Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #312

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. Ordinary
  2. Monster
  3. Story
  4. Foot
  5. Visit
  6. Honor
  7. Movement
  8. Decide
  9. Toxic
  10. Complex

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 #312”

  1. Anklebuster says:

    This game was sick. Malcolm had pulled out all the stops to deliver a top-notch story to the Forum members. For the first time, they were being asked to visit other websites as they read along. The result was a complex web of interactive immersion that turned an ordinary monster thriller into a pulse-pounding, nerve-wracking experience.

    Malcolm was sick. He watched his real-time monitor as it tracked the movement of each reader. Whenever one of them reached the spoofed website TOXMAP, he held his breath. If the reader decided to click on the map of toxic sites, a nasty surprise awaited. On the other hand, should the reader honor the monster’s request to stop probing into its past, she would be transported back into the relative safety of a fictitious world.

    So far, 183 forum members had quietly entered Malcolm’s madness: a Virtual Private Network whose servers contained hundreds of spoofed websites. All of the links pulled the reader toward a cluster of malicious pages that silently sought a foot in the door of the reader’s hard drive.

  2. Jen says:

    I wonder, sometimes, after I pushed away a full plate, and slung back enough wine to blunt the sting of the thoughts, I wonder how my own daughter thinks of me. Am I, to her, an ordinary monster, the visceral shade that colors her every resentment? That’s The Duchess, to me.

    Bette was always better than me. She had better grades, she aspired to more and better vocations, she was that student whose movements within the social walls of high school were complex and lovely. She knew everyone, but more, they knew her. She was, to point a fine trite point on it, kind. At class graduation, I could have made a drinking game of how many times I was told what an honor it must be to parent such a…such a…they fumbled for words…such a lovely girl. A distinct young woman. If I had swallowed every shot I had wanted on that night, surely I’d have been toxic, or more so. Teddie, my husband, my ex husband, visited us with his charm at the graduation ceremony.

    In the bath, after another trip back and forth, to my dying mother, I slip under the meniscus and I remember seeing one foot, shod in a supple brown calf moc. It was a gorgeous shoe, and before I moved my eye up the length of the seersucker trouser, I knew it was Teddie. Goddammit he’s still a gorgeous man.

    I also knew, that she would be three steps behind him and quiet like one of those foreign wives who have not a single obvious thought of their own. Her pink, open toed cheap number, he’d not yet become her benefactor, pointed away from me, and I decided to pour out what was left in my plastic cup. It was half-decent liquor, too.

    He leaned in, blew a kiss in the general direction of my cheek. What happened after, I didn’t want to recall, in my tepid bathwater. I didn’t want to relive that episode of our story again. I lifted my toe and turned on the hot water. I slipped my head under the water again to listen to the sound its rushing.

  3. K says:

    To an outsider, this story made no sense, yet nothing seemed complex. At most, the word ordinary described the people involved. Rumors decided that one party bribed the other, and the honorable party played along, and to this day, the masses believed in that without questioning and would be astonished if otherwise. If that’s so, why did the visits continue?

    Monster,” the flocks of people whispered, parting to form a straight path. Without objection or opposition, he advanced down the hall bustling with life. An inattentive girl emerged from the stairwell and managed to shove the others towering above her. Racing toward her locker, she muttered something under her breath and avoided getting her foot stepped on in several occasions. She bumped into the lone guy walking on the open path and recoiled. Looking up at him, she bowed her head.

    “Sorry,” she apologized. The congregations hovering around the both of them stifled their breaths, awaiting any sign of movement. He balled up his hand in his fist but left it by his side. Glancing at the nameless sea of people, he then looked back to the girl.

    “Don’t worry too much about it,” he replied, throwing no virulent or toxic threats as his appearance promised. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he passed the girl as the peal of the bell signaled the presence of the next class. Shocked expressions were strewn on some people’s faces, but they no longer milled around in the halls and piled into their designated classrooms on this floor.

    He plopped into the first seat upon arriving into class. The remainder trickled in and chatted among themselves, taking the seats furthest from the door. Being the last and late one, the girl from prior slammed her binder and textbook on the desk besides him and situated herself. He slid his desk to the right after her appearance in the room. However, the teacher’s glares forced him to move back to his original position. After the second bell erupted from the speakers, the room sounded with pencils scrawling across paper. The teacher began lecturing and the topics consisted of the cell structure and mitosis. As he picked students to ask his questions, the girl across from the guy raised her hand the most to report her answer. The guy peeked at her multiple times from writing down some of the notes. Fed up with the lack of communication, he stopped halfway and pulled out his phone when the teacher’s back faced the class. The girl’s phone vibrated in her pocket, and she kept looking at her pocket and the teacher. In the end, she extracted her phone and continued the conversation. The correspondence lasted for about three minutes. Frowning, the boy stared at the girl and caught her attention. She nodded and mouthed, “Go for it.”

    “So class, what happens to the cell as it undergoes anaphase?” the teacher quizzed. Not a single person raised their hand to answer, yet the boy inched a hesitant hand up in the air. “Yes, Chase?”

    “It’s when the things get longer. You know, the spindle fibers?” some of the students suppressed snickers. “The cells start to split, and the sister chromatids are on opposite sides of the spindle fibers.”

    “That’s quite right, Chase. Good job,” the teacher remarked. As the teacher turned back to continue the lecture and gave procedures on the lab, Chase grabbed his phone and scanned the message he received.

    “I knew you could do it,” it read. He looked up her. Anticipating that move, she smiled then returned to taking notes Chase knew she wouldn’t need. Chase tapped the phone’s screen and typed his final message before slipping it back into his pocket. When she read the message this time around, words failed her, and she couldn’t compose another response.

    “Even through all the hell people gave me, you still talk to me and let me be seen with you. You have no idea how much I mean it when I say I’m glad I met you. You know that, right?” the message echoed in her head. The grin remained plastered on her face, causing Chase to smile in return. Classified as a monster, he was still human and now at least one person acknowledged it.

  4. Alistair Kruger says:

    A chilly satisfying wind swept across my brow. My eyes twitched, an erratic blinking of sorts as the mist swept across the lake. Complex, deep thoughts eroded my calm thought. This place was beautiful. I couldn’t believe how long it had been since I was home. A short visit, but a much needed one. My dad was dead. My brother? I hadn’t seen him since I was 5, something changed in him… he vanished. I miss him (so very much).

    I needed to honor my father: a war veteran, peat farmer and a lover of whisky and not my mother. I had to decide between the two, a toxic decision no 5 year-old should ever have to make. I tossed a coin, left it to chance and had been lucky ever since… but not in love. A weird curse cast upon a young boy who put his parents love on chance. No ordinary childhood, no ordinary family, but an extraordinary story.

    The fag in my left hand was my only companion – a mistress of death, but a friend for life. I saw movement on the lake as tossed the butt into the water about a foot away from where I was standing. There it was again, but this time it was more courageous, more gallant and with far more intent, big enough to be a monster. I lit another fag, I was feeling uneasy, alone, and the mist was getting thicker…

  5. Liss Thomas says:

    “Release her at once!” A voice boomed as another guard entered the room. He wore a uniform of deep blues unlike the gray uniforms the others wore. A royal insignia decorated his chest. He stormed toward The Gray, his movements reminding Jill of a stalking, enraged monster, ready to destroy any in his path.

    Layla ran to the guard as The Gray released her.

    “She needs punishment, not protection, Veekla!” The Gray hissed.

    “She is my brother’s child and I am bound by duty and honor to protect her, especially from you,” Veelka sneered. “I will decide what is best for her.”

    “Then you are a fool. Once I am King, the first blood I will spill will be yours.” The Gray turned and faced Jill. She saw anger rising in his eyes like a toxic cloud of insanity and knew he would take it out on her. The other guards released her and stood back, also sensing his mood. In one swift motion he struck her across the face sending her to the floor before he kicked her over with his foot.

    “Stop it!” Layla cried. She turned her pleading eyes to her uncle. Veelka was already moving. He hauled The Gray away from his victim and pushed him toward the door. The Gray gave a mock bow before he and the other guards left.

    Veelka checked Jill’s wounds before he wrapped her in the wool blanket. He picked her up and carried her from the room with Layla following behind. They weaved their way through the corridors of the complex until they reached a crossway.

    “Layliana, go to your rooms and stay there until I visit you”

    “Yes Uncle.”

    Jill felt her consciousness waning. “Mr. Veelka, Sir?” Jill asked as she watched her friend leaving.

    “Yes, child?”

    “Don’t let him hurt her,” she said as her eyes closed as sleep finally came.

    “I will protect her, and you,” he said.


    Jill slowing woke from a long sleep. She almost felt ordinary. She moved slightly and realized two things; she had no pain and someone still held her in their arms. A familiar hand swept across her brow and rocked her gently. She opened her eyes and smiled. The ones staring back at her, red and puffy from crying, held a mixture of joy and sorrow. She saw in them a story of the pain and hope they shared.

    “Hi, Mom.”

  6. kathleenkl says:

    I fear the monster that has been lingering in the shadows.
    It is a complex and toxic monster.
    Is it an ordinary monster?
    My story is not unlike others out there.
    It has, undeniably, caused my movements to become slow and purposeful,
    Lethargic, Sloth-like.
    There are times I struggle putting one foot in front of the other.
    But struggle I do.
    I will honor my responsibilities.
    I will honor my gift.
    No matter that I feel the monster creeping up on me.
    The monster looms ever nearer to thee
    I have decided to walk, one foot in front of the other, even though I would like to run,
    I hope I have made the right decision.
    I do not have the strength to fight much more.
    I feel the monster it is laying in waiting.
    I fear it will consume me.
    The visits come more frequently.
    And I feel the loss of self … looming, like a stalker in the night.
    I push the monster away, but it is getting stronger.
    I am faltering under its tenacity.
    As I fall on bent knees I pray I do not implode.
    I feel it trying to take over.
    I pray the monster does not win, but fear it will.


  7. Ordinary monsters don’t make great stories.
    And visits to the foot doctor to remove bunions leave one with little honor – but I digress.
    No, it’s fluid movement through extraordinary concept, toxic enemies, and complex twists that decides literary masterpieces.

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