Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #302

This is a writing prompt. Bet you can’t do it! Take the 10 random words below and crush writer’s block by creating a cohesive, creative short story! And remember: after (if) you finish entering your submission into the comment field, highlight your words and click the bold button to make them stand out and help you determine if you forgot any words. (If you’ve missed previous writing prompts, we BET YOU CAN’T do those, either.) NOTE: Our bolding plugin is gone, so you’ll have to put <b> and </b> around each of your words if you want them to stand out, but NOT REQUIRED THOUGH.

  1. Shadow
  2. Burn
  3. Dot
  4. Rare
  5. Side
  6. Lose
  7. Aftermath
  8. Murmur
  9. End
  10. Scream

NOTE: Don’t copy and paste from MS Word. Use a program like notepad that removes formatting or just type in the comment field itself. Also, finish your submission, THEN bold the words. Thanks. (And don’t forget to tweet this and share it with your friends.)

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52 Comments on “Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #302”

  1. A dark poem today, needs no explanation!

     

    Ending Moment

    The scream in the shadow

    aftermath of some horrific end

    rare murmur of regret present

    this victim just another dot

    burn notch in the side of your wall

    another will lose their life soon

  2. Anklebuster says:

    Nobody ever studied the aftermath. The talking heads focused on the burning rubble; the former rubberneckers continued to murmur about the screams. And, lord, the media – social, mass, alternative – all had a field day with the end: a hole the size of two football fields.

    “Stupid provincials! Why do they not pay attention to the clues? Is the side-show so entertaining that the fools lose sight of the main event?” Elder Grokamok sniffed his disdain.

    Younger Grokamok giggled. “I told you not to target the bovine population. It is rare for a cow – even a cybernetically enhanced one – to have an attention span beyond the temporal.”

    Baby Grokamok outright laughed at his older clones. “Bovine, humanoid, lizard! Bah! This planet is a mere dot in the shadow of the Lactic Circle. None of the sentients have the necessary quarkpower to understand that their satellite is about to collide with them. Good riddance, I say!”

  3. Tom Pellegren says:

    s h a d o w
    b c o
    u r t
    r a r e
    n a f t e r m a t h
    m u
    s i d e r
    n m
    d u
    r
    l o s e

  4. Tom Pellegren says:

    Ignore that. It was supposed to be a crossword layout. Didn’t work!! I’ll work something out.

    • At least I noticed what you tried to do before it printed, yeah unfortunately formatting is non-existent here, you can do HTML tags for bold but that is about it.

    • Anklebuster says:
      Testing the pre tag. It this works, you could repost using a symbol between words.
      BURN__SHADOW
      MURMUR_ETC.

      I remember When Justin would try to format his poetry…Good times, eh?

      Cheers,

      Mitch

      • Anklebuster says:

        @Tom: Wow it works, including failing to word-wrap! LOL
        If you are familiar with pre, it uses the same amount of space between each character, so your grid should look better.
        <pre>
        your grid – not too wide, though!
        </pre>

        Cheers,

        Mitch

  5. [...] Originally appeared on CreativeCopyChallenge #302. [...]

  6. [...] is my submission for Creative Copy Challenge #302. Click on over and take the challenge yourself, or just read the comments to see what others have [...]

  7. [...] Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #302 [...]

  8. Liss Thomas says:

    Tom raced through the woods toward Saal and his daughter. Vrag moved as a silent wing man on his right side. Anguish burned away all thought and breath until he saw her sitting safe by the creek with Saal standing watch. He wanted nothing more than to hold her close but he approached with caution. Their eyes met. She looked brave but he saw the control slipping. Her flush cheeks paled. The aftermath of her ordeal crossed her young face in a raw display of anger, terror, guilt and finally horror.

    Tom knelt before her, his face riddled with his own guilt. “I’m sorry,” he said but it wasn’t enough.

    “He killed people,” she whispered.
    “You saw them?” he asked.
    “Parts,” she said, a look of disbelief crossed her face before she reigned it in. “The cop sent him after me, Dad. The one from the restaurant. I heard them talking on the phone.”

    Tom’s vision saw red. He checked Jill over for injury or bruises but it didn’t matter.

    “I’ll have their blood for this,” he snarled.

    “No, don’t go there. The police will find him soon enough. I want to go.” With those final words, Jill’s composure ended. Her whole body shook in sobs that made Tom’s heart ache. He pulled her into his arms and murmured soft words to ease her crying. She buried her face in his shoulder as he carried her back through the woods. Shadows elongated and stars began to dot the sky as they came within sight of the cabin.

    A breeze blew a rare scent through the trees. Tom froze. He glanced at Saal and Vrag, their expressions looked worried.

    Tom handed Jill over to Vrag. She screamed and pleaded but he wouldn’t risk losing her again. “Take her home and keep her safe. Saal, come with me,” he said.

    Saal quickened his pace to keep up with Tom as he moved with deadly silence though the trees tracking the scent. He stopped short just as Tom crouched behind a downed tree.

    “Who’s scent is it?” Saal asked.

    “Rebecca’s.”

  9. Meredith says:

    From his position on the ground, head thrown up slightly in the head lock, Johnson saw the shadow somewhere off his left side. It didn’t move as far as he could tell but it was definitely human. The woman murmured, “Whatcha looking at, greeny?” Oh, his neck started to burn from whatever cloth she wore.

    “I asked you a question. What does the leetle boy see?”
    Johnson’s vision was narrowing to a dot, but he managed to squeeze out, “Just trying to stay awake.”

    Suddenly, his neck was free but his head was being treated like a basketball. In the aftermath of being throttled, he barely had time to swallow and breathe. Although this homeless thing was a bit new to him, only a few months, give or take one, he couldn’t quite remember, he refused to lose to this imp. It was quite rare for him to be the one bullied. He let out a deep scream, hoping against everything that shadow was someone who could help.

    He got a nice swift kick to the kidneys when he did that. He tried to stand, thinking there was a way to end this nightmare.

  10. Lebbie says:

    Glad to have rediscovered this place. I did a few prompts this past fall.

    The aftermath of tragedy casts a permanent shadow. Evil arrives with a scream, burning away innocence with it’s rapid dots of fire. Little souls abandon broken bodies, fleeing to the side of eternal comfort. Happiness loses to grief and the murmur of retribution grows louder. Peace becomes rare. War becomes neverending.

  11. Shadow leaned against the sea wall, contemplating the full moon’s silver path to the horizon. Venus was little more than a dot to the left of the pockmarked disc of the moon, but she burned brighter than any star when she deigned to put in one of her rare appearances. Shadow felt nothing but contempt for these showy creatures as he skulked along the dunes in darkness.

    “He wouldn’t exist without us,” whispered the moon. Venus mocked him with her silent laughter, twinkling a bit as the waves danced beneath her. Shadow’s scowl deepened.

    A crab scuttled along and ran over Shadow’s foot. A pregnant sea turtle made her weary way across the damp, packed sand to softer dunes. Shadow bent to pick up the crab by its sides. Its shell was hard and rough with bumps and barnacles. He wondered how long it took for such a creature to be born, and to die. However long it was, Shadow reckoned it was an eternity. Its legs and antennae flailed helplessly, as if it were aware of the dark thoughts Shadow cast its way. It grasped at him in its pincers, but Shadow slipped away and cast it aside. The turtle, well acquainted with the Shadows of the world, barely spared the two a glance; she had only hours to dig her nest and lay her eggs before the sun rose to reveal their hiding place. She dared not stick around to see her children born; there was too much at stake – a while generation to lose. “I’ll cover you,” murmured Shadow. The turtle dipped her head and began to dig.

    Come morning, the sun found Turtle’s tracks, but the gentle wind exhaled and made it appear that she had wandered around in confused circles before heading back out to sea. Shadow hid himself in the powdery sand until it glistened under the sun’s warm gaze and he could hide from her no longer. Venus was a kinder mistress; the sun would shine Shadow into nonexistence. Shadow slipped away, in the end, as the seagulls screamed for their breakfast.

  12. And once again, the writer from Houston, who had survived 9/11, Katrina, Rita, and Ike, who had endured endless media coverage of Sandy and Sandy Hook, just to name a few disasters big enough to overshadow her oversight – refused to use the word “aftermath” on general principles.
    :P

    • Anklebuster says:

      Your aversion to all things numeric has reach obsessive proportions. Aren’t you a polymath, after all?

      Notwithstanding, and all that, I loved your Shadow story!

      Cheers,

      Mitch

  13. K says:

    Only the aftermath reveals how much I had overlooked. Her shameless act of wiping her eyes bring me to that conclusion. Her smile remains as she hiccups. My expression softens.

    “Oh, look at this,” she chuckles. “My eyes are really irritated. They’re watering so much.” This deception she’s concocted must burn in her throat.

    “You must be joking. You’re crying,” I murmur. “Isn’t it obvious enough?”

    “I never thought they would taste this salty,” she remarks, sniffling on occasion. Dots of red spread across her cheeks. It boggles the mind on how someone could express pain in silence even with the involvement of tears. She neither wails nor elicits any noise with the exception of sniffles. Being a distant acquaintance of hers, I had never thought she would expose a rare side of her especially with me at her doorstep on an impromptu visit. She fidgets in place then gestures back into the house. “I’m sorry about this. Would you like to come in?” As I step into the threshold and peer inside, the interior disorients me. The furniture seems streaked in blue, and no light is shed. I lose my temerity because of her invitation. Before I say anything, I glance at her. Once I catch her attention, she then stares at the floor. “This is my home.”

    That’s the end.
    The statement so subtly and frankly said rings in my head as it not just serves as a fact but a scream for help. At this point, I serve no purpose here at this house. Depression exuding from the place wraps around my neck like a noose and strangles me. The prospect of me standing here any longer frightens me.

    “I-” I hesitate to apologize. Pity would just be an inconvenience for her as always. “I’ll just go now.” I bail out, heading back down the road. Coward, whispers my conscience. I had expected for the outcome to be different, yet I am the same shadow produced by the others who neglected her. Would she see my retreating back to be the same as the others who gave up, or would her vision blur me from her memory of today? The words shared by her today continue to haunt me.

    Home? That’s strange. I can’t come into a house constructed solely by sorrow.

  14. Shadows of the past burn dots into the rare side of my happiness.
    I lose in their aftermath, murmuring endless inner-screams.

  15. Adrié woke with a sharp, static pain running the length of her side. It almost felt good. She’d been starting to worry.
    It’d been 36 hours since her run-in with Elam in the market, and she’d been hiding out in a seedy little corner of Marrakesh, a safe house she’d saved off the grid, until her left side came back online. Just that brief touch from Elam had fried her wiring, and she wouldn’t be ready to keep running until her brain rebooted her nervous system.
    That’s how she looked at it, like hardware and software, a piece of complex machinery, a mess of mass, wire and fluid, ready to manipulated, overclocked or destroyed. When you are one of the rarest people on the planet, it changes your perspective about the human condition to something a little more utilitarian.
    They’d explained it all to her, before she was old enough to understand. Something about molecular evolution, genetic drifting, chromosomal mutation in utero. Back then all she knew for sure was that she was different, and when she got mad she hurt people.
    She knew she wasn’t done hurting people.
    Elam was just the beginning. She’d escaped The Cage, the prison they’d built for those that didn’t play nice, so they sent her a shadow, one of the best. She crushed his heart in broad daylight, in the middle of the market, as the screaming crowd scattered in panic around them. She could still feel it, like a wringing a sponge. He had it coming.
    But Durham would send more. He said as much on the phone, the last call Elam’s cell would ever receive, which she lifted off his lifeless body. “I’m proud of you, Adrié,” he condescended. Prick. “But you know it doesn’t end here. You know I never lose.”
    Ak rzegh iwlaqnik,” she told him, cursing him in berber, the particular Moroccan dialect she knew he didn’t know. Didn’t matter. He got the message.
    She was coming for him. She would burn a trail of scorched earth to finish this, to be free of him. She’d deal with the aftermath in the afterlife, or whatever came later.
    Your time is almost up, she murmured. She looked out the dusty window at the setting sun on the tin roofs beyond, working her left hand into a fist, as the feeling slowly returned. She was almost ready. That’s when she noticed it.
    There was a red dot on her chest.


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