Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #300

Holy Bleep! We’ve reached 300 challenges. What a fun, wonderful ride this has been. I’ve met so many talented writers and it’s been a blast blasting through writer’s block and seeing everyone else do the same. I can’t think of a more creative writer than Mitch Allen to choose today’s words. He consistently amazes me with his creativity and skill. Show him you’re up for the challenge. In Mitch’s own words:

“The best community is one that follows its leader. Hail to the CCC Community, the best prompt hangout on the web!
Two points if you can guess where the words are from – it’s possible that the answer is before your eyes 😉
“I had to choose between being the funny dad or the creative dad. However, when I stepped into the plasma, I tripped over a roller-skate. The result was a mad scientist who cackles a lot.” You’ll see this quirky bio all over the web. I like to have fun. If you like to have fun, too, check out my creations.”
You’ll find software, games, puzzles, poems, articles and even a novelette!

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. Octagon
  2. Lock
  3. Star
  4. Mail
  5. Plus
  6. Reference
  7. Rocket
  8. Lamp
  9. Elephant
  10. Robot

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.)


44 Comments on “Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #300”

  1. It has been so long since I played, I really missed this game. Everyone once in a while I checked if creativecopychallenge.com is back up, not realizing you changed it to creativecopychallenge.wordpress.com

    Here is my entry:

    Star Attraction

    That poor elephant
    in an octagon ring

    circling a rocket lamp
    like some robot reference

    star of some trick show
    on every email promotion

    a plus size spectacle
    under virtual lock and key

  2. Liss Thomas says:

    Ok, so I totally fudge the word ‘mail’ but hey it happens!:)

    Sunlight filtered in small quantities through the thick trees surrounding the camp. Jill’s eyes stayed locked on the crazy mountain man as he mumbled to himself, laughing every few minutes as if he’d said something funny.

    Jill sat in a shallow hole, her arms secured behind a sturdy pine at her back and her feet bound in front of her with heavy rope. Clothes on wires and odd objects littered the camp. A child’s stuff elephant lay at the entrance of a cave along with a small shoe, a broken lamp and a lawn chair. Jill concentrated on finding her bearings by referencing landmarks and moss growth. She twisted and turned her feet trying to dislodge her shoes while working each hand so as to loosen the ropes on her wrists.

    The crazy man pulled a fish from a bucket and a knife from his belt. After scaling and gutting it, he took to eating some of it raw. As if remembering she was there, he turned and offered her some. Jill shook her head and he continued to eat, mumble and laugh. Jill pushed her left foot from it’s shoe, hooking it on an exposed root to give her leverage. She began rocking the other back against the root to loosen the other shoe. She needed to be free from these bonds and away from this nut before the stars began to come out. Plus she feared what he would do when the sun fell below the horizon.

    A ringtone buzzed and Jill froze. The man looked around confused before he pulled a cellphone from his pocket and silenced to the robot sounding ringtone. He opened the flip phone and listened for a moment before he spoke.

    “Yeah, I got her.” He listened again.
    “I get to keep the shirt as a prize, right? She has a nice shirt.” He paused and listened again. “You said I could have a prize, Billy!” He listened for a few more seconds before he hung up and pocketed the phone. He turned to her and grinned.

    “I get to keep your shirt!” he said with smug satisfaction.

    Like hell! Jill thought as she worked harder on getting herself free. She pulled and twisted her wrists until she felt the knot slip, a handy trick she’d learned from Vrag. She snatched one arm free but held the rope taunt as if still bound. She continued to work on her feet. Her right shoe finally fell away before she used the root to pushed the ropes further down her ankles. She felt metal scrap at her legs and realized something else lay buried in the dirt. She found the spot and pushed the ropes against it until her left foot broke free from the bonds. Jill paused and watched the man as he finished his meal and sat working a stick with his knife. He ignored her while he now got into a heated conversation with himself.

    Jill checked her surroundings again. A shovel to her right, where he’d dug the hole. His knife in hand and gun laying on the ground next to his feet. Once she rocketed into action, her movements had to be flawless so as not to get shot or stabbed. She stared at the exposed root as she went though the motions in her mind until she realized what the metal was. She wiped her feet across the metal until it revealed a broken octagon shaped watch back. The watch band looked like twisted chainmail as she brushed more dirt from the find.

    A harsh, cold realization froze her in place. She bit her lip to hold back the scream building in her lungs. Jill sat motionless, not in some random hole, but a shallow grave. The root was a human arm.

  3. Anklebuster says:

    From the minute the mail clattered through my letter slot, the day got better. Even from my perch in the breakfast nook, I could spot the tell-tale lavender envelope from my one true love. I practically broke my neck slip-sliding across the gym polish floor in my socks. The tattered throw rug in the vestibule cushioned my butt as I did a classic pratfall at the front door.
    I shoved the past-due notices aside and tore into my prize. This time, a single sheet, sharply creased into a tri-fold, fell into my lap. My trembling fingers could hardly open it up. I took a deep breath, held it and caressed the paper to its original size. The spidery, delicate letters cursively elevated my day with three words:

    Meet me tonight.

    Oh, this is massive! For the first time, I would gaze into those deep chocolate pools of smoldering passion. I knew she must have been feeling as intoxicated as I was, when she penned those words. A perfect courtship of letters, carried out with all the decorum of the United States Postal Service, was to be consummated at the peak of its bloom.

    Time accelerated like a rocket in the orbit of a star. I called in sick. Thelma, the receptionist with the personality of a tightly-wound robot, demanded an explanation. I hung up on her. I skipped lunch, took a quick shower and dashed off to the barbershop with my one good suit. Jerome took one look at my feverish face and told the man in his chair to go wait some more.

    “‘Bout time, you. Finally got that letter, eh? Gimme that suit. We’ll have it pressed by the time I finish hooking you up. Shave?”

    I nodded dumbly throughout. Jerome and his staff took care of me. They chattered about politics and football – narcotic tones and soothing voices to go with the hot shave. Time slowed down to normal. Which was just as well because, when I left that chair, smelling all baby-fresh, the octagon clock over the television was standing at attention. I had ninety minutes left.

    Dressed and shaved, I walked to the corner. The 6:19 bus was usually too crowded but, wonder of wonders, when it pulled up and opened its doors, the smiling driver beckoned me aboard his empty vessel.

    “‘Bout time, you. Heard you got that letter. Dinner will be a bit late for my regular passengers. They’ll get over it. Come on. I can’t do anything about Lincoln Drive, so you ‘d better put a move on.”

    The front seat – the one facing the driver – had some kind of plastic covering that went to the floor. I smiled at the driver’s thoughtfulness and planted myself gingerly on the edge. The door whooshed closed and we sailed into Seedy City.

    Although the driver kept up a constant patter, my eyes were glued to the marquee above the incessant ads. The red lamps rolled out the time in maddening intervals between the route number, the destination and the date. I noted for future reference that September makes six trips per minute. Idly, I wondered if May would be three times as fast.

    Finally, the funk of Seedy City seeped through the bus. In a battle between diesel fumes and urban decay, the bus never stood a chance. I could no longer smell the after-shave and talcum powder. The driver was still all smiles as he opened the door to the full force of ghetto ambience. I gave him a fist bump before making a beeline for the subway entrance.

    I had just missed the 6:55 express from Crystal City. I smirked at the grim, pale faces of Suburban commuters forced to detour through this subterranean colon. I knew they couldn’t wait to see their beloved gleaming automobiles basking in the last sunset at the other end of the line. I might arrive after dark, but I was going there, too, you smug bastards!

    The 7:01 local chugged into Seedy Station. No smiling conductors, here. I squeezed into the mass of flesh. Nobody moved an inch. I had to shove my elbow into an elephant-sized ribcage just so I could lock myself into place before the train lurched forward. Time came to a standstill.

    16 agonizing stops later, I stumbled out of the subway car. The escalator was deserted – my fellow chattel had long since debarked farther north. The station clock read 7:27PM. I double-timed up the escalator, hoping against hope.

    I need not have worried. The restaurant was just across the street. Its neon purple plus sign lit up the night – telling everyone else that the place was reserved. My pulse quickened. Time went into hyperdrive. I straightened my tie, patted my hair and stepped off the curb.

  4. […] Originally appeared on CreativeCopyChallenge #300. […]

  5. Alistair Kruger says:

    I had dream. I heard you say, “turn off the lamp and look at that star. That is where my heart lies. It sleeps at night and hides during the day. Lock your eyes in my gaze. Like an elephant the heart will never forget.”

    I see a falling star. I send you a kiss through a wish. Mail, put on the galaxy express direct to your cheek. If I could build a rocket, I would blastoff on a one-way journey to your heart. Let me reference E. E. Cummings for my words are distant, “I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart)”. I am a robot designed for love, with a heart shaped like an octagon to fit perfectly into your soul. Plus, if your heart lay in the heavens, you and me would forever be… in love.

  6. […] is my submission for Creative Copy Challenge #300. Click on over and take the challenge yourself, or just read the comments to see what others have […]

  7. Congratulations, Creative Copy Challenge on 300 challenges! And you are so right, Shane, about Mitch. His creativity blows me away. It’s been a strange few months and I hope to return to my CCC ways. 🙂

    The police surrounded the home in an invisible, octagon of sharpshooters and negotiators. Lieutenant Mike Morris was hoping to lock down this hostage situation before some poor kid became the next star in tragic reality.

    He worried about the attitude of his lead negotiator, Sean Carter. Lately, he had been making inane remarks about his skill levels being so acute, he could mail in his responses. His was not the kind of work you took lightly. And Mike had never known Sean to be flippant about it.

    The one plus they had going was the neighborhood was all but deserted. The situation was one that had become all too common. An ex-husband had locked himself inside his former home, holding his five-year-old son and ex-wife hostage.

    He was spewing threats of killing them all because his life had gone to hell.

    “Sean, do you copy?”

    “I hear ya’.”

    “Is he answering your calls?”

    “Not since we first got on scene.”

    “We have to get him to pick up.”

    “Ya’ think?”

    Mike frowned once more over Sean’s attitude. What was wrong with him? This was no place to bring his issues to rest.

    “Carter, if you have a problem, maybe you ought to take it and your sorry ass home.”

    Just the reference to home had Sean flinching in pain.

    “I can do my job.”

    The words crackled in Mike’s earpiece at the same time the bay window shattered in a rocket-like explosion that shook even the cement-based street lamp.

    Mike jumped up from behind his vehicle where he had taken cover to see Sean running full tilt towards the blown-out house.

    “Carter, hold …” Before he could finish the command, Mike watched in horror as Sean’s chest exploded in a crimson stain. A muffled shot followed, then nothing at all but silence.

    Later that day, Mike tried to soften the stricken look he knew he bore as he knocked on the maple door.

    “Mike, this is a surprise,” Sean’s wife backed up when she saw his face.

    “Jenny, can I come in?”

    “No,” she whispered, “No,” she screamed from a wound he brought here.

    As he wrapped his arms around her, Mike stepped over the stuffed elephant that lay on the floor next to a robot who had clearly won the war.

    “Jenny, I am so sorry,”

    “Mommy, what’s wrong?”

  8. […] Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #300 […]

    • zennjennc says:

      Here’s the text from the link.

      Gia turned on the table lamp illuminating a locked, octagon shaped jewelry box with painted yellow stars next to the unopened mail. Stepping over the broken glass where a plush elephant and limbless robot stood guard over the offending rocket. Scanning the dusty bookshelf on the far wall, she referenced the copy of The Secret of the Old Clock, praying the key was still hidden safely away. The jewelry box opened as easily as the intruders had entered her home years ago and killed her father. Clutching the plus shaped pendant, Gia left her childhood memories behind to be forgotten.

  9. Bex Beacon says:

    This is so much fun. I must say I waited for this list. I am doing my best to keep each entry at 150 words. I got this one. Although I am not sure the story is clear. Let me know….:) And thanks!

    In rocket-speed time, arrangements were made for forwarding her mail and for the bank recovery of her still-financed car. She left without locking the door, embedded with a personally-selected stained-glass octagonal window. Under the desk lamp she left a note on which she had written, “Good-bye”.

    Missionary work as her only point of reference and committed to the idea of being guided by the stars, she boarded the jet. She released the tears only when the door fastened. She sobbed until she slept and woke, still in flight, and sobbed until she slept again, repeating this cycle for nearly 23 hours.

    She came around in Cape Town, a predominantly English speaking city – but with robots instead of traffic lights, toilets in lieu of bathrooms, and lifts but no elevators. The absence of elephants, lions and zebras came as a surprise and was a definite plus. She committed to staying.

  10. Amandah says:

    Congrats on reaching 300 challenges!

    Charlie hurried as he picked the lock on Amy’s dressing room door. He was mesmerized by the octagon with a gold star that was on the door and couldn’t believe his little sister had become an A-list celebrity and pop singer. He reached out to her through the mail but didn’t receive a response. He had no choice but to break into her dressing room in Las Vegas where she was performing for two nights. Plus, he desperately wanted to see her.

    “Finally!” said Charlie.

    He was in a hurry and almost knocked over an elephant lamp that was sitting on the table; the table was piled high with reference material on how to improve your voice.

    “At least Amy hasn’t lost her studious nature. Now. Where to hide?” said Charlie.

    He shook his head as her looked around the room for a place to hide. A silver and black toy dog robot sat in an overstuffed chair. He looked and looked and finally spotted the door to the bathroom. Charlie walked into the bathroom and closed the door halfway.

    Knock! Knock!

    “Amy, you in there? Miss Amy,” said a gruff voice.

    The doorknob turned and the door swung open. A big burly security guy walked into Amy’s dressing room. Shit! Charlie forgot his sister would have security.

    “I’m a rocket man, a rocket man,” sung the security guard.

    Charlie was trapped in the bathroom and had no choice but to listen to big, gruff security guard sing Sir Elton John’s “Rocket Man” off key. It was going to be a long night.

  11. Life is an octagon, meaning it has eight sides locked on to kick my ass to the stars.
    You’ve got mail! Yeah? Mail plus anthrax I bet.
    Let me reference past experience. Rocket to the top, crash like a broken lamp.
    The elephant’s in the room, robotically unfriendly and predictable.

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