Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #257

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. Fight
  2. Give
  3. Due
  4. Burn
  5. Thinking
  6. Heavy
  7. Force
  8. Account
  9. Reason
  10. Vile

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


25 Comments on “Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #257”

  1. Meredith says:

    The precursor from CCC #251
    Alex got little sleep as thoughts of AJ pulled him in all directions. Every time he heard a sound, he expected AJ to be knocking on his door asking for help. But that was kind of stupid, he realized, as of course he’d be working on AJ’s case. It was his day off, but he really didn’t want the time or space of being alone and doing nothing. He wanted to find AJ, and he had a sense he knew where he and Margaret were (if she was with him). For that knowledge, he was thankful he didn’t have to report. He got up before sunrise, pulled a few food items together and headed out.
    New installment:
    Alex’s drive to the cabin was long enough for some heavy thinking. Why was he doing this? Why give AJ the time of day, much less a leg up against the force? Unfortunately, Alex had been hit by good old love, specifically the kind urging him to fight for what he believed in. He would fight for his love and felt he was due a serious explanation. All AJ’s words, all those talks they had (the ones Alex thought were totally upfront and honest) burned in Alex’s heart as he drove. If AJ couldn’t account for them, well, betrayal really sucked. There must be a reason, an explanation for AJ’s return to Margaret. Perhaps it was temporary, but still a vile thought. Alex knew if AJ really was involved in this technological theft ring, their relationship was over, gay or straight. It just didn’t work to be bedding with those on the other side of the law. Alex’s right foot inadvertently eased to the floor as his thoughts sped up. He was ready to face AJ, come what may. Nothing could compare to honesty and integrity. If he lost him, well that was the way it went. His heart, now in his throat, told a different story as he drove up the dirt road to the cabin.

  2. K says:

    I guess I’m the first one today. Hope everyone had a nice Fourth of July!
           Sometimes, being courageous was a fatal vice. Altruism, which is considered a virtue, has this buildup sensation akin to swallowing poison, its bitter trail wreaking havoc in my throat. Magnanimity has become a sickness, my sin.
           From her account, it seemed like kind, lucid hearts were defective, and they were a flaw in this world she struggled to survive in. Though that fact wasn’t technically applied to every person, if expressed at any given time around those whose identities were shrouded in apprehensive anonymity, benevolence does not give reason or justification for actions. She just wished she had learned that before instead of haphazardly gambling away her life. In this case, she was throwing her family’s lives on the table in the process, too. Staggering to rise on her feet, the weight from her upper torso and beyond caused her knees to collapse underneath it. A hiss escaped her lips, and she was forced to kneel, one of her legs tremulously swinging slightly outward. A purplish white flash cleaved through the strata of tenebrous clouds. Three resonant thunderous eruptions caused the earth to tremble under the sheer sound. She winced and squirmed in her constrained position upon perceiving the thunder following lightning. With rhythmic synchronicity, fat droplets of rain descended to the ground and enveloped her form. Due to the turn of weather, she was coerced and ensnared into this seemingly done shaped environment. The deluge of raindrops seeped into the mouths of shallow gashes mutilating her arms and engulfed the nerves in her right leg with excruciating, burning agony. Even if she longed to leave the premises which she did, the thought of retreating was inconceivable, considering her debilitating condition and wounds. Her eyes flickered from the turbulent heavens down to her right leg. There was absolutely no chance at all. A macabre laceration extended down from the length of her knee to her ankle, it’s depth considerable. Viscous blood percolated from the wound’s opening then was rinsed by the rain. It pooled with the groundwater. At the very sight and idea of shed blood sloshing around her, general disorientation overwhelmed her almost to the point that black shrouded the entirety of her vision. She, fighting with all of her willpower to prolong her imminent unconsciousness, noted a heavy, hulking silhouette trudging towards her. Vile indignation pooled in the pit of her stomach. Had they not engraved their precaution into her heart? Did they want her to join their legion-like numbers that badly that the death penalty needed to be upheld if her decision was otherwise? Rear tempting to stand her ground, she slowly ascended to her feet, bending her right leg. A bit uncoordinated but nonetheless successfully, she balanced her own weight and hobbled forward to confront the assailant enshrouded in shadows. Upon closer inspection, above the figure’s head was an eerie halo. 
           “Hey!” her voice greeted powerfully. A clap of thunder roared after her utterance. “Are you back to finish me off this time?” The being’s reticence unnerved her partially because taciturnity wasn’t their coven’s most practiced mannerism. Those members would opt to rush in and attack head on rather than deliberately delay their judgment. In fact, she would prefer he expedite his actions than draw them out like he was. Fine, she would make the first move then. Running up to the yellow specter, she balled her hand into a clenched fist and extended her arm. She was still quite a distance from him and therefore fell a bit short in front of the figure. Losing her balance, she toppled over and expected to lay sprawled on the ground. The outcome, though, had ultimately reached the worse case scenario. An arm wrapped around her to secure her from falling. Fastened in his other hand was a metallic dagger that caught the glint of lightning once in a while. Writhing in his trap on her, she tried to pry off his arm cutting off her supply of oxygen.
           “Stop.” the brusque command emanated from him. He seemed to struggle containing her when he loosened his grip on her by a fraction. “I’m not going to kill you.”
           “Why should I believe you?” she spat with venom injected in every word. Rationally thinking that once he accomplished deceiving her he would indeed threaten her or if worse comes to meet her, murder on the spot, she scrutinized him while questioning. Her resolve faltered when the face elicited a name in one of her fresh recollections. “Wait, you’re…” Giving her no time to interject his identity, the blonde hoisted the girl on his back. To keep from slipping onto the ground, she hastily coiled her arms around his neck. A nearly imperceptible groan was released from her mouth when her right leg brushed against his side. 
           “I’m sorry this had to happen to you, and I came too late. Because you saved him, I owe it to do the same to you.” the blonde further confirmed her suspicions. A grimace graced her lips as the darkness intermittently blinding her overwhelmed her. The irony concerning the victim rescuing their savior when her whereabouts were unknown was the final thought that lingered in her mind before her erratic breathing regulated as pain and fatigue finally caught up with her.

  3. Liss Thomas says:

    Continuation . . .
    I take another hit of caffeine and listen to the news account.  They found the body, victim burned in fiery car crash, Juliet Gotti, daughter of suspected Mob boss and head of Gambino family.  Cause of death, gun shot wound to the head.  I force myself to continue watching.  My chest feels heavy, there is no relief yet.  Thinking of her, us, I wondering if she will forgive me for the vile things I’ve done.
    The story continues . . . male victim found in wreck, gun shot wound, self inflicted, identified as Romeo Genovese, suspected hit man of rival family.
    I’m dead.  She’s dead.  Will they believe it?  What reason would they have not to believe?  If not, the fight continues.  But I’m done, paid my dues, given all I could to the cause.  Now I want more.
    “Romeo?” she calls, then giggles.  “Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?”  I have to laugh too.  I look in on her.  She smiles then winces.  “Did you have to shoot me?” she asks.
    “Yes,” I say and grimace at my own wound.  “It’s official, we’re dead.” 

  4. Jen says:

    “Those people,” a heavy woman in a tight skirt pinched the words out of her puckering face, squinting into the sun. A man sidled up next to her, agreeing, “coloreds getting out of hand again.”  She bobbled her chins up and down. I don’t like to judge people; Mama always said it was a vile habit for vile people, but the size of that woman struck me hard that day; as if she, in her mass, carried the thoughts of a people in her sausage link arms. 
    On every person along the street, one emotive consensus prevailed. They were disgusted. 
    “You can do what you want, Mercy, but I’m getting out of here.” 
    She looked up and down the street, people hemmed each intersection, cars blockaded the streets. “How?” 
    She had a point. I scanned the same street, thinking of a way out. “I’ll take the alleys to the tracks. I’ll be safe down there.” 
    She didn’t like my idea. She was shaking her head while I spoke. Mercy will always be that naive girl to me, the one who on that day said, “Maybe it will blow over. It’ll get sorted. No big deal.” 
    The crowd had swelled, the force of their panic pushed us tighter against the bricks of the building. I heard my name, “Grace!” rising over the heads of the overflowing sidewalk. I heard clanging bells in the distance, and coming closer. 
    Give me your hand,” I ordered Mercy, taking her hand even while she fought to free herself. I pulled her with me through the maze of anger, hearing nothing reasonable. I burned with confusion and hatred and frustration and fear. I had to get closer to the sidewalk. I had to find my dad calling for me. 
    I cannot account for how I found my father, parked at the corner of Fifth and Main, in a truck from the yard. I saw his face, sweaty and wide-eyed. Only later, days later, did I find out why he was down there. He told me he was due to take some lumber to a new building site, and had discovered our plans from Mama that morning. I didn’t care, at that moment, why he was there. I just cared that he could get us out of there. 
    It took the better part of an hour for Daddy to navigate the side streets of town, working his way through streets blocked by people and police car and all manner of people, as if they were a moving and active part of an audience. We drove in fraught silence, except for mutterings from Daddy about street closings or people standing in the street or who knows what all. 
    We dropped Mercy at her front door. Daddy gave her clear instructions. “Go inside. Stay inside. Tell your mama to stay near the phone. Now, Mercy. Go.” 
    For once, the girl did as she was told. That was the last I ever saw of her. I see her running to the porch. Her hair, which had been calmed and pulled and tugged tight into a smooth ponytail, secured with a  silver-colored band, wafted around her head, the ponytail bouncing as she ran. I close my eyes and I can hear the click of her black pumps on the walk way. I can see the pink crepe myrtles waving in the spring breeze, unaware of the garish audacity. I see a sweat stain, an amoebic puddle on the back of her once perfect white blouse, her socks covered with mud kicked up her legs. With my eyes closed, with my heart back in that moment, I see the bright red door slam close behind her. The last time I saw her, the back of her head, running into her house, doing as she was told. 
    That night, Tulsa burned. 

  5. The Air Force heavy bombers laid down a searing gauntlet. The vile napalm caused the entire forest to burn. The General was called to give account, due to the fact that the enemy had surrendered last week. The fool said he had reason to believe that the [redacted epithet] started this fight, and, by God, we would finish it.
    It’s not clear from the redacted document which nation he was cursing. The thinking inside the Beltway lead to his dishonorable discharge, nevertheless.

    Hold the tomatoes – I just made this up… 

  6. D.R. says:

    The beginning of this story, Starts with a Death, is actually over on my blog. Part two is below.
    Who would commit such a vile act? Honestly, what reason would they have for taking an innocent man’s life?

    Maybe the old man wasn’t so innocent after all. Maybe he had secrets.

    As I sat in the town’s tiny cafe, working on my school assignment that was almost due, my ears couldn’t help but overhear the neighboring conversations. It got me thinking of the elderly man who was so secretive and reclusive from this small town.

    The police said he didn’t even put up a fight. Found a couple burn marks on him too.

    Oh, so we’re going by their account huh? Of course they’re not going to tell the entire truth. They’re only going to give you the part they want you to hear.

    Rumor has it, the old man was struck with a heavy object, straight to the back of his head. The force of that alone could have knocked him out, even kill him.

    So what you’re tellin’ me is that someone out there had the intention of killing?

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @D: Nice work. Reminds me of something I always say, “God bless ‘um . . . if they deserve it.”

  7. Rebecca says:

    When you fight against your life and try to force things to happen, it backfires on you.
    It’s a paradigm to keep thinking and thinking about what you want to manifest.
    You give the universe reason to push whatever it is you want away from you.
    Due to the laws of life, vile actions and thoughts will be returned to you.
    Account for your actions by acknowledging and releasing the karma around them.
    Don’t go through life with a heavy heart; otherwise, you’ll burn out.

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Rebecca: I was burned out this weekend, but luckily a voice just like your here whispered to me. 🙂

  8. Shane Arthur says:

    I’d fight you, but I don’t give a damn about the rent due, or the burn marks on the carpet you’s suin’ over. My thinking is, my name’s not on the lease. My conscious ain’t heavy. You can’t force me. My account is already overdrawn anyway. Reason that! It’s vile dealin’ with a man who ain’t been paid in awhile, ain’t it?

  9. Rebecca says:

    @ Shane … I understand about burn out. Sometimes, you have to do nothing and ‘veg’ for a while. Hope you’ve recuperated. 🙂

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