Writing Prompt – Creative Copy Challenge # 556

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. Squash
  2. Enchanted
  3. Bloodcurdling
  4. Apparition
  5. Cauldron
  6. Devilish
  7. Eyeballs
  8. Hocus Pocus
  9. Imp
  10. Phantasm
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7 Comments on “Writing Prompt – Creative Copy Challenge # 556”

  1. Anklebuster says:

    My kid took one look at the devilish imp climbing out of my bubbling cauldron and emitted a bloodcurdling scream that curled my toes.

    “Shaddup, ‘ fore I squash you, ya little crumb-snatcher!”

    The kid turned off the siren as if I had enchanted her. Oops! I think I did! My little spawn had morphed into a mewling phantasm with the classic frozen-faced look of horror that turns mouths and eyeballs into perfect little orbs. Only, I was no longer sure that the apparition in the fireplace was the source of fright.

    Shamefully, I resolved to be a better parent. Little witches should not become paralyzed by misdirected hocus pocus. I beckoned her over to the cauldron with the spoon.

    “Want to push him back in?”

  2. Chet says:

    Kirby maintained that I always beat him at squash because I used some hocus pocus. I wore those joke glasses with the mesermizing eyeballs or made devlish motions with hips when I dove in for a save. He couldn’t accept the facts: that he was slow, overweight, and generally sucked at racket sports. Or any sports for that matter.

    Nor could he accept the fact that we were just friends and his was never getting anywhere with me. O.K., I accepted the fact that he was enchanted. He wasn’t the only one. I was at my peak then; top shape, great butt, and a wizard on the court. It was the year I took the local championship. The club pro said that I was more an apparition than a physical body, the way I could just be in one corner of the court when he smacked the ball and then in the other, diving in to pick it off just short of the line on the rebound. Everyone there saw me as more phantasm than female.

    In truth, by then, Kirby was swimming in a cauldron of self-loathing. His wife had left him, he’d been passed over for partner, and the imp in the bottle down at Squire’s Pub was getting his attention too often for his well-being. I think his fantasies of me were all that kept him from descending into total despair.

    So I played to it. Wiggled at bit much when I was up ahead of him, waiting for the serve. Wore tighter shorts and tops than I used in real competition. Even brushed up against some times getting by when I didn’t need to. I figured it all cheered him up.

    Until the day after I took the trophy. I should have seen that I was pushing him to hard, that he was sweating and puffing more than usual. But I was still high off my win. I didn’t see him, not really, until he gave that bloodcurdling scream and I turned to find him sprawled flat on the court. I yelled for help and dropped to my knees next to him. His eyes opened once, when I sealed my lips over his to give the breath of life. His expression was surprised and – I still think – grateful. Then they rolled up so that I only saw the whites and I knew that I would never play Kirby at squash again.


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