Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #348

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 and around each of your words if you want them to stand out, but NOT REQUIRED THOUGH.

  1. awakening
  2. magnetic
  3. script
  4. apology
  5. intent
  6. blades
  7. restless
  8. fierce
  9. pigeon
  10. isolated

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.)


30 Comments on “Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #348”

  1. Anklebuster says:

    Artie peeled the magnetic business card off the file cabinet. Restless fingers tapped out the number. After a beat, he spoke into the phone. He tried to make his request not sound like an apology.

    “I’m going to need another car.” He listened to the tinny instructions barking from the little phone. When the call ended, he twisted the device into two useless chunks, grabbed his hat and fled into the night.

    Artie had never run so slowly in his life. His dreams were like this, but he knew damn well he would not be awakening from this impending nightmare. The humidity was intent on sapping the last of his energy, while bad luck insisted on twisting his carefully planned script into an incoherent mess of ill-timed coincidences.

    At last, the diner came into view. Thin, weak blades of fluorescent light failed to penetrate the fog surrounding the dingy building. Emboldened by the isolated, empty parking lot, Artie huffed and puffed to a stand-still.

    He thought he was undetectable, but his fierce wheezing gave him away. Frog-eyed Freddy stepped out of the shadows, put a gun to Artie’s head and sneered.

    “Hello, you fat little stool-pigeon. Goodbye.”

  2. Cathy Miller says:

    Sarah struggled with awakening. At least she knew she was still alive. Then her body caught up with her mind and she questioned her gratitude. Because she knew. She knew what the day would bring.

    He had been a magnetic force. Drawn to him, Sarah marveled he returned her interest as she became the poster child for the phrase, swept off her feet. She never felt so cherished. Each day she raced to awakening. And then the script had changed.

    At first, it was a silly argument. His heartfelt apology caressed with the soft touch of intent. Tears glistened in mirrored reflection as the shock began to fade, the blades of hurt dulling in silent forgiveness.

    All was good again. At least for awhile. A restless storm brewed as frustration built in fierce response. His meal was late. The room was a mess. Her tone was disrespectful.

    Sarah gazed out the window where sunlight kissed the ledge. A pigeon cocked its head to gaze into her eyes as if to ask why, For one isolated moment, Sarah risked the thought of escape.

    The bedroom door slapped the wall as her body tensed in restrained retreat.

  3. Chandroc started as he snapped back into the present, awakening from his daydream. He was sweating, still pulling on the old wooden oars, yet he smiled, remembering those times when he had just been learning how to fish. This haul that he had here would have been good even for a whole crew, plenty of money to go around. Now, he didn’t care one way or another about the fish he so desperately needed, he just needed to get home, to get his family isolated from the village, to hide from HER, the Stormbringer, the Dream Crusher. There were several names for her, none of them good, all of them reminders of pain and misery.

    No one knew where SHE came from, only that SHE was. SHE appeared in cycles, every 40 seasons or so. Sometimes, if the merchants could be believed, it was every 20 years, reaping village after village, leaving total destruction in her wake. SHE made no apology, gave no explanation, SHE just appeared in thunder, blades whirling in her hands, fierce spells coming from her lips, intent on destruction. Villages died when SHE came, lands blighted, and sorrow ensued. Very few lived to tell about HER, even fewer had seen HER, but Chandroc had. He had seen HER evil destroy his village, his friends, his mother.

    Why had he rowed out so far today? Why did he not still have his other boat with the big sail? His powerful arms were tiring, and he still could barely see the land on the far horizon. He rowed even harder. He tried to keep an eye on the small compass that was embedded in the gunwale of the boat, trying to keep his bearings and on his heading without turning around. He watched the magnetic needle and tried to keep it in the same position, but it was restless shaking with every stroke of the oars. “Just get home.” Chandroc thought. “We can send a pigeon to the council when we get there, and warn everyone.” Maybe the people at least could be saved, he knew the village would be gone. Even that new church bell that the new sexton had put up last week would be a mass of twisted metal when SHE got finished. Chandroc’s mind wandered again. He had been in the great library at Castle Ronok looking for information about HER.

    There was not much there to find. SHE was a mystery, only a few spidery lines of script told of HER, told of the destruction. Even the scholars had no more information than Chandroc. There had to be a way to stop her from coming, or at least save some of the world that Chandroc knew. The thunder rang out again, and the sea became restless beneath the hull of Chandroc’s boat. He willed himself to keep pulling for the shore, keep pulling, pull, pull, pull. The sea grew more agitated, the dark waters starting to wave, white caps appearing on top. Cold grew more intense, the air seemed to get thicker, and Chandroc started to have trouble breathing. The waves grew trying to capsize his craft, to keep him from getting home, and then they began to swirl. The sea swirled itself around Chandroc, finally raising his boat above the water on a column just bigger than his boat. Chandroc screamed in terror and frustration at the water, at HER, at anything. His oars dripped water as he spun, useless in their locks, when suddenly, the water stopped swirling, Chandroc dropped, his boat breaking apart on impact, the sea starting to swirl again.

    Chandroch the fisherman screamed as he entered the dark, frigid water, knowing that his life would soon be over. He couldn’t have been more wrong.

  4. Meg says:

    In the magnetic awakening the script remains unwritten.
    I give no apology for lack of tears.
    I am too busy with the isolation of forms that cannot wait.
    The blades of your discontent fierce restless do not move me
    To shed tears. Dry eyes face federal forms and burial plots.

    After, when the red ink has dried, when I can scroll
    Pen on paper, blue or black, or purple,
    Word tears will leave the mundane of today into the
    Grief of tomorrow.

  5. kathleenMK says:

    Who’s <awakening is it, really?

    Lord, this being a parent is tough.
    I know You’ve seen fit to bless me with babies; three.
    I have raised them up, without a script.
    I have flown by the seat of my pants most of the way.
    Even 23 years later I still am, it seems.
    No apology from me for loving these creatures.
    No apology from me for keeping so close to them that many might have thought there was a magnetic connection between us at times.
    Their safety was of utmost importance to me and mine theirs.
    Oh how close we were, the four of us.
    It was us against him.
    We survived because of each others’ dedication to each other.
    Love is a bind that ties. And oh how we loved each other.
    We were isolated at times, but I know they knew it was for the best.
    My intent was to raise them up with the fierce love that I felt grow from the very first moment I knew I was with child;
    With the fiercepride I did not know I had;
    With the fierce protection that came naturally to me.
    Now, all three of my beauties have flown the nest.
    Each experiencing their own awakening within their own time line.
    The blades of restlessness cut a path in the lives of us all.
    May these beauties come to understand that their awakenings are supported as best I can,
    With Love
    With shaking hands
    With trepidation as they test the wind beneath their wings.
    May they try to understand that I fight the urge to pigeonhole them into what I see best for them while they learn and adapt to their awakenings.
    I still see them on wobbly legs.
    Lord, please give me the strength not to run to their side and help them up as I did when they were little.

  6. kathleenMK says:

    ooppsss, guess I already wrote one for this challenge… well… here is what the words called out for placement today. 🙂

    Thousands of blades of grass swayed in the breeze in a sensual undulating motion, movement choreographed since the begging of time.

    Aspin leaves dancing in the wind added to the musicality of the sunrise that slowly tuned the misty grey hued darkness of the night to a varying range of golden shades that gave way to the blue above, all welcoming the day.

    The fierce restlessness that stirred inside of her was quelled by the isolated meadow.

    The cooing of pigeons began as dawn broke.

    Crickets rubbed their wings together adding their chirping to the orchestra.

    A moose blew air forcibly through her nostrils waiting for a bounce back of scents. Quickly making the determination of the level of safety for her one day old calf as the cow’s intent was to make it to water this morning.
    The awakening of the meadow was repeating its ritual like a well scripted play. Each creature entering stage-left and stage-right without apology, without finding the human laying prone in a sleeping bag any intrusion.
    The settling nature of this meadow and its inhabitants had a magnetic quality. They made it so Shannon did not want to leave … ever.

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