Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #156

Today we have the talented Leah Petersen choosing our words. Show her some creative love.

Writing prompts cure writer’s block. Take the 10 random words below and, in the comments, crush writer’s block by creating a cohesive, creative short story tying them together! And remember: after (if) you finish, 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, do those too.)

  1. Classified 
  2. Naked 
  3. Dark
  4. Lewd 
  5. Virtue
  6. Dawn 
  7. Angel 
  8. Sprawl 
  9. Hate 
  10. Dress 

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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Resources you should check out:
Thesis: Best Damn Theme on the Web
Collective Ink Well: Personalize Your Thesis Theme
Third Tribe Marketing: Marketing done the right way
Story Structure Demystified: Best damn writing book out there

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147 Comments on “Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #156”

  1. Shane Arthur says:

    “Hey Billy. Dat Pearson feller was lewd and full of hate for us huh? He jumped up higher den a rocket, shoutin’ and carryin’ on something fierce.”

    “Bobby, when we showed up at his house at da crack of dawn he was sprawled out, face-down-ass-up on da front porch still holdin on to dat dark-skinned, naked angel of virtue he done found in the classifieds. He weren’t dressed in nothin’ more den his birthday suit, so I can understands da hate he done had for us—especially for you.”

    “Me? But, Billy. All I done did was ring his funny-lookin’ doorbell buzzer.”

    “Bobby, dat weren’t no buzzer you pushed your finger into.”

    • Shane, you scoundrel!
       
      Eww…
       
      Cheers,
       
      Mitch
       

      • Shane Arthur says:

        @Mitch:

        “Hey Billy. Dat Mitch feller just calleded you a scoundrel.”
        “Bobby, he calleded YOU da scoundrel. Don’t point da finger at me … especially dat finger.”

    • KathleenL says:

      SHANE –“…naked angel of virtue…” I love this! What a great use of the words.
      and –“Bobby, dat weren’t no buzzer you pushed your finger into.” I hope my laughter is not too loud! “Bobby, dat weren’t no buzzer you pushed your finger into.”
      Wow… did I tell yah’ll how much I miss yah! and what can I write that will not pale in conparison! BRAVO

      • Shane Arthur says:

        @Kathleen: I’ve been doing a series with the two fools since about CCC#107. I need to put it all on a page. I’m having a blast with these two, and I’m glad you enjoy their antics.

        • KathleenL says:

          Shane — I think the Two Fools are great! And in my temporary absence I don’t think my fellow CCCers have changes… added some but not changes the folks here who enjoy this silly side of life. Thanks for making me laugh. I think you are right… when you have time (wait… wait… I need to catch my breath… wait… okay… sorry… laughin’ too hard on that one)… a Two Fools page would be great. I will have to see if these guys are related to Bayou Billy or just CCC family! and friends of his.

    • Anne Wayman says:

      giggle and if we were f2f I might blush.

    • Cathy Miller says:

      @Shane-another wipe the eyes, LOL entry. 😀

    • Casper says:

      @Shane….Ha ha ha….yar’ rites always funs 2 read.

  2. margaret says:

    There was an ad in “classified“..
    WANTED: a girl quite “sassy-fied”.
    An angel face he sought
    whose virtue could be bought.

    A dress she would not need,
    as he preferred to naked feed..
    and the ad got worse and worse
    when he said he owned a hearse!

    This dude was dark and lewd
    not to mention rude and crude…
    like a message he would scrawl
    on a public restroom wall!

    I hate to think of who’d reply
    to this sick and twisted guy
    and hoped they’d live to see the dawn
    and not in half be sawn!!

  3. […] The lovely @shanearthur asked me to pick today’s words for the Creative Copy Challenge. […]

  4. She perused the classified ads for the word “naked“. The computer found only six instances, which was unusual for such a large city.
    It was dark outside, and the lewd pictures she had printed out and taped around her mirror glared at her with a kind of twisted virtue. They were beautiful. They were not “porn” as her friends seemed to think.
    Before dawn, she would have six new angels surrounding her mirror to watch over her as she sprawled on her bed alone and did things she should not do.
    She refused to hate herself.
    Sleep was her transition from darkness to light, from private to public, from bad to good.
    It took her longer than usual to dress, as her angels looked down at her, regarding her transition to conformity as a creative sell-out.
    She did not look back as her Manolo Blahniks clicked smartly on the Italian marble tile in her foyer, and she headed off to work.

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @AmyBeth: Welcome to the CCC. Such a super, powerful write. YOu entered the CCC with a bang, and hopefully we’ll see you each Monday and Thursday.

      As always, everyone welcome our newest talent into the addiction. Adding your name and url to the CCC Community Links page now.

      • Cathy Miller says:

        @AmyBeth=Welcome to CCC!

        This is the classified home of creativity where naked words come out of the dark to shine in any way you choose. From lewd to laughable, no virtue is spared as the dawn of each challenge brings something new.

        Each week you’ll return with angel-like reverence to sprawl your offerings for all to read, praying for redemption from critics and all who doubt the talent we have inside. The CCC community welcomes all and we hate any who would dress down our intent – to share words and dreams with those who understand.

        Welcome!

    • Welcome to the CCC, AmyBeth. It’s nice to see your brought a taste of the dark side with you.
      This is intense and disturbing, coming as it does from a feminine character’s perspective.
      Great job! No creative sell-out here! 🙂
       
      Cheers,
       
      Mitch
       

    • Thank you all for the warm welcome! And thank you Shane for correcting my lack of bold when I hit the “submit” button too soon lol!
      I’m not usually this dark, but with prompts it’s hard to tell where the words will take me. I blame Leah Petersen… her muse got me drunk.

      • KathleenL says:

        Amy — Welcome to the addiction of CCC. I am a bit late in catchin’ up, but I like your submission, and your response — “her muse got me drunk” I love it. Your writing has flow… I going forward to see if the intoxication continues.

  5. Sisterhood of the Void – Point of No Return

    By virtue of her accurate prediction, Afetar drew the ire of her teammates. The ruined beacon’s rapidly cooling ions sprawled in white liquid splendor, the carelessly discarded dress of a lewd angel.

    Afetar silently noted this wholly unusual conscious energy emanating from her sisters. This energy had never been classified in their mitochondria; it was a naked flavor only once removed from hate, tinged as it was by jealousy of her mental prowess. Slowly, it dawned on her that the sisters’ sentience was being affected by their proximity to the unknown, dark force that seemed to suck on light and covet matter. Perhaps this malevolence would not be satiated until it had fed upon their thoughts?

    Meanwhile, the other sisters began to take note of their burgeoning antipathy. Shock gave way to embarrassment as they came to the conclusion, more or less simultaneously, that this energy was rooted in destruction. Seninna, great-great-granddaughter of The Destroyer, was the lone exception. In fact, she began to pulse with atavistic Bes energies, throwing them off directly toward Afetar. This aggression, also new in the percussive repertoire, forced Afetar to retreat. Seninna, confused mentally but intuitively lucid, closed on her weaker sister with increasing fury.

    “Rekikka, do something!” Jebubba barked the order instinctively.

    Rekikka, still awash in psychic shame, was slow to react. When she did, her own instincts caused her to insinuate herself between the two sisters, invoking her strength: a Ber energy shield. Nearby matter coalesced directly in front of Seninna’s line of fire. The two energies collided, a classic manifestation of irresistible force meeting an immovable object. The annihilation created a massive sheet of conscious thought, absorbing the spilled beacon as well as neutralizing the energies of the contentious sisters.

    As if an umbrella had been opened over them, the team suddenly regained their faculties. Chattering all at once, they tried to make sense of the induced insanity. Neva, emotionally spent, shouted for everyone to head back toward Universe 17 million plus six. She turned with the intention of following her own advice – and was met head-on with a resistive pull that yanked her in the opposite direction, with twice the force she had expended trying to escape. Avena, who had been right behind her mother, was pulled just as viciously. The sisters stopped talking as one.

    Seninna muttered, “What just happened?”

    “I don’t know,” cried Jebubba, “but everything seems to point toward that final destination. If we can’t move backward, dallying here will not change whatever it is that we must face by going forward.”

    “Let’s not be hasty, sister.” Afetar was spinning through permutations, but she needed a few more beats. “Instead, let us consider a strategy.” She was stalling and her sisters knew it. They offered no resistance though, as Jebubba was the only one ready to face the unknown. Afetar, hoping that the colony would pick up her thoughts, switched to mitochondrial recording mode:

    “The events transpiring in this Universe seem to parallel the behavior of universal black holes. They also mirror an energy that I know only from the collective library. Neva, as the oldest, only you can answer this: are we in the presence of our long-lost sister, Bel?”

    This quantum leap of consciousness was so unexpected that Neva could only sputter. “I – I don’t know! Bel was always consuming everything around her, but her energy directed inwardly, seeming to suck all the … OH!” Neva suddenly understood.

    Afetar nodded. “I have determined that, just as Rekikka neutralized Seninna, Bel’s consumption has neutralized the unknown force. In addition, since her last known communication originated from Universe 17 million plus eight, I have concluded that Bel’s energy is powerful enough to reach back to this universe. Therefore, she must be on either Universe 17 million plus eight or Universe 17 million plus nine!”

    “Wait a beat, Afetar,” Jebubba interjected. “Isn’t Universe 17 million plus eight the ultimate Spot Realm universe?”

    “We never had reason to assume otherwise,” Afetar, in her element, pontificated. “However, the record clearly shows that Bel noted that Universe 17 million plus eight was exactly the same size as the rest, so unless the matter thrown off by her creation was consumed, it is logical to expect that another universe was indeed created.

    “The persistence of this powerful energy, abated only by the presence of the new conscious sheet, offers an alternative to the grim supposition that Bel had ‘disappeared’. Consider, instead, that her energy, as powerful as it is, is still radiant. This means that it is most intense at it source. Its sphere of effect is weaker, here. Now, unrelated to the power level, I hypothesize that Bel either had no energy to spare for sending her whole message, or she never left the ultimate universe. In that case, she would have had no need to send her final message!”

    Jebubba was still unconvinced. “But, Afetar, First Sister Bef was able to communicate from Universe 17 million plus eight!”

    Afetar persisted, “Yes, Jebubba. So was Bel! Remember, that last bit of communication was …”

    Here, the team individually consulted the mitochondrial record:
    First, she stated that she was at Universe 17 million plus eight. Next, she noted that she couldn’t see Universe 17 million plus seven, due to the light from thousands of her own creations nearby. Then she remarked that Universe 17 million plus eight had cooled considerably and had not thrown off any plasma. Her final thought was a correction, based on the realization that the universe was the exact same size as every other universe in the Spot Realm!

    With a note of prideful vindication, Afetar concluded, “… and we all just assumed she left the conscious net without finishing with ‘I am following the cosmic dust trail.'”

    “By the hair of First Mother, I accede to your flawless logic.” Jebubba relented. “If I understand you correctly, we must hasten toward Universe 17 million plus eight.”

    Afetar concurred, “You do. And we must!”

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Mitch: I’ll say it again. I don’t know how you do it. Nothing in 17 million plus eight universes is like this series. Well done, man!

      • Thanks, Shane. A bit of pantsing in the sandbox of loosely structured notes. Prior to reading the books of Larry Brooks, I wouldn’t have known better. Now, I do but, still, sometimes it’s just so much fun to wing it to the tune of ten random words.
         
        @Leah Petersen, thanks for this day’s melody!
         
        Cheers,
         
        Mitch
         

    • Anne Wayman says:

      love your light years thinking mitch

    • Cathy Miller says:

      @Mitch-so many great lines - sprawled in white liquid splendor – it was a naked flavor only once removed from hate make the answer obvious, of course, Universe 17 million plus eight is the ultimate Spot Realm universe. Lovin’ it! 🙂

    • Hi Mitch,

      You know I said I don’t quite get this genre, right.  Well, the way you present super-fantastical ideas just might teach me how to “get it.” I think I’m already improving …

      For instance, take this line:

      Afetar, hoping that the colony would pick up her thoughts, switched to mitochondrial recording mode.

      I sure as heck don’t know what a mitochondrial anything is … but “recording” and “mode” takes me there. Something like ESP, right?

      Stop laughing at me! 😀

      • Vernessa, the beauty of fantasy/sci-fi is that readers can do exactly what you did – fill in the gaps.
        Mitochondria is found in most living cells. It’s a busy little beaver: it supplies energy to the cell, signals it to become a liver or an iris (differentiation) and also when to expire.
         
        My use for it stems from the unique way in which copies are passed from mother to daughters (via the egg, with no help from Mr. Sperm.) I’ve imagined that an entire history might be encoded within the mitochondria of the Sisterhood. Taking giant liberties, as I have no idea how such a feat would be implemented.
         
        Cheers,
         
        Mitch
         
         
         

  6. Shane Arthur says:

    programming note: Here’s why I want you guys to write what ever the bleep you want to here at the CCC: http://johnnybtruant.com/the-universe-doesnt-give-a-flying-fuck-about-you/
     
     

    • And you thought I made up the bit about lewd angels. ROFL
       
      Johnny is one of those rare writers who gets it, says it and cares not one whit what you think about what his words.
       
      Great link!!!
       
      Cheers,
       
      Mitch
       

  7. Megan dipped her toes into the cool water of the stream. Warm, naked contentment seeped through her like the mud squishing up between her fingers as she leaned back on her hands and tipped her face up to the dawn-washed sky and the slow drizzle of spring rain. Virtuous young ladies didn’t sprawl on the riverbank in a mud splattered dress with their feet bare to the world, but virtuous young ladies didn’t have any fun, either.

    “No man will have you but me,” her father would say, shadows of lewd suggestions in his eyes. Megan wanted nothing to do with anything he classified as right or wrong anymore than she wanted his hands on her in the dark.

    “There’s no help for it,” her mother said. Megan refused to believe that.

    And so she wasn’t surprised the night her father died, the gurgle of blood his only protest, looking up with terror in those eyes at the angel of hatred and vengeance standing over his bed. Megan didn’t smile but nor did she weep as she wiped the knife clean on the hem of his shirt.

  8. Adam M says:

    “Look, it’s almost dawn, if I could just…”
     
    “No, the information is classified,” Johnathon said brusquely. He stepped back, fiddling with his glasses. As he moved out of the lone source of light, I could just barely make out the hate in his eyes. “Patience is a virtue,” he continued, “and no matter how we try to dress this up, I’m not at all convinced you’re an asset to this operation.”
     
    “You say that now, but the last time you tried to do this alone you ended up with a sprawl of information, and a naked backside.” I adjusted my position into what I hoped was something resembling confidence and gave him a lewd look, “I’m your guardian angel, and you know it.”
     
    “That may be the case,” Johnathon said darkly, “It’s not up to me, anyway. You’ll have to deal with the council.”
     
    I slumped down in my chair. This wasn’t going to turn out well.

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Adam M: Welcome! Man, that was some tight, skilled writing. You’re a word slinger too I see. So cool that you stopped by. I hope you stop by each Monday and Thursday from now on. This place is a wonderful place to moderate, with all the great talent and personalities here.
      Everyone welcome Adam M to the fun. I’m adding your name to the CCC Community Links page. Do you have a website? If so, let me know. If not, why not? … your words need a place to grow.

      • Adam M says:

        Thanks for the welcome! I just discovered your site earlier this week, but this is the first time I’ve finished the challenge (particularly grueling writer’s block today, so it was really helpful!). I’m looking forward to contributing more to this great community.
         
        As far as a website goes, unfortunately I don’t have quite enough time in the day to give one enough love, and an abandoned and unloved website just seems so much worse than one that doesn’t exist (yet). 🙂

    • Welcome to the CCC, Adam.
      Great submission. Loaded with questions!
       
      Cheers,
       
      Mitch
       

    • Hi Adam M,
       
      You’ve got some mad skills!  I’m feeling for this guy … Gotta know how things turn out for him!
       
      Welcome!

  9. (And all in order no less!)

    The room had been classified ‘Private’ by the lock turned in, as it contained her naked frame. The door was dark and though some might whisper of lewd adventures and strange guests invited across the threshold instead there lay a woman of virtue. Dawn, the angel sprawled comfortably with legs battling the air childishly, considered her hate for the dress hanging upon the wardrobe before her; a flutter of crinoline, chiffon and pink.  Was it just the colour or the assumptions accompanying it that stirred such distaste she couldn’t decide.

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Lisa-Marie: Welcome to the CCC. What a great submission (and in order as you noted). I can see this scene so clearly in my mind. Well done. You’re the 3rd person to try the CCC today. What did you think of the exercise? Hope you liked it.

      I’ll add your name to the CCC Community Links page now too. Everyone welcome Lisa_Marie to the fun.

      • It was fun! I’m normally terribly at this sort of thing (I’ve tried the 5-min fiction via Leah and It’s always been impossible to post what I’ve come up with) But it was nice to see a result!
        A little vaigue but I’m a fan of that, haha.
        Look forward to future CCC’s!

        • Shane Arthur says:

          @Lisa: Nothing’s impossible. You should post regardless of what you come up with. That’s the most important thing. You post, writer’s block loses. We’ll see you on Monday. 🙂

        • I agree with Shane. I’ve written some real stinkers for 5MinuteFiction before but I put them up anyway. Just gotta be brave. 😉
          I’m glad CCC worked for you. 5MinuteFiction doesn’t work for everyone. We all write how we write.

          • Leah/Shane:
            Okay! I give in to the Perr Pressure! (Kidding of course!) I’ll try the 5MinuteFiction next time and post no matter how bad. Or I’ll try to remember, sometimes I miss it while at work.

    • Welcome to the CCC, Lisa-Marie!
      That first sentence is killer!
      I enjoyed the whole submission, too 🙂
       
      Cheers,
       
      Mitch
       

    • maria says:

      nicely done in such a few words! Very nice~!

  10. Y’all are soooo talented.  I know how Billy and Bobby feel in fine company.  Even so, here we go!
     
    ####
     
    They called her Angel.  She was born at dawn, on the cusp of the day, so they figured she’d bring them luck.

    They named him Angel. Naked as the emperor before his tailor decided to fit him for new clothes, (who by the day looked better in his birthday suit after dark), his secret birth was classified.

    Crumpling the sheet, I tossed it at Rick’s head as he lay lewdly sprawled across the settee. “Why don’t you get dressed, you’re messing with my muse!”

    Damn, I hate it when the thoughts won’t gel. Such is the virtue of creative tinkering.

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Vernessa: Sorry, your submission was buried under 196 spam messages. I found it and restored it. Since this is your second submission, this should not happen again. As with the first one, I loved this. YOU’RE the talented one. Great submission.

  11. Felicity Dawn
    Gavin had seen the add in the classifieds. DAWN: Tall dark-haired vixen to fulfill your every fantasy.  She had shown up at his apartment at twelve-thirty, alone.  He saw the delivery car drive away.
    He watched her in the lobby from his security camera, her dress, barely covering the areas to which he was most facinated, breasts, thighs and buttox.  She bent over to read the numbers for the apartments, it was as if she knew she was being watched.  She typed in the number and Gavin buzzed her in even before the keypad had a chance to acknowledge her entry.
    He switched his camera view to the elevator.  She looked directly at him through the one way mirror and applied a thick layer of lipstick to her lips then spritzed some perfume on her neck.  She lifted her leg exposing thin satin adorned with an embroidered angel.  She pulled her panties aside, her naked cunt inches from the mirror.  The camera silently moved down it’s track at Gavin’s insistence.  She rubbed a cream over her clitorus and down her labia then spread it around the gates of her vagina.  She squeezed a bit more out of the tube then rubbed it around her asshole then let her panties fall back into place.
    The elevator dinged at her chosen floor, she took one last look in the mirror and entered the hallway.  He pulled the images from both ends onto his screens and watched her simultaneously walk away and towards him.  Her walk told him that she was a little high, but not soaring, that was good, much more fun that way.  The lewd acts he was going to perform on her wouldn’t be lost in a fog of narcotic waste.
    Dawn knocked on the door.  From the angle of the camera Gavin could just barely see the door jams.  He rewound the tapes and paused them, then left his office.  He sprinted up the two flights of stairs and looked in the hallway.  She was just entering the apartment.  He knew she would be let in.  The man that lived there was no more than a teenager, a teenager that knew more about Quantum Mechanics and World of Warcraft strategies than woman, a teenager that graduated from university at sixteen but had likely never been laid.
    Gavin waited outside the door.  He could hear murmurs of conversation as Dawn seduced the boy who tried not to cum in his pants before she suceeded.  When he could no longer hear them he slipped his key into the door and quietly entered.  All of the lights were on.  He heard a woman’s laughter from the bedroom.
    “Your friends must really like you!” She said.
    “But I hate them for doing this, I can’t believe it.  Who sent you?”  He asked.
    Gavin didn’t hear anything more that a body hitting the bed.  Dawn would never tell, the deal was done.  The creditcard used had the name of Geoff Hannah on it, it was valid, but not real.
    Gavin waited for the sounds of the bedsprings again.  He heard them.
    Only Dawn noticed his entry.  She sat on top of the boy, her dress hiked up over her hips slowly fucking away his virtue.  She didn’t know what to do at first, her movements slowed.
    “Gavin?”  She asked
    He grinned at her.
    “How the fuck did you find me?” Fear rose in her eyes.  The boy proped himself up on his arms and looked at Gavin about to scream.  Gavin waved his finger at him, the boy froze.
    “Hello Felicity I thought that may be you, although I have sent a lot of dark haired whores to a lot of little geeks before I found you.”  Gavin pulled a knife out of the back of his pants.  “I see you still travel alone, do you still keep that Derringer tucked away under your bra or have you moved it under the pillow already?”
    Gavin made his way around the bed and found the dainty pistol tucked under the blankets.
    Both parties looked naked an vulnerable, which they were, neither were making any moves, finally Felicity spoke up. “Why are you doing this Gavin? Did you fall in love with me? You knew what I was.”
    “Oh don’t worry, I didn’t fall in love with you.”  He said.  “Did you fall in love with me? I bet you didn’t know what I was did you? I think you were the one wanting a ‘Pretty Woman’ ending.  I’m not Richard Gere, I’m more…” Gavin tried to find an apt character to compare himself to, “…Sweeney Todd.
    He knew the moment, the breif seconds between realization of death and the scream, he had heard it before, many times.  It was an empty scream, in a flash the knife ripped through Felicity’s neck, her vocal chords no longer attached, air that would have gone through them escaped, without a sound and only the fear on her face showed any signs of a noise.
    The quickly dying brunette still held the teenagers swollen cock inside her, her death throws tightening her cunt around it trapping him.  He shifted underneath her and attempted to escape.
    “I love these little guns, they’re so quiet.”  The kid froze.  Gavin had grabbed one of Felicity’s arms and inserted the pistol and aimed it.  A quiet pop went off and a red dot appeared on the naked boys forehead.  From a distance a Derringer was little threat, but at this close of range the bullet quickly scrambled his brains.  He fell back onto the bed.
    Gavin cleaned and arranged the scene.  Poor dawn, she never should have come up here alone, these little nerdy types are a lot more dangerous than you’d think.  The missing kitchen knife dropped out of the teenagers hand and onto the floor.
    Gavin returned to the security desk and unpaused the tapes.  The real security guard lay sprawled out beside his chair, the two hundred pounds of excess weight had finally caught up with him.  Apparently it had been a bad night in Hillcrest House.

  12. Shane Arthur says:

    @D. Ryan: That was fantastic. And you didn’t hold back anything … which I love. Welcome to the CCC and I hope to see more of your style here. Everyone welcome D. Ryan. Powerful stuff.

    • Cathy Miller says:

      o.k. this is going to have to be a group hug 🙂
      ===============================
      @Adam M, @Lisa Marie, @Tim, @D Ryan – Welcome to CCC!
       
      No need to look in a classified for the naked truth about CCC. The dark, lewd virtue is true as sure as you’ll find the dawn of an angel song, too.

      As the words sprawl across the screen, they take on many forms. You are sure to find some you love. And if you hate to dress the part, you can hide behind the mask of words.

      Welcome!

  13. Tim Wallis says:

    “Just put it on!” said Jami.
    “No, I look like a stupid naked baby angel,” said Dawn.
    “I said, you could wear the dress,” replied Jami.
    “I’m not going to wear the dress. I hate the dress. I look stupid in the dress. Plus, it’s too dark for my complexion.”
    “You’re being a real jerk about this.”
    “Oh, I’m sorry! Would you prefer me sprawled out on top of a piano, putting out an ad in the classifieds: For a good time call Dawn!”
    “Now, you’re just being ridiculous.”
    “And you’re still a skank,” said Dawn with frustration.
    “Make all the lewd comments you want. You’re still doing this.”
    “Being a witch. It’s my most favorite of all your virtues.”
    “There, you go. Positive attitude. I like it. Are you ready? The music is starting.”
    “I guess. Do they normally have strippers at a funeral?” asked Dawn.
    “I don’t know, but you’re putting in the fun today!”
     

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Tim: Fantastic 1st submission. I’m trying to imagine a stripper at a funeral! Damn, that would be unreal.
      Hope to see you back each Monday and Thursday too. What did you think of the challenge?
      Everyone welcome Tim to The Triple C.

      • Tim Wallis says:

        Thanks @Shane. This was really fun. Thank @Leah. I follow her 5 Minute fiction, and I noticed she was posting the words this week. Great time. I’ll def come back to play.

    • Welcome to the CCC, Tim! That has to be the funniest line I read today:
       
      “I guess. Do they normally have strippers at a funeral?”
       
      Cheers,
       
      Mitch
       
       

    • maria says:

      Excellent dialogue! I could picture the whole thing!

      • Tim Wallis says:

        Thank you Maria! I love dialogue. Every novel, play, or screenplay idea always stems from a conversation that I see and hear first. I spring out from that with conflict that comes from the initial convo.

    • Lydia says:

      Welcome, Tim. What a fun submission!

  14. Anne Maybus says:

    Tears are classified as acceptance.   
    It doesn’t matter what you say.    
    By virtue of that weakness
    They find a way to make you pay.

    Pinned down naked in groaning dark
    A sprawl of hate across my face
    I cry out loud against the dawn
    And memories that I can’t erase.

    Lewd conversations lurk in the hall
    Judgement drips from every word
    Dress them up in kind concern
    As though those words had gone unheard

    Head held high and shoulders back
    Vitriol courses through my brain
    While graffiti smiles tattoo my face
    I’m a ravaged angel deep in pain.

  15. maria says:

     

    The classified ad
    had been simple, alluring to a girl whose desperation was reaching critical,
    but my initial meeting with ‘Mr. Henry’ left me suspicious of his motives. I
    was required to wear a short skirt, accompany him on out-of-town meetings and
    take dinner with him after dark. He had
    a wife and two children but also a wallet with a seemingly endless supply of
    clothes, shoes and hairstyles. When he made advances, I gave in and pretended
    that I wasn’t breaking every rule a young woman can break.

     

    My vomiting alerted him to a problem that neither of us
    would discuss. He ignored the issue until I broke down and confessed my fears
    about the future, to which he informed me there wasn’t one.

     

    I picked up my final check the next day, deciding to use it
    on the one thing that would save me, from financial ruin, from him, from
    myself. It was the abortionist’s knife or one of my own; dishonor before an
    unreachable savior or disaster, both for me and my unborn child.

     

    My friend Susan recommended him, as he had taken care of her
    after she’d gotten caught and her boyfriend left her. I stole through the wet
    streets, my hate for the meaningless
    sprawl of urban life reaching a crescendo,
    when I took a turn into an alley. As promised, his was the last door on the
    left. Black. How fitting.

     

    The room was filthy. A set of knitting needles lay on the
    table. That was it. No other equipment, not even a sink for him to wash his
    hands, was visible. He did not greet me, other than to hold out a grubby hand
    and say, ‘Fifty dollars. Cash.’

     

    The virtue that
    my mother had so carefully cultivated lay in waste, as his lewd gaze upon my flesh was the last sight I would glimpse with
    purity. Later, as I knelt before the angel,
    I was struck by the bright sun that streamed through the stained glass windows,
    snatched naked before God. I
    collapsed, regret filling me for what I had done, even as the blood soaked my
    dress and leaked from me, drop by drop by drop. I found no solace from the
    savior; thus had no desire to drag myself up to find a real doctor.

     

    So I lay there, in the small church, awaiting the dawn, and death.

     

     

  16. Chris Fries says:

     
    Hey everyone!  Happy Friday, and also: Happy Canada Day to any North-of-the-Border readers.
    Was crazy busy yesterday, so just posting this now, and as a warning — I’m going to be on Vacation next week, so my schedule will be erratic and I may miss one or both of the posts.  I will catch up once I get back, though.  So also an Happy Fourth of July in advance should I not be here.

    For this post, I put together what might be a fun spin on the BOPO murder-mystery opening (“Body On Page One”).  I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading!

    “The Twelve”

    Dawn came slowly; a reddening in the eastern sky that gradually pushed the dark away and steadily blossomed until there was enough light to see by.  But daylight revealed little that the glaring spotlights had not already illuminated for the past two hours — twelve naked bodies in a curving sprawl, centered on a ten-foot totem pole erected in the middle of field of weeds a few miles out of town.  LeVon Wilson had seen some weird shit in his ten years as homicide detective, but this one had already climbed to the top of the Bizarro-list and was still shooting up the charts.

    First off were the bodies themselves — seven women and five men, approximate ages from 25 to 50, with no obvious cause of death.  There were no gunshots wounds, no blunt-force trauma, no lacerations or puncture wounds, no marks of strangulation, and no outward indication of poisoning.  The coroner wouldn’t speculate on a prelim COD, but Wilson was leaning towards ingested poison.  Or maybe carbon monoxide, although damned if he knew how that would have been pulled off in the middle of an open field.  There people sure as Hell hadn’t been sucking on some car exhaust.

    Wilson didn’t like to jump to conclusions, but he was thinking this one was going to get classified as some sort of freakin’ cult thinning the gene pool through a group suicide pact or something.  But there was no half-empty jug of Kosmic Kool-Aid sitting in the middle of the circle, no empty cups, no hint of tainted granola bars, no pill bottles, no nothing — either next to the bodies or anywhere in the field. 

    Also, there were no vehicles or vehicle tracks indicating that they’d gotten dropped off or that a driver had remained behind to remove the evidence.  The ground was soft and still slightly wet from the dew — it would have been almost impossible to leave tracks, but there was nothing.  Did these people walk here from somewhere?  Naked?   If so, why did they undress beforehand?

    Wilson leaned down and looked at the body nearest to him.  It was a white female, approximately 30 years old, and still attractive, even in death.  She was next to the body of a Hispanic male, but there was nothing lewd in the way they were arranged — they weren’t even holding hands.   The woman’s eyes were wide open and her mouth was slightly parted in an odd Mona-Lisa smile.  There were few wrinkles on her, and while she had no make-up on, she also had no blemishes, no acne scars, perfectly white teeth, and neatly-cut hair.  She was nothing like the crack whores and meth addicts who were normally the women victims of the cases Wilson worked — those poor souls who’d lived hard, traumatic lives and OD’d or died in outbursts of hate and violence much too early in their young lives.  No, this woman seemed more like she’d lived a life of peace and virtue and had just calmly and joyfully been lifted up on the wings of an angel.

    Even more disturbing was the state of the body.  Preliminary temperature reading indicated that these people had died around midnight last night, but there were no hints of any of the normal processes of death.  No external loss of body fluids, no discoloration of lividity, no rigor mortis, and — even though they had laid out for six hours in an open field on a warm summer’s night — no sign of animal predation or insect activity.  

    There wasn’t even a fly flitting around any of them.

    Wilson stood and brushed his gloved hands together.

    One-hundred percent totally weird shit.  He’d never seen anything like it.  He had no idea what had killed these people. 

    Wilson just knew he wanted to find out.

  17. Lydia says:

    Let’s see how much story I can fit into two paragraphs! 😀
    ——-

    “What is it, Ed?”
     
    “A confession of sorts.” He began to read aloud. “Angels sighed in the dawn and when the last drop of dark virtue had been tasted you accompanied them back to the place we all will one day know. I hate the lewd sprawl of your dress over the back of the chair in the sick room, the pinched, naked stares of the children in the front hall when I officially arrived to pray for the deceased. More than anything I wish I had never answered that classified ad.”
     
    “The baby was his,” Marlene realized. “That could have caused quite a stir.”

  18. Anne Wayman says:

    another site of mine…and why am I getting notice so late? any clue?
     

    She danced naked from dark to dawn. Some classified her as lewd, and hated her. One offered to dress her. But most saw her virtue and thought her an angel as she sprawled to music only she perceived.

  19. Rebecca says:

    The angel in Sector 54 was classified information. He was found wandering around on Miller’s farm which has been abandoned for years. The angel wore a loose garment but it wasn’t a dress; it was more like a sheath. His virtue was apparent and was written all over him. The sprawl of his wings seemed to go on forever. They definitely surpassed the wandering albatross’s wing span. One thing is for sure, paintings don’t do angels justice.

    It was a dawn of a new era, and the people would hate it if they found out their government lied to them. There would be anarchy in the streets and on Capitol Hill. The days of bullshitting the public are long gone. They finally took the country back. They are no longer good sheep, following like they used to. They stripped the government until they were naked, exposing their dark side for the entire world to see. Lewd, yes it was. But it was only a matter of time before the people woke up from their long slumber.

  20. Rebecca says:

    @ Shane … Lol! Billy and Bobby are great characters.

  21. Olivia Drewe says:

    This is my first time. I hope it’s not too late…
     
    Sometimes I hate his beauty. He sprawls, golden hair tousled carefully, on the four poster that threatens to envelop him. His torso is bare, and lightly tanned. He looks up at me and I imagine it’s almost like an invitation. I’m caught in his eyes, every time pulled down by the riptide of dark blue.
    “Hi.” I call out. He ignores me. I smooth my dress even though it has been pressed perfectly already. I can feel every fibre on the tips of my fingers. He turns over, pushes himself up slightly, and flawless muscles flow across his naked back. He slumps, head on pillow, defeated by the idea of getting up. I want to reach out and touch him, but instead I curl my fists, biting my nails deep into my flesh.
    “I have a new assignment for you.” More harshly that I should, I jerk open the cutrains and he winces from the bright light of dawn. His skin shines in the sun’s ray, like an angel rising up to heaven.
    “Mm?” This is his customary apathetic greeting. It reflects his normal attitude; indifference. It is perhaps his best, yet worst virtue for our line of work.
    The woman in his bed tweaks the covers up higher, hiding her eyes. I wonder if she knows how many have slept there. She won’t last past the week, like all the others.
    Classified.
    “And? Melanie won’t tell anyone.” She pops her head up, braving the morning.
    “It’s Amy!” She says, outraged. He scans her and runs a hand lewdly over her body, burshing the covers away, despite my presence. She wriggles away.
    “You pig!” He reaches for her again. She smacks his hand, getting all the way out of bed and pulls on a top.
    “It’s all the same Mel- I mean Amy. Look. I’m sorry.” He exclaims, although seems more resigned than apolegetic. She glares at me, like it’s my fault she hooked up with the greatest dick around. She runs out, shooting a final hate filled stare at us both, before scurrying away. The door slowly swings shut, a final click interupting the silence. He looks momentarily bewildered. My palms must be bleeding, my nails are digging so deep. Then he glances at me and I think I’m going to die. A smirk dances on his lips.
    “Come join me.” He says. I want to slap that tease off his gorgeous face. Instead, I turn, and walk away. What a wonderful start to the day.

    • Cathy Miller says:

      @Olivia-Welcome to CCC! You get your own since you snuck in behind my group hug 🙂
      ======================
       
      This is classified greatness with simple, naked fun. We run the gamut from dark and lewd to the warm virtue of the breaking dawn with an angel touch.

      So, sprawl in the meadow of words that hate to be left alone as you dress them up in their finest and party with a community that knows.

      Welcome!

    • Welcome to the CCC, Olivia! What a wonderful way to start your journey through the CCC 🙂
      My favorite line:
      His skin shines in the sun’s ray, like an angel rising up to heaven.
       
      I’m looking forward to many more from your pen!
       
      Cheers,
       
      Mitch


       

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Olivia: A HUGE welcome to the CCC from me. That was fantastic. You must tell me more of this submission. Perhaps in another challenge. I thought you were going to trick me at the end and make the POV be of a cat or something. Great write. I’ll add your name and URL to our CCC Community page now. See you every Monday and Thursday.

  22. Stuart Nager says:

    Classified: Personals
    ANGEL OF THE NAKED DAWN wanted for a lewd sprawl through dark alleyways and back rooms. No dress required; forget virtue, come as you are and scream your pleasure. You’ll hate yourself in the morning.

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Stuart: Welcome to the CCC. Sorry for the late welcome though. I like your style and I love the short form submissions too.
      Hope to see you around each Monday and Thursday. Everyone welcome Stuart to our addiction.
      P.S. I like the word weaver challenge I saw linked on your website. I’ll have to contact them and see if we can’t get our two groups together. Thanks.

      • Stuart Nager says:

        Shane: Thank you for the welcome. I was just flexing, first time around. I’ll be back later for today’s.
         
        Hi everyone.

        • Shane Arthur says:

          @Stuart: We only do our challenges on Mondays and Thursdays though. We didn’t want to burn out everyone so we decided on the twice a week schedule. But we’ll see you Thursday.

  23. Rebecca says:

    Thanks Cathy and Mitch 🙂

  24. Casper says:

    Listening to the monotonous drone of the machines,swishing and swirling the loads with a nonchalant venom. The dark streets outside the windows had an air of spite.Everything in this dingy neighborhood seemed far from virtuous ,rather filled with hate.
    I flipped through pages of the local classifieds filled mostly with semi nude pictures of females with lewd comments scribbled on them.Behold ! there she was. Sprawled across the center page was a face of an angel,the naked silhouette of her heavenly body almost visible through her skimpy dress.
    The sharp,creaking noise of the door was loud enough to move my riveted eyes towards the entrance where a lady was struggling to get the pile of clothes in.I hurried to help her pick up the ones she dropped. As she straightened herself after getting them together,she moved the hair off her face, the same angelic face.She introduced herself “Hi, I’m Dawn“. I could help muttering to myself “Sure you are”.

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Casper: Such a cool, cool scene you painted here. Makes me want to do some laundry. 🙂

      • Casper says:

        @Shane : hee hee….My laundry experiences never went beyond the magazines scrawled on the tables…better luck to you.

  25. Kathie says:

    As dawn rose on a beautiful Saturday morning she wondered if today would be the day she would meet her angel, the one that would walk with her, side by side, through the rest of her life.
    No stranger to being alone, she had often wondered if this was her lot, to simply live a solitary life.  She hoped not as she was beginning to hate the fact that she was always alone, never having someone to be by her side, someone to sprawl in bed with on a lazy Sunday morning or someone to lie naked with and share her deepest and most lewd thoughts.
    By her virtue she was the only one of her friends who remained single.  Was her virtue a curse or a blessing?  She was beginning to think that is was the former and that it would never end.
    Making what could be a life changing decision, she quickly put on her sexiest summer dress, applied a light dusting of makeup and headed out the door to her favourite coffee shop.
    While waiting for her morning latte to be brought to her table, she scanned the classifieds in the local paper, doing something she never thought she would ever do, looking for that angel in the personals column, the one who would forevermore change her world.
    As the waiter approached her table she felt silly for being caught reading the personals and even sillier as he noticed the ad she had circled, the one that caught her eye instantly.
    To her astonishment, the waiter delivered her latte, bent towards her and slowly kissed her neck whilst whispering “you took your time, I’ve been running that ad for the past three months, waiting and hoping you would read it eventually”.
    Amazingly, the angel she sought had been the one she saw everyday and one she had totally overlooked.

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Kathie: That was an outstanding 1st submission. Super cool. I wish that happened to everyone who needs that to happen. Welcome and I hope to see you each Monday and Thursday too.
      Adding your name and url to our CCC Community Links page now. Everyone welcome Kathie to the addiction.

      • Cathy Miller says:

        @Stuart and @Kathie-Welcome to CCC! Sorry, a bit late here with the holiday.
         
        Take out a classified, the naked truth is CCC is the place to be. It’s no longer a deep, dark secret. From the lewd and lascivious to the virtue of innocents, the dawn of awakening has arrived. No angel trumpets required – just the sprawl of words from the keyboards of creativity.

        If you hate the noise, turn off the sound and dress the part of a dreamer.

        Welcome!

        • Shane Arthur says:

          @Cathy: Dress the part of a dreamer! Classic Cathy Miller right there.

        • Shane Arthur says:

          @Cathy:

          “It’s classified how Cathy does it, man!” I mean, that’s the naked truth. She won’t tell us how she does it; she keeps it a deep, dark secret.”

          “She seems to be able to do anything from lewd to vitruous, from dusk till dawn.”

          “Yeah, man. She’s an angel with words sprawled all over her fingertips. We address her as The Welcome Queen.”

          “Cool!”

  26. Martha says:

    The manila folder looked more impressive with the big classified stamp on its front compared to its plainer fellows in the drawer.  Sandra wondered if she should read it now or wait until later. Time was passing quickly and she would need to be on the road before dawn. She pushed aside her curiosity and stuffed the folder in her tote. Moving quickly, she crept out of the study and held her breath as the door snicked shut. Even though the house was empty, she felt exposed, as if hidden eyes were watching her eagerly with a lewd anticipation. Even though she was fully dressed, Sandra always imagined herself naked, her virtue no longer providing the protective cover she craved. She moved down the hall and into the kitchen. Soon she’d be in her car gunning for the Interstate. The blow, when it came, was glancing and she sprawled inelegantly on the back steps. “So how’s my fallen angel this evening?” Sandra looked up and heard the hateful voice from her nightmares. She whimpered as the hand came again and she fell into the dark.

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Martha: That was PERFECT! I have so many unanswered questions with this submission. You should continue this for sure.

  27. Shane Arthur says:

    programming note: I’ve been away for 4 days doing some Epic Sh!t (as my last link to Johnny B. Truant mentioned.) Building a deck, painting some rooms, etc. I’ll welcome all the new folks I saw in my admin tomorrow. Welcome you guys. until then. 🙂

  28. Rebecca says:

    @ Shane … Thank you! I have plenty of ideas for films and fiction books that would probably make people pull the covers over their head or scratch their head. Lol!

  29. KathleenL says:

    Sheer gossamer draped her curvaceous body from dawn to dark. As she walked… or was it glided… over the grass… the opaque
    cloth shielded her naked body from
    the eyes of some; from the lewd and lascivious,
    but she was meant to be seen, by some, by one.

     As heads turned the skid-row
    wino could be heard saying, “Angel.”

    Admittedly, it was a slur of the letters and the word, but
    the word was heard clearly by her. She stopped. Turning on a heal, devoid of a calluses,
    she changed directions like the leaves of a Poplar tree in a cool summer
    breeze.

    Saddened, momentarily, by the squallier that Jimmy lay in,
    she looked past it. How this classified
    as adequate housing for one … she wondered.  She found him sprawled out atop the cardboard once again.

    He snarled, unwilling to believe his half-open blurry eyes,
    again.

    “Do not hate my
    dear man,” she said soothingly. She could feel his isolation and the tormenting
    memories that filled his mind while the extract from the grape could not numb
    him as he wished. “Do not hate my
    dear man, especially thyn own self,” she reached down to stroke his long matted
    silver hair.

    He half-heartedly flopped a hand at her, slapping at the
    air, as if he were swatting a fly.

    “He is still not ready to come, my Lord,” she said softly.

    She lingered a moment longer, “forgive Jimmy, forgive all,
    including yourself.”

    The dulcet tones of her words slowly reach him… deep within
    his stupor. It was a voice he thought he recognized. He slowly raised his torso
    up, just in time to gain the reward – a glimpse of her dress.  Even  the Thunderbird haze that fogged all he experienced
    could not conceal her virtue… he had
    always been able to see that clearly. Oh, how he longed to be with her day-in
    and day-out. She faded from his view. He lay back down in disbelief that she would
    still be coming for him. That anyone would come for him.

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Kathleen: That was outstanding. I don’t think I’ve ever read a story with a scene such as this one. Great, great job.


  30. The tiny floral dress lay ripped and stained in the far corner behind a stack of tire rims. If you glanced at that dim corner of the garage unknowingly, it appeared to be just another rag amongst an oil stain, just another piece of trash. In today’s humidity, the metallic odor assaulted my sense of smell immediately when I drew open the front door, causing an instant gag reflex. The smell of blood was even stronger than the odour of oil, grease and gas. My first thought was “just how much blood has to be in here to smell that bad?”  I hated that I knew the answer.
     
    Her naked body was sprawled across a tarp in the center of the garage, her blood drained into several oil-pans. This little girl who once possessed the innocence and joy of an angel, had faced the most evil monstrosity that this world had in its midst. He took her virtue as if it were something disposable. The killer was now classified as a serial rapist and murderer but I was convinced that it was Satan in human disguise.  Only the devil himself could perform such lewd, horrific acts and manage to escape our grasp time and time again.
     
    As I stood in the garage, surveying the scene before the rest of the response team arrived, I listened to the rain falling on the rooftop and thought, “What am I missing?” “What is the missing piece?”
     
    Lightning flashed, temporarily lighting the darkened interior with the flashbulb of God and then I saw it; an almost indiscernible blue tattoo on her left heel.
     
    Suddenly it dawned on me and the missing piece slid into place.

     

  31. Kelly says:

    I DON’T LOVE YOU ANYMORE. SINCERELY… ETC.

    Look. I ran away to these green woods because I can’t handle being with you.

    It’s too intimate, and so is this confession.

    I’ve been forced into visits twenty times since I left last year and I’ve done nothing but talk trash about you; doesn’t that tell you something?

    Dawn breaks over these hills. The silence is… strange. It’s not silent, for one thing—nature is a noisy angel—but it’s better than your constant screaming. There, I said it. It’s not a classified secret any more. I hate the way you sound.

    What else?

    I hate the way I have to dress for you. Here, I could sprawl naked in my backyard and no one would think it lewd. No one would be looking! I could probably get halfway down the street before running into anyone, too, and that is okay with me. With you, anything but dark jeans and a black t-shirt seems gauche, and you let me know—You didn’t get the memo, you sneer at me. You don’t fit in with my hipster crowd!

    The hell with your hipsters.

    You don’t see the virtue in my way of thinking. I don’t see the virtue of continuing this letter.

    I might not even send it.

    Maybe re-write it?

    Dear New York: Just leave me the heck alone. I don’t love you anymore. Sincerely… etc.

  32. […] Word Challenge for Creative Copy Challenge. […]


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