Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #289

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. Tell
  2. Trap
  3. Chain
  4. Young
  5. Ache
  6. Promise
  7. Wrong
  8. Search
  9. Turn
  10. Deep

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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10 Comments on “Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #289”

  1. Anklebuster says:

    A Hole in the Sun
    Doctors Probe and Psycho couldn’t decide on the best way to tell Sarah how to spring her injured mind from the trap of her own making. Mind over Matter Hypochondriasis was a psychological chain forged in the young girl’s fertile imagination and tempered in the even higher heat of medical misinformation. Given that nobody understood the power of mind-over-matter, the doctors faced a huge challenge in dismissing her symptoms within the context of self-conjuring.

    Sarah’s distress had created a ripple effect of aches for nearly everyone on Gaia Prime. The doctors were laboring under the threat of a Bookbinder Guild project cancellation. The University had made vague promises to the parents of the student body, both on- and offworld. Yet, there really wasn’t anything wrong with Sarah. The seventeen-member Health Care Guild had determined that her brain lesions were not to blame for the onset of MMH. Her workups and history were unremarkable. The doctors would just have to search for the proper twists and turns along the path deep into her mental maze.

    “Sarah, honey?” Doctor Probe assumed her motherly bedside manner. She refrained from the condescension of clasping Sarah’s hand within her own – what she was about to tell Sarah demanded the fullest respect that she could muster. “You are self-administering these symptoms. While we fully appreciate the discomfort you are suffering, we believe…know…we know that you have the ability to reprogram your mind to shut off the feedback loop that’s keeping you prisoner.

    “Doctor Psycho and I are struggling with the proper way to reach your Autre. Your symptoms have bound a surprisingly flexible spring around your symbolic core. This manacle has cut you off from the real world, while at the same time, trapping your Autre unnaturally close to the Imaginary.”

    Sarah, who had just begun taking courses in psychology, knew that the terminology and Probe’s demeanor were the hallmarks of some ancient psychoanalytical babbling. She had her own theories, which she promptly brought up.

    “With all due respect, Doctor and professor, the mere existence of this transcendent capability clearly proves that Lacanian ideology is baseless. Symbolism is – was – a crutch required to quantify our lack of understanding of social behavior. Imaginary is not a layer subsumed by the self; it is an entity in its own right, able to manifest as reality.”

    Doctor Psycho whistled. “Damn, girl. You have been paying attention.” He turned to Doctor Probe. “Listen, it’s about time we tell her about the golem.”

  2. Lisa says:

    ‘Til Death Do You Part

    She sat quietly staring deeply into her hands. They were rich with wrinkles and now twisted up with arthritis. Her knuckles were bulbous and ached with every movement. Age spots mingled where there once used to be young freckles dancing across the smooth, soft skin. She remembered the days when her beauty turned young men’s heads when she entered a room. Her heart ached for a life lived in another time.

    Turning her head slightly, she looked at the blue coffin next to her. People came and went murmuring quietly, some she knew and others she didn’t, all offering their condolences and praying over the body of her deceased husband. She and he had shared over 60 years together, her chained to his every whim and demand. “Til death do you part was the promise and she had finally fulfilled her duty.

    She knew the first time he hit her, that saying “I do” was a mistake. Her dark black bangs barely covered that first blossoming purple bruise of her eye. She was pregnant with their second baby then, the first child still just learning to walk. The neighbours would look the other way when he would stumble home late, ranting and raving in a drunken stupor, violent and loud. They would close their windows and slink deep into their own homes when she went out to hang the clothes, avoiding her gaze at all cost. She had no one she could confide in, just who could she tell? Her family told her marrying him was a mistake. Foolishly, she had told them all that they were wrong, that he loved her. She had no idea that love could be a trap, a snare that could capture the heart and destroy the soul.

    She stayed with him, forever searching for a glimmer of that tiny light in his heart that she saw when she first met him. But it seemed to be gone, faded out to nothingness, leaving only a dark black hole where his heart should have been. He only got meaner each year that passed, leaving her with a long list of broken bones, burns and bruises. But still she stayed. She watched her children grow up and have children of their own. She continued to search for the goodness in him even up to the last minutes of his life.

    And now, as she sat patiently, waiting for the funeral to end, she began to wonder if this was the end of her life or the beginning.

  3. mistyfan says:

    Continuation from CCC 281 onwards

    “No…please…no…please….” Paul Duvall couldn’t plead anymore; his face was aching too much from where the Nazis’ fists had smashed into it. He slumped in the chair they had handcuffed him to and whimpered in pain while Straum was trying his Nazi best to beat the location of Henri Gabon out of him. But Paul Duvall couldn’t tell them anything; he knew nothing of what had happened at Gestapo Headquarters and had no idea that his son Louis was a resistance sympathiser.

    Nor did Duvall have any idea that Louis, being an inventive boy, had just built a special hiding place in a supply room where he could hide anything that he could lay his hands on, and thus make himself an even stronger link in the chain of the resistance. Louis had only just finished it, and was now counting all his blessings that he had finished it, for when the Gestapo arrived, he had hidden himself in it. He had never dreamed that he himself would be the first thing to be hidden in it. But that was where he lay now, trembling, and endeavouring to keep as quiet as he could. It was not easy when instinct had him whimpering in terror. And he was frantic about his father. What were the Boche doing to his father? And what about Gabon? Where was Gabon?

    The radio rubbed up against Louis’ back. It could be the only way to warn the resistance. But he dared not use it, not with the Boche out there. All he could do was keep looking at his watch and give the Boche enough hours for them to clear out so he could emerge.

    Back in Duvall’s office was the heartbreaking shambles of what had been a proud plumber’s business only an hour ago. But the Gestapo had ripped, smashed, turned over or out, thrown and kicked everything they could in sight in search of Henri Gabon or anything, or anyone that would lead them to him. In one corner of his office, Duvall’s young receptionist, Juliette le Roux, wept and trembled in terror while a Gestapo officer kept his gun trained on her and another eyed her lecherously. Outside he could hear the cries of terror and pain, and the brutal curses, thumps and kicks as more Gestapo men held his other employees at gunpoint. So far it had all been in vain, and all Duvall could do was weep over the destruction of his business as well as the dreadful pain and terror he was in.

    But Straum wasn’t giving him the chance to do that. He seized Gabon by the collar and yelled once more: “Tell me! Tell me where Gabon is!”

    “I-I don’t know…I told you…oohhh….”

    “Liar!” Straum slapped Duvall’s deeply bruised and battered face. “He was at Gestapo Headquarters! He was with your other man, Abel!”

    “Wi-with Abel? But that-that’s Perrault…a friend….”

    “Liar! He was Gabon! One of our men identified him as Gabon!”

    “C-can’t be…your man must be wrong….

    Now that could be possible, considering that the man in question had taken a bang on the head that knocked him out. But Straum was not going to admit it – not with double the reward for Gabon’s capture at stake.

    “Listen, Duvall. We are the Gestapo and you well know that we have many ways to make people talk. And they can be unpleasant…very unpleasant. And if you don’t tell me what I want to know, it will be extremely unpleasant for you. That is a promise. And it is a promise I am only too happy to keep!”

    “So you will not talk, eh? Bring me the woman!” He waved a hand at his officers and they pushed Juliette forward. “Nooo!” she shrieked.

    Straum slapped her face. “Shut up!”

    “No! Please don’t hurt her!”

    “Then tell me what I want to know, Duvall! Where is Gabon?”

    “I told you – I don’t know!”

    “You don’t know?” A sarcastic tone rose in Straum’s voice. “He was with your man, Abel! He had managed to secure a pass into Gestapo Headquarters. He even did some plumbing for us. And you tell us you don’t know?”

    “Well, I don’t!”

    Straum snorted. The man was not talking, or could not talk, there was no sign of Gabon, his chances of getting Gabon and the reward were slipping, and his fuse was just about at detonation point.

    Just then Major Schwarzhof burst in, interrupting the tension. “Sir, we’ve gone right through the place. There’s no sign of Gabon or Abel.”

    “What have you got out of the prisoners?”

    “They swear that those men haven’t come back; they never came back from their job.”

    “Did they now? And why not?”

    “One of them said that Abel likes to stop off and have a drink. He’s well known for it.”

    Straum raised an eyebrow. “Stopping off to have a drink? While on the job?”

    The Major sighed. “Indeed so, sir. I guess it’s one of these Frenchie things.”

    Well, it sounded like a lead. “If they’ve gone for a drink, how do we find them?” There must be hundreds of places where anyone could stop off and have a drink in a French town.

    But as it turned out, there was only one place: “That’s easy, sir: La Pucelle on the Rue Viète, sir.”

    “La Pucelle?”

    “Abel’s brother owns it.”

    “Well, what are we waiting for then? Get a squad down to La Pucelle!” The men could be finishing their drinks and leaving right now, and Straum was damned if he was going to let them slip through his fingers as easily as that. He went on barking orders to have everyone at Duvall’s Plumbing taken to Gestapo Headquarters for questioning, get squad cars over all known addresses of everyone working for Duvall, and keep guards posted at Duvall’s Plumbing in case his quarry showed up here.

    Confident that he had cast his net wide enough to trap Gabon, Straum now smiled for the very first time throughout his long day, and he rubbed his hands together. “You won’t escape me, Gabon! I’ll get you if it’s the last thing I do!”

  4. Continuation…

    Tom nursed his day old coffee, thankful they’d survived the night with no further incidents. He scented Jill’s approach to the kitchen before he saw her but when she appeared he groaned. She entered without a word and headed straight for the coffee, like he’d done, but one sniff of the ancient brew caused her to toss the contents and start fresh. Once a drinkable substance percolated down, she took the cup from his lips, tossed the old coffee, rinsed the cup and replaced it with fresh before she made herself a cup with mostly milk and eight sugars.

    “Would you mind changing that shirt?” he asked.

    “Why?” she asked looking down at her ensemble. Over a short black mini skirt, torn fishnets and black knee high combat boots, she wore a white t-shirt painted to resemble a gunshot wound to the heart, complete with bullet hole, spattered and dripping blood and pieces of gore appropriately placed.

    “Let’s just say if you’re shot today, I’d like to be able to tell.”

    “Fine, whatever,” she said as she shrugged out of the shirt. Underneath she wore a tank top made of tied material. A thin layer of cloth barely covered her bra but everything else showed through the holes, even a small bellybutton ring.
    Tom realized the trap as he watched a smug look cross her face. “Dad, I turn 16 in a few weeks. I’ll be a high school sophomore next term. You need to lighten up.”

    “I also need to homeschool you next year. It’s the best way to keep you safe,” Tom said.

    Jill lost it. “Dad! I have friends! You can’t do this! The only saving I need it to get away from a control freak monster like you!”

    She continued her rant as Tom stood and filled his coffee cup. He closed and locked the kitchen door, a convenient feature of the old Antebellum Plantation home. He continued circling the room closing the blinds to hide what was to come next. When he sat again she stared hard and deep into his eyes searching for a sign her tantrum had worked. It hadn’t. It was time to tell her.

    “I may be a monster, but I promise it is only for your protection,” Tom said.

    “Well forget it! I’m not going to become some homeschooled freak just because you’re a total loser. I’ll go live with Mom.” Jill shot to her feet and threw her coffee cup at him. Tom blocked then growled. His teeth elongated and his features shifted. His lips pulled back from dagger like canines as the growling intensified. Bending low, he shifted more until before her he stood as a large Timber wolf.

    Jill backed away until she hit the door. She wrenched the handle without success before sliding to the floor. Tom ached to see her terror. It felt wrong to throw all of this at her at once but he had no choice. He stalked forward and blocked any chance of escape and when he spoke, she shuddered.

    “I may be a monster but I am still your father, Jill. Did you really think you imagined that thing in your window last night? There are worse things out there hunting you right now! I can’t stop the chain of events that brought all of this down on you but I can protect you. You have to trust me,” he said. Jill’s blank stare made her look younger than ever. Tom pulled back his features and pulled her from the floor. He sat her back down in her chair, made a fresh cup of coffee for her and resumed his place. “I’m sorry but you needed to see it for yourself.”

    “Are you the reason Mom left?” she asked in a small and remarkably controlled voice.
    “I don’t know.”
    “I want to go live with her,” Jill added.
    “You can’t,” Tom said.
    “Why?”
    “I can’t find her.”

  5. Tell me what this means to you.
    I’m trapped under life, chained and barely able to keep its young self going.
    I ache, but I promised myself I could give it my all.
    Am I wrong? I’m searching for the answer.
    Turn the page or dig deep?


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