Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #315

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. Spare
  2. Flip
  3. Seat
  4. Still
  5. Listen
  6. Puncture
  7. Desolate
  8. Bold
  9. Anger
  10. Tower

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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22 Comments on “Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #315”

  1. Anklebuster says:

    Tech support. Bold claim, that, coming from the desolate bowels of the Internet. The only thing you seem able to support is your butt upon that seat. You do realize, don’t you, the irony of talking down to a programmer who has already tried every combination of link, button and icon before resorting to the dreaded Chat Now logo.

    I had to hold still and listen to your scripted, yet off-topic responses. In futility, I attempted to puncture your veneer – that shield of useless, flip suggestions which were no better than “is the computer plugged in?” I reversed the roles instead of giving vent to anger. Perhaps I would have been able to help you to help me. Ha! How dare I ask you if we could test the configuration!

    Nothing was resolved. We were twin towers of apathy and frustration – and you wanted feedback? You can bet I didn’t spare your feelings. Will anyone who matters actually read it and re-educate you?

  2. Liss Thomas says:

    Tom’s anger boiled just below the surface. He knelt on the padded floor, his head bent low as he listened. He bore ugly marks on his wrists and ankles where shackles wore at his skin from his constant struggles for freedom. Other metal cuffs encased his waist and neck making it impossible for him to shift out of his confinement. He let loose a feral growl when he heard someone enter the tent where he’d been imprisoned.

    He counted two sets of footsteps entering the tent and an additional three just outside. The chains at his waist and neck rattled then released. Tom remained still and waited. He felt the chains give on his ankles and then finally the ones on his wrists fell away. Thoughts of Jill’s capture ran through his mind. Why would they free him now? The only answer his brain conjured froze him in place and cold despair snaked over him like frosty fingers. He swallowed the urge to scream but he had to know.

    “Why have you released me?” Tom asked. He slowly unsheathed a blade ready to attack. “Tell me my child lives or I will spare no one from tasting my blade.”

    “She lives, Tomas,” Saal said.
    “I’m here, Dad,” Jill said.

    Tom’s heart flipped in his chest. He whirled to see her standing just inside the tent, her eyes wide and full of tears. His own friends had kept him from pursuing her and he’d cursed them everyday. Seeing her now, he still wasn’t sure if he would forgive them. But his anger took a back seat to her standing before him. He dropped his dagger and rushed to hold her. The desolation of his heart evaporated as he held onto her as tight as he dared and kissed her temple. Remembering the bloody evidence of her capture, he pulled back and examined her closely, blood stains caked on her torn clothing, and puncture wounds still healing. Guilt stabbed at his chest, mocking his bold and arrogant declaration that he could protect her. Evidence of his grand failure stood before him.

    “I’m so sorry, baby. I’ll get you out of here right now! I’ll get Vrag to take you home and keep you there until this is over. I’ll hire an army to protect you. No one will harm you again, I swear it!”

    “No, Dad. I can’t leave now,” Jill said. She motioned for the others to enter the tent. Tom recognized Layla and Veelka immediately.

    “My father has amassed a powerful weapon and is holding it in the east tower. We heard it when we escaped through the secret tunnels. If he unleashes it, you and your army will die with little effort on his part,” Layla said.

    “What does he have?” Tom asked.

    “The largest swarm I’ve ever heard,” Layla said.

    ###

    King Ulvarg stormed into the holding cell that held his two remaining prisoners. Without warning he back handed Rebecca across the face sending her to the ground. He raised is hand next to Paloma but paused, remember her status.

    “Who helped the young ones escape!” he roared at them. He saw a hint of relief in Rebecca’s eyes and moved to strike her again. Paloma blocked him and glared.

    “We don’t know, Ulvarg and we certainly would not tell you. Leave us if you value what short life you have left.”

    Ulvarg backed away from the women and left the cell. He turned back just as the door clanged shut.

    “Your clan may fight with my enemies but they will die with them as well. If my demands aren’t meant in three days time, I will demonstrate my power on you and the human. Either way, I will have my revenge.”

  3. Liss Thomas says:

    my comment disappeared! 😦

  4. K says:

    Sparing a moment after silence had punctured the conversation within his group, Jay casts a glance at the table in front of him. The tallest person, Chase, listens and contributes to the guy’s statement besides him but keeps his attention fixated on Jay; he looks as if he’s about to flip in seat. Shifting in his own seat, Jay disregards Chase and when prodded by the girl next to him, smiles along. Jay whips his head to the right when chatter resumes in the group and spies the small girl in the P.E. class named Jessica staring at him. Startled, her gaze darts to the floor yet still lingers near Jay. He chuckles at the bold move for the girl. Although a year younger than him, Jessica had attended class with him last semester, joining him and Chase in biology. Jay finds it endearing that Jessica had developed some feelings for him even if he had the sense that he failed in interacting with the seemingly desolate girl. Jessica resumes cutting and folding paper, and soon after, the first bell signals class. Everyone rises and heads toward the exit, branching off thereafter. Trying to avoid Chase, Jay doesn’t make it far out of the door before Chase drags him into an empty hall. Jay faces Chase towering over him and sees anger burning in his eyes. Great, what had Jay done this time?

  5. Don Shell says:

    Part Four (others at #301, #302, and #307)

    She awoke to the echo of dolphins.

    It was finally daybreak, and the small sailing barge rocked gently in the surf, floating adrift somewhere in the Alboran Sea, as the sun slowly brought the blacks of the water into lighter hues of blues. Her head hurt, pounding like a hangover, but she soon realized she had worse problems.

    Adrié had boarded the weather-beaten, rusty yellow-and-blue Sun Shark the day before, after she was approached by the towering captain, a walking scar of an Algerian named Kabesh.

    “American?” he called out, as she made her way through the palm-lined streets of Al Hociema, the beautiful seaside tourist port on the eastern end of the country. Adrié ignored him and kept moving, staring out at the view of the seaside cliffs. “Canadian? Francais? Espanol? Come sail with me, beautiful.”

    He was bold, but he had her attention.

    After four days on the road, hiking through the desolate mountains and hitching rides in the back of mud-covered pickups, she’d settle for just about anyplace she could rest her head, and any way to get out of the country under the radar.

    “You have a boat? In Al Hociema?” she asked, sizing him up, and eyeing the entourage of prison escapees hanging back behind him. “I need to get to Cartegena.” Adrié knew it was a hole, a crime-infested tourist trap, the Spanish version of Tijuana. But there she could blend in easier, as all the party girls left on the ferry from there, to go drinking and dancing under the pulsating lights of the Ibiza club scene.

    Kabesh’s face erupted in a broad grin. “Cartegena? What’s a little girl like you want in Cartegena? I can take you there. But it will cost you. You have dollars? Euros?”

    They settled on the price and Adrié was off, collecting some items in the markets before she was to meet Kabesh at the docks at sundown. She had more sense than to think she was safe with him and his crew of what appeared to be professional soldiers, and odds were good they were bad, maybe very bad. This was the Barbary Coast, after all, the place of pirate legend, lore and tradition. Where once they traded in gold, Adrié knew human trafficking was the crime de jour, and a quiet epidemic in this corner of the world. Girls arrive on the coast for fun, and end up kidnapped, whisked away to a life unimaginable. She was well aware, but she wasn’t worried.

    They had more to worry about than she did, they just didn’t know it yet. Considering she woke that morning with her hands and feet bound tightly with rigging lines, they were about to find out. With extreme prejudice.

    They’d drugged her, of course. She boarded the barge at sundown, and started the night with a bottle of good Moroccan cabernet she picked up in the market, not bad considering it was made by Muslims, who wouldn’t even drink it. Kabesh’s men must’ve slipped it into the bottleneck, as they’ve no doubt done many times before. The last thing she remembered was lying down on a pile of canvas sailcloth, and listening to the waves lick the boat in the moonlight.

    Now it was morning, and she couldn’t decide if her head hurt more than the ropes puncturing her skin. She lie still for a time, trying to listen to Kabesh and his crew, trying in vain to clear her cloudy, pounding head.

    “Sleeping beauty awakens,” Kabesh laughed, nudging his crew chief. “You see we’ve made sure our guests are secure in these rough waters. Wouldn’t want you falling overboard.”

    “Kabesh!” Adrié gritted through clenched teeth, biting her lip. “You gutless fils de pute! I figured a cur like you would try something, but I thought you’d at least have the balls to do it while I was awake.”

    The Algerian laughed loudly, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. “Get our fair maiden out of the sun, before she burns. We want her looking her best.”

    A large, shirtless Nigerian rose from his seat on the bulkhead, grabbing her with one arm and flipping her over his shoulder like a sack of grain. Adrié tried to struggle, tried to focus her power to spring free, but her mind was still too cloudy from the drug, too filled with anger, leaving only her spare, 120-pound frame to combat her assailant.

    The Nigerian carried her below deck, bumping her head on the walls in the tight quarters, as they made their way down the narrow corridor the length of the boat, to a heavy metal door. It was the ship’s freezer hold, secured with a heavy padlock and chains.

    He dumped her to the floor as he worked the lock, and the door opened with a screech of rusty hinges.

    He removed a large knife from his side, sawing through the binds on her feet before shoving her unceremoniously into the cooler, dimly-lit by a dusty bulb.

    “Enjoy your trip, beautiful.”

  6. It spares nothing.
    It flips the switch and seats in your soul.
    Lying still, listening, puncturing your fear.
    Desolate remedies nonexistent.
    Bold solutions locked away in an angry tower of pain.


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