Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #232

BET YOU CAN’T do this writing prompt. Take the 10 random words below and, in the comments, crush writer’s block by creating a cohesive, creative short story tying all of 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, we BET YOU CAN’T do those, either.)

  1. Master
  2. Crumble
  3. Pass
  4. Pump
  5. Vein
  6. Dark
  7. Taste
  8. Obey
  9. Burn
  10. Twist

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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47 Comments on “Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #232”

  1. Okay, this poem was partly inspired by my playing Star Wars: The Old Republic on the PC and my son playing The Force Unleashed 2 on the Xbox 360.  This is a poem where I imagined some Sith apprentice enduring trials.

     
    No Master

    I will pass the test
    feel the force pump
    and twist through
    each dark vein
     

     
    I burn for success
    taste bitter power
    nor will I crumble
    or obey any master 

  2. Jen says:

     
    I’m getting too old for this. The last mark, in Chicago, nearly burned me. The bar stool gave a lurching twist when I sat down, desperate for a taste, any taste, that would make me forget. 
     
    The barkeep cut polishing arcs into the worn wood with a grey rag. The repeating motion caught my eye, drew me back to Lakeshore Drive. Her eyes were the color of wet mahogany. And when she was furious, like she was that night, the last night I saw her, she had plenty of fury. If it hadn’t been directed at me, it might have been hot. 
     
    “I have to make a trip.” I’d told her, wrapping my manicured fingers around her manicured waist. This was my usual exit speech, when I’d got what I wanted and the fireworks had died. In this case, they hadn’t so much died as been doused with a firehose. Truth is, I couldn’t keep up with her. She had become my master, rather than I hers. I don’t know how she did it; how she turned what she wanted into my reason for existing. We went to more operas and symphonies in six months than a man should reasonably be expected to attend in his lifetime. The amount of glad-handing, shoulder rubbing, toast making nonsense nearly dried my pump. 
     
    When I had told her about the trip, she surprised me. I mean, I knew it was over, but I thought there’d at least be some mild histrionics. Give a man some ego-strokes. Just for kicks? Instead, she said, “Don’t come back.” It wasn’t the words so much as the level way she pronounced them that slapped me. The vein in her neck pulsed with fury, the only sign of her distaste for me. I revolted her, then, standing before the fireplace, overlooking dark winter on the lake. 
     
    I passed my hand through my hair. Was it thinner today than it had been just yesterday? I tried to squeeze her, to bring her around, to make her obey my touch. But she didn’t obey anyone. She pushed me away and hit me again, right between the eyes. “Look. I don’t know who you are, but Walter Berryman died in 1929, apparently as a result of jumping from a building on Wall Street. So, why don’t you just gather your things and show yourself the door.” It wasn’t a question. 
     
    By this time, she’d managed to put a safe distance between us. She stood in that space between her sitting room and her private library, that space where I’d not be able to reach her. And then all I could see was the back of her head, the white flash of a the door. I heard the click of her heels, the flick of the lock, the grandfather clock endlessly ticking the moments away. The butler, Jackson, I had assumed, would not be appearing to escort me to the door. Even he’d been banished from my presence. 
     
    The bartender made his way toward me, as I continued to see her eyes in the swirls before me. 
     
    “Get you something,” he said. 
     
    I pointed. He nodded, held a mug under the tap and released the golden balm. My mouth began to water. I couldn’t rely on much to keep me going. If I wasted this opportunity, I knew I’d crumble. 
     
    With the beer in front of me, the head sloshing over the rim like a promise, I wondered if there was another way to come at this. I had clearly guessed wrong in Chicago. The last thing on my mind as a threat was that no name waiter. 

  3. Your spiritual samovar may be ornate or utilitarian, but the fuel you choose to burn determines whether your temporal teapot will pump a steady stream of strong, dark zavarka, or merely pass the bitterest green bile of jealousy through its mindless vein.

    With what will you fill your pipe? Crumble a chunk of confidence and serve with a twist of irony? Shred the leaves of regret and season with remorse? Or will you opt for the coals of courage to heat the blend of passion and potential brewing within?

    Only you can truly master the nuances of self-actualization, change its taste and obey your inner barista.

  4. Meredith says:

    I’m swimming in dissertations. I hope to get to this tomorrow. 😦

  5. Lynne says:

    My world is dark. I can’t smell anything, can’t see anything, but I can hear voices. The voices bring back vague memories as I lie in this wooden box. I can’t quite remember but I know the remembering wouldn’t be good. I must stop wondering who the voices belong to. Somehow, without conscious thought, I know I must wait. Sleep and wait. 

    I hear a knock in the dark. Reaching up, I start pushing against the wood above me then, with a twist, it parts and I am free. Glancing up, I am reassured that the sun has set. I seem to be functioning on instinct but I know what to do. Silently, I glide through the darkened streets of my city. Drunks and partygoers drift past without noticing me. I am part of this world but yet not quite. I feel the burn of urgency inside me as I hurry toward my destination.

    He appears out of a shadow and comes close, whispering in my ear.
    “Yes, Master, I hear. I will obey“, I murmur in assent.
    “I will be watching”, he says in a voice like the susurration of a passing wind. 
    Dawn is approaching and I must hurry. I know what I must do. My Master told me, I must go home.

    Walking home feels strange. Memories start coming back, like the movie you once saw but forgot until you saw it again. Scenes seem familiar – the letterbox I pass on my way to work, the cat that hisses from the neighbours hedge every time I disturb its rest, the colour of my front door. And the way the door squeaks as I open it.

    Anne is in the kitchen. I remember Anne. I remember what she did. Tonight, I am not going to call out to tell my honey that I am home. Tonight, I will taste revenge. I know what I must do.

    Slinking along the shadows, I stop, blinking in the bright lights of our kitchen. This woman loved me once. I think I must have loved her but I can’t quite remember now. I recall a beautiful blonde and Anne’s face twisted in jealousy and rage. Ah, and now I remember the voices, the voices of Anne and my blonde babe. They were there, above the dirt, talking above my dark box. Silly woman, she thought I would crumble to dust. I feel my face smile as I anticipate Anne’s surprise.

    Quickly, quickly now, I flit across the room and grab Anne. As I sink my newly-sharp teeth into her neck vein and feel her life-blood pump into my mouth the memories hit me full force. Just before Anne killed me she had snarled a list of insults about my babe.
    “For heaven’s sake”, she had sneered, “your bimbo doesn’t even have a brain. Hell, have you even seen her reading material? All those crappy chick lit vampire stories?”
    I guess the last laugh is on her.

  6. Anne Wayman says:

    a sort of true story:

    In a twist of fate, my eyes burned. I couldn’t obey the admonition not to rub them. My vision tasted dark, each vein pumping more redness. I longed for a pass. Finally I crumbled in a heap before the master doctor. Pink eye she said! 

  7. Dark eyes burn into mine. “Obey your Master!”

    I can feel my heart pump wildly in perfect time with the vein pulsing at his temple. Taste of defeat fills my mouth as my will crumbles to his. I may pass out.

    But I will learn the Twist!

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Carolyn: Holy Bleep! That was fantastic. I see you write, edit, and garden! Oh, I shall like you indeed. Welcome to the CCC. What did you think of the challenge?
      Everyone welcome Carolyn to our addiction.

      • Meredith says:

        Welcome Carolyn! That is great!

      • Cathy Miller says:

        @Shane-my apologies for being so late-life is crazed right now-maybe you can get this to the newbies 🙂
        —————-

        @Tricky @Joan @Carolyn – Welcome to CCC!

        Here you are the master of words. Blocks crumble and all doubt will pass. Each challenge will pump up your enthusiasm, leading you into a new vein of adventure.

        From the dark to the lighthearted, you will taste the sweetness of the inner sound you must obey as it looks to find a voice. The words burn a path of creativity as they twist out meaning for all to share.

        Welcome!

    • Welcome to the CCC, Carolyn. I enjoyed this one.
      You made those words dance.

      Cheers,

      Mitch

       

  8. Meredith says:

    The mental burn of working day and night was beginning to twist my thoughts to more destruction. I’d already crumbled the relationship with the one person who could appreciate my dark sense of the extraordinary. Why the hell did that happen? It didn’t have to, as I remember. Drusy was so stuck on being the master of any partnership, thereby rendering it an anti-partnership. It was as if Drusy expected me to obey her distorted MO and taste it moment to moment like she did. Ha! My veins pumped different stuff, stronger pulsings of varied darkness and light, thereby truly opening the possibilities to fulfillment. Drusy could pass if she wanted to. I would find someone else someday.

  9. Thanks! This was so much fun -I’m hooked already!  No way to have writer’s block because every word in your list stirs a new idea.  

    Lynne – your story is fantastic! I definitely would read the novel, even though as a rule I am NOT fond of vampire stories OR zombie stories and this seems to be both. 

    • Lynne says:

      Thanks Caroline 🙂 Welcome to CCC. Love your entry! I’m also new here and am having a great time with these challenges. 

      This one is a continuation of the story in challenge #229. It’s not likely to be developed further though – I don’t enjoy the vampire/zombie/paranormal genre. The entry I made here is about as far as I am likely to go with that genre. However, I had a lot of fun writing it!

      The words in the challenge made me do it! LOL

  10. TrickySnick says:

    You, my son, committed an awful crime
    For repentance I have given you time
    After five years you still refused to obey!
    Do you think your master will not waste
    A chance to allow you a taste
    Of my punishment…it will not pass!
    Your nose will crumble to your mouth
    And your arms will travel the wind south.
    You will not be able to pump blood into your vein
    When you arrive on the coast of Spain
    You will find yourself in the pitch dark
    Right before my arrow finds its mark!
     

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Tricky: That was awesome. Welcome to the CCC. Let us know what you thought of the challenge. And I hope to see you here each Monday and Thursday. Everyone welcome Tricky to the club.

  11. He awoke to searing agony.

    It was dark, and he couldn’t immediately determine where he was. He reached down toward his leg, where the pain was coming from, to find that a large shard of metal had embedded itself there. Had it hit a vein? Panicked, he tried to find something, anything on his console that would light up, let him see how bad the damage was. Moving made the shard twist painfully in his leg, but he managed to ignore it somehow.

    None of the master controls worked. Had he lost reserve power too? No; he was cold, but not the cold of space. His oxygen pump must have been working as well, or he would never have regained consciousness.

    He had been certain that the last shot fired at him was going to burn him to a cinder. His commander had ordered him to flank the enemy, and he had rushed to obey, darting recklessly across their line of fire. Then he had seen the other man pass him, abandoning him to the mercy of a dozen Tesaad fighters. Had he made a mistake? Angered the man in some way?

    It didn’t matter. He felt lightheaded, and he could taste blood in his mouth. Reaching below, he felt his seat, sticky and wet. His heart pounded in his ears, frenetic, then slowing, and he felt his consciousness begin to crumble. He had been sold out. And now he would never know why. A rasping, frantic laugh was the last sound that ever crossed his lips.

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Joan: Welcome to the CCC. Excellent first submission. What did you think of it? And how’d you hear of us?
      Everyone welcome Joan to our addiction.

    • I heard about you through my friend Lironah, who posted on one of these a while back. This was kind of a free-write related to the novel I’m working on, or its sequal, actually. It was nice to get away from the main storyline and take a peek at a side character. I think I’ll do another one.

  12. Shane Arthur says:

     
    “Hey Billy! Save me! They’s pumpin’ dark poison in my veins. It’s burnin’ and I’s got a metal taste in my mouth dat’s twistin’my tastebuds somethin’ fierce!”

    “You’ll be obeying your new masters soon, Bobby, you backwards bumpkin you! Now it’s your turn Billy Bumpkin.”

    “I’ll pass on account it’s Easter weekend and I ain’t allowed to eat nothing dat smells like dat rotted meat breath you got crumblin’ my taste buds somethin’ fierce.”

    “What the hell! Code blue! Code Blue! The mind control virus is fleeing their bodies and attacking us! Help! Help!”

    “Hey Billy! What happened? All da government fellers is dead!”

    “Bobby, I reckon dat virus got a taste of our blood and realized da futility of tryin’ to out-virus us and turned tail. Now it’s attackin’ the whole planet in revenge. Bobby, why was you screamin’ and hollerin’ about da virus burnin’?”

    “Oh, never mind dat. Da burnin’ was da alcohol they used to sterilize da needle hole. Same thing happens wit’ soap.”

    “What about da metal taste in your mouth?”

    “Oh, never mind dat either. I forgot I was chewin’ on a piece of my tooth filling dat they loosened when they was punchin’ me. Da metal taste was da gooey infection growin’ under da filling.”

  13. Kelly says:

    GRIND

    dark
    words tumble out of all the corners of my

    mas
    ter
    of the places where this road must surely

    calm
    ly I can rise again sweet misery now pass

    give
    n thorns received and then returned again in

    pump
    ernickel pieces cheeses crumble twist their

    taste
    again the vein of creativity mal-

    streets
    are slicked with lies as clever fuses for the blast

    o
    bey
    semantic parsings with their bodies inter-

    burn
    to stand at higher planes
    with

    in
    your
    bump

    and

    grind


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