Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #292

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. Crazy
  2. Help
  3. Young
  4. Real
  5. Timely
  6. Vertical
  7. Pieces
  8. Understand
  9. Drift
  10. Grow

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.)


32 Comments on “Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #292”

  1. […] is my submission for Creative Copy Challenge #292. Click on over and take the challenge yourself, or just read the comments to see what others have […]

  2. Continuation…

    Jill grabbed a dish towel and pressed it into the wolf’s shoulder. She sniffed and wiped at tears as she worked to stop the blood flow.

    “Jill, we need to leave here. Other’s will come when this one doesn’t return. We need to call my friend, Saal. He’ll help us,” Tom said.

    “Ok, where’s your phone?” she asked.

    “In my pocket.”

    Jill looked at the wolf’s thick fur and shook her head. “You don’t have pockets. Change back into a human.”

    “I can’t. The hyena tricked me. The rabbit must have been drugged.”

    “You ate a rabbit that mysteriously appeared trapped near our house? Are you crazy? That’s the oldest trick in the book!” Jill said.

    “I was hungry,” Tom whined.

    “Never mind, I hope you know this guy’s number by heart.” Jill punched the number into her phone as he rattled it off. Jill spoke into the phone for a few moments then listened. She explained her father’s current form and his inability to change. “Yeah I said the same thing,” she said, giving her father a scowl. “Ok, just a minute,” she said as she placed her phone near the wolf’s nose and hit the speaker button.

    “Tom? I hear you got yourself into a real mess. I’m at my cabin at Vertical Peak. Can you make it here?” Saal asked.

    “Yes, we can get there in a few days but we might attract attention with me in this form,” Tom said.

    “I understand. Hold on. Jill, stand back.” There was a short pause before the phone began to glow blue. “Ok, Tom, touch the phone.”

    Tom touched his nose to the phone and the blue light began to grow and engulf him. It flashed white before it faded. Jill picked up the phone and laughed, “He looks like a Husky! Awesome!”

    “Awesome is you guys getting here as timely as possible, young lady,” Saal said. “I’m sending the address to your phone now.”

    “Yes Sir, thank you,” Jill said before the connection ended. “Can you walk?” she asked her father. He drifted slowly to his feet and limped after her as she made her way to the garage. He slumped at the door but she pulled him along, making her way to a small two seater Porche.

    “No, take the Mercedes. It’s designed as a getaway car.”

    Jill shrugged and moved toward the Mercedes CLS four-door coupe. She found a few old blankets and covered the back seat before she helped her father lay down. She grabbed a few more blankets and put them in the trunk, which held pieces of luggage for both of them, dry food, water and sodas. Jill grabbed a Coke and hopped in the front seat behind the wheel with a one month old learner’s permit. She pushed the start button and eased out onto the driveway.

    “Hang on, Daddy. I’ll get us there. Don’t die, ok?”
    “Ok,” he said.

  3. Lisa says:

    The French Club
    “I’ll only be a minute,” Grammy says, closing the door to the truck, “Don’t let anyone in.”

    I look at my younger brother sitting in the seat next to me, his cheesies smeared on his cheeks and nose. Oblivious to her leaving, he licks his fingers clean. His bottled root beer sits open, propped between his legs. His little legs barely dangle over the edge of the seat. He is content for the moment.

    “Okay” I respond. Watching her travel across the icy parking lot, I pull the dirty truck blanket across our laps. She disappears up the long dark stairs to the little bar, leaving us to drift in her memory.

    “She won’t be long,” I say to Corey, trying more to convince myself than him. The dashboard clock says 2:30. Groceries sit in the back of the truck, the afternoon chore complete.


    “I’m bored and it’s cold,” Corey whines. The heat has long disappeared from the truck cabin, the winter air forcing its icy fingers around and through us. I pull the blanket tight and feel Corey nudging closer to me. Our breath is displayed in clouds of steam, evidence of heat abandoning us. My nose aches from the cold and I feel an icy pain beginning to grow in my toes.

    “What do you want me to do?” I snap. What can a 10 year old do to help? Drive away? Go into a bar full of scary, drunk men to get her? Build a heater? I know he is too young to understand but it is hard enough to take care of me in this life, let alone a small boy and I am scared. Sometimes I feel like I am going crazy, like I will break into a million pieces, I get so scared but I try real hard to look like I know what to do.

    This is not the first time we have had to wait in this parking lot, never sure if she will fall down the stairs on return or stagger and fall coming back across the parking lot, but always sure that the smell of booze will be evident. “Don’t you tell,” she will say.


    I take Corey’s mitts off and rub his hands between mine before putting the mittens back on. Tear stains run vertical through the cheesy mess on his face.


    He has fallen asleep, his head in my lap. I run my fingers through his hair and stare at the doorway, willing her to come out. Right now would be timely.


    Finally, she appears. A man laughs with her as he holds the door open and sends her off. She limps across the lot, nearly losing her balance several times. Finally, making it to the truck, she drops her keys in the snow and disappears from sight retrieving them. Pulling herself into the truck, she fumbles to find the right key and misses the ignition several times.

    “Don’t you tell anyone we were here,” she slurs.

    I used to love Friday afternoons. It was a whole afternoon of just me and Grammy and Corey when Grampy lets us go for groceries with the truck. Grocery shopping comes with a treat – we get to choose a pop and a bag of chips each to eat in the truck. Grammy gives us each two quarters to play the video games in the little store in the mall. I have to lift my younger brother up to play his turn but he’s still little and I don’t mind. I know Grammy is sneaking into the liquor store to hide a bottle in her purse but it is our secret. She says she deserves a drink for putting up with my grandfather. She says he’s bad and mean. I know he is so I protect her secrets.

    Big dark sunglasses hide her sad eyes, even indoors. The purple swelling peeks out from behind the lenses, tapering off to green by her temple. It makes me angry when people look at us and then look away pretending they didn’t notice. I look at my shoes when we go shopping because it is easier than seeing how people look at us.

    Stopping at the my grandfather’s work, we go in to get him before we go home.

    “Where’s the f***ing booze you hid?” he growls.

    “I didn’t go to the liquor store,” she lies, looking at us to see if we are going to betray her.

    Stopping at the liquor store again, he comes out with more beer and rum. My stomach flips over once and I wonder if my pop and chips are going to come back up.

    I wish Friday afternoons never turned to night. I would sit in that cold truck forever if the weekends never came.

  4. […] Creative Copy Challenge 292 […]

  5. A Hole in the Sun
    Flesh sizzled and popped. The acrid stench of burnt hair confirmed Doctor’s Psycho’s worst fear: that Doctor Probe was crazy. He remained sprawled on the floor of the surgery, knowing that Sarah Bookbinder was beyond help. If he could recreate the simulacrum, he would be able to thwart Probe. He could barely concentrate, due to Doctor Probe’s muttering as she continually applied the portable defibrillator in the most inappropriate fashion. In moments, however, the neural channels between Psycho, Probe and the mass of flesh was linked. Doctor Psycho reverted to professorial form as he attempted his most important lesson of the semester.


    Doctor Probe felt a tickle beneath her left ear. She thought it was perspiration and tried to ignore its taunting trickle down her neck. She checked Sarah again, but the young girl showed no vital signs. Probe was dejected. She had hoped that she wouldn’t need nearly a dozen concerted brains to revive a human. Surely, the shock treatment and her single hyper-focused supplications could bring back one simple-minded child!
    In disgust, she threw down the defibrilator paddles and swiped at her neck.


    Ha! I did it! Sarah was no longer in the University Medical Center. She felt better than she had in weeks; her headache was gone and her appetite was renewed. In fact, she was ravenous. She looked around to get her bearings. And that’s when she got her first shock.

    Ow! What is she doing? Leave me alone! The jolt sent purple waves of garlic-scented noise through every fiber of her being. Sarah was disoriented by the confluence of sensations. A second jolt doubled her over in real pain. She smelled cotton toothpicks behind her eyes.


    “Annette, put down the paddles. Let Sarah be at peace.” To assist Probe with his mental request, Doctor Psycho delivered a timely kick to her left shin. He was not surprised that she didn’t react; he had damped her nervous system and rerouted all signals to the hastily constructed simulacrum. The kick was simply a way to excite the quadriceps femoris into sending a signal up the vertical column of her spine. The simulacrum was hooked into the central nervous system directly, but required external stimulation. With no thunderstorm handy, Doctor Psycho had to manually stimulate the pieces of the neurotic landscape.

    Her lack of reaction extended to ignoring his command. He shivered as she delivered yet another shock to poor Sarah.

    “I don’t understand, Psycho. Where did we go wrong?” Doctor Probe was madly scratching her neck, all thoughts of reanimation forgotten. Her mind was beginning to drift into a warm sea of honey-flavored urine. Embarrassed that she might have lost control of her own body, Probe tried to conjure a chamberpot. Instead, she tumbled headlong into narcotic sleep.


    Oh, Professor, that was so cool! Isn’t that what happened to me when I tried to bring a fishnet into the simulation? She’s whimpering like a sick puppy! Sarah had recovered from the defibrillator attack but was still too woozy to discern her location. Incongruously, she thought of Maddy and Jim. Her hunger began to grow.


    Doctor Psycho stood up, finally. Doctor Probe was standing erect, catatonic. Psycho stepped quickly around her to gaze down at the mess she had made of Sarah. He checked the body for signs of life. When he found none, he moaned, “Oh shit. Where is she?”

  6. zennjennc says:

    Sailor Adrift

    A ominous ship with a black flag sails in the distance. Smoldering pieces of the wreckage drift along the waves as a young sailor grows crazy calling for help. His voice is beyond understandable, if anyone in the vicinity could even make a timely rescue. Vertical waves push the lad under the angry sea. He would soon find out if the legended of Davy Jones is real.

    With bolding: http://zennjennc.wordpress.com/2012/12/10/sailor-adrift/

  7. Shane Arthur says:

    Oh, I’m crazy for it alright.
    I can’t help my young urges for ripe fruit.
    Real, timely impulses make me go vertical, pieces of code I’ll never understand as I drift toward her growing sweet spot.

    *On the percocets today. Feeling funky. 😉

  8. mistyfan says:

    Continuation from CCC281 onwards

    Within seconds of the boom, the whole street erupted into a panic. People screamed “air raid!” “fire!” and yelled hysterically. The hysteria turned into a fast-growing panic as mobs of people scattered and fall over each other as they began to flee in terror. Outside La Pucelle, the Gestapo soldiers remained standing; tall, black, forbidding vertical pillars of duty to the Fuhrer against the crazy chaos of human panic around them.

    In the distance a dreadful, hellish, billowing cloud mushroom-shaped cloud erupted into the sky. The mushroom began to collapse slightly, spreading a dreadful pall of thick, black smoke drifting across the sky. Then came more booms and explosions; they pounded on everyone’s eardrums and sent them into further panic. The mushroom cloud billowed out again, more smoke dropped down, and wisps and then clouds of the smoke began to drift through the streets, blinding, and choking everyone in its wake. Fire engines and ambulances started clanging their way towards the smoke, fighting against more people who were trying to flee from it.

    Straum still stood out there on the kerb, gaping, confused, and still flustered. An air raid – what a timely thing to happen when he was right in the middle of a search for one of the Gestapo’s most wanted men. To add to his misery, the acrid smoke began to catch his throat and tears streaming down his face. His men began to choke as well, but he had no time for them. He ran into the pub and spluttered for a glass of water. Charles did not dare refuse him. Straum also flung the lighter at him. “That’s one thing from Gabon that doesn’t work,” he managed to rasp as he gulped down the drink, “so he can have it back!”

    At the tables, the patrons were alarmed at the racket outside. “What’s going on?” “Is there an air raid?” “What’s all that smoke?” The smoke was now drifting down the street at an even thicker and faster rate, and the sight of it, and the noise of all the panic and clanging sirens was frightening them even more. But they were too scared of the Gestapo soldiers guarding them to move, and Straum was being eyed with terrified, bulging eyes from all sides.

    Straum took no notice. He flung the glass down, mopped up his teary eyes and turned around to storm back outside. A young Gestapo guard, one of the soldiers who had been guarding the patrons, ventured to ask him, “Sir, what’s going on?”

    “How should I know, dummkopf? Now get back there and guard those fools!”

    The guard slunk back to his post. Straum was about to head out the door when another officer stopped him. “Sir, it’s Gestapo Headquarters!”

    “Gestapo Headquarters? What about it?”

    “It’s blown up, sir!”


    “Blown up, sir!”

    All around the pub, people had to swallow down their cheering as hard as they could. Straum fell back against the counter; his legs felt like jelly. His whole mind went numb…it didn’t feel real….

    “Sir, are you all right?” The soldier clamped a helping hand on Straum’s shoulder. Straum barely felt it. “No…no…it can’t be….” Gestapo Headquarters blown up? He couldn’t take it in….

    “H-how….?” He managed to gasp at last.

    By now more Gestapo officers had now joined them. They had been among the Nazis who were fleeing the catastrophe with whatever vehicles they could find to hand. Upon seeing Straum’s Gestapo vehicles parked outside the pub, they had stopped, jumped out with the news, and now a whole gaggle of Gestapo vehicles was crowding around La Pucelle. And they could tell Straum first-hand what had happened back there.

    “Sir, there was some sort of explosion under headquarters.”

    Straum’s head lifted up. Under Gestapo Headquarters? Somehow, something was beginning to work in his brain again.

    “We don’t know what it was, sir. Too early to tell. It could have been a gas explosion – leak in the pipes maybe….”

    Pipes? Straum’s head was now rigid.

    The soldier went on, “then there were more explosions, things blowing up. The whole place went up like an inferno! We barely managed to get out….” He began to choke, and it was not from the smoke.

    Now it was Straum pressing his hand on the soldier’s shoulder, but not from sympathy. “The explosion – you say it was under Gestapo Headquarters?”

    “Yes, sir, I said that. Probably those damn gas pipes.”

    Gas pipes be damned. All of a sudden, all the pieces fell into place and clicked inside Straum’s head. “Gabon!”

    “Gabon, sir? With all due respect sir, my name’s not Gabon.”

    “Not you, dummkopf! I mean Gabon the terrorist!”

    “Gabon the terrorist, sir?”

    “Yes, yes, Gabon the terrorist!” Straum seized the man by the collar and screamed in his face, “Don’t you understand? It was Gabon! He sneaked into Gestapo Headquarters pretending to be a plumber so he could plant a bomb!”

    “A bomb, sir?”

    “Yes, a bomb! A bomb right under us! And now he’s blown up our whole headquarters!”

  9. mistyfan says:

    @Mitch. You’re welcome. The next round will have to wrap it all up because I am going away in a few days and I don’t want to leave you lot dangling until my return.

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