Writing Prompt – Creative Copy Challenge #570

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. Cabbage
  2.  Bagpipe
  3.  Blarney Stone
  4. Donnybrook
  5.  4-leaf clover
  6. Gaelic
  7.  Limerick
  8.  Mischievous
  9.  Seventeenth
  10.  Walking Stick

4 Comments on “Writing Prompt – Creative Copy Challenge #570”

  1. Anklebuster says:

    My daughter was wailing about how Tameeka had stolen her Cabbage-patch doll. Tameeka was the local bully who lived over on 17th and Blarney Stone Drive. Those bums, living in the shadow and roar of the 4-leaf clover, constantly encroached on our peaceful turf. I grabbed my walking stick and can of mace.

    “Stay here, baby. I’ll be right back.”

    I marched out of the house. Of course, I never saw the mischievous glint in my baby girl’s eye. Nor did I see her whip out her cell phone and text someone. My vision was filled with the hot blood remembrance of the legendary Underpass Donnybrook, between me and Tameeka’s father, Jamal.

    He’d pounded me silly that day. I had limped home wheezing like a moldy bagpipe. But we weren’t kids, now. It was time for him to answer for his rambunctious offspring. He was not going to use her Gaelic heritage as an excuse!

    As I ambled towards the highway, past the burned out cars and heroin-lace hookers, I hummed an old limerick that always made me laugh:

    There once was a man called Dave
    Who kept a dead whore in a cave
    He said,” I confess,
    I’m a bit of a mess,
    But think of the money I save!”

    I turned down 17th, still smiling, and ran smack-dab into Jamal. My face tightened instantly and a snarl escaped my lips, “Jamal…”

    “Yo, Homes! Long time.”

    “It’s been a minute.”

    “Whatcha doing ’round here?”

    “Came to talk to you about our daughters.”

    “Man, what ‘Meeka done, now?”

    I was taken aback. I had fully expected belligerence from Jamal. All the fight went out of my shoulders. I slumped onto my walking stick and relayed my daughter’s tale of woe. Jamal invited me to come back to his house so that we could take care of things. I was painfully conscious of the mace in my jacket pocket.

    When we got to his place, his wife was standing in the door. Her red hair was as wild as ever, and the few pounds of baby fat actually made her look better than I remembered. I smiled, “Yo, Erin! How you been?”

    “Hey, Freddy.”

    Jamal yelled for his daughter, Tameeka. Erin quickly shushed him and invited me inside. Jamal, stepped back to let me pass. This behavior confused me more than our earlier encounter. As I walked up the two steps into the darkened vestibule, I could smell good food cooking. I blinked a few times to give my eyes a chance to adjust. As the room came into focus, a dozen bodies jumped up.


    “Happy Birthday, Freddy!”

    Tameeka ran toward me and gave me a big hug. My wife came out of the kitchen with flour on her face. She gave me a hug and laughed at my confusion.

    “It was Rebecca’s idea. She should be coming in right behind you.”

  2. KathleenMK says:

    Mitch …All the fight went out of my shoulders. I slumped onto my walk stick …

    aawwwee, nice complement to women: …and the few pounds of baby fat actually made her look better than I remembered….

    What a great ending. Unexpected. Bravo. You lead me down a path only to have me fall hook, line and sinker for it… until the end.

    Write On,


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