Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #299

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. Switch
  2. Panic
  3. Pick
  4. Sliver
  5. Still
  6. Shine
  7. Noise
  8. Behind
  9. Crowded
  10. Crawl

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.)


37 Comments on “Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #299”

  1. Liss Thomas says:


    The woods seemed darker to Jill when she walked through them alone. After two months of training with Vrag and her father, she felt at ease, safe and it didn’t hurt to have a fighting staff secured to your back. She paused behind a downed tree and listened hard for any signs of Vrag moving through the trees. She never heard him but then again, he wouldn’t hear her either.

    She was grateful training had been moved outdoors. Learning to use a staff inside with Vrag as your opponent caused for unnecessary breaking of furniture and knickknacks. And since there had been no signs of the police after the initial incident, it seemed logical. A noise snapped to Jill’s left and she hunkered down. She crawled toward the sound and spotted a sliver of movement in the distance. Bingo! Jill kept ample space between them as she followed the movement further up the mountain. She picked her way silently through thick bramble, fingering the staff still attached to her back. Jill scanned through the trees and saw nothing. Fearing she’d lost her mark, she switched directions and backtracked a few hundred feet.

    The sharp crack of a gunshot split the silence.

    Jill ducked behind a tree and pulled her staff to the ready. Panic and fear crowded her senses. Jill pushed toward the sound of the gunfire and spotted a blood trail. Maybe a rouge hunter had spotted Vrag or her father. She moved faster through the woods following the trail until she spotted something lying still just ahead. Jill’s heart slammed against her chest as she moved closer, a wolf. She swallowed hard as she rushed toward the downed animal. She stopped just short of the beast and realized it was too small and tawny to be her father. Relief washed over her until she saw the shine of steel flash toward her. A large hand covered her mouth as another pointed a gun to her temple.

    “You’re getting harder and harder to track,” the man drawled in badly broken English. “I hear tale, you’ll fetch a better price than that wolf pelt.” He sniffed the air and pulled Jill from the ground as she kicked and screamed behind his hand. “I can smell the others coming, smell their fear.” Jill wondered how he could smell anything other than himself.

    The crazy man turned and ran back up the mountain with Jill. He moved through them like an old friend, leaving no trail behind. He knew these parts better than those strange new comers and Billy said he’d make it worth his while. He flashed a yellowed grin and headed deep into the darkness of the wilderness before him.

  2. […] is my submission for Creative Copy Challenge #299. Click on over and take the challenge yourself, or just read the comments to see what others have […]

  3. The sliver of wood she had picked out of her finger caused her to panic as she prepared for her first solo performance backstage at Carnegie Recital Hall. She had been playing the piano since just after she had learned to crawl. Now, at the age of 8, she was to perform in an over-crowded hall. She prayed for the approval of strangers and family alike.

    Stepping out from behind the curtain and onto the stage, the lights switched from deep rose to mellow pink, allowing the audience to pick out the spring flower pattern on her new floor length dress. As she adjusted her form at the piano bench, the noise subsided, the audience was stilled and her moment to shine had arrived. She played.

  4. Anklebuster says:

    My head is crowded with images of destruction. Though I appear at peace, behind my ruby eyeballs shine the flames of hell. It all began when the cat jumped into the cradle. Have one of my pies and buy me an ale, while I sit back and tell the tale …

    “Mr. Sprat was at the marketplace, admiring either the lettuce farmer’s lush leaves or the comely lass peddling them. Either way, something prompted him to make a rather large purchase which, in turn, gave him an excuse to go behind the stall.

    “Under the pretext of hiding his change purse from pickpockets, Mr. Sprat sidled up to the farmer’s daughter and asked simply, ‘How much?’

    “This innocent question was overheard by the cobbler’s son, who had no idea that Mr. Sprat was merely seeking to pay for produce. Incensed by the impropriety, the cobbler’s son grabbed the nearest weapon handy and hurled it at our Mr. Sprat. Imagine Jack’s surprise when he caught a runcible spoon between the eyes!

    “Mr. Sprat bled to death in the marketplace. The Earl of Gloucester called for the arrest of the cobbler’s son. The peasants, already upset by the recent poll tax, refused to cooperate. The Earl responded by sending his knights into the village. Every lad from stripling to teener was rounded up and carted off to the dungeons beneath the market.

    “As there were now fewer able bodies to complete the daily chores, women had to abandon their loaves to chop wood. The widow Spratt, doubly cursed, had neither servant nor husband to split her logs. She hauled her massive carcass to the woodpile, picked up an axe and promptly received a sliver of hickory for her trouble.

    “She waddled to the cobbler’s cottage, for she believed that prompt attention to the wound would prevent having more than a single stitch in her hand. Widow Spratt always did have a problem with leaping before looking at consequences. Indeed, she could not have picked a worse place to seek treatment.

    “Lo and behold! The only lad not apprehended was the cobbler’s son. And who should find him but widow Spratt, herself! She was so shocked to see him walking about, free as a cock robin, that she fell right into the ditch. Lucky for her, it was dry. (Ahem!) Like my throat, if you don’t mind.

    Still, she began to panic, for she faced a fate worse than drowning. As she was unable to crawl from the ditch, she presented as a tasty morsel to be eaten by hungry rats. These mesmerized rodents had appeared at the feet of Johnny Appleseed, an alias for the exiled vermin catcher of Hamelin, Germany. The rats had followed the noise from that nasty man’s flute. It’s a wonder the widow didn’t go mad from the discordant notes! Or maybe she did.

    “Widow Spratt narrowly avoided death by offering to trade some beans for the flute. Since Johnny was hungry (he wasn’t the apple guy, after all!), he helped her up, took the beans and ran off. This treachery left the rats in a foul temper that would later plague the village. But, that’s another story.

    “This was bad news for the cobbler’s son. Widow Spratt charged into the cobbler’s cottage, wielding the flute like a switch. She whacked that poor boy about the head until he was senseless.

    “And that’s how I found Simon, lying in the road, clutching a sieve and chanting, ‘Adieu.’ “

  5. […] Originally appeared on CreativeCopyChallenge #299. […]

  6. […] Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #299 […]

  7. Alistair Kruger says:

    A somewhat still noise came from the back of the room. Behind me I could here the subtle crawl of an unwanted guest. Panic rushed through my veins, faster then my mothers hand on the TV remote when an unexpected nude scene appeared. The panic flowed upwards into my brain, stirring all sorts of ‘redrum’ memories. I was home alone. My only companions were ten upside down goldfish in a crowded over populated fish tank, which had a dirty shine to it, making it remarkably picturesque. There it was again, that noise, but this time a lot quieter, barely touching the slither of wood coming off the only broken floor panel. What weapon do I pick? The pickle jar was close, but my fist was even closer, and if history was anything to go by… more reliable. Before I could flick the switch… it ended.

  8. Shane Arthur says:

    Switch that word. Panic at the next one. Pick a better alternative – even a sliver better will do.
    The sentence is still not shining. Perfection is the noise I seek behind every word.
    The writing world is crowded. I need to make this writer’s words crawl from the bottom to the top of the mound.

  9. Night Disturbance

    Stark panic

    you notice

    light sliver

    shine bright

    noise behind

    crowded shuffle

    lock pick

    you crawl

    find wall

    flip switch

    heart still

    only see

    curious cat

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