Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #165

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. Wait
  2. Take
  3. Normal
  4. Change
  5. Home
  6. Understand
  7. Important
  8. Piece
  9. Lost
  10. Body

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.)

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


111 Comments on “Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #165”

  1. Shane Arthur says:

    “Hey Billy! Normally I’d wait ‘till shower month to wash my chiseled body, but wit these here co-ed dorm showers, I can’t wait to takes one every day.”

    “Me either, Bobby. Did you see da body on dat redhead in room 212? She’s built like a brick outhouse wit dimples. She done walked in front of me, changed into her birthday suit, and got into da shower stall. I walked in behind her claiming I found a lost lizard and needed to find a good home for it. Apparently she ain’t understood the joke too well, ‘cause she grabbed me by my lizard-piece and told me dat only lizards grow back stuff dats been ripped off.”

    “Billy, dat’s an important detail to know. Nows I understands why you’s pissing sideways and everybody’s callin’ you Peyronie.”

    • Kelly says:

      Cover The Kid’s eyes again…


      These dudes jes’ never let up!! I don’t know how you keep up wi’ them, Shane!

      • Shane Arthur says:

        @Kelly: Is she still reading the CCC?

        • Kelly says:

          Shane–I read ’em to her, when they’d interest her. It’s a place for grownups to let off creative steam, so I can’t just let her scroll through.

          Heck, I gotta cover my own eyes a lot. There’s loads of gore and other rated-R stuff going on here, y’know!!

          (I keep a file of all of my own submissions at home, and on those, I write “NSFK” on the titles so she’ll know which ones of mine are no good for her to re-read. Lucky me, she likes Mama’s stories –and lots of other folks’ CCC stories, as well!)

    • Jeanette R. says:

      @Shane. “Lizard-piece”? LMAO!  I’m sure he is pissing sideways for other reasons but this one will do 😉

    • Shane, you are soooo bad! LOL
      Shower month, huh? Bill and Bobby got more than filthy mouths and minds.

    • Cathy Miller says:

      @Shane-this is getting downright scary how easily this flows for you – so to speak 😀

  2. Kelly says:


    The porch on this old house could use some paint

    How long have I been standing here
    just listening to the rain come down
    Why can’t I ever shed a tear
    in the sun

    To you, it was important that this piece of our world not change
    You’d never understand the need for paint

    You used to say
    when you thought that it’d make my day
    that if the porch would stand
    the body of the house could fall
    We used to play
    and love and dream and rock away
    to the stars so grand
    from under this roof so small

    But one day when it was raining, you had to take a drive
    Such a normal tale; it ought to make me smile
    The truck got a flat and an old friend stopped
    She called triple-A and when she hopped
    back to her Lincoln, you knocked
    and you waited in her car
    That bitch.
    The porch on this old home could use some paint…
    and I guess I lost my painter.

    Woo, woo, woo-oo.

  3. Jeanette R. says:

    Continued from #164

    As soon as Stacey left to the gym, Jerry popped out of his recliner and got to work. He knew he had about an hour to prep before she came home. He couldn’t understand why she wasted a gym membership when all she did was buy protein shakes and read her magazines on the stationary bike. Humph, and she talks about me wasting money on my birds.

    He grabbed the remote control and started banging across the parakeet cages while opening each one. “Let’s go boys. The day you have been training for is here.” The birds stood at attention as if waiting for orders. It was normal for them to sleep the majority of the day but he had trained them to be ready for anything.

    Jerry wanted to take his time and make it seem like it was an accident.  He could hear Nancy Grace’s voice on tomorrow’s show reporting on birds run amok in the suburbs.  It was important for him to allow them to have their shining moment.  They will never doubt the strength of these beautiful creatures again. 

    Ever since he discovered his wife’s plans of killing him, Jerry had made it a point to kill her first.  He had noticed a change in her behavior so he started hacking into her email account to find her visiting various incriminating websites. He set up his own fake account and signed up to the same dashboards in the guise of @gethimkilled to give her ideas so he knew what to expect.  I oughta give her a piece of my mind.  I’ve given her the best 23 years of my life… Ok, maybe two and those don’t count cause that was before we were married.

    He for once appreciated his job of exterminating animals because he could leave trash bags full of poison in the garage and not be questioned. He hoped that she would inhale enough for him to find her body one day, but it never happened.  This bitch must have nine lives.

    Jerry thought it would be a bit of poetic justice if he used her prize-winning recipe to aid in her demise.  The birds had not been fed in over 2 weeks and many had lost their feathers due to starvation. Once they smelled the food in a confined dark space, they wouldn’t know the difference between flesh or Spam.

    He took the poisoned sandwich she made for him earlier that day into the bathroom.   He cut it up into tiny pieces and made sure to close all of the blinds.  He guided all twenty parakeets inside and closed the door.  She didn’t stand a chance. He had sharpened their beaks with razors for weeks now.  They were ready for battle.  Survival of the fittest, baby.

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Jeanette: What a creative, smile-enducing submission. Odd considering the topic huh! 🙂

      • Jeanette R. says:

        @Shane. Thanks. I love the absurdity of it.  Not sure if either one of them pulls it off, but it was so much fun to delve into their dark psyches. 

        • Kelly says:

          Jeanette–The best line is the most noir, deadpan line: “Ever since he discovered his wife’s plans of killing him, Jerry had made it a point to kill her first.” Love it!

    • Jeanette, you crafty story-teller, you! This is the parakeet’s beak! I love the plot twist!
      I also like how you threaded in the earlier submission so that this could stand on its own.
      My fave: Ever since he discovered his wife’s plans of killing him, Jerry had made it a point to kill her first.
      I mean, who does that? LOL

    • Cathy Miller says:

      @Jeannette R-so bizarre, it’s awesome-such creativity! 🙂

  4. sefcug says:

    Well, I am back. The following in the numerical order of today’s words is an explanation for my absence:
    I am glad everyone decided to wait for me to take the first step back to normal postings.
    The change in my participation was due to recent spinal surgery. I am home and recovering.
    I can understand now what an important piece of my mental well-being I had lost due to my body‘s betrayal.
    Though I will be starting off slow, I think you will see me back to regular postings real soon.
    I think I will start going back to those challenges I have missed, and at least comment on the other contributions before trying to participate every week. Still on medications, so my thinking still a little bit muddled for now.

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Steve: So glad to see you back. I was thinking of you when I posted that CCC post. I’ve been missing your morals.

      As someone who went through the hell of a herniated disc surgery, I wish you a fast recovery. Not having a good back is one of the hardest issues I’ve had to deal with in my life. The CCC, and percs, help.

    • Shane Arthur says:

      P.S. You’ve been away for so long, this submission of yours was in the spam folder. 🙂

    • Jeanette R. says:

      @Steve.  Hopefully you will find a bit of levity while reading some of these hilarious entries.  God speed on your healing.

    • Steve, they say laughter is the best medicine. They also say “It only hurts when I laugh.” Go figure.
      I hope you have a full recovery. Nice to have you “back”.

    • Cathy Miller says:

      @sefcug-yay-Steve, we missed you! I had back surgery almost 20 years ago-best thing I did. I hope all goes well with your recovery. We need your morals! 🙂

  5. Frank Ruiz says:

    Hey, everyone!  Loving your contributions!

    Shane, at least Billy got his lizard-piece grabbed, so I guess it wasn’t all bad 🙂

    Kelly, awesome song, and I definitely didn’t see the “That bitch” line coming!

    Jeanette, so cool to have the perspective of the husband with this piece!  I love stories that give you multiple perspectives, and this one not only has that, but it’s also loaded with surprises that enrich the story to an incredible degree!

    “sefcug”/Steve: I’m always amazed at how folks can infuse their messages and comments with the words given in the challenge.  I’m a newbie here, but am still glad that you’re back!  I hope you’ll be back to full health soon!

  6. Frank Ruiz says:

    Waiting.  It’s what the majority of our lives are filled with.  Waiting to live, waiting to die.  Waiting in line, waiting for results.

    This time I was waiting for my name to be called.

    “Mr. Smith.”

    I approached the counter.  The man looked down upon me.

    “I’m sorry, but we can’t currently locate your luggage.”

    I couldn’t believe it.  “You’re sorry, huh?  Is that it?”

    “These things happen from time to time, but we’re very good at finding virtually all of our bags, ultimately.  Please bear with us, and we’ll make sure to get your bags to you as soon as they’re available.”

    “So, what am I supposed to do until then?”

    “Well, we can give you a voucher for $100 off of your next flight.”

    Oh, boy.

    “Really?  Just how in the world is that going to help me?  I don’t need to fly anywhere.  I’m already here.  It’s my stuff that’s not here.  Maybe you can take that voucher to my fucking bags and get them here!”

    “Sir, I understand you’re upset, but raising your voice isn’t going to help the situation.”

    “Neither is that damned voucher!  Here’s something you don’t understand.  I need my luggage.  I can’t go home until I get it.  I’ve got an interview in two hours and if my bags aren’t here, I’m screwed for it, okay?”

    “Mr. Smith, I apologize, but perhaps we can help you with replacements of what you need.  We have several gift shops–”

    “NO!  That’s NOT going to work!  They don’t just sell what you’ve lost at any damned shops here, get it?  You lost my fucking leg!  A piece of my body, for Christ’s sake!  It’s a custom built prosthetic.  It’s very expensive, and it takes a long time to make.  I can’t afford a spare.  I can’t afford a new one.  I can’t afford to have you guys fuck up my chances at this interview!”

    “Sir… I don’t know what to tell you.  Could you go without it?”

    “Oh, sure I could.  I could roll on this wheelchair into the interview so they can figure out that they’d rather have someone with TWO legs instead of one!  Maybe I can take that security wand you guys groped me with earlier and strap it to my stump!  Guess what, genius?  The only job I can get with a peg leg is a fucking pirate, and Johnny Depp already has it covered!”

    “Alright, Mr. Smith, please calm down.”


    “Sir, if you don’t, I’ll be forced to call security.”

    “Alright… alright.  Please.  I need my leg.  That’s all I’m asking for here.  I need it so I can change into a suit; so I can look normal.  So I can stand up, look my interviewer in the eye, and shake his hand like a man that he can count on.  This job opportunity is important to me, and I can’t… I can’t let you FUCK IT UP!  DAMMIT!”

    “I warned you sir.  Security!  SECURITY!”

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Frank: That has hilarious and awesome. I’m liking the style and voice of your writing. You don’t hold back and I can feel the energy and emotion. Love that.

    • Oh, Gawd. I was rolling on this one, Frank. I love your style, too! Got any books on Amazon, or something? (Or is that gatekeeper still giving you a hard time?)
      Write on!

      • Frank Ruiz says:

        Mitch, thanks, as always, for your comments.

        For a guy who was recently considering the abandonment of my writing altogether, it’s very gratifying to be asked if I have anything on Amazon.com, especially from a writer as wonderfully talented as you.  Unfortunately, I have nothing remotely resembling an offering at this point, but with the help of this community, I’m beginning to dream again 🙂

        Speaking of your writing, your piece was masterful.  I love your descriptions!  Especially of Gunther:

        “He was used to seeing mangled humans, but this old man looked like he had been extruded from a psychotic pasta machine.”

        “Gunther tossed back his drink and stood up, unfolding his crippled body one limb at a time.”

        Like Shane said, it’s me who should be asking you when I can buy your stuff on Amazon.com!

        I also love the new contributions posted here since the last time I’ve visited!  Margaret, your poem is as sweet as “Chunky Monkey” and “Phish Food” combined!  Sean, as was already mentioned, your description of zombification here was incredible, and I’m looking forward to reading your take on what caused the disease!  Martha, as Jeanette said, the scenario is heart-wrenching, and I only wish that the incompetence of our societal machine made this only fiction.  I’ve seen stories on the news where this sort of thing really happens!

        Thanks again everyone, for helping to keep writing in my life!

        • Shane Arthur says:

          @Frank: You’ve got that Story Structure Circus Tent diagram printed out right! 🙂

        • Well, I’ll be one of the folks in line to read your dream, when it comes out in paperback. 😉
          Thanks for the compliment. I’m glad you enjoyed that submission.

    • Cathy Miller says:

      @Frank R-OMG-rolling on the floor-didn’t see that coming-thanks for the great laugh this morning, Frank! 😀

      • Frank Ruiz says:

        Thanks, Cathy!
        I loved your story below as well, and the emotional ending really grabbed me by the gut!  Excellent!

  7. Jeanette R. says:

    What a twist with what was being kept in his bags!  I really felt for the guy.  Great job!

  8. Frank Ruiz says:

    Thanks, Shane and Jeanette.  Much appreciated!

  9. margaret says:

    I cannot wait to take it home.
    It’s important that I be alone.
    Understand that it’s normal and not all that rare
    for a body to just not want to share.

    I might change my mind, inhibitions get lost,
    share that piece of pie, selfishness get tossed.
    But only with a guy that was super-hunky
    would I share my pint of “Chunky Monkey”!

  10. Jeanette R. says:

    I expressed to the hubby today that for my birthday next week, I just want to stay in bed, watch movies and enjoy a pint of ice cream. I think I just found my flavor 🙂

    • margaret says:

      Actually, Jeannette…I used that for poetic rhythm. If you REALLY want to get down and dirty, try Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food (choc w marshmallow & caramel swirls and little fudge fish). or Moose Tracks (Walgreens or Albertson’s)  With thick ripples of Denali fudge & peanut butter cups! No wonder I can’t lose weight!! 🙂

  11. The incessant knocking brought a disheveled Gunther limping to the front door. He flicked the porch light on, startling the white-clad messenger standing next door.

    “Theodore’s dead. Go away.”

    “But, I have to deliver his liver.” Despite the absurdity of the scene, Carl had to smile at his choice of words. Of course, he didn’t expect this nosy neighbor to be able help him – although he did just give him some startling news.

    “Theodore won’t be needing that now, will he?” Gunther was irked by the young man’s foolish reply.  “Just stop banging on that door and go back to your gruesome warehouse.

    “I’m not about to return this class C pickled organ! Teddy is the only one desperate enough to buy it. Say, you like whiskey?”

    Gunther perked up. So, Theodore liked the drink, did he? He opened the door, inviting the messenger into his home. He would see if that lawsuit grew legs, after all.

    “What happened to you?” Carl hustled past Gunther into a shabby vestibule. He was used to seeing mangled humans, but this old man looked like he had been extruded from a psychotic pasta machine. He’d obviously suffered serious burns and his limp was very pronounced. One eyelid was seared shut, with a permanent rime of crusted saline adding to his overall chewed up rag doll appearance.

    Gunther locked the door. Pointing beyond the vestibule, he directed his guest to proceed toward the kitchen.

    “I guess you don’t wanna talk about it, hunh?” Carl sniffed at the disagreeable odors that suddenly made their existence known. “Damn. You cooking meth or something?”

    “Sit down, young man. Tell me all about Theodore’s liver.”

    Carl sat. “Well, um, that’s confidential, you know. But …” he licked his lips. “We could speak off the record.”

    Gunther grabbed two tumblers – jelly jars, actually – and a brown paper bag from the cupboard. As he sat across from Carl, he sighed with the measured patience of a chronic pain sufferer. He poured a splash into each glass. Pushing the dirtier one toward Carl, he muttered, “So start talking.”

    Carl spun his glass around, looking for a clean spot from which to take a sip. Finding the least greasy area, he sampled the brown liquid. Satisfied with the spreading warmth, he began his story:

    “Theodore came to us last week, begging for a liver. We knew his was shot. Problem is, he demanded everything be done under cover, all cash, no records. The director told him, ‘Teddy, I understand that privacy is paramount to a man such as yourself. But, if you lost your life and we didn’t know where every piece of your body came from … I mean, how would you like us to give you a diseased liver?'”

    Gunther gave Carl an ironic look.

    Carl didn’t notice or didn’t get it. He continued, “Theodore argued with the director, saying he knew people who didn’t get harvested. Nobody has to know, is what Theodore said. Crazy, huh?”

    Gunther grunted. This isn’t what he had wanted to hear. “What’s your name, boy?”

    Carl jumped, spilling a bit of vile liquid on his uniform. “Carl, why?”

    “Listen Carl Wye. I didn’t invite you in here to drink my good liquor so you can give me pointless gossip. I need to know why that fool needed a liver! You said it was ‘shot’. What did he have? Cirrhosis, Hep? Speak up!”

    “Haemochromatosis. Theodore was a walking, breathing Iron Man.” Carl squinted, wondering if Gunther understood what he’d just told him.

    “Well, I’ll be. He told me he was naturally dark. Some B.S. about his Mediterranean heritage. Sadly, this information is no longer important to me. I thought he was a drunk.”

    “How could you know? Most liver buyers are alkies. But they don’t usually have Theodore’s money. They just wait until we can harvest one.”

    Gunther tossed back his drink and stood up, unfolding his crippled body one limb at a time. “You see this? Theodore never paid a dime. Walked away, scot-free. My dumbass lawyer pursued a drunk-driving claim but we never had breathalyzers or blood work ups. I guess when you’re trying to save a life, the reasons don’t matter.”

    Carl was shocked. “But, Theodore never looked like he was ever injured. We screen people for stuff like that. Actuary tables and all that.”

    “Oh, he was injured, all right. Got ejected from his Jaguar. Went to some back-alley organ grinder to get fixed. Me, I got the state-mandated minimum care to survive – and a place on the waiting list.”

    Carl felt bad for the old man. He always worried about being on the list some day. “So, listen, I’m sorry this turned out like that for you. Did you ever get your body parts? I don’t mean any harm, but you don’t look normal.”

    Gunther laughed and shuffled toward the front door, expecting Carl to follow. “Carl Wye, don’t ever change. You’re a breath of naïve, fresh air.”

    Carl smiled uncertainly, thinking the old man had just insulted him. “What? Did I miss something?”

    Gunther gently prodded Carl into the night. “What was the first thing I said to you?”

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Mitch: You’re a natural storyteller. You shouldn’t be doing anything else but writing books.

    • Jeanette R. says:

      @Mitchell. Your attention to detail in this piece is wonderful.  “Carl spun his glass around, looking for a clean spot from which to take a sip. Finding the least greasy area, he sampled the brown liquid.” Talk about painting a picture.  You were Picasso, my friend! 

      Have you ever read the book “Never Let Me Go”?  I know they made it into a movie but I’ve never seen it. You should check it out.  It meshes well with your story. 

    • Cathy Miller says:

      @Mitch-But I have to deliver his liver – of course, you do-another great story, Mitch! 🙂

  12. Sean Murphy says:

    A zombie story: part 7
    Continued from cc 163

    Grant felt lost.

    It was like a piece of himself was missing. He held Emily in his arms, her body warm against him, while her eyes starred emptily into his. He felt like a child whose opponent has just let go of the rope in a tug of war. The almost unconscious connection between the two of them had gone suddenly slack as the blackness had changed her pupils. A terrible dissonance tore at his mind, shreds of emotion fluttering through emptiness. He still felt his closeness with the idea of Emily, the residual glow of emotion from their kiss only moments before. But try as he might, he couldn’t connect that Emily with the creature lying limp in his arms. He struggled to understand, to quantify the unfamiliar sensation. It wasn’t as if Emily had died and left behind a corpse. For one, he could still feel her pulse, see the rise and fall of her breathing. But he felt certain even her corpse would hold more for him than this. No, she had faded like a dream, leaving nothing tangible to anchor his feelings.

    Something was ringing in his ears. Instinct told him it was important, but he couldn’t take his attention off the limp creature in his arms. As his mind slowly caught up with his emotions, he tried to filter the implications of what was happening, and failed. Suddenly the ringing resolved itself into his name.


    Dave. His brother. He was looking for him. He wondered for a moment why the sound was so strange, then realised – it was all he could hear. The noise of the party had vanished, as if everyone was waiting on permission to interrupt his contemplation. His fragmented emotions coalesced into a feeling of strangeness that made it seem like nothing could return to normal from this point.

    He wanted to go home.

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Sean: Awesome. I’m going back and reading that again. Super, super stuff.

    • Sean, you have elevated the zombie story. This really is beautiful. Sad, heartfelt. You blew me away with these two passages:
      He felt like a child whose opponent has just let go of the rope in a tug of war.
      He still felt his closeness with the idea of Emily, the residual glow of emotion from their kiss only moments before.
      I have never read anyone describe zombification (word?) quite like this. The movies always show the conflicted emotions protagaonists have, especially when they have to blow the head off hubby or wifey. But, too feel the emotion, that requires a writer – well done!

    • Sean Murphy says:

      Thanks guys, your feedback is great, it keeps me confident and motivated to continue writing.
      My concept of zombification in this story is evolving as I write, but I’m thinking closer to Cell than Night of the Living Dead at the moment. I have a thought as to an interesting cause – a little weird science, but still fun.
      Love both of your ccc’s today and generally – I should make it a point to reply to other people’s posts more!

      • Jeanette R. says:

        @Sean Murphy. You have done an incredible job with this story.  This is why I love the written word.  When it’s done right, emotions are pure and raw. You become one with the characters.

        I always look forward to your entries. 
        To quote Shane “Write on!”

    • Cathy Miller says:

      @Sean-I love the last line-so simple, but you can just feel the emotion-great storytelling!

  13. Martha says:

    “What do you mean you lost the body?” Samantha gritted her teeth as she listened to the sputtering at the other end of the line. Auntie Joan was building up a good head of steam and would likely go on for hours. “Wait just a minute: all you had to do was call the funeral home and ask them to take charge of the remains. It was a perfectly normal request.” Samantha sighed as the sputtering continued. “Well, I don’t understand why you had to change things. We had it all worked out.” She listened as Auntie Joan started to weep. “Okay, okay, it’s not important. No, I know finding the body is important, but this piece of yours, we can forget about it. I’ll get on the phone to Charlie and see what we can do. Don’t worry; it will all work out.”  Samantha hung up the phone with a decisive click. She dragged the phone book towards her and started flipping through the pages impatiently. The young fellow Mark was coming at 2 to check out the new apartment, and she still had a whole lot of things that needed to get done before then. Why was it, when it mattered most, good help was always hard to find?

  14. Frank Ruiz says:

    Heheh, I hope to be soaking up the wisdom of Larry Brooks soon 🙂

  15. Anne Maybus says:

    It’s important that you understand how it feels when your body doesn’t’ belong to you anymore.

    In the beginning it becomes home to some alien being that has invaded the space and keeps stretching it to fit.  Every day you notice a new change in the body you once knew so well.  Don’t think I am only talking about your belly, either.

    Your breasts swell and become tender.

    Your feet swell and argue with your shoes

    Your fingers swell and reject their rings.

    Your hair won’t do what it used to.

    Your mind wanders until some days you think you’ve lost it completely.

    Piece by piece your body alters until you’ve forgotten what normal was.

    Then one day you give birth.  Free, you’re free at last!  You have your body back.  Only, you don’t.

    Instead your alien has just taken up residence on the outside.  It hangs from your breast, it sleeps in your bed, it needs cleaning and it demands constant attention.  Some days you wish you could take it and put it back on the inside where at least it was quiet.

    Do you understand that you never ever get your body back?

    You wait and wait for the alien to grow up but even as they enter adulthood, you belong to them.   Somehow that umbilical cord is still there and every time your alien moves you can feel it tug.  The more aliens you have carried, the more you are pulled around.  They don’t stop to coordinate their needs.  They just tug.

    Honestly, it’s no wonder you end up so out of shape.  You look in the mirror and the person that looks back at you is nothing like the one she used to be.  She’s misshapen, saggy and a little overweight.  She’s greyer and a little tired looking around the edges.

    But it isn’t all bad.  If you look very closely you’ll see a happy soul shining out of those slightly droopy and bleary eyes. The price of a reshaped body is actually worth paying.

    • Preservation of species comes with great sacrifice. 🙂
      My wife works hard to keep her shape after 5 kids – but one child kinda messed up her stomach muscles. Some kind of hole where a six-pack would go.
      But we love y’all, all the same! (It’s not like we men are any prizes…)

    • Jeanette R. says:

      @Anne. I’m not a mother yet but this description fascinates/horrifies me.

      Fascinates me because a woman’s body is an amazing machine.  We still have to resume our daily lives while being poked and prodded. Yet, we manage wonderfully.

      Horrifies me because…well you know.;)

      Nice piece.

    • Cathy Miller says:

      @Anne-I’ve never been a mother, but I can tell you, age has a similar body effect-LOL! 😀

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Anne M: That’s my FAVORITE submission from you yet. Oustanding.

  16. maria says:


    “Now, wait just a minute!” Danielle jerked the clipboard out of my hand. “What, you’ve lost the body?” Her tone indicated her disbelief. I couldn’t understand why. We’d lost bodies before, after all. We usually found them at another aid station, or forgotten in the ambulance, sometimes left at the scene.

    “Just take it easy,” I said. “It’ll turn up. They always do.” I’d celebrated my sixteenth month on the front lines. I was beyond caring.

    “This isn’t just a normal body, you moron. It’s the senator’s son, which makes it just a little important.” She shook her head, her mouth slightly open. She looked adorable.

    “Look, I’ve got to change my clothes.” I pointed to my ruined shirt, stained with blood from the last victims. “Abdul said, if I understand him, that we can piece together our itinerary in the morning. Until then, let’s grab some chow. We can think about this in the morning.”

    Danielle dropped her clipboard and sunk into the nearest chair. She held her head in her hands. “I can’t do this anymore, Josh,” she sobbed. I just want to go home.”

  17. Cathy Miller says:

    “If I wait any longer for you to clean your room, you’re going to be sorry, buster.”

    Jonathan rolled his eyes, but shouted, “Okay, Mom.” Releasing the sigh of an abused 9-year-old, Jonathan grumbled, “It’s probably gonna take me all day.”

    “Then you’d better get started.”

    Sheesh, who said Moms didn’t have super powers? It just wasn’t normal.

    Surveying the mounds of toys and clothes, Jonathan wished he could change into a superhero and fly away from home. Scooping up an armful from his latest war, he began imitating the sound of the garbage truck backing up.

    “Beep, beep, beep.”

    His arms opened with an accompanying, “Ba-doom,” as they tumbled into the open toy box.

    Next, Jonathan grabbed the comforter that served as his fort. Flapping it with an impressive snap, he flung it on to the bed.


    Saluting, “Mission accomplished,” he did a military reverse and then he saw it.

    Lying on the floor was the medal attached to the red, white and blue ribbon. Its shine dulled with the passing years. It had been his grandfather’s. His grandpa had been his hero. He never knew his father, but his grandpa more than made up for the loss.

    Jonathan never did understand why people had to die. Especially people like his grandpa. It wasn’t fair. His grandpa had been the most important person in his life, besides his Mom.

    A huge piece of his heart cried at what he lost.

    “Jonathan Edward, if you don’t…”

    Mary’s scold strangled as her son raised tear-drenched eyes to hers, clutching her father’s bronze star in his fist of hurt.

    “Mom, please don’t die.”

    Blinking back the shared tears, she hugged his body close.

    “I will always be here,” she whispered, touching his heart, “Just like Grandpa.”

  18. kimberly A. Young says:

    Take a deep breath and relax.
    You need to understand how important it is to change your heart rate.
    Your blood pressure is not normal. It’s much to high.
    Please wait here. 
    I will call somebody and let them know that you can not go home.”
    All is fine since that shot to my spine. A little piece of his daddy and me.
    6 pounds 11 ounces I lost instantly. Welcome to the world son.

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Kimberly: That was great. My son goes off to an all-day camp today. They grow up so fast.

      • kimberly A. Young says:

        Thanks so much.
        Glad you liked it.
        Our son will be 6 on the 10th of this month and will be headed for 1st grade in mid-Sept.
        Hope your son has loads of fun. Take care.

    • Jeanette R. says:

      @Kimberly.  “All is fine since that shot to my spine”.  This was great.

  19. Wait! Take a stand
    Not the normal kind
    But one where you demand
    Some change
    That’s for the better
    Not empty words
    From a hip bed-wetter
    This is home
    Please understand
    It’s important that
    We love this piece of land.
    When we’re lost
    In mind and body
    Just remember ten words
    And you won’t be sorry:
    This land is your land
    This land is my land

  20. Here was my entry to this one, I am late and will get to the new one as well soon.


    A home under siege
    Normal life disrupted
    And they don’t understand

    Can’t just wait anymore
    Important decisions needed
    Take back that lost piece of life
    Welcome the change at last
    a body scarred but not broken
    come back even stronger

  21. Rebecca says:

    Dragonfly spent his day flitting around the lake; only a dragonfly would understand. He’d dash back and forth over the big body of water, always coming back to the lakeshore. The lake was his home and important to him. It was a normal day – filled with sunshine and a slight breeze. As Dragonfly was flying over the lake, he noticed a piece of paper floating upon it. He immediately flew back to the shore to notify the others. The dragonflies guided the paper to the shore – Bullfrog was waiting to read the paper. He adjusted his glasses and examined the paper; it looked important. A corner piece was missing. Would it change the context of the paper? “Wait!” shouted Dragonfly. Bullfrog peered at Dragonfly over his glasses. “Take your time Bullfrog,” said Dragonfly. Bullfrog smiled. He read the piece of paper to himself. Dragonfly noticed that Bullfrog seemed lost in thought. “My fellow lake dwellers change is coming. We must prepare at once,” said Bullfrog. No one made a move.

    • Jeanette R. says:

      @Rebecca. Don’t leave us hanging! What did the paper say?  I have a soft spot for dragonflies 😉

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Rebecca: That was something else! Love the creativity here, and love how you used each creatures designated name as their character name.

  22. Rebecca says:

    @ Jeanette … What did the paper say? “Rebecca, you’re behind on the Creative Copy Challenge.” Lol! No, that’s not it. It will probably have to do with a “big” corporation wanting to develop the area which means destroying the natural beauty of the lake and surrounding woods. The ‘lake dwellers’ won’t allow it.

  23. Rebecca says:

    @ Shane … Thank you! The story came together slowly. My mind was still in ‘magazine article writing’ mode. Lol!

  24. “Wait.”
    I stopped abruptly, back muscles rigid and unyielding. “I’m going home.”
    “You don’t understand,” he said. “I thought you’d be glad that I cleaned out the closet.”
    “No, you don’t understand,” I said between gritted teeth. “That box was important to me. You take and you take and you take—it’s got to change, Steven. It’s got to change.”
    “Why are you so worked up over an old cardboard box?”
    I began to hate him, then. “It wasn’t yours to throw out.” I glared at him. It sounded childish, even to me. It wasn’t normal, this obsession with an old shoe box. But it was the last piece of Jack I had left, after the baggage handlers lost our luggage. And with it, the rest of Jack’s body.

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