Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #329

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. Orchestra
  2. Successive
  3. Toothpaste
  4. Evangelical
  5. Oblong
  6. Probability
  7. Attraction
  8. Tibia – the inner of the two bones of the leg, that extend from the knee to the ankle.
  9. Health
  10. Sumo – a form of wrestling in Japan in which a contestant wins by forcing his opponent out of the ring or by causing him to touch the ground with any part of his body other than the soles of his feet, contestants usually being men of great height and weight.

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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19 Comments on “Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #329”

  1. Anklebuster says:

    “This stuff is way better than that crap you watch on Saturday Morning Wrestling.” Todd shoved another spoonful of cereal into his mouth as his brother frowned at the two behemoths dancing awkwardly in the circle.

    Calvin upended the box, catching a few sugary crumbs. “Yah, well, who wants to look at obese men in diapers?” He didn’t understand his brother’s evangelical zeal for the sport and suspected that he was winding him up.

    Todd bristled, “They are not obese. In fact, some of them are in better health than we are.” He passed his hand over their choice of breakfast. “Did you know that the average sumo consumes 10,000 calories a day?”

    Calvin shook his head. “Like I said. Obese. I read about their diet. So what if they exercise? The probability that one of them gets diabetes and hypertension is higher than average. And, dude, that fish, cabbage, beef stew slop? I don’t see the attraction.”

    Todd nodded. “Well, I won’t argue with that. Plus they wash it down with beer!” He took a swig of milk.

    Calvin reached for another slice of toast. “I wonder how many tubes of toothpaste they go through in a month.”

    “No more than you, moron! What a stupid thing to say!” Todd chucked a corn flake at his brother.

    Calvin jumped up. “Who you calling stupid?”

    Todd snapped back, “You’re deaf, too. I said, ‘moron,’ stupid!” He pushed his chair back and rose to a crouch.

    “Take it back!”

    “Okay, you’re an ‘idiot’!”

    The two boys slowly circled the oblong breakfast table, neither willing to back down. With each successive taunt, Calvin became angrier until, finally, he dove across the space and head-butted Todd. Though Todd was much bigger, the surprise move caught him off-balance and he twisted awkwardly under his own weight.

    ***

    Mrs. Washington was clearly disgusted. She had been called away from the audition and now, sitting in Todd’s private room, she blew out a frustrated sigh. His fractured tibia was symbolic of her short-lived adventure with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra.

    Break a leg, indeed.

  2. I hope you guys aren’t tired of me using the prompts for my WIP.

    Cue the orchestra. When Aunt Janice said the words, “your father,” I heard the tuning fork, the tap of a baton, the clearing of a throat. The crowd of instruments in my head shuffled into order, and then, they roared to life. The successive tones growling for attention. The wine of a violin, the bleat of a horn, the thunderous rumble of a timpani, sounds of the melodrama, the shifting stanzas of guilt, fear, anger and annoyance.

    Janice eyed me with the zeal of an impatient evangelical waiting for me to utter the words, any words. But the symphony drowned her out, as if her face was at the pinpoint end of an out-of-focus telescope.

    I had always known there was a high probability that Janice held some kind of key to my father’s identity. I suspected she held the story, clutched it tightly to her out of loyalty to my mother. Maybe part of her attraction was that she held a secret neither of us acknowledged, while I surfed the teen years. After the letter arrived, well after I was too old for ignorance, I held my own secret. I knew, too, the identity of my father. Knowing was a kind of edged gift, with strings and questions and reciprocal expectations, so I kept it to myself. I refused to respond to him, or to draw my mother and Janice, collusionists, into what I knew about him. What I knew about them.

    I was angry then, with Janice staring at me in, thrumming with energy and anxiety. I was angry that they had waiting until The Duchess’ health was under threat to drop their bomb, a bomb I’d already defused. I pushed back from the table, stood on my feet, feeling the full weight of my body, rushing into the bones of my pelvis, into my knees, along the edges of my tibia, down into the planked floor beneath me. I felt rooted and trapped at once, a sumo with no will to attack.

    I walked upstairs, leaving Janice dumb in the kitchen, kept company by cold coffee and bad breath. I leaned over the toilet, my old idol, the oblong rim of porcelain cool and sturdy, a statue to hurt. After, I rubbed my teeth with a glob of toothpaste, splashed my face. Walked back to confront Janice, and the reality of my father.

  3. K says:

    If there has been one thing the ten members agreed on, it had to be this: their dream of forming an orchestra successive to the disbanded one survives and thirsts to grow from an idea to a reality.

    Once the maestro enters the church, the seated ten people whip around and clamp their mouths shut in his presence. He dresses as if attending a concert in his black suit with the long coat tail. Standing behind the music stand, he taps his baton against it, signaling for attention. Everyone raises their instruments and begins playing on the maestro’s cue. He closes his eyes, immersing himself in the music reverberating in the room. After a minute elapses, his face scrunches up as his eyebrows furrow. His eyelids flutter open, and he sets his baton down on the music stand. Astonished by his actions, the band stops, hitting flat notes. The maestro’s eyes flash to the man in the back. The man simpers but straightens up when he notices the maestro’s gaze on him.

    “You,” the maestro singles the man out. “Toothpaste can play the trumpet better than you, Mr. Cash. Please explain yourself.”

    “Sorry. I will work harder. You can call me by my first name,” the man responds.

    “Well, Tim. Ah, I think I remember you from an awful performance I had to attend that had no attraction. Which cabaret was it again?”

    “Pepe’s Don’t Tell Papa,” Tim blurts out. Noticing what he had said, Tim shuts his mouth and hides his face with his trumpet. The maestro looms over the rest of the members, allocating the next comment to the next person.

    “Amy, you play this song too sweetly. Stick to evangelical hymns and get out. Who are you supposed to be? A sumo, Carter? If your health is good then throw oblong objects around instead of trying to be in an orchestra. You play the tuba as if it was a whale. And you,” the maestro turns to the older woman. She cowers but repositions herself to face him. The bow in her hand trembles.

    “Yes, Maestro Nye?” she hesitates. “You could use my name. It’s Cindy.”

    “I know. It’s on your chair. You used to be a music teacher. Correct?” Cindy nods in agreement. “I thought you would be pretty skilled at playing the cello considering your credentials, but you’re too old for it. Your hand is too weak. Try to play a song.” In an effort to disprove Maestro Nye, Cindy begins playing the current song, but as the maestro criticizes it, the notes from the cello come out thin and screechy. Some people clamp their ears. Defeated, Cindy retires from playing and slumps in her chair. Maestro Nye walks towards Cindy. She lifts her head. “You insist that I call you by your name the last three practices, but you know why I don’t say it? Because when you play, my tibia aches. You are unfit to be here since you play like a piece of crap which is all you will amount to be at this level.” Cindy breaks into hysterics and cries on Amy’s shoulder. Amy glares at the maestro.

    “Don’t you think you went too far, maestro?” Amy asks, lacing the question with venom.

    “I can’t deny people the truth. The probability you people will play as an orchestra is-” Dan interjects Maestro Nye by plucking and holding notes on his violin. Once he catches everyone’s attention, Dab grabs his bow and feels it back and forth on the violin. He starts off with eerie notes which then transcends into the song, “Danse Macabre.” The members applaud Dan after he wraps up his performance, and Maestro Nye withholds any criticism and offers slow claps for Dan’s superb playing. Guess the probability had not been zero after that.

  4. Ashley says:

    “Damn it,” Maria mumbled to herself. “I hope you make it.”

    She had left a note for Jesse telling him that there was a train leaving at six tonight and she was getting on it with or without him. But damn it, she hoped he made it. The note, also, told him that she was pregnant. She pushed her sandy brown hair out of her face as she sat on a bench waiting for the train to arrive. Maria clutched her thin hoodie to her body as a cold breeze swept through the platform. As she silently sat there her parents’ condemning words replayed over and over in her head with no reprieve in sight.

    “How can you love a low life like him, especially after he knocked you up?”

    Her mother’s vicious words raced through her veins, like poison. Maria could only stand there in shock as her mother continued on.

    “Your father and I have been talking, and we’ve finally decided. If you never see that boy again, we’ll let you stay. And get rid of that thing, and I don’t care if you give it up for adoption or get an abortion, as long as you get rid of it. But if you insist to keep seeing that boy and keep that thing, then you’ll be living out on the streets with nothing. So, what is your decision?”

    Maria couldn’t believe her ears. She’d never seen this side of her mother before. The woman before her wasn’t the doting, caring mother she loved; this woman was a complete and total stranger masquerading around with her mother’s face on. Her mother’s narrowed navy blue eyes stared her down awaiting Maria’s decision, while she could only stare back in numb disbelief and blink her twilight blue eyes slowly.

    In Maria’s eyes when she thought about that moment only hours ago, there was no choice in the matter. She could never give up her baby or the boy she had fallen completely head over heels for. So, in the end she was kicked out of her own home, disowned from the only family she had ever known. But she hadn’t left without taking some of her stuff, and pulling all of the money out of her savings account before her mother closed the account. She automatically gripped her duffle bag tighter in her hands at the reminder of what was in the bag.

    Even though it was only a memory now, it still felt like a sumo wrestler had just plowed into her. No, it was more like he had decided to sit on her and she was slowly being crushed to death. Her mother was such an evangelical Christian that she believed that everything she did was righteous, even if it meant throwing out her own flesh and blood so that her reputation was soiled because she had gotten pregnant before she was married. Her family was the very definition of old fashioned in some aspects. Maria unconsciously gripped the oblong black opal dangling from her neck. When she thought about it, it was like her week had been a successive streak of bad luck only getting worse the farther along it got into her week.

    The sound of a train finally coming into the station drew her attention away from her melancholy thoughts. Glancing at the clock on the wall, she saw that it was six o’clock. Knowing this was her train, she dug through her duffle bag looking for her misplaced ticket. Her hands found a tub of toothpaste before they finally found her ticket. Standing from her seat, she did a quick sweep of the platform. Maria couldn’t see Jesse anywhere, meaning he had decided that he wanted nothing to do with her. She already knew there was a good probability that he wouldn’t show up, but it was still disheartening that he had decided not to. A deep sigh escaped her lips quickly turning into a hiss as she put her full weight onto her injured leg. She had bruised her tibia yesterday and it still flared up in pain at her weight being put on it. Then again if she thought about it she might have fractured it.

    Shouldering her only piece of luggage, she made her way to the train. Orchestra music played faintly overhead on the platform, the only thing breaking the silence on the nearly deserted platform. Stepping onto the train, she felt like she was tearing out apart of herself and it was being left behind. Maria mentally slapped herself. She had to quit being so depressing it more than likely wasn’t good for the baby’s health. Forcing herself to think of something happy, she found a compartment with no one in it. Chucking her luggage on a seat, before plopping down across from it she leaned on the window. Soon the train began to pull away from the station and the view on the other side changed from city buildings to rolling hills.

    As she sat there she could her a doors being opened then closed, and it was slowly getting closer to where she was. Figuring it was the person who punched tickets, she sat there prepared to give them her ticket. Imagine her shock when the door to her compartment opened and there stood Jesse in all his glory. His black hair damp and tousled, and his light brown eyes glittering in relief. Jesse quickly strode over to her and pulled her up from her seat into his arms.

    “You made it,” Maria sighed in relief.

    “Of course I did,” he said. “I’m just curious why chose travel by train, instead of by an airplane or something else.”

    “I don’t see the attraction with airplanes,” she muttered petulantly, before smirking, “besides you know I’m terrified of heights.”

    He laughed at her sarcastic jib at him, causing his chest to rumble soothingly against her. “Sure, sure.”

    Her sarcastic remark was from the first time they had met and he had asked her if she was scared of heights and she had jokingly told him she was. It had taken a week for her to convince him that she wasn’t. The memory brought a smile to her face, as she finally felt that everything would be okay as long as they were together.


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