Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #254

This is a writing prompt. Bet you can’t do it! Take the 10 random words below and crush writer’s block by creating a cohesive, creative short story! And remember: after (if) you finish entering your submission into the comment field, 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. Pain
  2. Random
  3. Strip
  4. Grass
  5. Move
  6. Complete
  7. Melt
  8. Modern
  9. Thrash
  10. Forward

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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40 Comments on “Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #254”

  1. Here is my entry on this fine Monday

    Under Grass
    Under this random strip of grass
    there is no pain of a modern world
    just the melt of teeming nature
    insects thrash and move forward
    worms complete the soil cycle
    nature moves on everlasting
    all under these blades of grass 

  2. Rebecca says:

    The pain of the modern world can strip away your enthusiasm.
    The internet or social media will not complete you; it may not move your forward.
    Don’t thrash around so much – walk upon the grass and allow the earth to absorb your fears.
    By the way…Not only can random acts of kindness melt the hearts of others, it’s good for your soul. 
     

  3. Jen says:

    “What are you doing down here?” I asked her. I stood on the rubble, firm. If I passed onto the strip of grass that hugged both sides of the fence that separated us, I didn’t trust myself to keep the flame of anger alive. 
     
    She, oh that stubborn girl, she pushed her chin in the air, flipped her hair over her shoulder. “I go wherever I want. I wanted to come here. I came here.” She cocked her head to the side defiantly. Any worry that she would blow out the fire with a word of kindness melted then. 
     
    I didn’t want to. I didn’t mean to. But there I was, moving forward, taking steps toward her, fueled by the flame and by something hotter, hotter than the pain of what she was, of what her father was. Maybe that knocking in my chest was not anger. Maybe the steps I had made toward her were not the complete journey, though I stopped short at the fence. I bent down, plucked a handful of grass, fidgeted with a slender green blade to calm the thrashing that pummeled my lungs, dried my throat. 
     
    Cicadas sang their ceaseless tune, wind tickled the leaves of the trees, the distant sound of the party echoed like a memory from the empty brick buildings. I was close enough to see the white hairs on her forehead, caught in streams of random light, giving her the illusion of being crowned with an ill-fitting halo. 
     
    “Dammit, Mercy.” I looked down at my feet, standing in the patch of green. 
     
    She shuffled closer to the diamonds in the fence, wrapped her slender pink fingers around the wire, wiggled her pointer at me. The defiance became begging, cajoling. I mirrored her, but kept my hands at my sides, tossing the grass back to the earth. 
     
    “Dammit, Grace,” she said. She smiled. 
     
    “What are we going to do?” I asked her. 
     
    “‘Bout what?” 
     
    “You’re crazy or stupid, girl.” She exasperates me, even now, after all these years. “About your daddy. About you creeping down where you don’t belong.” 
     
    She shrugged, offered a weak, “dunno.” 
     
    I touched her wiggling finger, pulled away. “My daddy says he trusts him.” 
     
    She waited. Then she said, “Your daddy’s smart.” 
     
    “Don’t try to flatter me, you.” It was pointless to protest, and I knew she was sincere. 
     
    At that moment, I didn’t have any answers, except that I didn’t want to breathe the flame into continued life. I wanted everything back, just the way it was, before we saw her daddy in that awful white hood. In these modern times, we ride the bus, not the trolley, and we don’t sit in the back. You have to remember, back then, meeting like that was as dangerous a thing as we could do. 
     

  4. No transition from quackery to modern medicine is complete without a ritual sacrifice. Cuxi Uarcay was, sadly, that catalyst which sparked forward progress. The European explorers were too shocked to move from their hiding places in the tall grass. They could only watch helplessly as the young woman flinched in pain with each strip of flesh flayed from her torso.

    The shaman seemed to select random parts of the captive’s body. As more  and more flesh was peeled away, Cuxi’s facial features began to melt into the flaccid mask of resignation. She didn’t even bother to thrash about on the stone slab. Finally, she was still. The shaman ducked beneath the slab and retrieved a large stone bowl. He stood erect and ceremoniously proffered the bowl to the fat man lolling on the golden chair.

    It was too much for Luis Cortez. He  jumped up, raised his harquebus and fired a single shot. The shaman collapsed, the attendants scattered in fright and the conquistadors swept in and captured the king.

    Checkmate.

  5. K says:

    Modern society, at that time, vastly contrasted with the government we know of today. Ours discourage any affliction of pain on others or any cruel punishment without any given explanation. In other words, our society that we knew of was a democracy, a republic in which the citizens’ fate resided in the palm of their hands. Who would’ve guessed in the next centuries to come the anarchy we’ve strived to keep under restraints or even coerced into obscurity was all in vain? The efforts we thought we’ve upheld were in actuality lenient suggestions rather than practiced laws. But one fact was still retained in this era. Society is just as corrupt, if not more, than any other in history.

    Random, unorthodox mannerisms that she had no intention of adopting were being done by her subconsciously. For instance, she methodically chewed on her nails. Throughout the entirety of her life, she’d learned this was a vice that instigated problems such as infections and should never be picked up. Yet here she cautiously bit down on her receding nail beds. Ineffable fear struck every one of her nerves. It was understandable in her situation, but simultaneously, it was a paradox. This road she traversed on was weathered, yet she familiarized herself with every obstruction lying under the soles of her sneakers. She had trodden on this path for the last five years, so it wasn’t rational for her to be intimidated of her fate lying at the very end if she’d survive for the duration she had. The path wasn’t paved in the least rather it was merely sand. In this dome shaped environment, dunes of sand and the substance in genernal spanned as far as the eye could see and occasionally convoluted in the air due to the slight breezes. She got caught in a trance while onlooking the bleak surroundings she passed through perhaps a thousand times.

    Some centuries ago, rumors have it that this land was once graced with biodiversity and not to mention fertility and a splay of grasses. But after the collapse of the preceding era, most of the Earth’s prodigious lands were stripped of their former glory, the damage done beyond human reparation.

    Move!” thunderously urged one of the brusque men flanking her. With a flick of his wrist, he directed the tip of the leather whip resting in his hand to crack down at her feet. His movement was superfluous, stirring up unecessary grains of sand. The stinging sensation throbbed in her legs no doubt that the recuperating scars had burst upon contact. A soft groan escaped her lips. She snapped out of her nostalgic daze and acquiescently resigned, her feet resuming at their leisurely pace. A rueful smirk played on her lips, reminiscent about her past days. The days where she ventured to thrash and writhe in the guards’ grip only to be subdued and forced to continue on this path forward. The rebellious front she’d guised herself died within that first year along with any ounce of innocence she had possessed. No long after being reprimanded, she along with the burly men keeping a close watch on her halted before the larger than life edifice. She mechanically approached the lanky guard near the entrance.

    “Name?” the timbre of his voice greatly differed from his countenance, his voice revealing to have depth while his face perpetually remained child-like. She exhaled sharply before replying. In the five years that they’ve continually met each other, he still questioned her identity though he fully knew well who she was.

    “Subject 5028. Skye.” the girl replied, her attention focused entirely on the man. He tapped the black device on his wrist, and a holographic list projected in front of him. With his finger, he crossed out her name. A fiery scratch appeared adding to the myriad of others. The transient, blue list slipped back into the device.

    “Skye, you’re the seventh match.” the ginger haired male informed.

    “Thanks.” Skye nodded her head in affirmation. 

    ‘Be careful.’ he mentally exchanged, incapable of voicing his thoughts aloud in front of others.

    “I will.” she said a bit above auditory range. And with the acknowledgement of her presence completed, she advanced into the encroaching tenebrosity and melted into the shadows.

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @K: Wow! That was awesome. Welcome to the CCC indeed. 

      • K says:

        Thanks for the comment! Appreciate the kind words, although my entry was a bit too lengthy for my taste. It seems the more I want to be concise, the more I disregard it. Haha, nonetheless thank you.

    • I would buy this.
      Welcome to the CCC, word-slinger!
       
      Cheers,
       
      Mitch
       
       

      • K says:

        I wouldn’t call myself a word-slinger, but your comment made my day. Thanks for looking over it, and I really liked your entry. It was short but very captivating. By the time I reached the end, I wanted to know more. Was the setting in the early 1500’s when the Incans thrived by any chance?

        • My pleasure, K! As for my entry, you nailed it. 🙂 I had to look up the lady’s name, for authenticity, but that is the only factual piece.
           
          Cheers,
           
          Mitch
           
           

  6. Radwan N. says:

    The Living Soul

    Is it random, for that of the soul to linger in what a mind cannot materialise? It is in our nature to move toward speculation of purpose and place in a modern world that breeds pain through the inequalities of capitalism. Indeed this world can strip away mankind of its moral intellect and thrash the strength of its soul, but spare the ego, for it is the enemy of discipline. If you allign your heart with truth, like a blade of grass in the sun, your soul will nourish and all things of deceit will melt at the feet of truth while your heart and mind moves forward. Only then is your journey complete.

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Radwan: Welcome to the CCC. Love the deep thought that went into this submission. More of this. Everyone welcome Radwan to the fun (each Monday and Thursday by the way.)

    • Welcome to the CCC, Radwan! You’ve given us some food for thought. It took a few readings to digest it all! Deep!
       
      Cheers,
       
      Mitch
       
       

  7. Liss Thomas says:

    Some think I’m cold.  Watching the pain spread and manifest in random limbs.  Sweat beading in one cold strip across the upper lip or clinging to facial hair like dew on grass.  I move closer to make sure my job is complete and watch sanity melt away.  The once modern ‘businessman’ reduced to nothing, left to thrash about like a fish until the final lurch forward and nothing.  I mark his name from my list.  Next.

    • Liss, the coolest line is “I move closer to make sure my job is complete and watch sanity melt away.”
       
      I like the mystery: whose sanity is the killer watching? 🙂
       
      Cheers,
       
      Mitch
       
       

  8. Robyn Lostheart says:

     
    This is a Wake Up Call
    by Robyn Lostheart

    This is a wake up call
    to everyone in this
    modern
    world
    who believes that
    we are complete
    only if
    we have…
    Fill In Your BLANK Here 

    To those who offer no resistance to the wind
    swaying, more compliant than the grass beneath our feet
    To those who strip off the florescent essence of identity 
    in favour of the safe and pale conformity

    To those of us
    who are afraid to breakdown
    who hold in our inner passions
    scared to release, express and melt

    To us
    ‘average’
    citizens
    who shy away from making a move
    in fear of pain and rejection
    who want ever so mightily to move forward
    but hesitate to take the very first step
    who can’t explain why we do what we do
    because we are so immersed
    in so deep
    that the random seems natural

    To the faceless crowds
    of individual souls
    unwilling to thrash and make a scene 
    because of what their neighbour might think

    We are not a crowd
    We are not a demographic
    We are not a race
    We are not a category
    We are individuals who
    can make a difference in this world

    So this is a wake up call
    to everyone (myself included)
    in this
    ‘modern’
    world
    who believes that
    Everyone
    has a difference to make

     
     
     
     

  9. Rebecca says:

    @ Justin… That is ironic. By the way…I loved the line, “insects thrash and move forward.”
    This past weekend was eventful because I had issues with upgrading one of my websites to WP 3.4. Thankfully, my website is back to normal. It only took three days. And then…My sister’s separation has become interesting. 🙂

    @ Mitch… Thanks! They were the perfect words for what I wanted to write. 

  10. Shane Arthur says:

    Quick, free-flowing submission:

    Pain is random, like strips of grass moving in complete unpredictability. But it’s real, and it melts on top of our modern minds as we thrash forward in spite of it.

  11. Rebecca says:

    @ Shane…Glad you liked it! I guess that’s the one perk of my moving back to the Midwest. I get to walk barefoot on the grass in the backyard. 🙂  

  12. Nikki J. says:

    What would you do if you knew you might have less than ten years to live? Would you let the pain get the worst of you? Would you continue carrying on business as usual? Or would you change things up and be more random and do everything you always wanted to do?
    Would you let the fear strip your soul? Or spend every waking moment enjoying your life and kids and be free? Would you stop and take the time to run barefoot through the grass? Stop and smell the roses? Or would this news move you to work even harder to meet your goals and complete that degree? Or would the degree even matter at this point, when the years are starting to melt away from your life. 
    Would you be frustrated that with all this modern technology we have, that they still haven’t found a cure for this disease? The disease that makes you thrash around at night and toss and turn in your nightmares.
    How would you chose to move forward with your life?
     

  13. Bobbert says:

    THE AFTER
     
    Jake could feel his buddy Mark thrashing in the grass by his side from the pain. He had slowed the bleeding with a strip of cloth. There were enemy snipers in the trees backing some troops moving slowly and carefully forward. The rocks he was hiding behind would not give them cover for long. They couldn’t very well run for it, as Mark couldn’t even stand, and they would not last long if he tried to carry Mark. He wondered if he should have gagged his friend to keep him quiet while the hunt was on. It was unthinkable even in desperate times, so he just hoped the muffled groans would not carry to their killers’ ears.
     
    “Think. There’s got to be a way out.” Jake listened for any sign of incoming fighters. Modern warfare was still fought on the ground, but it was really all about air superiority. Without air support, he was a sitting duck. Hearing nothing, he checked back, and estimated another 10 minutes at best.
     
    Random shots bounced off the rocks, but the two of them were invisible. They had melted into the terrain, and these shots were just lucky strays.
     
    Then there was a whoosh from the sky. There was a series of explosions, and all of a sudden everything lit up. Next thing Jake knew, he was opening his eyes. He found himself laying on a cot in a temporary med tent. He felt a complete, normal safety for the first time in days.
     
    He caught the attention of a medic. “Did Mark make it?”
     
    From behind him, “Hey, you sad M- F-. You didn’t think you could get rid of me that easily, did you?”
     
    Before he could think of a clever comeback, Jake passed out again into a long, deep sleep. There was plenty of time for the stories. And, God willing, there would even be time for the memories to fade. 
     


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