Prompt: When I'm in a neon green mood . . .
Source: writingfiction.suite101.com
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."
"Why?"
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.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
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.
Source: writingfiction.suite101.com
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.
Source: writingfiction.suite101.com
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
Source: theblob.org/raina/prompts
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.
Source: theblob.org/raina/prompts
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: writingfix.com
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.
Source: Modified from: writingfix.com
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: warren-wilson.edu/~creativewriting/Prompts.php
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 . . .
Source: Modified from: warren-wilson.edu/~creativewriting/Prompts.php
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.
Source: creative-writing-solutions.com/creative-writing-prompts.html
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.
"Ow!"
"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.
Source: creative-writing-solutions.com/creative-writing-prompts.html
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.
"Ow!"
"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.
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