Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #320

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. Tire
  2. Prank
  3. Smile
  4. Splash
  5. Withdraw
  6. Drum
  7. Vow
  8. Slam
  9. Smash
  10. Weird

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.)


25 Comments on “Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #320”

  1. Bette’s graduation ceremony rang in my chest, the memory of his words hissing across the cloudless expanse between us staggered me. A smile played on his charming lips with a heavy kind of cruelty. Everything he said was true, each word like a drum beat toward my failure.

    I had said something about the whore, standing there smiling her stupid pink smile, and his face changed darkened.

    “This is getting old, isn’t it, Egg?”

    “Don’t call me that, darling. I’m not yours, you don’t get to shorten me still.” I looked about the campus, smiling grimly and resolutely through the liquor and the hurt.

    “And I’m not your darling. This game is tired. This is not your day. And she,” his head lurched lewdly to his guest, “is a person, here with me, at my invitation. You will treat her as such.”

    I never withdrew from an argument with him, and I was not about to withdraw then. “Oh, right. I forgot. What Teddy wants Teddy gets.”

    His left food slammed onto my toed, crushing my already cramped foot into the sodden grass. He smiled at me, and at Bette, who looked from me to him, to her, and back again. Her cheeks were aflame and she took several steps back before she came forward again to intervene.

    I repelled her. “Don’t.” My voice a low growl, it sent her back again. Now, now in the tub, and even later that night, I felt remorse. But in the moment: nothing. Not for my daughter, or this man who I had once loved.

    “This is the smashed vow, Eggy.” He released the pressure on my foot, and stepped back. Teddy reached for his guests hand and smashed his fingers around hers. She winced, but did not reject him, or make a sound. She took the grip of his hand, the full measure of his anger.

    Bette was not kidding when she left me standing there alone. Now, I realize it was a first splash of reality, a first call to me, at the bottom of the well, but then, it was a stupid childish prank. A way of punishing her joke of a weird mother. She had said, “So. Um.” And I heard her throat catch, the softness and highness of her voice like sour candy and impossible youth. “I’m going to Sam’s. I’ll go to Daddy’s after the party. See you tomorrow?”

    I nodded.

    Then she added the end of the question I had cut off with my gesture. “Maybe?”

    The water was cold around me, the room dead still, a morgue and a sarcophagus, a tomb where the lovely times had once been. If I listened, if I could overlook the sound of my heart inside my body, thumping against the water and the ceramic and the stone and the tile, I could hear the laughter that once had been here.

    It had been here, hadn’t it? I grasped and reached and leaned into the stillness, begging to hear the sounds of my children, who once had wanted to talk to me. To catch the sight of my husband straightening his crisp tie in the mirror. They were gone.

  2. Anklebuster says:

    “This is the last time I let you talk me into playing one of your kinky games! Strip Scrabble, my ass!” Vickie made this solemn vow while removing her skirt. Her 14 points for GREET were less than his last score, so she’d discarded yet another article of clothing.

    Hubert snickered. “Earth girls are easy. You field hockey wenches are a bit more challenging.” He placed all seven tiles along the bottom. He couldn’t hold back a smile as the computer tallied his Triple Triple. 113 points.

    Lictors? What’s that?” Vickie stared at the iPad in dismay. She wanted to smash her fist into that smug nerd face. But if Geneva was telling the truth, it would be worth playing with this weird freak just to get him and his tire iron into bed.

    “I have no idea. That’s the beauty of Scrabble. It’s a spelling test, not a dictionary game.” Hubert added a splash of vodka to both glasses of orange juice. He wasn’t going to depend on Geneva, entirely. Last weekend, the silly cow had pulled a prank and set him up with a tranny. If Hubert hadn’t primed Bobbi with six Alabama Slammers, he would have had to withdraw into his happy place, again. The dude was 6′ 4” of hard muscle.

    Vickie looked at the drinks, snapped her neck to glare at Hubert and snarled, “What are you playing at, you little twerp. We can’t duck if we’re frunk.” She giggled.

    Hubert drummed his fingers on the table. “You going to play or pass?”

  3. Here is my poem entry for today,

    Fear Me Not

    So I march wrong
    follow a different drum beat

    smash or slam me

    for all my weird eccentricities

    I vow to make a splash

    put a smile on others faces

    I will not withdraw

    though I tire of your prank behavior

    I accept your fear
    ignorance needs to be educated

  4. K says:

    Another inspiration from a dream:

    That girl grips a gun in her hand, but her face wears a smile that never seems to tire. Although I had first found it to be a prank, the bullets penetrating the retreating congregation of people splashes the gruesomeness of reality in my face. I withdraw from the shelved area, limping as fast as I could from the injury I had sustained from a bullet. My heartbeat thrums against my chest and quickens like the beat of a drum. I need to escape- no, I vow to escape. Hearing cans and other foods slam onto the ground on my left, I spot my cousin toting two dark skinned children along with her. They scream at the noise made by the collision. Upon seeing her, I rush towards her and urge her and the children with me.

    “We need to get out of here,” I say, but another shot drowns out my statement, sending one of the children into hysterical sobs. My cousin nods in agreement. However, we have waited far too long. That girl materializes at the end of the aisle quite a distance away. Certain the lunatic had caught sight of us, I push my cousin and the kids in the opposite direction. “Go,” I whisper. My cousin doesn’t hesitate at my command and whisks the children farther into the depths of the store. I move in another direction, trying to distract and lead the armed girl away from anyone else it seems. Bodies lay strewn across the floor, soiling the once while tiles. I frown as I think they came to the store today for the same reason: preparation for the war. Lagging behind more than I thought, the assailant chases after me, shooting bullets inches past me. I swerve into the sports aisle, smashing my leg against a shelf. Balls, bats, and helmets rain down as I tumble onto the ground. One helmet hits my wound, and I falter, staying down. By now, the girl jogs down the aisle and once at my feet, points the head of the gun to my forehead.

    “This is it,” she snarls. Fearing for my life, I hallucinate, bringing forth the surroundings of my room. I lie constrained on the bed by the bullet embedded in my leg and feel the cold surface of the gun aimed at my stomach underneath the covers. The girl glares down at my debilitating figure on the bed with disdain. “Who was the last person you saw that you wanted to protect?” she asks.

    “My cousin,” I answer without hesitation.

    “Have you ever won an RPG game?” she continues questioning me, deliberating my death. What a weird question, I think but answer nonetheless.


    “Good,” I feel her finger itching to pull the trigger. “You’ll never be able to feel the warmth of saving that person like in those games. From now on, there is no happy ending.” Before I know it, she pulls the trigger, and the bullet flies out, hitting my stomach.

  5. I tire like a prank gone wrong.
    One second I’m smiling and the next I’m splashed with exhaustion as if withdrawing from the world.
    I try to drum up strength, but my eyelids vow to slam shut as I smash into the guardrail.
    Weird how odd human flesh smells when on fire.

    • Anklebuster says:

      Ew. I almost did that once. The heat from the stalled traffic lulled me into a stupor.
      I woke up just before hitting the concrete barrier.

      Nice imagery!



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