Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #237

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. Dust
  2. Dark
  3. Lovely
  4. Chord
  5. Reaction
  6. Remember
  7. Please
  8. Voice
  9. Wake
  10. Welcome

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

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30 Comments on “Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #237”

  1. Here is my entry for today’s submission:

    Stirred
     
    The dark chord was lovely
    like a welcome voice in the night
    invoking a memory to please
    in the dust of an ancient body
    that can now remember desire
    how could music wake this thing
    this reaction most unexpected
    hunger that must be filled 

  2. The words on the discarded box struck a chord. The long lost voice of Robert Frost arose from the dust of the concrete jungle to transport me to the snow-covered path of a long-ago woods. Yet, the scene in the hair salon was anything but dark and lovely. I pushed past the officer into the cool shop.

    The chairs were slashed to ribbons, as if Edward Scissorhands had gone mad during one take too many. I sidestepped curling irons, broken hand mirrors, curly strands of snipped locks. I barely noticed the television, though I heard Maury taunting someone named Jad’arrius. I reached up and muted the baby mama drama.

    Sheets covered two bodies. I ignored the macabre wake of forensic technicians and disinterested detectives. Neither group was ever welcome around this neighborhood.

    Celina was in the supply room, slumped over a shipment of noxious chemical additives. My reaction was so morbidly visceral, I nearly threw up; we had always joked that these relaxers were going to kill her one day. She seemed to read my mind and, with a wicked ragged breath, whispered, “You were right, Dante.”

    “Cee, who did this?” I knelt beside my baby sister and cradled her head.

    “Remember that documentary, Good Hair?” she wheezed.

    “Of course. Please, just tell me who was in here?”

    “I’m tryin’, D. It was Chris.”

    “Oh, Lord. Not like this. Baby girl, stay with me. We gon’ get you some help.” Why was lying so damned easy?

    “I’m serious. Chris came in here, screaming about the bad perm Shanika put in Lola’s hair.”

    I knew I was never going to get the answer from Celina. She was fiercely protective of the community. Even with her last breath, that’s what she wanted me to remember. I stored my grief for later, setting my sister down gently. This may have been how she wanted to go to sleep, but I had promises to keep.

  3. Shane Arthur says:

     
    Buck Williams didn’t remember waking up to the welcoming chords of the pleasing voice of his dark and lovely, only fucking for hours, the reaction on her face when she came for the third time,  and the dusty mirror he avoided looking into as he left without saying goodbye. He didn’t want to miss someone who would be dead by sunrise.
     

  4. When I remember how hard it is to move from the dark dust of loss I can hear a voice wake life times of reaction to loved ones gone by. The desire to please those who enter into my day by day activities strikes a chord so deep I welcome the chance to make most of today. To capture those lovely moments created in truly caring and not just pleasing.

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Sheila: That was fantastic. I’m guessing you enjoyed this submission. Flowed smoothly and drew me in.
      Welcome to the CCC (although for some reason, I feel you have been here before. Isn’t that weird?)
      Let us know what you thought of the challenge.

  5. J.W. Roberts says:

    Welcome to a tale of endless cruelty,
    Return those to dust that defile beauty,
    Please don’t remember the voice of evil,
    Nay, think forever of those of good will.

    Tis a dark deed to complete in the wake,
    Piercing a vile heart with a holy stake,
    Whether rapist, thief or adulterer,
    The dark grip of death is the simple cure.

    O’ hear that your reaction is adored,
    So lovely it is when words strike a chord.

  6. Cathy Miller says:

    @Shane-sneaky putting welcome in the list 😉

    @Sheila Atwood: Welcome to the CCC (this 1st welcome doesn’t count ) 😉

    Rising from the dust of writers’ despair, CCC converts the dark sense of gloom into a lovely ray of light. It strikes a chord with all who visit as we cherish the reaction to the words within our heart.

    We remember why we write and that’s to please – if not for others than for ourselves. The silent voice will wake once more as we welcome the joy of words.

    Welcome, Sheila!

  7. A bit late but still here!
    Dead Dolphins at Daybreak, Part 8

    Ryan knew the house well enough to move through silently, even in the dark. He knew that the fourth stair squeaked, and the seventh groaned if you stood in the center. He avoided these as he ascended, remaining silent, hoping to surprise the others that were still upstairs.

    His senses were all on edge, just waiting for an anomaly. He noted the dust that was on the handrail at the top of the stairs, the crumbs of what looked like a sandwich on top of the carpet, the smell of cordite and unwashed bodies. He took the two steps to the door of the bedroom that he and Kaetlyn shared. He could see one unmoving, pale hand tied to the headboard and his breath caught, but he couldn’t move yet. There was a shadow moving on the wall.

    Ryan swallowed hard and burst into the room, .45 tracking and his back to the wall. He didn’t allow himself the emotion that should be there, seeing Kaetlyn tied to the bed in his peripheral vision, no knowing if she still lived. He pulled the trigger on the man who made the shadow and he went down in a heartbeat. He pulled the trigger on the man who sat in the chair. His .45 bucked three then four then five times in his hand until the slide locked open. He reloaded swiftly and reacquired the man in the chair as he said, “Freeze, Police!”

    The clock downstairs struck a mournful chord as the top of the hour came. The man in the chair chuckled and began to rise. Ryan pulled the trigger and again emptied his magazine. He reloaded with his last clip and the dark man stood before him.

    Ryan’s eyes were wide with wonder as the man walked toward the window. “Ryan, Ryan, Ryan.” He said. “You really have no idea do you? I almost pity you. At least you will be famous.” With that the window shattered and the man dove out of the opening. Ryan was there a second later, in enough time to see the wings unfurl from his back and take flight in the thin moonlight. Ryan fired at the creature, to no avail, until it was out of sight.

    He then turned his attention back to the room of horrors behind him. Kaetlyn was there, lying on the bed, as lovely as ever, even tied to the bed and covered as she was. Ryan’s gun dropped to the floor. He stepped to the bed and fell to his knees, reaching for her neck, praying that there was a pulse. Miraculously, there was one. It was thin and thread but it was there. He peeled back the blanket and replaced it quickly, the sight of so much of her blood too much for him to bear. He knew she was going to die. He didn’t save her. Why did she become involved? What was this all about?

    Dead dolphins was strange enough, but a flying man who couldn’t be killed with bullets, and now they have taken Kaetlyn? Why was Ryan Jones the target of this?
    He stood, and brushed back the errant strand of hair from her face. “I’m so sorry.” He choked out through impending tears. “I’m so sorry. I wish you could wake up. I wish you could welcome me home like you usually do. I love you, and I am so sorry.” He wanted to untie her and arrange her more comfortably until her heart stopped. He knew he couldn’t, forensics would want everything as it was.

    Her voice made him jump, his reaction was to reach for his gun that was not in his holster. He calmed a split second later. “Kaetlyn?” he said quietly. “Remember me please, Ryan. Always.” She said in a strained fading voice. “I will, my love.” He said and her head slumped to the side, her last breath exiting her body.

    Ryan slumped back to the floor and sobbed into his hands.

  8. Deb. Price says:

    Stumbling through the damp night air I found myself in the midst of a bizarre costume party. Scanning the faces behind the masks I struggled to find someone I recognized, anyone who might look familiar and safe. Feeling fearful and closed in I began looking around for a place to make a clean break from the throngs of people who seemed to continually close in on me. Like a cover of autumn leaves swaying madly in the wind they danced to the throbbing beat, bumping and grinding.

    The smell of stale beer, extinguished fire and cigarettes overwhelmed me and I felt like Alice falling through the rabbit hole as the faces swirled before me blurring in and out of focus. For a few seconds at a time a space around me would open up and I could breath in deeply just enough to stay conscious.

    “Can I get you a Jack” someone whispered into my ear and I turned to see a tall woman costumed as a cat. Standing a few inches taller than me I was stunned by the perfection of her body art. Her bone structure was the perfect canvas to carry delicate feline features with wide set deep green eyes and  a thin athletic frame. Fascinated by her inborn grace and how she worked it so effortlessly into her persona I started to study her intently.

    Softly she purrs in my ear “let’s sneak away” and I bolted,  wide awake.

  9. Rebecca says:

    “Please remember” said the lovely voice.
     
    “Wake up from your long and dark nap,” said the voice.
     
    “Your life’s song has been stuck on a dreary chord,” said the voice.
     
    “Rub the dust from your eyes,” said the voice.
     
    “Welcome a new day. Stop your reaction to that which you have no control over,” said the lovely voice.
     

  10. Rebecca says:

    @ Everyone at CCC … I appreciate all of the creativity. It amazes me how all of us write something different for each challenge. 🙂

  11. Rebecca says:

    @ Shane … Thanks! I was channeling my inner ‘life coach.’

  12. Kelly says:

    I CAN’T WELCOME YOU

    Reality
    is a cruel bone-crusher, my love
    Things that look good in print
    are dark, and dusty, full of
    un
    pleasant surprises.
    It’s never the lovely paradise that you’re looking for.
    Please don’t come any closer, and rememberwhen you ignore this, that I warned you:
    My voiceis just as lovely
    (so they say)
    but I can’t welcomeyou with it; I
    like you too much to deceive you.
    I know.
    I play chords that draw you in.
    I’m cruel!
    Like a siren, but some
    un
    selfish remnant of what I once was, wants to
    wakeyou up. Warn
    you away from the rocks.
    I couldn’t stand to see your reaction, when
    you find out I’m no more
    than me.


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