emerald green - the green of summer leaves and undisturbed forest pools. "Azure" was the last word the came to her mind when she looked at him - he was all gold tones and greens without a hint of blue about him.

Though it was impolite and out- of-order, all Selim could say was "Why?" For some reason she could not explain, societal niceties seemed unnecessary -as though they had known each other long enough that they were obsolete.

Azure grinned, but did not respond. His mouth was mesmerizing - she had never seen lips shaped quite like his, had never seen such a sharply cut jawbone.

"You were hit pretty hard, love." He gestured to an object in the shaft - a shield. Selim thought she recognized the shield, but she could not place it. She just vaguely remembered brusque male voices, though she could not recall what they had said or how the shield had ended up in the hole.

They both looked up as they heard voices. Selim realized that the wind had also picked up. She could smell the rain like a strong voice calling over Davenwood.

"I must go," Azure leaned over Selim and brushed his lips to her cheek, running his fingers over the tingling skin. "I will see you again, love, but I will let your brothers pull you out of this hole."

He stood, towering, with dizzying speed, and Selim realized with a blush that he was uncovered except for a finely woven cloth draped over one shoulder and about his hips. It was deep green and patterned with feathers in thin gold embroidery.

As she watched he vanished and a golden hawk streamed out of the well shaft and into the cloudy sky.

Selim stared at the circle of sky, raindrops touching her face, running down like tears. Azure had to be there, she thought. There was no way a man could just disappear out of a giant hole in the ground.

She watched the clouds churn until suddenly Namen's face peeked over the shaft's edge. She barely flinched.

"Throwing you a rope," he said.

Selim's arms shook as she tied the end of the rope around herself. She almost expected to feel Azure's steady hands reach out to help her.

Davenwood was flowing with streams of water. Selim kept stumbling, the water seemed to grab at their legs - like the mud had sucked little Henry down. They did not have approval of the woods, nor the approval of the rain. They were on the King's business; they were not safe.

Selim thought that between the trees and shadows of clouds she saw flashes of gold like long feathered wings. She looked, though, for the figure of a man with gold skin and green eyes. Her eyes moved frantically through her surroundings - she thought he must be there, but she saw no glimpse of him.

Azure watched Selim's movements become disjointed. She was sick, he could tell. He called out above the trees, blessing her with strength to make it through the hostile woods to her home - though it could hardly be called that - and simultaneously cursing her family for not offering her more help. His wings twitched as he watched her fall into the mud.

His talons clenched as Selim passed the group of drunken idiots who had hit her with a clattering piece of metal. They watched her struggle with her long dress with secretive chortles.

Azure called out above the storm - he would make them pay, the selfish knights whom she so admired. He watched through a partly-covered window in her home. She was wrapped in a blanket, wracked with chills and fever. He imagined that her hands - reaching out in her delusional fever - were reaching out for him. If he had been able, in his hawk form, he would have smiled softly.

Thursday, July 15, 2010

Azure: Part Three Continued

Prompt: Dark

Source: None.

Response: Azure: Part Three Continued

Selim heard the voices and thought that it must be her family returning to work. The voices were loud enough and surely discordant enough. But as they came closer, she could also distinguish the occasional sound of clashing metal and raucous laugher. If she had spent more time serving ale in the tavern as most girls at the Keep did to supplement their family's income, she would have had serious doubt that the laughter came from sober men.

They were speaking loud enough that Selim could just catch some of their words.


"Fool - - - dropped it,"


Selim stood, looking up, suddenly even more nervous. The voices could be anyone from stable boys dabbling in the vicar's wine to restless woodland sprites.

"Be ready, Sir William,"

She hardly had time to process the name before Sir Bram's shield crashed into the well shaft and everything went dark.

Notes: Yay! Caught up, finally. So I hope this story is at least somewhat enjoyable. I'm feeling better despite some severe vertigo problems (thanks for your well wishes, Ann!) and so I should be back and ready to log another 1000 word entry tomorrow and hopefully crank out some story chapters.

Anyone reading continuously has probably noticed that most of my recent prompts have been from no source (which means I made them up) this is because I didn't have time to plan the whole month on July 1st as I usually do - I apologize for this because it really is cheater-ish of me. I am hoping that tomorrow or the next day I will also be able to fill out the rest of July and (fingers crossed) actually post the prompts ahead of time on the blog so that anyone who wants to can write ahead and so you all can keep me honest.

Also, I'm calling out for some new prompts. There has been a pretty big range so far - from single word to really specific - so if you have an idea or a picture or a formula or a name or a plot line PLEASE send it to me. Gracias!

Penance: July 13, 2010 - Slip and Slide

Prompt: Write about something slippery.

Source: None


Becky pulled her towel closer, her swimsuit dripping water, giggling uncontrollably as her new husband pulled her close. "Stop, Gavin,"

Gavin laughed, unashamed of how much his laugh sounded like Becky's giggle.

They stumbled on the kitchen tile and slid through the entire room.

Black and blue with bruises, they lay on the floor and laughed hysterically.

Notes: I'm pretty much aware that this is dumb, but hopefully it's a little cute too, yes?

July 13, 2010 - Azure: Part Three

Prompt: Expectations

Source: None

Response: Azure: Part Three

Selim looked up as darkness descended in the well shaft. She squinted. Clouds had overtaken the sky - dark thunderheads that threatened rain hung heavy above her.

She saw a bird fly over. Selim squinted harder and then laughed at herself. She had thought it was the same bird she had seen earlier in the day, though that was unlikely.

Selim wondered where her family had gone. She did not hear any voices, even distantly, and it seemed to her that more than enough time had passed for one or both of her brothers to join her.

"Namen?" She called. "Mortimer?"

Selim jumped as she heard a bird call.


Listening hard, she thought she could hear the wind - perhaps voices raised in anger.

"Just the wind." Selim muttered. Her heart pounded in her throat. It was not the first time she had been left down a well shaft for a period of time - she was the only one who could be counted on to continue working if left alone. It did not matter what the chore was, Selim was periodically left to the work while her family members attended to other things.

The aloneness had never made Selim so frightened before. Her skin prickled and the crawling thoughts of bodies and water began to seep over her. She shook herself quickly. It was stupid to be nervous, she knew. They would be back soon enough and she would feel foolish for being scared.

A bird call echoed down the shaft again and Selim swallowed a startled yelp, sinking down against a wall. She could feel the cold mud trickling into her hair and down the neckline of her dress. She almost felt guilty for not working but the heavy stillness in her chest made it impossible to go back to the monotony of her task. She rationalized that she had no need to - Namen was probably still taking a break, and her parents and elder brother were certainly doing just that.

The mud seemed to make its own noise as it seeped down the walls. It spoke as the trees used to, but its voice was sad and dangerous. It frightened Selim with its dark poetry.

Selim was certain that if she sat still long enough, it would consume her.

Penance: July 12, 2010 - Music

Prompt: List your top ten favorite songs of the moment.

Source: None.


10. I Wish I Was a Punk Rocker by Sandi Thom

9. The Violet Hour by Sea Wolf

8. Running Up That Hill by Placebo

7. Empty With You by The Used

6. The Moment I Said It by Imogen Heap

5. I'll Be Yours by Placebo

4. February Air by Lights

3. Bruises by Chairlift

2. If You Think You Need Some Lovin' by Pomplamoose

1. On the Radio by Regina Spektor

Notes: I guess the 12th is my unlucky day - pretty sure I missed the 12th of June too. So, I like to listen to a bunch of different kinds of music, but if you listen to most of this you may see a pattern of sound. I'm tending toward organic voices and folksy instrument sounds right now . . . I'm also tending toward female singers which is extremely weird for me . . . It's kind of fun to keep track of trends in personal taste.

I know that this is pretty much cheating because it takes absolutely no writing ability whatsoever. Bite me. It was actually harder to narrow it down than I bargined for so . . . yeah.

July 12, 2010 - Azure: Part Two Continued

Prompt: Entombed.

Source: None.

Response: Azure: Part Two Continued

The well was in a clearing that was a recent result of the logging. The spreading labor and demand for more workers necessitated the creation and upkeep of a multitude of wells. The well that they had just finished worked better than most of those that had been recently created. As they came into the clearing, however, and saw their father's expression Selim knew the current well was nothing more than a glorified mud hole. He looked angry and tired; he merely grunted when Namen gave him the coil of rope.

Their father's expression made it easy to believe the rumors, the stories that flitted about the area, of the trees and woodland things taking revenge on the King that had chopped up their little ones by filling his precious water supply with cursed mud.

Selim pushed all of her daydreams - both of trees and men - from her mind as she was lowered into the dark, slippery shaft. Wells were dangerous - especially these wells that, she knew, had been rejected by the forest. These wells that existed only to please the unpleasable King. Selim would need her wits about her. Only three days previously the youngest in the family - little Henry - had been trapped in a partially collapsed well. They had listened to his pleading sobs for hours, trying to pull him from the sticky mud with no success, until he had lost consciousness. It had been several exhausting hours more before Henry's pained, labored breathing had finally ceased.

In the dark pit Selim tried not to think of Henry's body, not properly buried, sinking deeper into the mud. She could see his hands, still reaching out, even in death, reaching out to the freedom of the azure sky. She feel the mud sliding over his lifeless form and she shuddered. She moved over as Namen joined her. The look he gave her made her sure that he was having the same doubts as she - remembering the tiny hands of their younger brother as he was consumed, just as she was.

The work was slow monotony. The even tedium made it impossible to focus - there was simply not enough work to possibly occupy one's mind.

It was heavy in the shaft - the thin air was filled with mud, making it hot and nearly impossible to breathe. The water - just beyond the fragile, ever-moving mud walls waiting to be tapped into - was almost audible. It gave the feeling that they were surrounded by a rushing torrent - a smothering feeling of confinement.

Selim thought of the trees as she worked. She thought of patches of blue sky seen through green leaves - of meadows bedazzled with purple blooms - of knights sparring teasingly down on the field - reaching hands in sucking mud.

"No!" Selim muttered, pressing a cold muddy hand to her temple, trying to stifle the thought.

"Selim?" Namen was watching her with a concerned expression - an expression he seemed to have been wearing almost constantly since Henry's death.

"I am all right." Using the back of her wrist to clean the worst of the mud from her face Selim banished the thought of cold, unblessed graves and dead children.

"Get to work!" Mortimer's voice sounded harsh even though the well shaft made it distant. When Selim looked up she could see their older brother peering over the edge of the pit. He looked so angry - he looked just like their father.

Selim watched her hands in the mud. She could vaguely remember what Father's smile looked like, but she had no memory of Mother ever really expressing any happiness. What little happiness she had learned was learned watching the other children at the Keep, watching the squires and knights and scullery maids laugh with each other, by listening to the singsong sound of the trees moving in the wind. All Selim knew about happiness seemed to have condemned her never to possess it: the very poor were only happy when they were young, the very rich were never happy though they seemed convinced that each new possession would make them happier, and those in madly in love were always happy no matter what was happening. Selim examined the semi-permanent dark line beneath her fingernails. She was poor and getting to old to ever be happy again.

The only chance I would have, she thought sourly, is if I was beautiful like Katty - then I might fall in love one day.

Selim breathed out a half-laugh. She knew from her father that she was not beautiful, but even if he had never pointed it out, the way none of the boys looked at her would have tipped her off.

Feeling sentimental and pathetic, Selim brushed a hair away from her face. A shadow fell over the shaft. When she looked up, she expected to see her father looking down, but it was just a bird circling overhead.

Namen shook the mud from his hands. "Pull me up," he called.

Selim bit her cheek. Her teeth sank disgustingly into the raw flesh. Namen always asked to be pulled up several times to relieve himself though she knew that he was really just claustrophobic. It frustrated her that he used time to alleviate his own discomfort while she suffered constantly without complaint, but she would never deprive her brother of his only break no matter how jealous it made her.

Mortimer lowered at rope. Selim kept her head down as he pulled Namen up so that the falling mud wouldn't get in her eyes.

It made her even more nervous to be alone in the dark hole. Clouds were rolling in and the sunlight fluctuated over the opening. Selim looked up at the sky. A storm was coming. She could see herself trapped in the pit as it filled with water, sinking into the mud like Henry but no one would hear her screams. They would all be seeking shelter.

Shivering, Selim tried once again to focus on her work. She concentrated so hard that she did not even notice that the hawk she had seen circling had landed next to the well and was looking down at her, its head cocked to one side.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

An Important Note

So, I am back, but I seem to be currently going through a bout of bad luck as my cousins' computer crashed on the 12th, we spent the entire day in the car on the 13th and I somehow managed to contract a 24-hour flu and a head cold that has made it pretty much impossible to concentrate today. So in light of my illness and misfortune, I am exempting myself of July 14, 2010's prompt. Hopefully tomorrow I'll feel better and, if that's the case, I will do the 12th and 13th and their penance prompts as well as the 15th. Most profound apologies for my ailments.

Also, a note. While on vacation I read several books (many of which I highly recommend), but if you're looking for some reading to end the summer with, I would suggest Amelia Atwater-Rhode's book Hawksong or Jurassic Park by Michael Crichton.

Sunday, July 11, 2010

Azure: Part Two

Prompt: In the woods.

Source: None

Response: Azure: Part Two

Selim clenched her fists, looking around her to make sure that no one had seen her standing idle. She shuddered as she considered what an observer might have thought of her - the daughter of a grounds keeper watching a knight with stars in her eyes. It was one thing for Katty, the miller's lovely girl, to bat her eyes at the Keep's men. So long as she kept any actual interaction to dark corners, no one would infringe on the flirting of a beautiful, high-class servant girl - particularly not Khein, the Captain of the Guard. And if Khein did not see any impropriety, none existed.

Selim thought of how her family would have reacted. Her mother would have looked at her sadly, her creased brown face dark with an emotion Selim could not read. She would not have even been able to hazard a guess at her mother's thoughts. And mother would have said nothing, as she always did. Her father or eldest brother would have struck her across the face, purposefully leaving a welt that she would be forced to be ashamed of for days. They probably would have muttered something about the uselessness of daydreams and women.

Pushing away her quiet speculations, Selim stole one last glance at William's disappearing figure. He was headed down to the practice fields, she knew. He was convinced that he was not yet a skilled enough marksman with the crossbow - though Selim, as much as she watched, had never seen him miss - and he went there often. He was beautiful - all sun and spotless white. Selim bit her cheek until it bled inside her mouth.

A gentle touch on her shoulder made Selim jump. She whirled to find her brother Namen looking at her. He had, doubt, seen the object of her focus, but he did not comment. "Father is waiting. He wants to finish at least one more today."

He removed the rope coil from her grasp, his every movement caring and slow - as if he was dealing with an injured lamb. Selim knew that he pitied her, as he pitied the lost, broken lambs. She swallowed the blood in her mouth and ran her tongue over the roughly healed spot. It stung.

They walked in silence that was neither companionable nor uncomfortable. Namen was the only person Selim knew whose pity did not anger her. He was a mere ten months older than her and had been her protector and companion since infancy. And though he had never been her confidant, he seemed to know or guess everything she thought. The trees of Davenwood Keep were tall and silent. The King's endless logging that had begun several years before had halted the wood's beautiful singing and, beneath the green canopy, it was eerily still. The memory of the sound of the trees' voices momentarily distracted Selim from her thoughts of William and brought tears to her eyes. She felt that she had lost a friend the day that the trees became still - a much closer friend than even Namen.

Notes: Sorry this isn't longer - I have a bunch more written that was meant for today, but my computer usage is extremely curtailed and it was originally handwritten so . . . I will try and make up for it tomorrow. So Part Two . . . to be continued!

Saturday, July 10, 2010

Azure: Part One

Prompt: Flowing like satin

Source: None

Response: Azure: Part One

Her breath caught as he walked past. She could not stop her gaze from following his movement, though he did not even glance at her.

Selim looked down at the coil of rope in her hands. Her arms were filthy from the mud caked to the rope's surface and, beneath the dirt, her arms trembled with strain and stiffness. She knew she must look a mess after working deep in the well all day - her long hair coiled around her head in a cloud of frizz and mud.

She watched William's gait - confident and smooth. She admired how his open shirt outlined his body - flowing like satin. She did not wonder that he did not look at her.

Notes: I've decided I need a little continuity . . . Which means I'm going to start a short short short story. I kinda want to do it all in one go, but I may do about a week of it and end or I may do about a week of it and not finish and do pieces of it randomly later. Either way - there will be about a week of Azure for sure . And most of the parts will probably be far longer than this one . . .

Sunday, July 4, 2010

July 9, 2010 - Free Friday

Prompt: Write about whatever you want :D

Source: My photography class.

Response: The music filled her ears, a haunting, lovely melody that - though recognizable - spoke of things surely not intended by the artist. It spoke of closeness and distance, of purity and sin, of beauty and ugliness. It spoke of her soul, all patched and bruised and lonesome. It spoke of healing fall days when the colored leaves and crisp air sealed everything against the pains of disappointment. It filled her like food could not - sated her like no liquid refreshment ever could. Words of her own toyed at the edge of her mind, joining the instruments in their cascade, blending with the words she had heard before and could not quite remember.

Notes: This is a hard prompt . . . I like being told what to do . . . Well, that's it. I'll see you all on Saturday and my schedule should go back to about normal (at least until I go back to school LOL)

July 8, 2010 - Thankful Thursday

Prompt: Write about something you are thankful for.

Source: My photography class.

Response: Being in the woods is great - the trees are beautiful as they hang over you, protective. Campt is great - especially if you have a cot to keep you away from the bugs and dirt and stiffness. But bushes and portapotties are not so great - I am SO thankful for indoor plumbing.

Notes: At the same family reunion that this photography class was at, we used too much water and we were forced to stop using the indoor bathrooms and showers for almost two days . . . Not great.

July 7, 2010 - Wacky Wednesday

Prompt: Write about something strange.

Source: My photography class.

Response: The yellow light illuminated the taxidermy deer head, casting its fur an odd, dull umber color. Beneath, on a shiny plaque, the title proclaimed "Beloved Friend".

Notes: I'm fairly certain that this is not the actual theme that my teacher gave for Wednesdays, but I can't remember the real one so . . . Yeah.

July 6, 2010 - Ruby Tuesday

Prompt: Write about something red.

Source: My photography class.

Response: It bubbled up like holy spring water, flowing in crimson billows over the unmarred skin. Discarding the scab covering, the blood created rivulets freely running.

July 5, 2010 - Moody Monday

Prompt: Capture the expression of a specific emotion.

Source: My photography class.

Response: Her eyes sparked like flint as they glared into him - bored into his soul. I hate you, they said. I could kill you right now. Her fists clenched tightly and he caught a glimpse of her fingernails cutting into the flesh. I could kill you, her fists said. And he believed them.

Notes: I took a photography class at a family reunion just recently. For homework, the teacher gave us a specific theme for each day of the week to focus our photography on. I figured it worked just as well for writing, although if anyone wants to use the prompts for photography feel free!

Nonnegotiable Idiot

Prompt: Write about someone who doesn't usually wear glasses.

Source: None.

Response: Nonnegotiable Idiot

"Stop it, Michael!" Jamison giggled, but his voice was beginning to actually sound annoyed as his older brother tickled and poked him, keeping his glasses just out of reach.

"But I need these glasses, Jamie," Michael teased, his voice cajoling.

The older boy placed the glasses on his nose, looking through them at the blurred world. "You are so blind. How do I look?"

Jamison squinted at his brother. Michael was close enough that the smaller boy could distinguish him almost clearly. "Like an idiot."

Michael glared for a moment and then brightened. "A smexy idiot."

Jamison just rolled his eyes. nonnegotiable

Notes: I will be gone for the next week so . . . more prompts for you. Happy July the Fourth, ya'll, hope it's a good one.

Saturday, July 3, 2010

Camden the Earthbound

Prompt:Go to a public place (coffee shop, bus/subway station, library, whatever) during the day and sit down for fifteen minutes with a pen and paper. Watch people as they walk by going about their daily lives. Find a person who looks interesting and, just from watching them, write a paragraph about who they are, what they're doing there, whatever. Be as realistic or wild as you wish, but turn the stranger into a character.

Source: efbq (Thanks!)

Response:Camden wears his hair loose and untamed - he works hard for that specific look. His mom says it looks like he just rolled out of bed, but he has had many compliments on it (including one girl who swore he looked like her vision of Edward Cullen, though Camden wasn't sure if he should really consider that complimentary). Camden is skin and bones and brains and a giant camera that he takes everywhere. He pretends like he doesn't care about what he wears (just like he pretends his hair is naturally fantastic), but his outfits are carefully planned to try and make himself look a little more normal-sized. He loves plaid and photography and his pet chinchilla, Mona. He has always dreamed of flying, but he has vivid nightmares every night of falling from the sky and landing SMACK! on the ground in a shatter of bones and his precious camera, so he contents himself with taking pictures of things that fly - getting a vicarious thrill as he watches the birds and helicopters and balloons and model planes lift into the clear air.

Notes: So I don't know if anyone remembers my prompt response with the hot air balloon picture, but I got to go watch hot air balloons fill up today (which is where I saw my literary victim). Unfortunately, the weather didn't allow them to fly, but it was still awesome . . . they are SO big and SO amazing . . .

As you may have also noticed, this prompt came from a WEbook member - which is awesome as well - so all in all, today is awesome.

Friday, July 2, 2010

Something That Never Ends

Prompt: Write about something that never ends.

Source: None.

Response: It's been this way ever since I can remember - the pain that toys with the edge of numbness and the cusp of agony. I've had this festering, sweltering, putrefying wound as long as I have lived. I have poked and prodded, ointmented and oiled and still it remains - in my mind, in my soul. Paining so continuously - tedious and vicious and malicious in its consistent continuousness. It eats me and sustains me, proof of living on and dying perpetually. And it festers and swelters and putrefies. This gaping great wound inside me.