Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #283

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.) NOTE: Our bolding plugin is gone, so you’ll have to put <b> and </b> around each of your words if you want them to stand out, but NOT REQUIRED THOUGH.

  1. Finger
  2. Load
  3. Change
  4. Old
  5. Wall
  6. Sign
  7. Tab
  8. Nearest
  9. Gas
  10. Spiral

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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39 Comments on “Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #283”

  1. I have been away awhile, and have missed participating.

    Here is my response to today’s challenge, in the order given:

    I used my finger to load the pistol, for a change. The old wall had a sign saying, “Pull the tab, to find the nearest compressed gas tank”. “What a nice target!”, I told myself, and took a shot at it.

    I stood in awe, as the tank, hidden behind the sign, shot in a spiral to the farmhouse at the end of the field.

    Moral: Think about what a sign says, before taking any kind of action.

  2. […] is my submission to Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #283, to see the other submissions, or to add one of your own, just go to the link and follow the […]

  3. Troy Worman says:

    “It’s probably just gas,” said the young Nurse Ratchet, “or a loaded diaper.” She started across the room in hopes of reaching the baby before the situation spiraled out of control, again, but the old Nurse Ratchet was nearest the baby and picked it up before her younger self could reach it.

    Ratchet eyed the tab on the baby’s toe. “That’s a bad sign,” she said to herself. Then she found the soft spot on its head and sunk her finger into it up to the knuckle. “Diaper change no longer necessary,” she spat wiping the blood off on the wall.

  4. […] Diversion of the day: Creative Copy Challenge #283 […]

  5. mistyfan says:

    Continuation from CCC 281 and 282

    As soon as the two men stepped into the corridor, a huge black hulk was waiting for them. It was Commissioner Rudolf Straum, one of the most feared men in the Gestapo. Right now he was more fearsome than ever; one look at the Nazi and Henri thought he might blow up in smoke any second.

    The corridor was a dreadful mess and utter chaos. Cleaners were clearing away loads of water in buckets, swiping mops over the floor in desperate, but water was still spilling out into the corridor and more was gushing out from the room with the door with the sign ‘Men’s Toilet’.

    Straum took one look at the plumbers and stabbed his finger at the mess in the corridor. “About time you got here. Just look at the mess!” Straum was all the angrier because this was the latest in a series of plumbing disasters because the plumbing was getting old and showing its age, just like the rest of the building. Old was definitely the tab for it. The Gestapo was counting the days to the big change, where they would move to the new Gestapo headquarters that was only weeks away from completion.

    Abel ignored Straum’s blustering and pressed on with the first question that any plumber should ask in such situations. “Sir, have the mains been turned off?”

    Straum slapped his forehead; he had completely forgotten that part.

    The mains haven’t been turned off? Abel thought. No wonder the whole damn thing’s spiralled out of control.

    Straum grabbed the nearest cleaner. “Show them where the mains are!”

    “Perrault, you turn off with the mains; I’ll deal with the toilet.” Abel knew Henri was no plumber and would be safer with the mains.

    The cleaner leaned her mop against the wall and beckoned to Henri. “This way, Monsieur.”

    Henri touched his cap. “Thank you, Mademoiselle.” He followed the cleaner’s beckoning hand and quietly smiled. The fact that the building was ageing was precisely what he was counting on. It was the sort of thing where anything could happen. Bursting water pipes. Broken sewage pipes. Gas leaks. Just the sort of building to rig an accident in.

  6. He trailed a finger down her warm back but she didn’t wake. His other hand felt the cold unforgiving steel of his pistol, silencer in place, loaded and ready. For a change, he’d switched to the smaller pistol instead of his old favorite ‘Make My Day’ gun. He slid it out back under the bed and allowed himself time to think. The situation would spiral out of control if he wasn’t careful. She should have been an easy target to eliminate but as he stared at the dingy walls of his small apartment, he realized he liked the company. He’d have to check the news soon for any sign the cops knew the missing girl. Perhaps she would stay if he asked nicely but how could he keep tabs on her while he worked? His next hit needed to be scoped out and followed. He thought of drugging orgassing her but it seemed wrong, distasteful really. The apartment nearest to his was vacant. She could stay for a while undetected. He pulled a wicked knife from under his pillow and slid it under the bed next to the gun. Yes, she could stay.

  7. Before you load pictorial history, that’s better staying a mystery….
    think about how it could spiral and end up going viral.
    Facebook keeps it on your wall, your nearest friends begin to call…
    You might think that it’s a gas, but it could bite you on the ass!
    A scrapbook with a special tab allows you old memories to grab….
    but don’t let your finger on the button mark you on the head as “mutton”.
    If you’re careful you will find………..there’s always time to change your mind!

  8. K Beach says:

    It took only a moment to place a finger on the larger the tab of two, on the top of the can and firmly push it down. Something about the sound that escaped, preceded the flood of cold liquid down the throat, but was enough to trick the brain to produce a change in mood. The sharp, quick hiss followed by a shot of gas that rose up like a spiral of cigarette smoke into the dry and arid air. The old man who had shared this unbearable bus shelter, walked over to to the timetable sign on the wall. After taking a moment to carefully load coin after coin into the nearest ticket machine, he sat back down next to her and seemed to barely notice the heat or the wasp that was circling. She offered him the can, but he refused with a smile and fanned his face with the racing section of his newspaper. The old spearmint and butter painted bus emerged through the haze above the melting bitumen and she took the last sip of the drink she had been carefully saving. With that sip, she believed her wait to get out of Norseman, out of the grasp of her hellish marriage and into a land of choices was finally over. What she had actually taken into her mouth, was the last dose of sweet liquid she would ever taste and the only wasp she would ever swallow.

  9. K Beach says:

    Apologies – there is a stray ‘played’ in there. Mea culpa.

  10. Don’t give me the finger. Your load of big britches broke the damn thing.
    Change your thermostat; you’re the cold air, you old bag.
    Don’t throw my things against the wall. That’s a sign of old-baggery.
    Don’t keep tabs on all my shortcomings, or I’ll run up my tab at the nearest watering hole again.
    Why are you turning on the all the gas burners, and what’s with the box of matches? I think this is spiraling out of control honey bunches.

  11. A Hole in the Sun
    Maddy hated math. She still had to use her finger to write equations in mid-air. She consider calculus to be a load of crap but, until she could change her major next year, she was stuck.

    Her buddy, Jim, took to numbers like a old-school calculating machine. He didn’t need writing on the wall to visualize the most complex formulas. He tutored her twice a week, but there was no sign that anything was sinking in. She glanced across the room to see if his test tab was filled, yet. Sure enough, the glass was 90% done. She look back down at her own empty slate and sighed in frustration.

    Question one was perplexing. Even though it was multiple choice, Maddy still needed to know the relative numbers and she had no idea which of the four objects was nearest in mass to a gas giant. A black hole could not possibly weigh anything, could it? What about a brown dwarf? Come on, this had to be a trick question! That left only the spiral galaxy and planet Earth.

    Maddy conjured up a gold doubloon and flipped it.

  12. K says:

    Nearest to Dan, a decrepit wall stands with as many cracks as he had seen years ago. Old times didn’t change one bit as he sits on the very swing observing it as he did eight years ago. He recollects watching then assisting his younger sister over the obstruction with her justification being the desire to see the garden beyond it. Dan chuckles and turns his attention to the phone gripped in his hand. His finger traces the screen of it, scrambling for some purpose. Perhaps, he shouldn’t have taken up on the offer for heading out to start his life as Heath persuaded when everything at home required closure not yet given. On the other hand, he wonders if he should find reproach in himself for believing his father considers his sister as a load only to be tolerant of and being incapable of raising her. Breathing out a sigh, he powers on his phone and searches for the correct contact. He types in a few letters then clicks send. Afterwards, Dan keeps tabs on the streets out of the corner of his eye.

    Footsteps crunch on the thin layer of snow as they approach him. Dan looks up and stows his phone into his pocket. But once the scent of gas permeates the gap between him and the newcomer, dread inundates his thoughts. Spirals of vapor emanate from her, urging Dan to his feet. Though he thinks of confrontation as his best suit, Dan couldn’t find the words to fill the widening void between his sister and him. Charcoal marks stain her fingers which coil around her phone, and she dons a thin, green jacket frayed at the edges. The screen of her phone lights up.

    “I’m-” she cuts off Dan’s apology with her request bearing no humorous tone.

    “Dan, I think we need to talk.”

    Her phone bears a message. Signed with her brother’s name as the contact, it reads the word of separation: goodbye.


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