Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #284

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. Shorter
  2. Longer
  3. Drag
  4. Smell
  5. Quit
  6. Hot
  7. Better
  8. Haul
  9. Sweat
  10. Sharp

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.)

Advertisements

30 Comments on “Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #284”

  1. The smell of cigarettes and sweat mingled in the air. Hot, acrid cigar smoke increased the blue haze filling the nightclub. Tom quit smoking years ago but the urge still lingered in the back recesses of his mind. He worked his way through the rough crowd in search of Jill and saw her in a corner. He watched her lips pull a long drag on her cigarette and push the smoke toward the ceiling. Without a word, he hauled her up sharply and made for the exit.

    “Hey!” Jill shouted as she jerked free from his grip.
    “Don’t make a scene,” Tom said as he got a better hold on her arm but she struggled against him. The longer she resisted, the shorter his temper became but he kept it in check. His hand grew vice-like as he pulled his struggling quarry through the oblivious crowd and out the door to the waiting limousine. The driver opened the door and helped get the struggling girl into the back before Tom climbed in.

    “I hate you, Dad,” Jill spat as the car pulled from the curb.
    “I can live with that,” Tom said.

  2. While planning for her death, Sam couldn’t decide whether it was better to make the hole longer or shorter than the body.

    He thought the knife would be sharp enough to keep the smell from being too bad. However, he couldn’t bring himself to disfigure her upper body. Instead of slitting her throat he gutted her, not realizing that would release the contents of her insides.

    It was so hot he broke into a sweat while trying to drag her body into the grave.

    Finally, in an exhausted state, Sam decided to quit, doing it himself. He called animal control to haul the body of his beautiful pet llama away, while he stood there with tears in his eyes.

    Moral: It is not always best to do things yourself.

  3. […] is my submission to Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #284, to see the other submissions, or to add one of your own, just go to the link and follow the […]

  4. […] Creative Copy Challenge #284 […]

  5. K Beach says:

    The longer the glance, the shorter my patience is as I wait and breathe through the agony of his pauses. With every drag on his tailor-made Capstan roll-up, I can smell the hot tobacco infuse with his sweat to bring a sharp reminder back of all the sensory memories that make me want him to stay. We climbed into air-conditioning shafts, took long routes around the jetty into the orange glow of the streetlamps and even after squid fishing, our haul would lay bleeding ink on the jetty waiting for us to finish our ritual.

    Would he now, once, and forever admit that he could not imagine not going forward to better ways of mixing of work and desire? Pushing the cigarette butt firmly into the ashtray, until the hot end melted the plastic and burnt his finger, he winced and gave that one final glance of decision. His eyes softened, resigned to the fact that he could not quit what she ignited in him and how that would eternally leave him, resolvedly, connected to her. His work, his body, his mind, were, just like the scent he left in the room, intermingled with hers.

  6. K Beach says:

    The longer the glance, the shorter my patience is, as I wait and breathe through the agony of his pauses. With every drag on his tailor-made Capstan roll-up, I can smell the hot tobacco infuse with his sweat to bring a sharp reminder back of all the sensory memories that make me want him to stay. We climbed into air-conditioning shafts, took long routes around the jetty into the orange glow of the streetlamps and even after squid fishing, our haul would lay bleeding ink on the jetty waiting for us to finish our ritual.

    Would he now, once, and forever admit that he could not imagine not going forward to better ways of mixing of work and desire? Pushing the cigarette butt firmly into the ashtray, until the hot end melted the plastic and burnt his finger, he winced and gave that one final glance of decision. His eyes softened, resigned to the fact that he could not quit what she ignited in him and how that would eternally leave him, resolvedly, connected to her. His work, his body, his mind, were, just like the scent he left in the room, intermingled with hers.

  7. K Beach says:

    I will eventually post without a stuff-up, I promise.

  8. mistyfan says:

    Continuation from CCC 281, 282 and 283.

    The men’s toilet had stopped flooding into the corridor now the mains had been turned off. But everything was still in chaos. Cleaners were still mopping up and hauling buckets of water off the floor. Despite all the cold water everywhere in the men’s toilet, it was a hot, sweaty job for the two plumbers. And a distinctive smell of sewage was coming through and intermingling with the water. Henri stared down at the mess and wondered if he should quit his own little agenda for today; the job facing them was so daunting and repulsive that it was highly unlikely that he would even get the chance to do it.

    Straum stormed in, his temper growing shorter by the second. “Well? What are you going to do?”

    It was Abel who took charge. He had dealings with flooding at Gestapo Headquarters before and had a pretty good idea of where they should start. “Sir, we need to get to where the pipes broke. We’ve got to mend them before we do anything else. And for that we need to get down under the building and get a look at the pipes.”

    Straum gave them a sharp look. “Well, get on with it, then, and the sooner the better!”

    It didn’t take them long to find the broken pipe. One look at it and Henri was so glad he wasn’t a plumber; he would find it a really disgusting drag of a job. Abel took one look and realised the pipe needed replacing. He had to telephone Duvall’s Plumbing and order them to bring the parts required, and be quick about it; he didn’t want to hang around Gestapo Headquarters any longer than was necessary.

    He had left Henri to babysit the broken pipe and apply what limited knowledge he had of plumbing to keep it under control. He also warned Henri to keep away from a different set of pipes; these were the gas pipes.

    Gas pipes, eh? Henri took a long, thoughtful look at those pipes and began to smile. It looked like he may have his chance after all…

  9. A Hole in the Sun
    The days grew shorter, while Maddy’s list of incompletes grew Longer. She didn’t even know why she bothered to drag herself in to Physics and Math, other than to see her friends, Jim and Sarah. Unlike Maddy, both of her friends were acing their courses. Fortunately, the smell of envy was easily converted from its default stomach bile to whatever gum she happened to be chewing when they came past.

    For the past two months, Maddy had been deluding herself with the prospect of changing her major. Without the necessary credits, though, she would still be a sophomore. Right now, she just wanted to quit. Her parents were back on Earth; nothing could stop Maddy from dropping out and setting out on this hot desert planet to seek her fortune. But, she knew better – the University would alert the Embassy and Maddy would be placed on mandatory travel restrictions until they could haul her sorry ass back to Earth. She wiped the sweat from her hands and conjured tomorrow’s test results. She cringed as she studied the page:

    Write An essay on Gödel’s Constructible Universe, From the Perspective of Zero Sharp.

  10. Life was shorter than I thought. Longer than a dragged-out mini-series that smelled bad long before they quit airing it.

    It’s hot here too. Better take it easy for the long haul of sweat and sharp painful memories that hell has playing on repeat.

  11. K says:

    “I wish yours could be longer!”

    “Why? So the experience would be better? Hah, if it was any longer, I would have to drag it around everywhere. Plus, what’s wrong with it being shorter? I think it’ll get anyone hot and bothered as it is now.”

    “Well, the smell of it is off. Did you dip it in bleach, or is it just the smell of your sweat?”

    “You better stop before I quit this session. You always think you’re so sharp and know what you’re doing. Well, the truth is you don’t. I’m doing most of the work now. I don’t need you to tell me how to be happy. I can live without your help.”

    “Fine!”

    “Fine!”

    A young girl no more than fifteen struggles in hauling two bridal dresses of differing lengths in her arms. She did nothing but watch as the women stormed off, leaving her to collapse onto a chair.

  12. Lisa says:

    “Eat it!” he says sternly.

    “I’m full,” I complain, dragging the peas through the shorter roadways I’ve made in the mashed potatoes. I cover the liver, hoping it will disappear. The smell of it makes me gag, it reminds me of sweaty socks. Five years old, I just want to go out and play and remove myself from the tension at the table.

    “You will eat it.” he says sharply.

    Mom sits at the end of the table opposite my father, saying nothing while she finishes her meal. She looks tired. Dad glares at me, awaiting defiance.

    I sit silent. The food, now cold, sits in an unattractive lump in front of me. White, green, brown-grey mass covers the chipped brown pattern on the plate. Even when it was hot, it didn’t look any better, it was just not quite as gelatinous.

    Mom pushes away from the table, rubbing her pregnant belly. She sighs. We have had this argument before.

    Dad, finished of his meal, and leaves the table to retire to the living-room. He turns on the television and drops heavily into the lazy-boy chair.

    “Don’t you dare leave that table.”

    Forcing a forkful of the cold potatoes into my mouth, I gag. I push the plate forward and put my head down on my crossed arms. Behind me, Mom washes the dishes.

    “Please just eat it, Laura”, she says quietly, “don’t drag this out any longer.”

    Two hours later, still sitting at the table, I’m trying hard not to cry. Sleep overtakes me.

    I awake to morning sunlight in my own bed.

    Coming into the kitchen, I see my father leaning against the counter, drinking his morning coffee. I already see that he is not willing to quit this battle.

    “Sit,” he demands, hauling the chair out from the table.

    “You’re a stubborn, spoiled brat,” he growls while taking the cold dinner from the fridge. He drops it on the table in front of me.

    The gelled potatoes and rock hard peas do not even quiver as the plate lands.

    Looking at him now, my resolve to win this battle hardens more than the peas.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s