Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #350

Woohoo! We have reached a significant number today.

Congratulations Creative Copy Challenge takers. This is the 350th challenge to be posted. We owe people like Shane and Mitch a huge debt for starting the challenge and keeping it rolling for so long. You have inspired us all.

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. significant
  2. educate
  3. blow
  4. creative
  5. goodbye
  6. memory
  7. cavern
  8. torrent
  9. mask
  10. media

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.)


31 Comments on “Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #350”

  1. Anklebuster says:


    The only living creatures in this oddly bejeweled cavern are the relatives of my freshman year biology subjects. What am I supposed to eat?

    The blasted things are everywhere, smelling like yesterday’s fish. I have 29 more days to go. Regret is a useless luxury, much like the inaccessible shiny gems stuck in the moist walls. Either I get creative or Kermit is going to be attending a bunch of amphibian wakes.

    I have a vague memory of a fiery red-head. She keeps telling me to do another line. Her hair is whipping down into her porcelain mask. She giggles, swipes her hair behind her shoulder and tries to bend over something.

    I hear myself! I’m saying, “Knob blow, baby.” Wait. Am I in some erotic fantasy? I need to focus. No, I can sense that I am trying to educate her.

    “… not blow, baby. You can’t snort that!”

    Red-head is smarter than me. She knows. God she knows. She kisses me goodbye. There is only one way I can fix this. As the first puff assaults my lungs, I scream.

    The frogs jump. Sorry, mates! The memory fades, my brain cells nothing more than overloaded storage media.

    Although I have studied every inch of this dank dwarven ballroom, I make yet another pass along the walls, randomly pushing gems, sticking my fingers into crevices and kicking the damned frogs. Of course, I don’t find anything new. I plop down to rest, to think.


    “We’re sorry Mrs. Piñero. Apparently, your husband was influenced by this book we found on his person.” Detective Walker handed the distraught woman a little blue book.

    She stared at the title. Bufo alvarius: The Psychedelic Toad of the Sonoran Desert “Are you kidding me? The man won’t even take aspirin. Do not tell me this has anything to do with his condition!”

    Detective Walker held up his hands against the anguished torrent. “I’m sorry. We’re not jumping to conclusions. We found a glassine envelope with powder. It tested positive for tryptamines. The crime scene investigator sent it off for further analysis but, it appears that you husband has ingested a significant amount of bufotenin.

    Mrs. Piñero broke down, then. “Is he going to make it?”

    “You’ll have to ask the doctor, ma’am.” Walker collected his men and left her alone.


    I know this is some messed up stuff. The frogs are tired of my kicking them. They appear to be turning on me. Unfortunately, my decision to sit down gave them some kind of weird confidence. A really big one is hopping towards me. I can see a fly wing on her lip. Nasty croaker, get a napkin!

    The frog is turning white. What is going on? I look around and the cavern walls have disappeared. I glance back toward the frog. Oh god, it’s smiling at me!


    “You gave us quite a scare, Mr. Piñero. You’re going to be fine.” A pretty nurse grinned at the confused patient.

    Suddenly, the door flew open. Mrs. Piñero rushed in, pushed the nurse aside and stared hot death upon her husband.

    “Can’t you do anything right? You were supposed to give the package to that bimbo of yours.”

  2. bbanne says:

    Releasing his face from the emotionless mask he wore In front of the media, he suddenly looked even older than his 84 years. His past had caught up with him at last. He hadn’t really believed it would happen so it was a damaging blow to his confidence when Corinne told him that she was going to speak up.

    No matter how creative he was, he couldn’t think of a story to cover up his actions. He told himself that he had taken each of those young girls into the stable just to educate them about the ways of horses, but they all knew better than that. His only hope was that the others would remain quiet or he could kiss his freedom goodbye.

    Memory has long tentacles and he could feel them slithering coldly into the cavern which held those things which should never be mentioned. He had sealed it off long ago. It was to have been something to sustain him in his old age – the reliving and replaying of those juicy, sun-drenched days of firm, young flesh. Corinne intended to deprive him of that joy, and turn his pleasure into a dirty pit of depravity.

    The reporter had hit him with a torrent of questions that his old brain could not keep up with. At 84 he was beginning to show a significant frailty in mind and body. It wasn’t until the reporter mentioned the names of the other girls that he realised he was in real trouble. No matter where he looked, the eyes inside the camera followed him and he could not get away.

    He leaned against the door that he had closed against the prying eyes of the camera and sagged, knees bent and shaking, head bowed in defeat. It would mean jail time. What do they do to old men – paedophiles – in jail?

    Oh Corinne, why did it have to be you?

  3. Cathy Miller says:

    1st-yay for #350! 🙂

    Her significant loss of feeling went unnoticed as routine took command. Day after day, she plugged into a mindless connection of the mundane. Depression drained the emotion from her face as her heart could no longer educate the palette of her soul.

    Her breath would blow from the depths of despair as she reached for the lost passageway of her life. This place strangled thecreative and said goodbye to the joy she once knew. When did this happen? How did this happen?

    Her memory was an empty cavern of an archaic past, filled with a torrent of broken dreams. A blank stare was her mask concealing the media of all she desired.

    She had to break free to survive.

  4. PRIYAMVADA says:

    “Educate people and all the darkness will
    blow off”,this is what my teacher used to
    say before she went into that dark cavern.
    I don’t lie and that torrent on 13th december
    is still clear in my memory. My teacher was
    dragged in the sea by an unearthly figure
    wearing a red mask. No significant education
    can explain what i saw that night. No one had
    an answer to her sudden dissapearance. Media
    was made to put a very creative goodbye for
    the world to see but her soul still travels
    in same cavern every december.

  5. The cold. After his scream, first thought that Chandroc had as the torrent of water engulfed him was “Cold.” He passed out, being drug into the depths, not even able to scream a final “Goodbye.” to his family. Overhead, the sea calmed, and wreckage of his boat joined floating, dead fish, the only things marking Chandroc’s demise into the dark water. Thunder boomed directly over the spot as the sun came out, and SHE floated over the spot. She gave a knowing look, to the spot, smirked, and flew onward towards the village formerly inhabited by Chandroc.

    The village of Imdemaehom was right in the middle of the festival when they heard thunder coming from the sea. The clouds were clearing so it was dismissed by the revelers as the final outpouring of the storm. Creative types brought out their paper, charcoal, and other media to sketch the scenes, and a vendor hawked masks to be used for the masquerade ball. Revelry was in the air, and, now that the thunder had passed and the wind ceased to blow, no one even thought about the lonely fisherman out on the sea. The party was starting off well, the ale vendors and street food stands were distributing their wares, music rang from several wandering musicians, shop owners had tables full of goods out in the street for the people to fawn over. Tables had been set up in areas, and colorful banners waved on their taut lines that stretched over the streets. Laughter rang out, and people were happy to not be toiling away on their farms or their mundane jobs. This was one of the parties that the government was promising would bring more peace and fun to the community. The officials had spent a significant amount of money buying presents for the children, food for the adults and fireworks for later in the night.

    SHE looked down upon the festival from far overhead. It was almost time. It was almost time for HER to feed again, and to feed her offspring. There was no remorse, only an excited desire to feed on the joy of the people, and then their blood. SHE waited. These people had no memory of her, and all attempts to educate them had recently fallen short. This was good. She would teach her brood how to hunt, how to feed off of the joy, and then the fear, and then the blood of these delicate creatures. None would escape this time, no children running away, no politicians trying to find a cavern to hide in. They were HERS, and there was no hope for them.

  6. bbanne says:

    Oh no,Chandroc. What is happening to you? SHE can’t win!

  7. kathleenMK says:

    Significant times, yes, yes they were.

    Can you search your memory… find those days in your youth when you learned to send glistening soap bubble off on the air waves?

    Don’t keep that to yourself. Educate that child who looks up at you not know they are looking for an outlet of carefree giggle-filled fun. Teach them to blow with just the right amount of air, not too much now or you will pop the bubble right at the hoop. If you have time, get creative … show them the newer big bubble assisting hoops as well.

    Be careful … you may find a torrent of giggles and silliness awaiting you in the cavern of childhood memories. Say goodbye to the adult within, with so many responsibilities. Let the inner child out, don’t keep your adult mask on. Don’t worry, the media is not watching.

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