Writing Prompt – Creative Copy Challenge #574

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.
Sorry for the delay.
1. Victims
2. Crime
3. Rights
4. National
5. Resentment
6. Forgive
7. Remember
8. Honor
9. Protect
10. Hurt

7 Comments on “Writing Prompt – Creative Copy Challenge #574”

  1. Anklebuster says:

    From Notes of a Madman:

    “My karma ran over my dogma.”

    Resentment is understandable when victims feel that they must protect the ones that hurt them. However, this bitterness arises from the misapplication of the tenets of Bhagavad Gita. Sadly, most people, let alone victims, never attain kaivalya jnana–that is, enlightenment–thus, are unable to discern the subtleties of karma.

    To protect the rights of those who do wrong, as embodied in most national contexts, is a property of the rule of law. Adherents confuse this property with the concept of karma, using such terms as turn the other cheek, do unto others and what goes around comes around. Nothing could be further from the truth, which is this:

    Karma is a property of the soul. Crime is a property of the corpus. To honor karma is to save one’s very soul. This is called moksha–salvation. To forgive is is to relinquish an anchor that weighs down the body; yet, many feel that such a weight is their cross to bear, in order to honor the rule of law. Hence, the confusion persists, as man is wholly incapable of separating his soul from his corporeal mind. He feels that the anchor serves to help him remember but, in the mistaken notion of adhering to karma, he feels he must forgive.

    Once that mistaken notion is realized, man is free to never forgive, never forget.

  2. stormwriter2 says:

    “Are you HURT?” asked a kind voice, full of concern.
    I opened my eyes, but it made no difference. I still couldn’t discern anything in the blackness. The air felt cold as death, dark as RESENTMENT. The uneven ground beneath me felt like damp stone, wicking away my body heat. What body heat? I was as cold as the stone itself.
    Where was I?
    I groaned and felt something damp caking my hair to my cheek. Blood?
    “I don’t know,” I said, my voice sounding small and frightened.
    I ran my hands along my cheeks, probed my neck, skull, and shoulders but found no injuries. I felt sore all over, as if I’d just had the hardest workout of my life. My whole body felt like one enormous bruise.
    I tried to stand up.
    “Take it easy,” said the man. “Let’s wait for my buddy to come and make sure you’re alright.”
    I couldn’t stand anyway. My legs were too cold and stiff.
    “What happened?” I mumbled. “Where am I?”
    “You’re in the library basement.”
    “What library?”
    “The Green Valley Library.”
    “Oh,” I said. At least I knew where that was. Henderson. “I didn’t know there was basement. Why can’t I see anything? Am I blind?”
    “No,” he chuckled. “At least, I don’t think so. There’s been a power outage. Can you tell me your name?”
    I knew my name. Of course I knew my name. But for some reason, I couldn’t think of it. “I don’t REMEMBER,” I said, puzzled. “It’s on the tip of my tongue.”
    “Do you remember what happened after the storm hit?”
    “No.” What storm?
    “No problem, love,” the man said. “We’ll just wait for my friend, and he’ll help me to PROTECT you.”
    “From the storm?” I said, confused.
    “From marauders and looters,” he said. “My leg’s busted and I was trying to crawl out of here when I found you in the dark.”
    “How long has it been since the storm?” I asked.
    “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “At least a couple of days. There are dozens of VICTIMS besides us. There’s a NATIONAL CRIME wave going on right now.”
    “I can’t remember anything,” I said. Then, almost as an afterthought I said, “Please FORGIVE my rudeness, but what is your name?”
    “James,” he said.
    “Nice to meet you, James.”
    “The HONOR is mine, love.”

  3. KathleenMK says:

    Mind-ful Conversation – revisited


    “Yes son.”

    “Why was it so hard for you to say my name aloud today?”

    “When son?” her voice was soft, timid.

    “When the Mayor asked everyone, who was standing up for a loved one who was a victim of crime to not only hold up their family member’s photo and/or signs, but now say their name out loud…. Why did you have tears streaming down from your eyes? Why couldn’t you say my name aloud?”

    She swallowed hard before answering. “I didn’t know you were watching me son. Guess I was hoping you weren’t, at that very moment. Because, I wondered the same thing as my voice box failed me.”

    “What did you come up with mom?”

    “The easy answer would be ‘because it still hurts Lovie….’”


    “But I think, maybe. there was a bit in that reality that I didn’t want to share you with anyone else … any more than I was already. After all, I had that large photo, set of photos really as your photo is on the front and back of that poster board that is the size of a picket sign, of you and your girl and sometimes … sometimes it becomes a smidgen … overwhelming.”

    “Oh. Sorry momma.”

    “Oh Lovie, please don’t be. It is my choice to stand up, annually, for you and for her during the same week many others stand up for the rights of crime victims.
    “But if it is so painful and hurts you … why do you do it mom? Why do you go to this National Crime Victims’ Rights march?”

    “Because you and your girl are due to be honored for what you’ve been through and this week, this week nationally people try to remember that victims of crime have rights. Rights for justice.”

    “Oh momma, but it hurts you so.”

    “It does Lovie. It does. But what is a momma to do, let your murder go unnoticed? Am I not meant to hug that momma I hugged this year; encourage her to endure the loss of her daughter who was four years younger than you when she came Home last year?”

    “No. No I guess not momma.”

    “I had the opportunity to tell her to forgive those who are not coming forward, as yet, and telling who shot her daughter. I encouraged, reminded her, there is still time.”

    “Your words, momma, are filled with resentment. What’s with that momma?”

    “Oh Lovie, I guess it is. Maybe … maybe I hold it all in … until this week each year … now. I don’t have it in me, at this time, to forgive … him.”

    “I didn’t ask you to do that.”

    “I know son, but others … others … others are always askin’ me to consider doing that. They ask me if I have? They aske me if I will …? And all I can do is shake my head. That guy… who is in prison for 25 years to life … he asked me if I thought his victim’s mother would ever forgive him.” A sigh escaped my throat. “It was all I could do to hold back the tears. All I could tell him was I felt like I failed to protect you and yet I know that there is only one person fully responsible for your death and I did not know, even eight and a half years later if I could forgive the guy who swung the pipe.”

    “Oh momma. Maybe you shouldn’t go.”

    “Oh Lovie. Please know I could not say your name aloud as a truly mommy moment. I was disappointed in myself for allowing the fireworks of grief to explored at that moment. But I will continue to go to that yearly event to let others know you mattered. Let them know you existed. Let them know they need to let the cops and officials have the time to investigate. To let them know they are not alone.”

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