Writing Prompt – Creative Copy Challenge #509

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 before and after each of your challenge words if you want them to stand out, but NOT REQUIRED THOUGH! Or, as cleverly done by a CCC-er you can CAPITALIZE the challenge words in your piece.

  1. Aa
  2. Zorro
  3. Zoolatry
  4. Wabbit
  5. Ustad
  6. Uroboros
  7. Tololshe
  8. Thrutch
  9. Superbious
  10. Sun-grazing

12 Comments on “Writing Prompt – Creative Copy Challenge #509”

  1. Anklebuster says:

    “I’m hunting wabbits.”

    “Okay, Elmer.”

    “Not that kind. I’m searching for self-replicating code on my laptop.”

    “Don’t you mean ‘worm‘?”

    “Nah. A worm tunnels through network firewalls. A wabbit is more like an ouroboros, or a digital Möbius strip, if you will.”

    “I will not. What the hell is an oar a bore us? It sounds like someone who rows in a circle, endlessly.”

    “OMG, the serendipity! That exactly describes the behavior of the snake. It eats its own tail.”

    “Serpents, dippy serpents? Are you high?”

    “Heh-heh. High as Icarus, my boy. I’m sun-grazing!”

    “Well, you certainly are waxing eloquent. I’m concerned about your latent zoolatry, though.”

    “Wait, what? I’m no satanist! I keep telling you, a wabbit is not an animal.”

    “You just said it was a boring serpent. It eats itself like a superbious mitt, or something.”

    “Gaah! You slay me. Don’t you remember making Möbius strips in math class?”

    “I remember wishing the math teacher would strip. Ha-ha!”

    “Oooh! Found it! Just as it was devouring ‘Zorro’“.

    “What? Your widdle wabbit?”

    “Yup! If you look way back to the beginning, the mouth is Aa.”

    “Tongue depressors in your computer?”

    “No, lava ate the tail of the fox.”

    “Don’t you mean saliva on the tail?”

    “You’re stupid.”

    “And you got an an animal fetish!”

    “You shall not thrutch me with your accusations. I stand my ground.”

    “Now you just sound like a pervert. I’m not thrusting anything at you.”

    “Too bad the wabbit ate the dictionary. It’s clear you need to avail yourself of it!”

    “You said the wabbit ate the fox. Which is it?”

    “Ho-ho! You got me. The wabbit is a process. Aa and Zorro were the first and last words in my dictionary.”

    “Cheap dictionary. No room for zorillas, zosters or zyzzyvas?”

    “Now, who’s rocking the zoolatry? But, again, the wabbit is not a virus!”

    “You’ve said.”

    “Zoster is a virus, the zizzy-whatsis is a bug, right? And what the heck is a zorilla?”

    “Look it up. Oh wait, you can’t! The serpent slurped your dictionary. Ah Ah Ah…”

    “I give up. I’m going to buy a new computer. You want to come?”

    “As long as you don’t start babbling about everything you used to have on the old one.”

    “Another good word, but you have mis-applied it. Ustad is a master.”

    “What? Bye!”

  2. /chet says:

    Superbious!” she whispered, watching the cat-sized zorro through her binoculars as it wound its way deftly out from the narrow thrutch in the jagged, black aa. Whenever I started forgetting that my subject was a child prodigy, only fifteen and already working on her Ph.D. thesis in the Anthropology program at Brown, she would utter some innocent Millinial-ism like that and snap me back to reality. I was a freelance journalist on assignment; this young genius was my subject.

    ‘Pix’ as all the other students called her, studied the practice of zoolatry among the Neolithic tribes on these God-forsaken little specs of lava and coral. She would already be published if the head of the review committee hadn’t taken her behind the woodshed over a simple misspelling. ”Tokoloshe” he’d written in red across the top page, “not ‘Tololshe’! It’s a mischief-making water sprite!” “Eh. I knew that,” Pix waving it aside when I asked. “I did it on purpose because he is such a diphthong.”

    Being a minor, she had to have an adult along acting in loco parentis and her graduate assistant Gopal had been assigned that role. He was a bit of a prodigy himself, an ustad with the bansuri on which he played haunting, Pied Piper melodies after dinner each night, perched cross-legged on a basaltic outcropping, silhouetted by the setting sun. It was how she’d found the little foxlike creature when it was drawn to the campsite by the lullaby tones and it was how she’d slipped the GPS collar around its neck while it sat mesmerized before the stone. How she figured it would lead us through the maze of this nightmare volcanic landscape right to the Bataks was beyond me, but here we were, settled into a crevice nearby and watching.

    Time mattered, Pix said. The sun-grazing comet Zendicas-A reached its peak brightness that night and the Batak’s celebration would be amazing. Well, she was right about that. A group of about 50 men, naked but for loin clothes, lined up around an enormous uroboros coiling on the field in front of them. At its center stood a totem pole, at least 20 feet tall, carved in the outline of some long eared creature. At a signal from the high priest, they began to weave their way along the snake-like coil, singing — did my ears deceive me? — “Kill da wabbit, kill da wabbit” to a Wagner melody, something I hadn’t heard since Saturday-morning cartoons when I was a kid. I was still feeling a little wabbit myself from the long flight and before I had the chance to ask her how they’d learned that song, I sneezed loudly. The singing stopped. 100 eyes turned and looked up the black rock in our direction.

    “Superbious,” Pix uttered under her breath but I knew this time she didn’t mean it in a good way.

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