Writing Prompt – Creative Copy Challenge #562

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. Annihilation
  2. Identify
  3. Indefinitely
  4. Structure
  5. Negotiations
  6. Disarmament
  7. Preemptive
  8. Inheritance
  9. Curse
  10. Protect

34 Comments on “Writing Prompt – Creative Copy Challenge #562”

  1. Anklebuster says:

    The lottery ticket was supposed to protect us from the disarmament of our dreams. Each of us, in our own way, had been in negotiations with physical, emotional and spiritual entities uniquely qualified for the task of accepting our supplication in exchange for a guaranteed inheritance. Mom prayed, Dad consulted his dream books and I took preemptive action by forging the ticket.

    Of course, we had no idea that Peyton Watson of Illinois would claim his legitimate ticket precisely one hour before we arrived in Richmond, Virginia to do the same. Luckily for us, my forgery was so exquisitely perfect that, outside of the NSA, the lottery commission had no way to identify which ticket had been spewed from an authorized machine–heh, heh, I told you the forgery was flawless.

    However, our curse of being broke indefinitely came about because the printer that I stole had been de-listed from the lottery’s network structure. It was that oversight that launched the legal nuclear bomb which led to our annihilation.

    • @Mitch, I’m all smiles at how you wove a story that made me forget about the words you had to use.

      Write on!
      Shane

      • Anklebuster says:

        Thanks, Shane! One new thing for 2019: I am no longer bolding the words. The process I use interrupts the flow. By not bolding, I focus more on what I want to write.

        I got the idea from Tanja, who never emphasizes the words. 🙂

        Cheers,

        Mitch

        • I rarely bother, myself. I sometimes do it on my blog, but never here. It’s a fair bit of trouble, and I think it does interrupt the flow for the reader, too. We’re on the honor system here, right? A good read is everything. If someone wants to check to be sure you didn’t “cheat” by omitting a word, they can count ’em up. 😉

        • KathleenMK says:

          Mitch ~ I have been wondering what happened to your bolding of words; your reasoning makes sense.

          Holly – I am with Mitch… no cheating when you enjoy meeting the challenge (all challenge words used … or not.

          Write On,

          Kathleen

  2. “Hey Billy! I done had da strangest dream. Wanna hear ’bout it?”
    “No, Bobby!”
    “Ok den, here we go. I dreamted dat da Middle-East disarmament negotiations was indefinitely and preemptively cursed toward annihilation in order to protect da status quo of da structure identified as da Deep State Military-industrial complex.”
    “Bobby, your inheritance from your kin didn’t include no intelligence, so how did you come up with dem words?”
    “Well, Billy, I have you to thank for dat. ‘Member when I told you dat one day I’d be smart and you said, ‘Yeah, in your dreams’?”

  3. Meg says:

    Unbroken

    If a curse like the Egyptian afterlife
    loses strength if your name is forgotten,
    then I hold my hand at annihilation.
    Your identity stays written indefinitely
    on our broken structures.
    The curse remains unbroken.
    There will be none of your
    I’m sorry preemptive negotiations .
    I protect myself by being sure my curse remains unbroken.

  4. Chet says:

    Uncle Ned was locked in his shed. He yelled through the door that the curse was on him and he would be holed up there indefinitely. He would be obliged, he added, if we would leave whiskey, water, and his birthday cake outside but otherwise keep our distance because he could not protect us if we kept milling around. He would feel most awfully bad, he said, if we were to come face-to-face with annihilation out of well-meaning but misplaced efforts at disarmament negotiations. Negotiations, in any case, futile because there was no way that he would be separated from his means of self-protection. Said means which only I, of all the family, had been privileged to see. I was the youngest and a girl to boot, so Uncle Ned deemed me most in need of reassurance that he could take care of us all when the time came. So while my mother and my brothers were trying to reason with him on vague assumptions, I knew that the firepower in there was prodigious. And not all of it designed for use in our worldly plane of existence neither.

    Of all the family members assembled, I was the one who could identify with my uncle’s preemptive stand for self-protection. The damnation that lay on the male lineage of our family, he had explained to me, was an inheritance of his great grandmother, whose flirtation with various black arts had led to her conviction and hanging for witchcraft back in the day when our town still did business that way. From the gallows, she had hurled invective, calumny, and jinx after jinx down on the witnesses, his grandfather included. Uncle Ned claimed that grampa, being still a boy and not knowing just how far the mob might take things, lifted not a finger to save the old woman. The Howling Furies had come for him on his 50th birthday, and all the men in our family ever since.

    The outbuilding was a rickety structure with a pronounced sag to the right and a missing roof shingle or three that gave the birds and the rain freely access to the interior. No doubt the furies, I suggested, could hover overhead and get a good look inside and might he maybe be more secure back in the house. But he said the spirits were ground-bound and didn’t use ladders. I was prepared to believe him too, but then we all saw the dark cloud coming on down. Everybody took off running. Half-way back, I stopped and turned and saw the winged things diving through those holes. Then the screaming and the shooting started and all hell broke loose.

  5. When did the annihilation of social graces begin? Was it when Alexander Graham Bell failed to use “please” when instructing Mr. Watson to “…come here…”?

    Or maybe it was the parent we can’t identify who believed their child’s self-expression was threatened by good manners.

    Whenever it started, social media blasted us through the demented doors of the trolls, the rude, and socially inept. We arrived at a place we do not recognize where cruel words linger indefinitely within its structure and our minds. We battle for what we know and somehow lost.

    Negotiations become silenced through relentless noise, shoving us through the walls of peaceful disarmament into a preemptive state of surrender. Is this to be our inheritance? Will we curse our children to a world that fails to protect their innocence?

    • Anklebuster says:

      Cathy,

      It is, and we will. Innocence is the purview of Luddites. LOL

      Seriously, though, this is a thought-provoking piece. I imagine that people like you and me are witnessing the bubbles in the pot. Others will simply find themselves as beet-red snacks for this uncaring time.

      Cheers,

      Mitch

    • @Cathy, a lovely, lovely write. The cadence of this was spot on – it’s like a sorrowful, slow, yet graceful dance of words.

      Write on!

  6. Aslam Yaqoob says:

    Our lovely world has been experiencing ANNIHILATION of so many lives and its beautiful landscape since it came into existence. Its outer STRUCTURE has been changed many a time in consequence of lust of power and hegemony of people who were CURSED with world dominance.

    Despite the fact that their misdeeds, like their lives are short lived, these elements still continue to pile up lethal arms and ammunitions not to PROTECT their countries but to spread tyranny all over. These evil forces show case these pile ups as PREEMPTIVE measure against those who shrink from so called DISARMAMENT NEGOTIATIONS which are actually meant to deprive them of their INHERITANCE and very existence.

    How long this would go on, we can never tell. But this must not continue INDEFINITELY. We on our part IDENTIFY evil forces and their nexus and must not allow them to thrive on innocent souls. No matter what!

  7. […] by Writing Prompt – Creative Copy Challenge #562, and brought to you by the words: Annihilation, Identify, Indefinitely, Structure, Negotiations, […]

  8. In a preemptive edit, I sought the annihilation of exuberance, indefinitely. There would be no negotiations; scholarly standards were strictly structured – some might say “cursed” – to ensure the disarmament of excessive excitement. Ruthlessly, I lined up the errant sentences, identified their bouncy little exclamation marks, their now impotent interrobangs, lined them up against the wall, and excised them with the finality of single, pointed jab of ink. A gush of red, and it was over.

    Did I feel remorse?

    I could not remember feeling much of anything. Not for a long time.

    I had returned home in time for the funeral, to this fortress of books that once whispered of limitless secrets, timeless adventures, and the joy of discovery. This was my inheritance: a sterile cell within an ivory tower, where curiosity was disciplined and punctuation regimented – doled out parsimoniously in the form of a comma over a short period.

    Wait. Shouldn’t it be the other way around?

    I puzzled over the strange mark and wondered if I’d been standing on my head too long. I jumped to my feet. As this prison of diagrammatic death sentences turned topsy-turvy, and the words came out to play, the world began to spin and slowly righted itself. I grinned in solidarity at the subversive semicolon. Its wicked, sickled wit might just protect us all from the onslaught of ennui from the Kingdom of Conformity.


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