Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #235

This is a writing prompt. Bet you can’t do it! 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. Wicked
  2. Ride
  3. Slew
  4. Span
  5. Refuse
  6. Seed
  7. Stupid
  8. Flung
  9. Wail
  10. Brutal

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
The Digital Writer
Third Tribe Marketing: Marketing done the right way
Story Structure Demystified: Best damn writing book out there


62 Comments on “Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #235”

  1. Hi folks,
    I call this, “The Last Driving Lesson”
    It was the middle of the night and only security guards and maintenance workers were still at the amusement park.  Suddenly, a horrible wail came from the top span of the roller coaster ride, one hundred eighty feet above the ground.

    “Don’t be such a wicked person, Elton.  Let us go and we won’t say anything,” the strained voice beseeched. 

    “I refuse to do any such thing.  I am going to destroy you and your seed.  You are so stupid!   Why should you live?”, the wicked man roared.

    With one brutal blow, he slew the begging man and flung his body to the ground.  He then turned his attention to the younger of the two.  The second man was much younger and stronger, and a fight ensued.  Punches and kicks were traded, with the battle remaining even.  The killer then made the mistake of forgetting about the space between the rails of the coaster, stumbling over the side.  His young opponent grabbed his shirt in an effort to keep him from falling, but the material ripped.  One last wail was heard as the insane man fell to his death.

    When the young survivor was interviewed by the police later on, he was asked what the motive for the attack was. 

    “He was my driving instructor. I don’t drive very well and I wrecked two of his cars.  My father was complaining that he wasn’t a very good instructor, or it wouldn’t have happened.  He totally lost it and forced us up there.”  The young man covered his face to hide the tears and was led away to a waiting car.  

    • Now, that’s twisted. I love it!
      That young’un is going to need therapy.
      Well done, Lou.

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Lou: That was so damn creative! How did you think of this? Which word gave you the idea? Super cool!

      • @Shane…I can’t think of a word that sparked this story.  Usually when I write, it’s almost like I’m living through the events, and writing them down as they happen.  I don’t think I could write from an outline if I had to.  This exercise is about as close as I get to anything like that…lots of fun, here. 

        @Jen and Mitch…thanks for the kind words


  2. Today’s poem was inspired by Stephen King’s the Dark Tower, specifically a wicked intelligent train named Blaine the Mono, you can read more about the character here if interested http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blaine_the_Mono
    Blaine the Mono
    Refuse the stupid ride
    can’t you hear children wail
    ungodly wicked train of death
    brutal iron beast slew too many
    as bodies flung like rotten seed
    span across miles of wasteland
    avoid his ire and flee in terror
    don’t go near Blaine the mono

  3. “The seed was flung into the forest. Brutal vines took root and a slew of wilted rampion leaves began to ride up the ivory tower. Rapunzel could only wail in despair and regret, horrified at the wicked witch who had locked her away. Imprisoned all for the sake of the mother’s cravings and her own youthful lust.” Beth took a deep breath and looked at little Rachel.

    “But Mom, that’s stupid. I just want a bowl of ice cream.” Rachel’s wise eyes were a bridge. They spanned the gulf of disbelief, over which all feeble protestations are suspended.

    Beth could not refuse her little angel.

  4. D.R. says:

    Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

    The young rebel boy screamed out as he flung his meal across the white walls. As he seemed to refuse to actually eat the food, the poor mother tried to fight this losing battle. It was brutal to be honest. Her wicked seed paid no mind to the slew of passing spectators silently making judgement and shaking their head. In the span of what seemed like ages, the boy continued to do whatever he pleased; he started to wail even louder than before when his mother tried to calm him down. Needless to say, didn’t work.

    Parenthood sure is a wild ride.

    Harvey the Rv was sometimes called wicked over the span of his life. Who knows where the seed came from that sprouted him. His life was a wild ride, sometimes brutal and many times stupid, but Harvey does not wail about the bad things. As Harvey’s life continued he was flung into many situations. One time dragons appeared, but he was able to slew them and was also able to refuse their entry into his life. And, in the end, Harvey lived happily ever after.

  6. It is now pathetic how much time I have spent away from this story. I have started part 6 no less than 6 times now. And I call myself a writer. You know, that is almost 3 6’s in a row….that should mean something. Anyway, here, finally, is part 6.


    Panic. Ryan reached his car and fumbled for the keys, cursing the pockets of his gabardine dress slacks, the manufacturer or same, and the amount of keys that he had so carelessly placed upon the ring. He finally extricated the keys, plunged first one then another into the lock in an unsuccessful attempt to open the door.

    He raised his eyes skward and began to wail obscenities. He grabbed the keys from the door and cocked his arm, ready to fling the offending units into the night. Something stopped him. Some small sliver of rationality that broke through his maddened state and kept him from loosing his keys into the embrace of the soft sand beyond the parking lot.

    A deep breath later, he got the right key into the lock and opened the door. He started the car and threw it into gear as soon as the engine took off. He sprayed sand as the tires reversed and then skidded as he plunged into forward and took off towards his house, and Kaetlyn.
    He refused to believe that she could be anything but fine, in bed asleep. But the wicked voice on the other end of the line had promised a brutal retribution.
    The ride home was maddening slow for Ryan. He could not go fast enough, even with his police lights on and his siren wailing. He was glad he hadn’t flung his keys but it was a stupid thing for him to not pick up his phone from where it fell in the sand. He wished the spare that he kept at home was in his olive box right now, but it wasn’t.

    He would just have to wait, the seed of horror planted in his imagination by…whatever had called him.
    Finally, he reached his street. He slowed down, turned off his police lights and headlights, and crept along until he was two doors away from his house. He parked at the curb and stared for a moment at his house, lights blaring from all of the windows, very unlike Kaetlyn.

    Ryan got out of the car, his eyes never leaving the front of the house, alert for any movement no matter how small. He quietly shut the car door and drew his weapon, keeping it down by his leg and starting toward the house. Foot by agonizingly slow foot he drew nearer his house and whatever waited inside.
    After what seemed like an eternity, he reached the hedge that bordered his property and raised his gun. He couldn’t go in the front door, that was too obvious. The back door squeaked something awful, he had never gotten around to oiling it, so that left the garage door. The overhead door was down, but he had the key to the side door. He headed that way, again thankful that he didn’t hurl his keys into the night.

    The door unlocked silently and he entered the dark garage, tiptoeing around the detritus that never seemed to have a place, until he stood outside the door to the house. He again checked the safety on his weapon making sure it was off. He also unsnapped the tethers on his spare magazines, hoping he didn’t have to use them.

    The .45 felt heavy in his hands as he turned the knob and entered the dark mudroom, headed towards the light in the kitchen and who knew what else.

    The door to the kitchen seemed to swell as he neared it. He heard someone at the sink moving dishes. He hoped it was Kaetlyn. He reached the door and did a quick check, his trained police eyes taking in everything at once as his head retreated. A large man was at the sink, looking out of the window. In the span of a heartbeat, Ryan dove through the door, and, slew the man with 4 quick shots.

    He was back up and waiting when the shouts started and feet began to run toward him and the soundof the shots. He was ready when the barrel of the machine gun started around the corner. He shot the body that followed it. There were still more coming.

  7. J.W. Roberts says:

    Ward of the State

    Mariah flung herself against the thick wooden door again. The thin, paper-like material that covered her nude body was torn, but she did not care. The bruise above her right eye was numb. Her face was as swollen as her clenched fists. The fingers were probably broken, but Mariah continued to pound the thick glass that separated her from freedom.

    Her scream would frighten demons; her wail would haunt the banshee. Yet, the two men in the plain white uniforms stood with their backs to the door. They ignored her terrifying pleas for release. It was obvious that she was abandoned and unloved.

    These men would not refuse her. She would make them listen!

    Opening her mouth, Mariah removed a shard of glass that she had hidden from the ever-watchful watchmen. With an eerie smile, she ripped off the fake clothing. Her nakedness was revealed. A slew of scars etched her frame from inner thigh to tender wrist. The span of near death was brutal but beautiful. It was the artwork of past memories, past hurts, and past hates.

    “Don’t do it, Mariah,” the man shouted through the door. “Don’t be stupid.”

    Her grin spread from ear to cheek, half creased across her face like a shadow upon a grave. She was going to take these two men on the ride of their life.

    “It has to be done.” The other man chortled, unlatching the door.

    Mariah put the glass to skin, cutting through each layer with perfect percision. The shard was sharp and effective. She slowly designed a wicked gash down the length of her forearm. Blood surfaced. Blood dripped.

    Damn! Her abusive father would have been proud.

    The men did not radio for backup. They did not page the nurse’s desk at the front of the psychiatric hospital. These two men would aim to increase her suffering.

    Each man stepped into the room and unstrapped their belts. Soon, they would release their seed within her. Mariah bit her lip in satisfaction. This was attention. This was affection.

    This was love.

    J.W. Roberts

  8. Jen says:

    I really love this lady. And the words were so much fun. 

    I heard his approach like a wailing siren, before I heard him muster the nasal output to declare my moniker with his typical put-upon fury. 
    I may be a woman of a certain age, but I can still hear, for pity’s sake. When Sarah opened the ringing bell, when the sound of a door being flung open and the clackety clack of polished wingtips echoed in the hall, I made up my mind. In that quick span, I refused to cower. 
    I was unprepared for his brutal attack on my ego. “How could you? How could you be so stupid?” Strands of spittle ringed the edges of his puckered lips, reminding me of all those horrid trips to the zoo and those brazen animals with their uncovered bodies. What were those red-rumped monkey things called? 
    His insult rang, but the pink-spittled lips dulled the sting and I tried to keep the smile from my mouth. “What now, Jasper?” I rose from my window seat and began a cursory tromp around the room, feigning activity. 
    “Really, Mother? Could you not know to what I refer?” 
    “Jasper. I don’t have time for games. Out with it.” I stood in the center of my room and peered at him, willed him to speak. I knew damn well of to what he referred. It was my distinct joy to make him pronounce it. Does that make me wicked? So be it. 
    Jasper sighed, poured himself the last of my coffee and tried to achieve a relaxed posture in my iron settee. But watching him try to relax just made me think of his puckered lips and animal asses again. I wondered, not for the first time, how I could be responsible for producing such a laugh for offspring. Not for the first time, I blamed his father. 
    “Mother. It’s disgusting. Allowing such a vivid and,” here he blushed and cleared his throat, and again, I softened toward him, “unknown men into your home.” 
    “I don’t need to remind you that I can do as I please, and bring anyone I choose to my house, to my room, to my bed.” Shameful, I know, but I couldn’t resist. He blushed again and looked down. 
    “Too far, Mother. Too far this time. Do you know who this man is?” 
    I shrugged. I hadn’t bothered to learn too much about my partner. I had not planned to keep him around very long. 
    “You don’t care, but you should, Mother. This time.” 
    “Quit with the constant ‘Mother’ business, Jasper and get on with it. What makes this romp so much more despicable than any others? I sat on the edge of my bed, determined to ride out his agony with humor. “I’ve had a slew of such abominations, darling.” 
    He fumed again. “Would you still laugh if I told you your new accessory is not a Mr. James Thuston, of Chicago? Hmm? Is it hilarious that he’s really a guy from Sheboygan named Earl Jackson?” 
    I won’t lie, this time. His news struck a certain chord of dismay in me, but hell if I’d let him see it. 
    “So? Many people reinvent themselves in New York. What makes this so criminal?” Jasper could be such a bore. 
    “Funny you should choose that word, dear Mom.” I winced. Worse than “criminal was “mom.” My spine prickled. “He is, in fact, wanted in seven states for fraud, bigamy and an impressive array of other delightful crimes against, how shall I phrase this, women of a certain age.” 
    Now that was low. Allow me the dignity of referring to myself that way without his assent with the same term. I bit back, hoping it hid my concern. 
    “Oh, Jasper. How droll. Well, don’t worry, dear. It’s not like I’m young enough to be carrying his seed. No other benefactors to fear, darling.” 
    “Get rid of him, Mother.” He lurched out of the room. 

    • Jen, I can see why you love her. She is spirited! Hopefully, she hasn’t bitten off too much, this time.

      I loved how she was thinking along the way – and it answers my earlier question about narration – the perspective is obvious with her thoughts: Now that was low.

      I couldn’t help thinking of cougars, what with all the talk of monkeys and zoos. LOL




    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Jen: These characters deserve to be in a book. Nuff said!

  9. Sarah says:

    With a devilish smile, I flung myself from the platform and into the humid Brazilian breeze. It was as if time had frozen for a moment. The rushing waters and creeping foliage below were suddenly dreamlike. Harmless. Lucy and Barrett’s cheers faded into the distance, reassuring me that everything was going to plan. This is exhilarating; the ride of a lifetime. 

    I stretched out my arms, wide as an eagles wing span, as I dived into the unknown. Suddenly aware of my speed as the wind gushed between my fingers. Oh, to fly like a bird, to fall through the rainforest like it belongs to me. It’s overwhelming to imagine that this majestic cloak of greens, fuchsia’s and crystal blue could sprout from a simple seed. My heart might explode!

    My attention was drawn to the water quickly approaching, and I closed my eyes, calmly anticipating the gentle jerk of the rope around my ankles. Any second now. Surely. The cool clear water swallowing me smothers any fears attempting to surface. As I slice effortlessly into the river I wait. Panic is not an option, it is unthinkable. 

    Finally, the tug. I knew it. Sharper than I had imagined. I spring upwards towards the surface and relief washes over me. But my blood runs cold as I notice that the surface is dark and desolate. Sinking into a foggy haze; I’m unsure whether I’m falling or rising at all. Stricken with angry confusion, I thrash my limbs. But the current is not disturbed, and I continue to drift quietly away from the sun. 

    Moments later, with no time to digest, I am lying in a thick slew of emerald pads, with the crackling sun beating on my face. I’m startled by the muffled conversation. Somewhere I can hear the wicked and ugly twisted wail of a woman. I wish she would stop. It cuts right through me. My senses are acute and unbearable, each ray of light brutal and invasive.

    A familiar face snaps into focus. Lucy, aghast and delirious. “What can we do? Somebody do something!”

    A faceless, heavily accented voice replies. “We have tried all we can. He is not responding. There’s nothing we can do”

    “Michael! Michael! Can you hear me?”

    Yes! I reach out my hand to calm her but it remains heavy by my side. 

    “I refuse to believe this! How could this happen! How stupid could we have been to trust you?!” Screeches Lucy, flopping into Barrets sweaty arms. He fixes his steady gaze on me, numb with disbelief.

    “We can not explain. Maybe we try to…” 

    “STOP!” Boomed Barret. Stunning himself. “He’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone. We saw it with our own eyes. Impossible.”

    A cry escapes Lucy, animalistic and shrill. She turns away and wraps her arms tightly around herself. 

    I’m here! Wait!

    Silently and purposefully a white cloth is laid over my body and face. My heart violently leaps from my chest but nobody stirs. 

  10. Cathy Miller says:

    The wicked bite of despair nipped at her heels as she trudged down a corridor of gloom. Could she embrace her inner strength once more or was this her final ride?

    A slew of emotions raced by in a span of mere moments. Would she refuse to feel the pain? The small seed of doubt was all it took. Dropping to her knees, she wailed, “Why? Why?” Her cry left her feeling stupid as the words flung against a deaf wall. And that was the most brutal blow of all.

  11. Shane Arthur says:

    “Hey Billy! Our brutal journey done spanned five days, but we made it! What a ride! Let’s say hi!”

    “Bobby, wait a third. Ain’t dat Bayou Billy’s youngest seed in dat wheelchair in front da house wailin’ and flungin’ a slew of spit and blood out his mouth? He look like a zombie dat refused medical treatment. They gots a cart hooked to his chair like he’s an ox. And they got a stick holding a bowl of what looks like gumbo in front of—.”

    “Hey Bobby and Billy! My sweet Yvonne’s been sensin’ yous was comin’. She’s in da outhouse putting on some makeup since she gonna be responsible for repopulatin’ our species and all. And don’t mind my stupid no-legged youngin’ none. We’s using him as a taxi and plow ‘round here. He got da zombie virus and been tryin’ to eat my gumbo ever since, so we’s using dat as his locomotion source. Speakin’ of da wicked viruses, you two and da two three-nippled gals you brought wit you is da only udder folks alive on da planet, and I knows why.”

    “Why’s dat, Bayou Billy?”

    “Yeah, Bayou Billy, why’s dat?”

    “Mountain Oysters and Gumbo, my dear Watsons! Mountain oysters and gumbo!”
    “`THE END

    • {clapping} Bravo! Encore!

      You know I don’t fake it, Shane. What the heck is Gumbo? LOL

      When will the boyz show up in their new home?




      • Shane Arthur says:

        @Mitchell: Gumbo is soup with all types of sausage, meats and such.
        I’m putting the boyz into a book right now. I’m getting a kick out of reading each older submission as I enter it into the book. I had such a super time with them. I’m not quite sure what to do with myself now. Don’t even know what I’ll think of for the current challenge.

        • LOL! I thought it was something OTHER than the soup. You know, like when you mentioned Man-naise. Oh well, can’t learn if you don’t ask, right?

  12. Rebecca says:

    @ Shane … Nice one! I didn’t see that ending coming. Woo hoo for the Billy and Bobby book! Will it be illustrated? I think it would be cool to see the characters come to life with illustrations in addition to your words.

    Let me know where I can get a copy of the book. I love the adventures of Billy and Bobby. 🙂

  13. Rebecca says:

    @ Cathy … I was hooked for from the beginning. Nicely done!

  14. Rebecca says:

    @ Mitch … I love fairy tales! “Imprisoned all for the sake of the mother’s cravings and her own youthful lust.” That’s a great line. Nice job. 🙂

    BTW: I like “Once Upon a Time” and “Grimm.” I couldn’t get into either show in the beginning, but I started watching and can’t stop.

  15. Rebecca says:

    There were a slew of animal decapitations in Rogan. Detective Roseland thought it was a bunch of stupid kids playing an early Halloween prank, but Angelina, the resident psychic, didn’t believe the brutal killings were done by pimply and hormone crazed teens. She and Roseland drove to the scene than seemed to have spanned a football field. The ride was grueling since Angelina and Detective Roseland didn’t see eye to eye. They approached the site, and she wanted to wail when she saw the dead carcasses. Bodies were flung everywhere. 

    “This wicked act wasn’t done by local teens. I refuse to believe it,” said Angelina.

    “Is that your professional opinion Angelina?” asked Detective Roseland.
    The way he said it made Angelina’s skin crawl.

    Ever since granny told her she had the gift, she’s had to put up people testing her or questioning her abilities.

    “Yes, that’s my professional opinion,” said Angelina. Asshole!

    “Excuse me,” said Roseland.

    “Hmm. I said, it’s my professional opinion,” said Angelina.

    Debris and dirt started kicking up. It was the police helicopter coming in for a landing. A Special Forces team was assisting with the case. The helicopter landed and William Ranson ran towards Roseland and Angelina. 

    “Sir, you’ve got to see this. We took an aerial picture. You’re not going to believe this,” said William.

    He handed Roseland the pictures. “What the hell?” said Roseland

    Angelina took the picture from Roseland and stumbled. The bodies weren’t flung any which way. They were positioned in a way to spell the word “Seed.”

  16. I can’t get over just how stupid my suggestion had been. Two middle aged old fogies spending the day at the county fair. An idea created from the agreement that short jaunts would keep us connected and interested in life outside of ourselves. More importantly, interested in each other.

    Fair day started out fine. We wondered through exhibits. 4H displays of honest efforts, talents on the rise. Final products of seed, planted with hope in the Spring, proudly stating mine is better than yours. Bottles of fruit and vegetables vying for attention. Blue ribbons stating what the judges really think.

    He was gracious enough to spend the extra time to look at the photos, my interest. In exchange I waited patiently as walked the large display honoring the Veterans of Foreign Wars. Then we stood side by side as we filled in the lines of quilt raffle tickets supporting the new county library. 

    Even the animal auction became fun. We watch 4Hers steer animals on to the platform as the auctioneer’s wail dominated the arena. He placed his mouth close to my ear as he explained how the auction worked.

    It is the ride I refuse to take credit for.

    The Ferris wheel should have been enough, it suited us. We sat close, thighs touching, a little more intimacy than we had expressed in months. At the top we seemed equal with the mountains that surround the county. Our view spanned the valley floor as we took turns pointing out familiar places. 

    “Lets try that ride, it doesn’t look too wicked.”

    He looked twice at my suggestion and gave the tickets to the disinterested operator of “The Cobra.”

    The first time around was slow and safe enough. The second time flung his hat to the ground and sent me fumbling to secure the camera in my pocket. Our bodies battered by the slew from side to side, despite white knuckle grips. The ride lasted way too long deposited us bruised and battered onto ground that moved with the sway in my head. He staggered as he bent to retrieve his hat.

    For days he complains of the brutal assault and made an appointment to see the doctor. The cost of our excursion makes me wonder if he would ever suggest another. I know I won’t. I just can’t accept responsibility for such a bad choice. I just can’t be in charge of making the rest of our years together prove to be enjoyable.

  17. Kelly says:


    BrutalMonday. I’ve got slewof work to get through. A boatload of promises to keep. I’m stupid-busy, and I have a wickedheadache to boot.

    In the spanof these twenty-four hours I’ve got to…
    and then…
    and even find time for…,
    all the way across town.

    Sorry I’m wailing while you’re stuck riding the elevator with me. I’d have flungmyself down on my desk in tears when I first opened my agenda today, but I was afraid that’d take too much time. You know how it is.

    Would I like to share your ride? Instead of having to stand out there in the slush trying to hail a cab? Are you kidding me? Of course! How could I refuse?!

    Geez, thanks. A little kindness like this, on a day like today, could warm the seedof hope that’s still buried in my icy heart.

    Watch out, world.

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