Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #305

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. Fill
  2. Check
  3. Tire
  4. Afraid
  5. Actually
  6. Cover
  7. Cold
  8. Perfect
  9. Lost
  10. Dumb

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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51 Comments on “Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #305”

  1. Tanja Cilia says:

    Did you check the spare tire? Did you fill the tank? Did you cover the load at the back of the pick-up? A thousand questions later, I was out in the cold – which was actually the perfect antidote to the fear that had been dodging my steps since I’d got lost in the woods, all those years ago. It was dumb of me to be afraid, I know – but I couldn’t help it.

  2. Anklebuster says:

    You’re not one to tire easily. A shrug, a shift and a little hitch give your backpack and shoulders the perfect fit for one more dance up this damned hill. You are determined to cover the ground lost to the dumb nap you took at noon.
    Finally, just as your legs are about to give out, the summit and the cold sunset greet you. Success! And here you’d been afraid that you would never actually check this off your bucket list.

    You take the bag of cement mix from your backpack, fill the cursed well and shout, triumphantly, “This is for my sister!”

    ~~*~~

    This marks my 200th consecutive crushing of writer’s block. Long live the CCC!

  3. […] is my submission for Creative Copy Challenge #305. Click on over and take the challenge yourself, or just read the comments to see what others have […]

  4. Jen says:

    Da knew. He managed to, I don’t know, somehow access my mother, or his mother’s standard motherly stuff. He perfected the stereotypical maternal for me. That kind of stuff I could never actually even mime for Esme. The kind of behavior I would point to in novels, to highlight to my students the cultural normatives from different periods. They would, in their darling infancy And so it was not hard for him, did not take him long, and I dumbly trudged home from campus, wounded and raw.

    Da filled the stone fireplace in the library with huge hunks of wood the gardener had stacked by the mudroom door. I stretched on the worn leather sofa, a chenille throw covered me. It smelled like apples and cedar. Like my mother. When I did remember her, I rememberd her in short, visceral bursts. Bursts which felt like shells cracking through bone. Water running into the upstairs bathtub sounds like her pain, in her last longest days. I smell apples and I see my own fingers, fat and small, cutting through a slurry of liquid finger paints, and her white hands on mine, guiding me through a paper maze of color. I lifted a snifter to my face, pushing out the apples with the burnished glowing fire of what was in the glass.

    Before Da lit the flame under the logs, the flue forced a cold gust through the room, and it seemed to hover like a warning, intangible but sharp. I watched as Da struck the match, quick flash, the smell mingled. The paper lit, the logs crackled. The fire roared. He checked the logs, and patted his pocket, securing his pipe. He sat at my feet and poked me. I offered the weakest smile, a dumb ploy. He saw it. He recognized it. But he didn’t pounce. That wasn’t his style. He lit his pipe and sucked the sweet leaves into his mouth. I saw his body find repose, his muscles became heavier. He closed his eyes.

    We sat in silence, our routine. We called it sharing space. We wanted company, but not chatting company. We wanted to be sure of the solidness of another human, but the peace or chaos of our own thoughts. We had gestures to ask permission to open a dialogue. They were never denied, these gestures, but we silently considered it polite code.

    He used one then, his patented plume of smoke in the shape of an elongated car tire. Almost a perfect circle drifted above our heads, and we watched it in the same silence, in the same pause of permission. I hoped he wanted to talk about next semester, or the dinner menu, or the new novel by so and so. Alas.

    “Margs, you’ve been home a few days.”

    I nodded. Waited.

    He rested his hand on my foot and mindlessly drew his thumb along the arch. I had not been touched by anyone since…since then. I stifled a flinch.

    “My dear. You are lost. And I am afraid for you.”

    Damn him. A single tear, fat and hot and ugly, bubbled up and fell into my lap. I followed its arc, to lower my head, to avoid his gaze. In a motion I can’t describe, his arms were around me and I sobbed. I sobbed until my ribs busted wide, until my sides split, and my throat was raw and my nose glared swollen and red, until my eyes were mere slits. Through it, he cooed, and he patted and he waited. I have known many men, and I have never known a man to know this secret of a woman’s tears.

    When I finished, he asked me. “Are you pregnant?”

    I thought I was finished with the pity. I thought I had made my way through the shoals of pain. I thought, this cannot get worse, and I am almost done. But his pure question undid me, more of me, the last of me. I crumpled and fell to another jag of sobbing.

  5. K says:

    Fill in the blanks. Don’t check every detail and over analyze everything I say. I’m afraid you’ll tire of it and find yourself exasperated with me. If you actually look at me instead of trying to shut feelings out, you might be surprised at what you get: sincerity. Don’t cover your ears when I’m only telling the truth, but shed the image that everything will hurt you. Believe in yourself and in others for once, and this feeling called happiness will fill you with warmth and will become a reality unlike what you perceive. Lower your guard. Allow the wall built as fortitude around you to crumble. Sure, you feel and act as cold and diffident as a blizzard, but I’ve never seen a more beautiful heart inside a person. Stop with those self deprecating lines, and accept your flaws as I do. You’re not perfect, and that’s fine with me. To be honest, I like how you seem so lost by the simplest of topics, yet everyone boasts of your ingenuity and cleverness. No, don’t put it off. It’s not dumb. Although I may not understand everything about you, I know at least this much. I want to be able to learn every quirk you have, learn how to make you laugh instead of sharing a small smile, and learn how to speak comfortably with you so we can get closer. I wish I can be someone you can lean and depend on. Maybe one day, you’ll feel the same way, but for now, I hope you can learn to accept me.”

    “Matt?” a finger taps me on the shoulder. Snapping back into reality, I look around and see no one until I bother to glance down. A short girl with dark hair breaks into a smile. At the gesture, I do the same.

    “Hey. Is there something you wanted?”

    “Um,” she hesitates then mutters something underneath her breath.

    “Huh?” I lean toward her. As her lips part, the bell chimes and signals the end of the day. People pour into the halls and release their inhibitions. She finishes, blushing. Nodding, she excuses herself and files out of the hall with the others. Several people toss me a look and ask if I’m alright afterwards, but I shake my head and dismiss their suspicions. Leaning against the lockers, I sigh. I guess somewhere along this journey I finally got her to believe me.

  6. […] Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #305 […]

  7. zennjennc says:

    “Where were you? What took so long?”

    “The sudden cold, rainstorm caused the tire pressure light to come on. I was afraid I would blow out a tire if I kept going, so I stopped at a gas station to check the tire pressure. There wasn’t one right off the highway, so I got a little lost. I found an old, covered Phillips station about 15 miles down a country road.”

    “Perfect.”

    “It was, because my tires were actually a little low, so I filled them up.”

    “Do I really look that dumb!? You’re grounded, no car for a month!”

  8. Don says:

    I can’t believe how dumb I am.

    I knew the tire had a leak, a painful, non-fatal wound, a sliver of silver nail, slowly bleeding my salt-stained Michelin dry. I knew it was there, because I’d just stopped to check and fill it the week before, blanching at the outrageous cost for otherwise free air nowadays (complete with a credit-card slot on the side). But I’m afraid I couldn’t be bothered with all that now. I had a plane to catch, a beach to find, a life to forget.

    The people we are can really screw the people we’re going to be.

    Two weeks later, I’m standing in the parking ramp, bags in hand, shaking in the cold Midwestern winter, feeling tired and lost, cursing the man I was before I left. I’m staring at an expired tire, a victim of neglect, trying to fix it with the force of my gaze, the heat of my rage.

    Perfect.

    The cover of the ramp was the only thing keeping me from actually exploding off into the skyline, rendering me earthbound, if not snowbound, as the blizzard intensified outside. Be grateful. Things could be worse.

    The spare was flat, too.

  9. Liss Thomas says:

    The car’s tires barely stopped before Jill jumped from the vehicle and ran up the porch stairs, excited to be home. She went straight to her room where her father promised presents and new clothes for the school year. Plopping on her bed, she unwrapped a new navy blue backpack filled with all the books she needed for school, a new iPad and a few other goodies. She went through the clothes next and frowned. She looked again through the tank tops, shirts and skirts, dumbstruck. Gathering a handful of items, Jill ran downstairs to confront her father. She found him with Vrag and Elyen in the living room.

    “What the hell is this?” she demanded as she entered the room. She saw her father’s face and regretted her choice of words.

    “Watch your language, and your tone, young lady.”

    “Daddy,” she said, as sweetly as she could, “What’s wrong with this picture?” She shook the items in her hand to get his attention.

    “They should fit,” Elyen said. “And all the kids are wearing them. I thought you’d like them.”

    “They’re, um,” Jill stopped, not certain she could say the word. “P-p-pastels. Pink and blue and yellow and nothing black in the bunch.” She turned to Elyen next, not wanting to hurt her feelings. “I like them but they’re not my color. Can I exchange them for black?” she asked.

    “I’m afraid not,” Tom said as he crossed to her. “You are still in a lot of danger. I thought changing your wardrobe would help hide you from the bad guys. If you look like everyone else, it will be harder for them to find you.” He kissed her forehead. “Think of it as camouflage.” Jill groaned but nodded. She couldn’t argue with his perfect logic.

    A light flashed out of the corner of her eye. A portal opened and Saal stormed through before it snapped shut. Conversation ceased as Saal paced the floor in an obvious rage. His fists flexed causing his muscles to bunch and twitch. As he stalked around, his appearance altered and shifted. He snarled now through a muzzle of razor sharp teeth. He stopped suddenly and stood rooted to the spot looking lost and confused. Jill watched the anger melt way to grief and she actually thought she saw a pool of tears in his eyes. Everyone felt his grief like a heavy cloud that filled the room.

    Vrag approached first. As he walked toward the jackal he shifted, growing taller, thicker, hairier. Jill thought at first, he’d shifted to a black bear but as she studied the small ring of white fur around his neck and the shortened muzzle, her mouth fell open. He spoke in hushed tones to Saal. Understanding his friend’s anger, his own ears burned red in indignation. Elyen approached next, her appearance shifting to that of a doe. She wrapped her arms around the jackal and licked his cheek. Finally her father went to check on his friend and understand his pain.

    “Jill, why don’t you go to your room?” Tom suggested.

    “No,” Jill said. She laid her clothes aside and approached the group, pushing past the creatures surrounding Saal. “Tell me.”

    “The Wolf King has taken my sister and her youngest son,” Saal said quietly. “If I don’t hand you over, he promises to kill them.”

    Jill’s insides turned cold. She couldn’t let someone die for her. “Then hand me over,” she said.

    Saal smiled painfully. “Handing one innocent person over for another is not a bargain I will make.”

    “But I don’t want them to die because of me,” Jill said.

    “No, Jill! Don’t think like that,” Saal said, his anger rising. “Nothing that happens to them is your fault.” He turned to Tom, “nor yours. The Wolf King is to blame and no one else. Remember that,” he said as he covered Jill’s hand with his own. “Besides, he would be a fool to harm them. My clan is now involved and we have powerful allies.”

    With that said, Tom pulled Jill aside and sent her to her room. She put away her clothes and sat on her bed with her new gadgets but they couldn’t hold her attention or keep the tears away. A war was brewing in another realm and her father and Saal would be in the thick of it.

  10. Here is my entry for this one:
    Be Prepared

     

    Don’t be afraid to check the tire

    cover your bases; you won’t look dumb

    the perfect storm can actually leave you cold

    so fill up on precautions and don’t be lost

  11. Alistair Kruger says:

    I could hear the radio going off in the background. The fuzzy, crackling sounds of fear together with the cold stench of loss are enough to haunt your consciousness. I was so afraid. No training could ever get you ready for this bullshit. I lost the picture of my daughter. It’s all I had left. Fuck, how could I have been so dumb. Actually, how could I have been so stupid to get involved in battle with no purpose except that of a government I’ve never met? “Get to cover”, screamed our commander. A bullet, perfect in flight, hits our gunner. Lost. Fuck.
    Bullets flying everywhere, their screams of death make it hard for the reaper to keep up. I check over to my left; I see my commander, and judging by his gun position, he starting to tire. If he goes we all do. The head of the snake or some shit like that. I screamed my daughter’s name “Arable” and top of my lungs. In a last ditch effort I point my gun towards the air and fill it with a perfect percentage of rage and accuracy…

  12. Shane Arthur says:

    Fill the tank.
    Check the tires.
    Be afraid of the cops.
    Actually, don’t do that; act cold, like six pounds aren’t covered up in the trunk.
    The plan is perfect.
    Execute, get paid, get lost … then play dumb.


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