Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #301

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. Pretty
  2. Dominate
  3. Raw
  4. Crash
  5. Cage
  6. Force
  7. Hypnotic
  8. Fuse
  9. Cloud
  10. Canvas

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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38 Comments on “Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #301”

  1. Anklebuster says:

    Student: “Drama, humor and a daub of darkness. Such raw colors will fuse on this canvas. The result may be unpredictable. Perhaps a twist of irony and a splash of reality will bring about the conclusion more reliably.”

    Teacher: “Why must you attempt to dominate every scene? Not every cloud has to wield a thunderbolt. Try a pretty lining of silver or perhaps a puffy, hypnotic suggestion aided by soft, emerald blades of grass tickling one’s neck?”

    Student: Cool, okay.

    One week later

    Book: “It was a dark and stormy night. Petey the parrot was petrified. No, he was literally glued to the perch in his gilded cage – the handiwork of an inebriated taxidermist. Ralph sat in the dark, forehead pressed to the glass of the rain-splashed window. He tried to guess the distance of the massive storm cloud obscuring Mount St. Helens by timing each flash of lightning against the accompanying crash of thunder. Too late, Ralph realized why Petey was paralyzed with fear. The rolling lava confirmed that the mighty force of nature had unleashed a cloud of a different color.”

    Teacher (with red felt-tip pen): F. Seriously? Did you not hear a word I said? Are you mocking me? Where’s the grass?

    Student (crestfallen): “Grass? I thought you said ‘glass’!”

  2. Alistair Kruger says:

    I stepped onto the stage. The old man in the front row squinted at the sight of me. I’m young, I thought to myself… my raw emotions about to be bought to life by force. This is my moment, a single cloud amongst the stars.

    My career is a blank canvas, but this very second is the start of my masterpiece, which will fuse my name in theatre history. Hypnotic, like a drug, the feeling of a thousand eyes descending upon… me. Instant junkie.

    Released from my cage, now is the time to dominate. The lights go on and crash against my sweat filled face. It’s time… please, pretty please my God, let this go well.

  3. […] Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #301 […]

  4. Had a fun time with this one,

    Arcanist

    With a crash of energy

    the raw power unleashed

    cage of elements fuse together

    a hypnotic cloud of magic

    like some arcane canvas

    seeking to dominate the council

    this young pretty sorceress

    a force to be reckoned with

  5. Liss Thomas says:

    Raw adrenaline forced Jill into action like a fuse lit to dynamite. She snatched up the shovel, twirling it in her hands. The mountain man’s movements registered shock and then anger. He rose and turned, his face contorted in psychotic rage that dominated his features. His eyes showed no signs of understanding, while his lips curled and a snarl rattled from his clinched jaws.

    He pointed the gun but Jill swung viciously at his arm sending it flying into the woods. She smashed the handle unerringly against the man’s temple and he crashed to the ground. She sent blow after blow upon the man until he started to cry like a child.

    The hypnotic cloud of derangement melted away leaving only a broken, sobbing man behind. Jill forced herself to stop. She stepped back and grabbed rope from the cave entrance. She pulled his hands behind a tree and secured them. He didn’t fight her but continued to cry and curl into a ball like a caged animal that had been punished.

    “He said I could have a prize!” the man sobbed. “I want my prize!” He still lay on the ground with his arms awkwardly behind the tree. He hit his head against the ground like a child not getting his way. Unable to watch the madness any longer, Jill stripped off her light jacket and then her T-shirt before she put the jacket back on. She pushed her T-shirt under the man’s head. He calmed in an instant, happy and content.

    “It’s so pretty,” he cooed as he rubbed his face on the fabric.

    Jill had seen enough. She fished his phone out and dialed 911 before laying the phone near the man’s mouth. She faintly heard the operator come online asking questions as the man continued to mumble about the shirt. She draped a canvas over low branches to give the crazy man cover before she retrieved her shoes and ran from the camp.

    Her mind raced as fast as her feet as she made her way down the mountain and toward the sound of water. Who had the crazy man spoken to on the phone? She searched her memory as she crashed through the woods making enough sound for her father and others to find her. She was certain they were looking. She found a stream and followed it. The woods looked familiar now and she rushed on. A memory slide across her mind and she stopped. She barely registered a large black dog on the opposite side of the stream running toward her. It jumped the water and shifted in midair.

    “Jill?” Saal asked when he reached her.
    “Billy’s the cop,” Jill said almost to herself.

    Saal clicked his earpiece. “I’ve got her.”

  6. CarsonB says:

    He doesn’t have a family anymore, but he has a plan.

    He has materials. He has diagrams. He has books.

    But where is the sea?

    Canvas in rolls against one wall. Bingo’s big dog cage now storing rope.

    The listing says 2,450 square feet but he’s never in the house.

    Wood in scraps. Tools in heaps. The garage is a mess. But it’s a pretty plan. Even at 2 a.m.

    He’ll dominate the oceans.

    From a dark cloud, lightning will set thunder’s fuse. The waves will crash, he’ll force through on his little homemade boat.

    He’ll dream it. He’ll make it. He’ll win this one.

    It’s a hypnotic plan–a salve for his raw spots.

    Wave after wave. He’ll beat them all by himself.

    If he can get to the water.

  7. Shane Arthur says:

    Oh, hello pretty!
    Dominate me raw.
    Crash my will power.
    Uncage the force.
    Hypnotic swaying, fused with curves to the clouds.
    A canvas ready for painting.

  8. K says:

    Dominate, but do not dare to dream or get your head in the clouds.

    Force yourself to be pulled into the gravity of sin. Don’t oppose, fight, or suppress the hypnotic desire.

    A woman? Ha, don’t make me laugh. Preen and look pretty for the camera while you bear sons for the future. If not, your worthless blood will taint the canvas we strive to paint.

    Cage those who scream their throats out raw and fuse together in a coalition for a chance at rebellion.

    Don’t follow our instructions, and watch your pathetic world crash and burn.

    As they say, mother knows best.

  9. I’m a little late to the party, but this one was fun:

    You think you can hide from me?
    Elam hadn’t done his homework. Even in the sensory overload of this crowd — it was nearly noon at the market in Marrakesh, after all — she could pick out his heartbeat like a beacon, dominating her attention, crashing on her senses in waves. Nobody’s got a rhythm like that. Well, nobody except people like him. Like her.
    She was tired of running. She escaped The Cage a week ago, emerging from her hypnotic sleep, their chemical cloud, just long enough to kill her jailor, focusing hard enough to fuse his spinal column to the base of his skull, like squeezing a lump of clay in her palm. It was a particularly painful way to go, the force of the guard’s own weight breaking his back, snapping his neck as he hit the floor, twitching in a pile. Fitting. He deserved to be his own last victim.
    But Elam wouldn’t be so easy. She’d run into him before. Prague. They sent him as her unwanted insurance policy, the first cracks in their faith in her starting to show. She got that job done. She’d get this one done, too.
    He needed to touch her. She knew that, and she knew if he did it was over. He’d flip the switch on her nervous system like a light, and she’d crumple in a heap right there in the street. Or maybe he’d just boil the blood inside her heart. She’d seen it before. He had options.
    She wasn’t going to let him get close enough for any of that. He didn’t have the senses she did — blame that Y chromosome — so he was left combing through the throng of people flooding the streets, poring over the wares in the market, shuffling their belongings in ornate canvas rucksacks.
    It wouldn’t take him long. She was easy to spot, an amber-haired French national among the Moroccan natives, and pretty enough to draw attention almost anywhere. Normally her looks worked in her favor, men were so easily bent, but now she needed to blend. She needed to find him before he found her.
    She let the waves out again, casting out the din of ambient noise, the overpowering smells, the cacophony of the market. She locked onto the heartbeat, the one like her own.
    There. He was holed up under a doorway, scanning the scene below from his vantagepoint on the stone steps above. She was 150 meters away, out of range for anything lethal. She needed to get closer.
    She stepped into the fray, pushing people aside gently with her mind — smah lī, smah lī, she repeated in Moroccan — working her way over to him. She was getting closer.
    Then he was gone. Mis n lqahba. He saw me.
    He was behind her. She whirled just in time to avoid his outstretched arm, feinting sideways like they’d taught her. But he was fast. She dodged again, but felt the burn as he grazed her, the shock shooting through her as her left side went numb. She stumbled, catching her foot and falling backward, bracing her fall with just enough focus.
    She needed space, room to focus on grabbing him, twisting his insides out. She thrust out, knocking a merchant into Elam, wincing as she heard the merchant’s screams as Elam cast the convulsing man off him. Keep moving. Collateral damage.
    It worked. Finding her feet, she stood and stiffened, focusing hard now, directing her raw force at Elam, who was nearly on her. You’re mine, salope. She could feel that heartbeat now, in her head as if in her hand, and squeezed hard, as he lurched backward, clutching his chest in agony.
    Elam lay writhing in the street, as the crowd cleared around them, tending to the fallen merchant, caring for their countryman before some foreigner. She stood over him until he stopped, eyes open but the light gone now, his heartbeat silent. Instead she heard ringing, his breast pocket vibrating.
    Reaching down, she found his phone and clicked the button. It wasn’t for him.
    “Hello Adrié.”


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