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[~WRITE OFF THE BAT~] JUST DO IT
Posts
Liberty
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CloseSo, welcome to my new series, Write Off the Bat! This is a series of topics (12) dedicated to practising writing by assigning writing exercises over a month, each on different aspects or genres. This month I decided to go with a Challenge.
JUST DO IT
This months challenge is different from those of the previous months. I've noticed a waning interest in the topics so I've decided to create a more... interactive challenge this time around.
So, how does this work?
Each day at around Midday my time (+11 GMT) I will post a prompt. You, the writers, will respond to it in any way you wish BUT you only have the ten minutes after you see the prompt to do it in. This is about just up and writing on the spot.
To help you, I'll keep that days prompt in a spoiler so that you can tackle it only when ready. Grab a stop-watch application and set it for 10 minutes, then write whatever comes to mind.
I'm going to be trusting all of you with this so I won't know if anyone cheats, but remember that this is about challenging yourselves, not each other, so if you do cheat the only one who loses is you.
If you miss one of the prompts for this month, don't despair. I'll be doing one for every day left, which means that as long as you get 20 of the 26/7 you'll win.
Good Luck everyone!
We keep to the same rules as in the other topics:
RULE 01 - In the interest of making it easy on me to see who completed which prompts, you have one post in each thread where you post your completed prompts. That is:
RMN has no post size limit so don't worry about running out of space. Of course, feedback and general discussion is fine, but I'll be linking in the OP to each of your main posts to make it easier to find them, so please follow this for posting prompt updates/additions.
RULE 2 - This thread and the 11 others in the series can be brought back from the dead at any time. It's immune to age, so feel free to post the prompt updates your forgot to add at any time, even two years down the track. If it's past the first month, though, you won't be eligible for that month's badge, but you will still gain some pretty good experience.
RULE 3 - Feedback. Please be constructive when giving feedback. This means, try to point out the things you liked in a written piece as well as the parts that need improving. Don't be a dick. Try to be nice about it: "I liked your character, but I think you need to check out your spelling and grammar. Also, the theme is really good, but there needs to be a bit more reaction from the surprise twist. As it stands your character kinda just takes it as is and doesn't really react at all..."
Let's get this started then, shall we? Keep in mind that this is supposed to be DESCRIPTIVE~ This is all about jumping out of your comfort zone, experimenting and just having fun with words. Keep that in mind~
JUST DO IT
This months challenge is different from those of the previous months. I've noticed a waning interest in the topics so I've decided to create a more... interactive challenge this time around.
So, how does this work?
Each day at around Midday my time (+11 GMT) I will post a prompt. You, the writers, will respond to it in any way you wish BUT you only have the ten minutes after you see the prompt to do it in. This is about just up and writing on the spot.
To help you, I'll keep that days prompt in a spoiler so that you can tackle it only when ready. Grab a stop-watch application and set it for 10 minutes, then write whatever comes to mind.
I'm going to be trusting all of you with this so I won't know if anyone cheats, but remember that this is about challenging yourselves, not each other, so if you do cheat the only one who loses is you.
If you miss one of the prompts for this month, don't despair. I'll be doing one for every day left, which means that as long as you get 20 of the 26/7 you'll win.
Good Luck everyone!
We keep to the same rules as in the other topics:
RULE 01 - In the interest of making it easy on me to see who completed which prompts, you have one post in each thread where you post your completed prompts. That is:
LIBERTY'S PROMPT POST
Prompt 1
<hide tags>Content<hide tags>
Prompt 2
<hide tags>Content<hide tags>
Prompt 5
<hide tags>Content<hide tags>
RMN has no post size limit so don't worry about running out of space. Of course, feedback and general discussion is fine, but I'll be linking in the OP to each of your main posts to make it easier to find them, so please follow this for posting prompt updates/additions.
RULE 2 - This thread and the 11 others in the series can be brought back from the dead at any time. It's immune to age, so feel free to post the prompt updates your forgot to add at any time, even two years down the track. If it's past the first month, though, you won't be eligible for that month's badge, but you will still gain some pretty good experience.
RULE 3 - Feedback. Please be constructive when giving feedback. This means, try to point out the things you liked in a written piece as well as the parts that need improving. Don't be a dick. Try to be nice about it: "I liked your character, but I think you need to check out your spelling and grammar. Also, the theme is really good, but there needs to be a bit more reaction from the surprise twist. As it stands your character kinda just takes it as is and doesn't really react at all..."
Let's get this started then, shall we? Keep in mind that this is supposed to be DESCRIPTIVE~ This is all about jumping out of your comfort zone, experimenting and just having fun with words. Keep that in mind~
PROMPTS
Please use only day numbers to differentiate each prompt this time around, so as not to spoil others. Thanks~
Day 01
Day 02
Day 03
Day 04
Day 05
Day 06
Day 07
Day 08
Day 09
Day 10
Day 11
Day 12
Day 13
Day 14
Day 15
Day 16
Day 17
Day 18
Day 19
Day 20
Once you click this you have 10 minutes to write what you can!
POSTS
Topic
01 : 02 : 03 : 04 : 05 : 06
07 : 08 : 09 : 10 : 11 : 12
Please use only day numbers to differentiate each prompt this time around, so as not to spoil others. Thanks~
Day 01
Children of the Waves
Day 02
The Six Grey Men
Day 03
Golden People
Day 04
Future Legacy
Day 05
The Lost Button
Day 06
The Woman and her Honour
Day 07
Tommy Speaks Truth
Day 08
Murdered by Trade
Day 09
The Wind that Never Speaks
Day 10
The Seventh Gift
Day 11
From North the Escape Came
Day 12
Rue With Time
Day 13
The Clockwork Lover
Day 14
The Midnight Lane
Day 15
Murder Most Foul
Day 16
The Open Door Policy
Day 17
Guns and Smoke
Day 18
Strawberry Nightmare
Day 19
Consistently Ever After
Day 20
Once you click this you have 10 minutes to write what you can!
The Far Off Hills
POSTS
Topic
01 : 02 : 03 : 04 : 05 : 06
07 : 08 : 09 : 10 : 11 : 12
I think I'll use the prompts to write a full story, without knowing what the prompts are. Should be interesting.
Day One
Children of the Waves
The splashing shore below left little to be admired. Looming above, like an anxious vulture, Steven felt his toes against the moist grass. The weight of the sea seemed to draw him forward every time it smashed against the rocks. Almost as if it was shaking ground from under him. All that he had to do was let go, and feel himself carried away into the beyond.
Behind him, there came a sound of tires on gravel. Headlights drew the colour out of his clothing. Steven half-turned his head to glimpse back, almost hopeful for an excuse to stay on land.
The world again went silent as the rumbling engine faded into the distance.
Reaching slowly into the pocket of his shabby brown pants, Steven drew out a roughly crumpled piece of parchment from his pocket. Unfolding it with shaky hands, there were only 5 letters on it. Yet, they caused Steven to suddenly heave himself over the cliff. The paper landed softly on the grass, as another set of headlights gushed forth from the roadway.
The paper said: I K N O W
Day One
Children of the Waves
The splashing shore below left little to be admired. Looming above, like an anxious vulture, Steven felt his toes against the moist grass. The weight of the sea seemed to draw him forward every time it smashed against the rocks. Almost as if it was shaking ground from under him. All that he had to do was let go, and feel himself carried away into the beyond.
Behind him, there came a sound of tires on gravel. Headlights drew the colour out of his clothing. Steven half-turned his head to glimpse back, almost hopeful for an excuse to stay on land.
The world again went silent as the rumbling engine faded into the distance.
Reaching slowly into the pocket of his shabby brown pants, Steven drew out a roughly crumpled piece of parchment from his pocket. Unfolding it with shaky hands, there were only 5 letters on it. Yet, they caused Steven to suddenly heave himself over the cliff. The paper landed softly on the grass, as another set of headlights gushed forth from the roadway.
The paper said: I K N O W
And the first is up! Remember, 10 minutes to write what you can from the moment you see the title! Gogogo!
Day 01
Children of the Waves
At the last twinkle of the last star of the night I can hear them singing; their voices lifted high and clear into the new dawn.
I still wonder at the clarity of their voices, at the gentleness of their tones, soft and lapping like the water that surrounds them. Every morning they rise from the bottom of the ocean and call to greet the new day.
Their songs are special - each different, each new - just like the day; each day. I've never heard the same song twice, for all the time that I've spent on this desolate island.
Aye, many an hour have I sat, swathed in the cloak of dark, awaiting their song with bated breath, straining to hear the soft voices echoing over waves that sweep away a song made not for mortal ears.
Had I the ability I would, perhaps, wander down to their hidden cove and try to catch them at their song, but I cannot. I am broken, you see. Broken-bodied and unable to rise from my bed.
The maids and manservants as attend me hear them not, though they may sit with me of a dawning. They tell me I have the ears of an innocent, to hear the singing of the children. I know they do not believe it, though. I have heard them talk behind doors, whispering that I must be afflicted, that madness runs in the genes.
I can hear their songs only because I am connected, though. I know this because some of the voices I recognise as I would my own.
Her voice.
His voice.
His and hers and his and hers.
Their voices raised in light, lilting song on the eve of every night. The voices that I miss so. Voices, once loud and boisterous, that used to fill this house with laughter and screams. Aye, those of my sisters and brothers, of my family and friends. The lost ones, the empty ones, the ones I'll not hear again beyond the sound of the morning waves.
Voices lost to the ocean forever and more.
Every morning I sit and listen to the voices of those who have gone before me. I want to join them one day, but broken as I am there will be no way for me to crawl out into that ocean beyond my window. It is only there that I can join them.
In the morning I sing a song with my sisters, my brothers, my friends and family. Mine is the song of tears, slowly trailing down a lonely, broken visage while the song of the waves and those within them calls to me.
Day 02
Day 03
Day 06
Day 07
Day 08
Day 09
Day 10
Day 01
Children of the Waves
At the last twinkle of the last star of the night I can hear them singing; their voices lifted high and clear into the new dawn.
I still wonder at the clarity of their voices, at the gentleness of their tones, soft and lapping like the water that surrounds them. Every morning they rise from the bottom of the ocean and call to greet the new day.
Their songs are special - each different, each new - just like the day; each day. I've never heard the same song twice, for all the time that I've spent on this desolate island.
Aye, many an hour have I sat, swathed in the cloak of dark, awaiting their song with bated breath, straining to hear the soft voices echoing over waves that sweep away a song made not for mortal ears.
Had I the ability I would, perhaps, wander down to their hidden cove and try to catch them at their song, but I cannot. I am broken, you see. Broken-bodied and unable to rise from my bed.
The maids and manservants as attend me hear them not, though they may sit with me of a dawning. They tell me I have the ears of an innocent, to hear the singing of the children. I know they do not believe it, though. I have heard them talk behind doors, whispering that I must be afflicted, that madness runs in the genes.
I can hear their songs only because I am connected, though. I know this because some of the voices I recognise as I would my own.
Her voice.
His voice.
His and hers and his and hers.
Their voices raised in light, lilting song on the eve of every night. The voices that I miss so. Voices, once loud and boisterous, that used to fill this house with laughter and screams. Aye, those of my sisters and brothers, of my family and friends. The lost ones, the empty ones, the ones I'll not hear again beyond the sound of the morning waves.
Voices lost to the ocean forever and more.
Every morning I sit and listen to the voices of those who have gone before me. I want to join them one day, but broken as I am there will be no way for me to crawl out into that ocean beyond my window. It is only there that I can join them.
In the morning I sing a song with my sisters, my brothers, my friends and family. Mine is the song of tears, slowly trailing down a lonely, broken visage while the song of the waves and those within them calls to me.
Day 02
The Six Grey Men
In the twilight you can hear their steps, loud yet soft on the pavement outside your door. It's nothing to fear, just six grey men, pounding a path to days' extinction.
After day come the six grey men, weathered beings from another time and place.
Bearded, three, shaven, three, aged, two, young, two, neither, two.
Six grey men in grey attire - a robe, a suit, a three-penny pair of yesteryears trousers.
Six grey men usher in the dark, usher in the night, usher in the lightless hours.
Six grey men, forgotten in the tales, but they walk, still, forever and after into the night.
You cannot meet these six grey men, as they trample a path through the evening and dusk. You cannot ask them for a light or a smoke or a drink at the bar, cannot beg a coin.
Six grey men, existing in and out of time, here and not, there and never.
Six grey men, never stopping their stomp, stomp, stomp; whisked away in the blink of an eye and never knowing the fear they inspire in those who can hear their steps.
In the twilight you can hear their steps, loud yet soft on the pavement outside your door. It's nothing to fear, just six grey men, pounding a path to days' extinction.
After day come the six grey men, weathered beings from another time and place.
Bearded, three, shaven, three, aged, two, young, two, neither, two.
Six grey men in grey attire - a robe, a suit, a three-penny pair of yesteryears trousers.
Six grey men usher in the dark, usher in the night, usher in the lightless hours.
Six grey men, forgotten in the tales, but they walk, still, forever and after into the night.
You cannot meet these six grey men, as they trample a path through the evening and dusk. You cannot ask them for a light or a smoke or a drink at the bar, cannot beg a coin.
Six grey men, existing in and out of time, here and not, there and never.
Six grey men, never stopping their stomp, stomp, stomp; whisked away in the blink of an eye and never knowing the fear they inspire in those who can hear their steps.
Day 03
Golden People
The music was loud and lasted well into the night. I'd never seen a party quite like the one thrown for my sister and her new husband, and I doubt I'll ever see the like again.
He's the son of a king, you know? Prince Charming to her Princess of the Slums.
As they dance, she in a dress of purest silk and pearls, the people watch and laugh and join in the celebration. I've not seen people so golden, so bright.
She holds his hand in her chaffed fingers and spins and spins in circles growing ever larger.
I wonder if she fears the eyes that take her in? If she sweats and worries about the judging that goes on behind the cold faces that watch her dance her clumsy steps.
Golden, venomous voices whisper in doorways, in windows; horribly cultured and manicured tones hissing their disapproval.
Golden people judge and hate and envy and scheme.
Golden people laugh and leer, lust and long.
Golden people with power and allies and knowledge.
How is a girl from the slums (though Princess she be) able to ignore, to feign ignorance of the whispers, the hissing and disapproval that surrounds her?
I don't understand, but she does. A smile adorns her face and it is golden, a true gold that washes out their fake golden faces and puts them to shame.
The prince only has eyes for her, forgetting the golden people who only dream of the same things he has. They covet and judge and he dances and spins and the world spins with him.
With her.
And I watch it all from outside a circle of empty expressions and fake smiles as golden people dream, scheme, demean.
She shines brightest in the night.
The music was loud and lasted well into the night. I'd never seen a party quite like the one thrown for my sister and her new husband, and I doubt I'll ever see the like again.
He's the son of a king, you know? Prince Charming to her Princess of the Slums.
As they dance, she in a dress of purest silk and pearls, the people watch and laugh and join in the celebration. I've not seen people so golden, so bright.
She holds his hand in her chaffed fingers and spins and spins in circles growing ever larger.
I wonder if she fears the eyes that take her in? If she sweats and worries about the judging that goes on behind the cold faces that watch her dance her clumsy steps.
Golden, venomous voices whisper in doorways, in windows; horribly cultured and manicured tones hissing their disapproval.
Golden people judge and hate and envy and scheme.
Golden people laugh and leer, lust and long.
Golden people with power and allies and knowledge.
How is a girl from the slums (though Princess she be) able to ignore, to feign ignorance of the whispers, the hissing and disapproval that surrounds her?
I don't understand, but she does. A smile adorns her face and it is golden, a true gold that washes out their fake golden faces and puts them to shame.
The prince only has eyes for her, forgetting the golden people who only dream of the same things he has. They covet and judge and he dances and spins and the world spins with him.
With her.
And I watch it all from outside a circle of empty expressions and fake smiles as golden people dream, scheme, demean.
She shines brightest in the night.
Day 06
The Woman and her Honour
She pulls the blankets around her body, like a shield against the light that filters through the open windows across from the bed. It's morning already, and she hasn't slept since he left the night before.
She never wanted to be like this - once dreamt of being someone who could do more than smile prettily and win her way into the beds of men most influential.
She still has her honour, though, bruised though it may be. It's not the kind of honour she can proudly announce to the world, but it is there, hidden in the shadows of her heart and held close when she feels close to crying.
Time has never been kind to her, never been gentle, but she no longer cares. Many like her are worse off and she can smile sometimes which is more than others of her persuasion can admit to.
As she applies the days make-up she frowns. The smear of cosmetic beauty that adorns her face frowns in the reflection of the mirror and she wonders if perhaps she should have decided differently last night - if she should have sought another bed in which to lie.
The worry is gone, though, when she reaches for the lipstick - a bright, stark red that stands out on her pale skin and draws attention to her full mouth, one of the few parts of her body in which she still has any pride. After the last night she can always say that she did what she thought was best at the time.
With that thought she turns from the mirror and stares at the empty bed in which she consummated a not-love the previous evening. She'd done the same thing time and again, finding only an empty bed (like her heart, oh) every morning.
It was enough to make a girl wish for a little more, sometimes, but she ignored the feeling and stepped into the tiny shoes from the night before. They lent her height enough to make her feel better about being so insignificant. She grabs her purse as she walks out the door and into the day of new possibilities.
Even her smile knows she'll be back in an empty bed this night, but at least she has the illusion of a new day of choices.
She pulls honour around her heart and stands tall in heels of black before stepping out onto the street and making the same mistakes over and again.
She pulls the blankets around her body, like a shield against the light that filters through the open windows across from the bed. It's morning already, and she hasn't slept since he left the night before.
She never wanted to be like this - once dreamt of being someone who could do more than smile prettily and win her way into the beds of men most influential.
She still has her honour, though, bruised though it may be. It's not the kind of honour she can proudly announce to the world, but it is there, hidden in the shadows of her heart and held close when she feels close to crying.
Time has never been kind to her, never been gentle, but she no longer cares. Many like her are worse off and she can smile sometimes which is more than others of her persuasion can admit to.
As she applies the days make-up she frowns. The smear of cosmetic beauty that adorns her face frowns in the reflection of the mirror and she wonders if perhaps she should have decided differently last night - if she should have sought another bed in which to lie.
The worry is gone, though, when she reaches for the lipstick - a bright, stark red that stands out on her pale skin and draws attention to her full mouth, one of the few parts of her body in which she still has any pride. After the last night she can always say that she did what she thought was best at the time.
With that thought she turns from the mirror and stares at the empty bed in which she consummated a not-love the previous evening. She'd done the same thing time and again, finding only an empty bed (like her heart, oh) every morning.
It was enough to make a girl wish for a little more, sometimes, but she ignored the feeling and stepped into the tiny shoes from the night before. They lent her height enough to make her feel better about being so insignificant. She grabs her purse as she walks out the door and into the day of new possibilities.
Even her smile knows she'll be back in an empty bed this night, but at least she has the illusion of a new day of choices.
She pulls honour around her heart and stands tall in heels of black before stepping out onto the street and making the same mistakes over and again.
Day 07
Tommy Speaks Truth
It was dark when they returned to the fold. He'd been digging through the trash out near the eastern line, careful not to be spotted by either the East Siders or the policia. It'd been that kind of day - the kind where everything he'd found was either inedible or unusable.
He sighed as he took a seat on an upturned bucket and waited for the last of them to arrive.
Chartruess, a young girl with empty blue eyes and dank grey hair, sat on the other side of the small shed they'd claimed as their turf. She ignored the small bustling that denoted the others pulling crates and make-shift seats around the small fire someone had built earlier.
Winter was on its way and the nights were already starting to line the streets with frost and slick ice. Many of them worried about how they'd survive the cold, but Tommy knew that if they couldn't find enough to keep themselves together out here they could always appeal to the special centres that were set up to look out for the street waifs. Of course, he wouldn't be going back to them.
No, Tommy knew too much about the price those places could demand - the large cold hands that would grab an unwary child during the night hours and demand the cost of living in bodily payments.
If it were up to him, none of the children would head for those places. That was why he, Chartruess and Blace worked so hard every day to provide for the younger ones in their care. Better a cold winter of almost-starvation than to come back from a centre with empty eyes and broken hearts.
It was dark when they returned to the fold. He'd been digging through the trash out near the eastern line, careful not to be spotted by either the East Siders or the policia. It'd been that kind of day - the kind where everything he'd found was either inedible or unusable.
He sighed as he took a seat on an upturned bucket and waited for the last of them to arrive.
Chartruess, a young girl with empty blue eyes and dank grey hair, sat on the other side of the small shed they'd claimed as their turf. She ignored the small bustling that denoted the others pulling crates and make-shift seats around the small fire someone had built earlier.
Winter was on its way and the nights were already starting to line the streets with frost and slick ice. Many of them worried about how they'd survive the cold, but Tommy knew that if they couldn't find enough to keep themselves together out here they could always appeal to the special centres that were set up to look out for the street waifs. Of course, he wouldn't be going back to them.
No, Tommy knew too much about the price those places could demand - the large cold hands that would grab an unwary child during the night hours and demand the cost of living in bodily payments.
If it were up to him, none of the children would head for those places. That was why he, Chartruess and Blace worked so hard every day to provide for the younger ones in their care. Better a cold winter of almost-starvation than to come back from a centre with empty eyes and broken hearts.
Day 08
Murdered by Trade
It was a small town. Tiny, in fact. She loved it like that.
Wind would blow down from the mountains above and through the town square, tossing aside the hanging clothes and leaving dust clouds and whirls of leaves in its passing. Dogs would bark, women would scowl, men would grab their hats and she'd dance by; follow the wind to the edge of the ocean and look out to the horizon beyond, dreaming of places the wind would never take her.
Days of joy and sorrow followed her through life - it was there she married and gave birth, there she lived and ran her small store of pretty shells and home-made crafts.
The small town nestled between mountains and sea, green pastures on both sides, filled with white-fleeced sheep and goats, paddocks of grain and barley full to bursting on a summer day stood for many a year.
She loved the town and the people in it loved her despite her odd bouts of whimsy when the wind rushed by. They called her the wind-caller, the wild child, the witch of the ocean.
They called her beloved.
Age bent her back, stole her loved ones and wrought change. Boats from beyond the horizon came, bearing stern-faced peoples who offered trade and communication from where the wind would fly.
When first they came she believed that the wind had heard and answered her prayers; that it had known she was unable to follow it out to where it flew, so instead brought the new lands to her.
She soon changed her mind on this, however, when the first real changes came to be. Sheep exchanged for cattle. Home-crafts replaced by industrially manufactured decor. Walls raised to block the wind; the mountains and sea hidden behind flat blocks of grey stone.
With the walls her heart broke and she gave away, letting the wind take her soul beyond them, to lands unknown. The villagers, now trades-folk, forgot their dancing witch and dreamt of bigger better things, blocking out the view of the mountains and sky.
It was a small town. Tiny, in fact. She loved it like that.
Wind would blow down from the mountains above and through the town square, tossing aside the hanging clothes and leaving dust clouds and whirls of leaves in its passing. Dogs would bark, women would scowl, men would grab their hats and she'd dance by; follow the wind to the edge of the ocean and look out to the horizon beyond, dreaming of places the wind would never take her.
Days of joy and sorrow followed her through life - it was there she married and gave birth, there she lived and ran her small store of pretty shells and home-made crafts.
The small town nestled between mountains and sea, green pastures on both sides, filled with white-fleeced sheep and goats, paddocks of grain and barley full to bursting on a summer day stood for many a year.
She loved the town and the people in it loved her despite her odd bouts of whimsy when the wind rushed by. They called her the wind-caller, the wild child, the witch of the ocean.
They called her beloved.
Age bent her back, stole her loved ones and wrought change. Boats from beyond the horizon came, bearing stern-faced peoples who offered trade and communication from where the wind would fly.
When first they came she believed that the wind had heard and answered her prayers; that it had known she was unable to follow it out to where it flew, so instead brought the new lands to her.
She soon changed her mind on this, however, when the first real changes came to be. Sheep exchanged for cattle. Home-crafts replaced by industrially manufactured decor. Walls raised to block the wind; the mountains and sea hidden behind flat blocks of grey stone.
With the walls her heart broke and she gave away, letting the wind take her soul beyond them, to lands unknown. The villagers, now trades-folk, forgot their dancing witch and dreamt of bigger better things, blocking out the view of the mountains and sky.
Day 09
The Wind that Never Speaks
In the silent places of the world, far beyond the reach of mortal hands sleeps the wind that never speaks. It slumbers through light and dark, through days and years, never to wake.
It is said that this wind is made up of all the last breaths of the dead, that it keeps all their last words safe and secure, so as to never trouble the world with the pain of hearing the cries, the pain, the remorseful begging or screaming curses.
It lays in the darkest places, waiting, ever waiting, for the day when it will be released into the world once more. A day of reckoning where all the world's woes are brought to bear on the unknowing who dwell 'pon the surface.
It waits for the world's dying breath and will only wake to collect it, covering the world in the very sounds it keeps locked away.
It is called many things - the wind of madness, the evil wind, the black wind, the wind that sleeps, the breath of the world, the endless, the trumpet of death, the whisper of the underworld.
In the end it matters not. It heralds the end of everything and everything meets its end.
In the silent places of the world, far beyond the reach of mortal hands sleeps the wind that never speaks. It slumbers through light and dark, through days and years, never to wake.
It is said that this wind is made up of all the last breaths of the dead, that it keeps all their last words safe and secure, so as to never trouble the world with the pain of hearing the cries, the pain, the remorseful begging or screaming curses.
It lays in the darkest places, waiting, ever waiting, for the day when it will be released into the world once more. A day of reckoning where all the world's woes are brought to bear on the unknowing who dwell 'pon the surface.
It waits for the world's dying breath and will only wake to collect it, covering the world in the very sounds it keeps locked away.
It is called many things - the wind of madness, the evil wind, the black wind, the wind that sleeps, the breath of the world, the endless, the trumpet of death, the whisper of the underworld.
In the end it matters not. It heralds the end of everything and everything meets its end.
Day 10
The Seventh Gift
The candles were burning low, the music fading away and she stood in the centre of the room, dancing in a gentle sway. His eyes never left her body as she turned in a slow circle, hips rotating, hands waving in mysterious and elegant moves.
It was his last day, though he didn't know it, and she'd wanted to get him something special. Something he could look back on and smile over before the literal knife in the back would take him down.
It wasn't that he'd been particularly cruel to her, she thought as she wound her hips just a little slower. It wasn't even that he'd had many others while seeing her - though it was true she'd never been bothered by his roving eye. She knew she'd be the only one he would ever choose if she put him to the test.
No; it was none of those things. Indeed, she'd wanted a bit more cruelty, a bit more of that roving eye, if only to make it easier for her to give him the last gift - death.
The candles were burning low, the music fading away and she stood in the centre of the room, dancing in a gentle sway. His eyes never left her body as she turned in a slow circle, hips rotating, hands waving in mysterious and elegant moves.
It was his last day, though he didn't know it, and she'd wanted to get him something special. Something he could look back on and smile over before the literal knife in the back would take him down.
It wasn't that he'd been particularly cruel to her, she thought as she wound her hips just a little slower. It wasn't even that he'd had many others while seeing her - though it was true she'd never been bothered by his roving eye. She knew she'd be the only one he would ever choose if she put him to the test.
No; it was none of those things. Indeed, she'd wanted a bit more cruelty, a bit more of that roving eye, if only to make it easier for her to give him the last gift - death.
Scinaya
1014
Day 01
EDIT: lol... A blonde didn't figure spoilertags out that easily. XD
Dark figures floated in the emptiness. They danced maniacally searching for their forms, something solid to identify as. There was a red glow illuminating from somewhere. The shades withdrew and grew higher again, as if they were waves. The view repeated again and again until finally, as the glow grew stronger, they materialized into shades of humans. Sharp edges of armor and weapons shined crimson. Groups of the shades moved restlessly clashing together and entangling into a deadly dance.
Yet, the hypnotic scene was not what captured his interest. There was something larger, and darker, growing behind the waves of fighting men. Something ominous. It swirled around the little figures like a dark mist, leaning on top of them like a proud puppeteer crouching above his dancing puppets. The vision grew more and more intense and the maniac dance turned into feverish rampage of shadows and red glow.
Suddenly everything collapsed together. Darkness.
He woke breathing heavily. It took a moment of panic to see in the dim moonlight that slipped through the window into the simple room. Another nightmare. The thought was at same time comforting and agonizing.
Yet, the hypnotic scene was not what captured his interest. There was something larger, and darker, growing behind the waves of fighting men. Something ominous. It swirled around the little figures like a dark mist, leaning on top of them like a proud puppeteer crouching above his dancing puppets. The vision grew more and more intense and the maniac dance turned into feverish rampage of shadows and red glow.
Suddenly everything collapsed together. Darkness.
He woke breathing heavily. It took a moment of panic to see in the dim moonlight that slipped through the window into the simple room. Another nightmare. The thought was at same time comforting and agonizing.
EDIT: lol... A blonde didn't figure spoilertags out that easily. XD
-Day 1-
-Day 2-
-Day 3-
Zen Writer does help
-Day 4-
-Day 5-
-Day 6-
This is a personal opinion of something that have been bothering me for some time.
-Day 7-
-Day 8-
I really like this idea
-Day 9.-
-Day 10-
I think I notice a trend in my prompts...
-Day 11-
Two Steps from Hell, I love you.
-Day 12.-
I cheated a little, but this prompt fitted perfectly with my previous one n.n'
-Day 13-
-Day 14-
Oh, damn, I forgot to work on my prompts :/, well this one was inspired by the artist of Hitomi Kuroishi which was playing on my playlist.
Children of the waves
Alright, this is hard since I don't know what the heck "children of the waves" means.
Children of the waves we were once, but our memories are not longer in the sea. For those who seek were we came from, we might not be able to explain it, but we can tell for sure that everybody came from somewhere, it might be just be a little piece of an infinite and impossible puzzle, but our roots are always in the waves of the ocean.
time's out, that's all folks.
Alright, this is hard since I don't know what the heck "children of the waves" means.
Children of the waves we were once, but our memories are not longer in the sea. For those who seek were we came from, we might not be able to explain it, but we can tell for sure that everybody came from somewhere, it might be just be a little piece of an infinite and impossible puzzle, but our roots are always in the waves of the ocean.
time's out, that's all folks.
-Day 2-
The Six Grey Men
-Dad, who are these people?
-They are some friends of my childhood.
-Why are them wearing such dark clothes.
-They wear the color of gray since they want to show me how much do they appreciate me.
-But why they are the only ones wearing gray, all the others are wearing black.
-These six people you see, are very important for me, and because of that I told them, that when I died, they wear the color of gray, since black was to sad and white to pure, I wanted someone in my funeral that gives the impression of humans, of humans that can do great things as well for terrible ones, cause that is what humans are, the middle of what is good and bad and is upon their decision to choose which side they want. At the end we are the ones who say which is which.- The son was worried since he only counted 5.
-Were is the other gray man?
-Have you looked inside of the coffin?- The kid slowly walked to see what was in there, and there it was, the corpse of his father. -When you become an adult, son, I want you to become a man of gray, a man that can see humans as humans and not as good or bad persons.- They kid left some tears out.
-Dad, who are these people?
-They are some friends of my childhood.
-Why are them wearing such dark clothes.
-They wear the color of gray since they want to show me how much do they appreciate me.
-But why they are the only ones wearing gray, all the others are wearing black.
-These six people you see, are very important for me, and because of that I told them, that when I died, they wear the color of gray, since black was to sad and white to pure, I wanted someone in my funeral that gives the impression of humans, of humans that can do great things as well for terrible ones, cause that is what humans are, the middle of what is good and bad and is upon their decision to choose which side they want. At the end we are the ones who say which is which.- The son was worried since he only counted 5.
-Were is the other gray man?
-Have you looked inside of the coffin?- The kid slowly walked to see what was in there, and there it was, the corpse of his father. -When you become an adult, son, I want you to become a man of gray, a man that can see humans as humans and not as good or bad persons.- They kid left some tears out.
-Day 3-
Golden People
Beautiful indeed. The smell of people moving to work or school, the sound of their steps. Some of them are happy, some of them are sad, but they are always constant movement.
They said gold is the thing that has more value, and I agree with that, cause people are gold, or at least their heart. It is hard to know what is deep inside in that tiny room of their beings, but when you find it, it shines with all its force letting you know they could do great things, that the could build more than they think.
Find motivation just like a miner looks for his gold, look deeper and deeper and you will find inspiration to follow your dreams. And just like every job, rest when you feel tired, and value what you have already done. This aren't the steps to have a better life, but to feel one, To let you know who are you, and based in that adapt to the mines of the world without losing yourself.
Beautiful indeed. The smell of people moving to work or school, the sound of their steps. Some of them are happy, some of them are sad, but they are always constant movement.
They said gold is the thing that has more value, and I agree with that, cause people are gold, or at least their heart. It is hard to know what is deep inside in that tiny room of their beings, but when you find it, it shines with all its force letting you know they could do great things, that the could build more than they think.
Find motivation just like a miner looks for his gold, look deeper and deeper and you will find inspiration to follow your dreams. And just like every job, rest when you feel tired, and value what you have already done. This aren't the steps to have a better life, but to feel one, To let you know who are you, and based in that adapt to the mines of the world without losing yourself.
Zen Writer does help
-Day 4-
Future Legacy
Vina was wondering, how would humans will leave in the future while watching the sunset of the beach. She watched her fathers complaining of how new generations have become, but she also watched his grandparents do the same with the generations of his sons. She start thinking that every generation was becoming worst and worst with the time. But she didn't see her life as a bad one.
Night was soon to fill the sky but she couldn't stop wandering through ideas. Future was even more interesting for her, will she notice how humanity decrease with time when she gets older? Even so, isn't what our parents teach their sons what their sons learn to do, how come that they complain about something they spent time on, is like saying your work sucks?
... What is what we leave to the future?
Vina was wondering, how would humans will leave in the future while watching the sunset of the beach. She watched her fathers complaining of how new generations have become, but she also watched his grandparents do the same with the generations of his sons. She start thinking that every generation was becoming worst and worst with the time. But she didn't see her life as a bad one.
Night was soon to fill the sky but she couldn't stop wandering through ideas. Future was even more interesting for her, will she notice how humanity decrease with time when she gets older? Even so, isn't what our parents teach their sons what their sons learn to do, how come that they complain about something they spent time on, is like saying your work sucks?
... What is what we leave to the future?
-Day 5-
The lost button
There exist the myth of one button, not a normal one, but one that is so tiny that has never been found. It hides wonder that no one can't ever imagine. There is no information about you can control it, if you push it, or if it is one that you need to fasten, Neither we know how this myth was created, but one thing is sure, everyone that has become interest on it have start creating ideas of what this could be. What are the secrets of the world? Many get the conclusion that is the answer for life, the meaning of happiness and love and the word have been spreaded all over the city of the lost button, that even the same place were they live is a reference to it. The citizens have look in the grass like if it was four leaf clover, even destroyed houses to see if it is inside but they have never found anything. Some have abandon the idea that it exist and those have been accused of blasphemers and vanished from their land. And they wonder, is this button really leading them to what is really happiness, or they just desperate to find that something so small is the fix of all they troubles. Whoever that created this myth maybe didn't even have bad intentions.
There exist the myth of one button, not a normal one, but one that is so tiny that has never been found. It hides wonder that no one can't ever imagine. There is no information about you can control it, if you push it, or if it is one that you need to fasten, Neither we know how this myth was created, but one thing is sure, everyone that has become interest on it have start creating ideas of what this could be. What are the secrets of the world? Many get the conclusion that is the answer for life, the meaning of happiness and love and the word have been spreaded all over the city of the lost button, that even the same place were they live is a reference to it. The citizens have look in the grass like if it was four leaf clover, even destroyed houses to see if it is inside but they have never found anything. Some have abandon the idea that it exist and those have been accused of blasphemers and vanished from their land. And they wonder, is this button really leading them to what is really happiness, or they just desperate to find that something so small is the fix of all they troubles. Whoever that created this myth maybe didn't even have bad intentions.
-Day 6-
This is a personal opinion of something that have been bothering me for some time.
The Woman and her Honour
Women have been degraded in the past and just recently they have start to have more freedom than before, getting to the point of having the same rights. I like that, I also like that women have honour that they are woman, what I don't like is when they think they should be treated as superiors just for the reason of be woman. And this is when I fully disagree.
People tell me that when you treat harsh a women is like if you treated bad your mother and that is bullshit, my mother is a very special person as well as my father and they have always taught me to be respectful with everyone, not only with woman, but with men, and by the years I have learn to treat people as they are. My problem is that some women have become so proud of them that they get blind of their errors, and if someone is against her they just rant about how they are wrong and machist.
Women have been degraded in the past and just recently they have start to have more freedom than before, getting to the point of having the same rights. I like that, I also like that women have honour that they are woman, what I don't like is when they think they should be treated as superiors just for the reason of be woman. And this is when I fully disagree.
People tell me that when you treat harsh a women is like if you treated bad your mother and that is bullshit, my mother is a very special person as well as my father and they have always taught me to be respectful with everyone, not only with woman, but with men, and by the years I have learn to treat people as they are. My problem is that some women have become so proud of them that they get blind of their errors, and if someone is against her they just rant about how they are wrong and machist.
-Day 7-
Little Tommy Speaks the truth
And the little truth that Tommy speaks
Speaks about how little truthful Tommy is.
But Tommy is afraid, and ashamed.
Ashamed of what his lies have become
and afraid of how his fear has become bigger.
But what he has hided is to much.
Much more than what he can hide.
So there is no escape.
Little Tommy needs to speak the truth.
And the little truth that Tommy speaks
Speaks about how little truthful Tommy is.
But Tommy is afraid, and ashamed.
Ashamed of what his lies have become
and afraid of how his fear has become bigger.
But what he has hided is to much.
Much more than what he can hide.
So there is no escape.
Little Tommy needs to speak the truth.
-Day 8-
I really like this idea
Murdered by trade
He point the gun at my head and told me he wanted to trade. I stammer and made a question "What... is that you wanna trade?" And he answer: "Your Life". So there I was, on a my dark bedroom with a mad at my back. "This is gun, is not an ordinary one, this is a gun of trade, when I shoot, the bullet will introduce all my memories in to your head and your soul will be replaced by mine, So I will be able to take your body." I couldn't believe his words but one thing was sure, my life was at risk. This is not a good feeling, if he is speaking the thruth it would be even worse, my body will still wandering with someone that is not me, how can that be good. I will lost all of my will, will disappear without being myself, I will become no one. After a long silence, he didn't hesitate, he pull the trigger and that is when I felt the most awkward thing of my life, I saw my body if I was another person and everything turn black, at the same time my head felt dizzy as if I were drunk, and all my memories start disappearing in front of my eyes and all the memories of the murder start screaming to me, he had already traveled in hundreds of bodies.
He point the gun at my head and told me he wanted to trade. I stammer and made a question "What... is that you wanna trade?" And he answer: "Your Life". So there I was, on a my dark bedroom with a mad at my back. "This is gun, is not an ordinary one, this is a gun of trade, when I shoot, the bullet will introduce all my memories in to your head and your soul will be replaced by mine, So I will be able to take your body." I couldn't believe his words but one thing was sure, my life was at risk. This is not a good feeling, if he is speaking the thruth it would be even worse, my body will still wandering with someone that is not me, how can that be good. I will lost all of my will, will disappear without being myself, I will become no one. After a long silence, he didn't hesitate, he pull the trigger and that is when I felt the most awkward thing of my life, I saw my body if I was another person and everything turn black, at the same time my head felt dizzy as if I were drunk, and all my memories start disappearing in front of my eyes and all the memories of the murder start screaming to me, he had already traveled in hundreds of bodies.
-Day 9.-
The wind that never speaks
Wind is the biggest storyteller , it knows every time someone sigh, someone take a big breath, it have learn the rhythm of people breath so it knows when someone is happy, or when someone is sad. It can feels every little border of your body in such a subtle way, that even knows what you are doing, it is also an essence of travel, the same wind that you are living in today is probably not the same of tomorrow, since it is in constant movement due his curiosity is near infinite. But it doesn't fear of participating in our stories, sometimes it helps of to our mood, a soft but strong air that sometimes hit us and make us realize something, the umbrella that was stolen cause of it that makes a silly situation, or even the disasters caused, cause even wind can suffer of anger. Unfortunately the way it communicates isn't the same of us, since wind doesn't speak, it always prefer to be mystery and keep what it has experienced as something personal, since so much knowledge could be dangerous in humans hands. So it is the wind, so lonely it is, but we sure will always appreciate it, since it is such wonderful and simple miracle.
Wind is the biggest storyteller , it knows every time someone sigh, someone take a big breath, it have learn the rhythm of people breath so it knows when someone is happy, or when someone is sad. It can feels every little border of your body in such a subtle way, that even knows what you are doing, it is also an essence of travel, the same wind that you are living in today is probably not the same of tomorrow, since it is in constant movement due his curiosity is near infinite. But it doesn't fear of participating in our stories, sometimes it helps of to our mood, a soft but strong air that sometimes hit us and make us realize something, the umbrella that was stolen cause of it that makes a silly situation, or even the disasters caused, cause even wind can suffer of anger. Unfortunately the way it communicates isn't the same of us, since wind doesn't speak, it always prefer to be mystery and keep what it has experienced as something personal, since so much knowledge could be dangerous in humans hands. So it is the wind, so lonely it is, but we sure will always appreciate it, since it is such wonderful and simple miracle.
-Day 10-
I think I notice a trend in my prompts...
Seventh Gift
-What time it is?
-Time for your seventh gift.
-Seventh gift... were are the other six.
-You already have them.
-Do I?
-Yes, sight, hearing, taste, touch, smell, and free will.
-Free will is a sense?
-Oh no my darling, free will is my gift, but if you are going to call it sense what more can I do, but to affirm that I gift you a sense.
-...And what is the seventh one?
-Have you ever though what would happen if you would have done any different in your life?
-Yeah, sometimes.
-Is something humans naturally tend to do, that's why this gift will make you no longer human, but god.
-God?
-Yeah, you will be me, and I will be you.
-How come?
-You will now see all that you see, in other words what I see, and that is the story of the whole universe. the "sense" as you call it, of something you call time, and what I call happenings.
-And why do you gift me this?
-Cause in this way you are gonna learn why you were like you were without having doubts of why you were, and also you will see how you affected other self beings with your existence even despite millions years after, till the end of the world, and you will understand that the end of the universe has already happen but at the same time not.
-What time it is?
-Time for your seventh gift.
-Seventh gift... were are the other six.
-You already have them.
-Do I?
-Yes, sight, hearing, taste, touch, smell, and free will.
-Free will is a sense?
-Oh no my darling, free will is my gift, but if you are going to call it sense what more can I do, but to affirm that I gift you a sense.
-...And what is the seventh one?
-Have you ever though what would happen if you would have done any different in your life?
-Yeah, sometimes.
-Is something humans naturally tend to do, that's why this gift will make you no longer human, but god.
-God?
-Yeah, you will be me, and I will be you.
-How come?
-You will now see all that you see, in other words what I see, and that is the story of the whole universe. the "sense" as you call it, of something you call time, and what I call happenings.
-And why do you gift me this?
-Cause in this way you are gonna learn why you were like you were without having doubts of why you were, and also you will see how you affected other self beings with your existence even despite millions years after, till the end of the world, and you will understand that the end of the universe has already happen but at the same time not.
-Day 11-
Two Steps from Hell, I love you.
From North the escape came
We are pirates, old ghost pirates, but what make us different from other ghost pirates, is that we have a ship that only can goes to the north and when we are in the top of the world, the ship sinks all the way to the south were our journey starts again. It doesn't stops for anything, land, buildings, mountains, it goes always north. But is the journey always the same? No, just a few degrees to one side when we are in the south and the north will lead you to a whole new continent. But there is a reason we do this, and that is because in the south, there is always a giant monster, it hides in the clouds with the shape of gears, if we fall from the ship, it crushes and takes our souls. So this ship is called the purgatory, we don't know why we have to escape to the north in order to save us until the next round, many of us have commit suicide, but some, including me, believe there is a reason of this, there is way to save us for the rest of our lives and finally rest in peace, so thats why, Captain Ralderad is always fighting against the gears of regret!
We are pirates, old ghost pirates, but what make us different from other ghost pirates, is that we have a ship that only can goes to the north and when we are in the top of the world, the ship sinks all the way to the south were our journey starts again. It doesn't stops for anything, land, buildings, mountains, it goes always north. But is the journey always the same? No, just a few degrees to one side when we are in the south and the north will lead you to a whole new continent. But there is a reason we do this, and that is because in the south, there is always a giant monster, it hides in the clouds with the shape of gears, if we fall from the ship, it crushes and takes our souls. So this ship is called the purgatory, we don't know why we have to escape to the north in order to save us until the next round, many of us have commit suicide, but some, including me, believe there is a reason of this, there is way to save us for the rest of our lives and finally rest in peace, so thats why, Captain Ralderad is always fighting against the gears of regret!
-Day 12.-
I cheated a little, but this prompt fitted perfectly with my previous one n.n'
Rue With time
Time has passed, and I am starting to feel weak, I received the name of Captain Ralderad, although, I don't feel more like a captain, cause I can't even control my life, I regret everything, and I start losing what was my only goal, escape to the north and save myself somehow. I watch the gears and start to cry, what have I done with my life, I never had any sons, I never give my legacy to anyone, I was so greedy and kept everything to myself. Time is crushing my bones, and my soul screams for any kind of escape, even if is in the hands of the wicked gears. But I gulp and shout every time I feel numb, I struggle in order to erase those thoughts, what is it that is behind that cloud? would it give me anything good? or they dark and electrified doors are the same gates to hell? It can be heaven, no one in here is a saint, he have murder, we have stolen, we have committed rapes. We are far from being clean, that's why I can't go there, I know I deserve to suffer since my sins are too big, but I can't... I don't want that, I want to be happy, at least one more time, but this ship is so gray, and despite of always having new roads it is always the same, since it never goes to any port, we can't never leave this ship, when we thought the world was to small, we now realize it is so big that we cannot even get out of this shit place. So everyday, and everyday, I pray, I pray to god, so at least I have a little of mercy, mercy that calm the hearts of the sailors. But after 548 years I feel there is nothing more to do.
Time has passed, and I am starting to feel weak, I received the name of Captain Ralderad, although, I don't feel more like a captain, cause I can't even control my life, I regret everything, and I start losing what was my only goal, escape to the north and save myself somehow. I watch the gears and start to cry, what have I done with my life, I never had any sons, I never give my legacy to anyone, I was so greedy and kept everything to myself. Time is crushing my bones, and my soul screams for any kind of escape, even if is in the hands of the wicked gears. But I gulp and shout every time I feel numb, I struggle in order to erase those thoughts, what is it that is behind that cloud? would it give me anything good? or they dark and electrified doors are the same gates to hell? It can be heaven, no one in here is a saint, he have murder, we have stolen, we have committed rapes. We are far from being clean, that's why I can't go there, I know I deserve to suffer since my sins are too big, but I can't... I don't want that, I want to be happy, at least one more time, but this ship is so gray, and despite of always having new roads it is always the same, since it never goes to any port, we can't never leave this ship, when we thought the world was to small, we now realize it is so big that we cannot even get out of this shit place. So everyday, and everyday, I pray, I pray to god, so at least I have a little of mercy, mercy that calm the hearts of the sailors. But after 548 years I feel there is nothing more to do.
-Day 13-
The Clockwork Lover
Give me more time, said the clockwork lover, that's why he always add more time on his clock. Not because he wanted more time, he says that cause it sounds funny, but he does it, cause he believes in perfection, what if he doesn't adds more time to his clock and it delays or it goes forward, he would consider lost time, since it was time that wasn't register in the clock. So for the clockwork lover is not just how accurate and well the clocks are, but their purpose itself. They want to register all in time, even if they aren't checking the clocks all of the time, they like to feel they do.
Give me more time, said the clockwork lover, that's why he always add more time on his clock. Not because he wanted more time, he says that cause it sounds funny, but he does it, cause he believes in perfection, what if he doesn't adds more time to his clock and it delays or it goes forward, he would consider lost time, since it was time that wasn't register in the clock. So for the clockwork lover is not just how accurate and well the clocks are, but their purpose itself. They want to register all in time, even if they aren't checking the clocks all of the time, they like to feel they do.
-Day 14-
Oh, damn, I forgot to work on my prompts :/, well this one was inspired by the artist of Hitomi Kuroishi which was playing on my playlist.
Wandering in the midnight lane, I hear some voices singing far at the end of the road, the moonlight glows on their front so the only thing you see is their silhouette. Calm was something I wanted to feel, but my mind was blank, earth was attaching me with a strong force to it, but I wanted to fly, to swim on their beautiful words singing in another mysterious language, I wonder what the mean, but certainly they can't be singing about something bad in such a divine way. the lane seems larger and larger when I tried to reach them, I run and run, but not even a meter. I was static. Just watching the amazing show. My heart beats went faster and faster, but I was a sinner, and I didn't want to tarnish their pureness. So I just sit down, and watch the dark blue ceiling of the world, and start praying for the chance to see this wonderful singers. I don't know where my prayers are going to end, but I want someone to know the happiness I am feeling. Keeping this just to myself would be a waste. This is not just for the taste of one but for the one and their close friends. friends who will understand even if they weren't in the midnight lane. So I close my eyes and fall sleep hearing angels in the background. When I wake up, I was drunk and dirty in the middle of the road. But I go here all nights hoping to find them cause I know they are real.
Day 1
Prompt - Children of the Waves
The sky was clear, and the sun was bright. The children spilled out of the car almost as soon as the door opened. Asking them not to run too far ahead was already out of the question. Of course, were they any different when they were that young? The irony wasn't the only thing that made them smirk.
The sandcastle was among the first things they tried to accomplish. Watching that being washed over by the waves, they decided to enter the water proper.
And... that's all I had time to write!
Day 2
Prompt - The Six Gray Men
They came together in counsel. The topic was, of course, the removal of the so-called "Blue Man".
They each took turns making arguments, each time, there was another point to refute it. Indeed, how could anybody defeat a person who proved nigh-invincible?
One stood up, and made a bold suggestion. One of them must become a "Blue Man"!
The other five, of course, outright despised this answer. Too risky. Even if it was one of them, and even if the original was somehow defeated, who is to say that the new one would not cause more trouble, if not more?
This one is based on a childhood superhero idea I once had. To say the least, it was long, long abandoned.
Day 3
Prompt - Golden People
Blondes? Well, that can certainly be one definition of "golden people", but then, there are the so-called "golden years". Which are, I believe, a reference to individuals in their fifties? Something like that?
See, this is the problem with stream-of-consciousness thinking. You supposed to write down everything, and I mean everything that comes to mind, even if it has nothing to do with the proposed subject matter. Speaking of which...
Had a blank moment for a bitsy. So, yeah, I'm not going to write an actual story for this prompt at all, apparently. I'm already four minutes into the prompt!
Right. "Golden People". Focus. Er...? Um...? Yeah, I've got nothing. I don't think I was "ready" for this prompt at this particular time interval. Damn it, FOCUS!
Man, I can't think straight at all. I should have waited a bit. Though, it wasn't really a problem before. Was it?
Okay. Everybody together, now...
Way to fail, Sataro!
Darigaaz, this is terrible.
Day 4
Prompt - Future Legacy
Matsuda wondered at the laughing Tomika. He didn't like this at all. "What do you find so amusing, villan?"
Tomika's wounds made it difficult for him to speak, but he managed, "Well done, hero. I knew only you could possibly defeat me. Now, it can all begin."
Matsuda desired a more direct answer, but was angered by Tomika's response. He spoke more forcefully now, "What do you mean? Are you telling me that you wanted to be defeated?"
The grin on his face was obvious, but spoke no further. This response only made Matsuda grow more impatient, "What evil have you unleashed!?"
The wizard died before he could make a response. It was not until nearly twenty-five years after these events that the meaning behind his words were known.
This is more like it!
Day 5
Prompt - The Lost Button
They couldn't find it anywhere. They searched high, low, and everywhere in-between. Why today of all days?
It was the princess' wedding. Traditionally, she would wear a broach that had the royal crest on it. She has lost it before on several occasions. Time and time again, she was told of it's importance, but, of course, she did not listen.
The groom had arrived!? So soon? There was no getting out of the embarrassment, now. They tried to dance around the issue about how the princess was not ready yet, but he became impatient.
After a brief exchange of words, the prince realized what was going on, and with a smirk, showed them the broach!
Day 6
Prompt - The Woman and her Honor
Oharu stood before her opponent. He was already half-beaten with previous blows, and she had managed to disarm him. All she needed to do was finish this foe off.
But, no. She did not finish him off. She allowed him to pick up his weapon, even going so far as retrieving it for him. Perhaps it was a dangerous, if not outright idiotic, move. However, even if her opponent would show no mercy, she would.
Such is the burden of what it means to be honorable.
Day 7
Prompt - Tommy Speaks Truth
I don't think I'm going to end up writing a proper story for this one, so, please excuse the idea dump.
Mainly, I'm thinking of a tale of a boy (the titular "Tommy") who saw something, and has kept quiet about it until he is pushed by someone to speak the truth.
Thing is, he will not be believed. What he is saying is so "impossible" to what everybody believes to be true. He gets ridiculed for years. It would not be not until several years after his death that it would be discovered that he was, in fact, telling the truth.
Though, what he saw, and what this "impossible" truth is? I dunno. Perhaps a hometown hero isn't as heroic as they think he/she is? That was my first thought, but I suppose there could be other situations.
Day 8
Prompt - Murdered by Trade
For some reason, I'm getting reminded of my CLOSAT entry for this. As I recall, there was a femme fatal assassin, and a rather smitten-with-her man.
She was definitely using him for some purpose, but I never defined what it was she was ultimately trying to do. I assume I didn't because of the constraints of my "extra challenge".
The "ranger" of that story seemed to know what she was, or she was trying to do. Or, perhaps, they were rival clans, or something? Possibly!
Anyway, the amount of time left for this prompt is... er... oops!
Day 9
Prompt - The Wind that Never Speaks
(Personal aside: I'm listening to Tales of Phantasia's "Sylph's Mountain" for this.)
The dusk came silently. Even the wind itself was fearful of what would come next.
They have all heard the stories. The stories of the mountain spirits that come down to the village. Some of these spirits merely obvserve the living, but there are those that which take others back to the mountain. To become one of them.
The villagers all shut their windows, and locked their doors. The streets were evacuated. There was no particular assurance that such preparations would stop the more aggressive spirits, but it was the only protection they knew how to muster.
Day 10
Prompt - The Seventh Gift
I'm not sure if I have the werewithall to make a proper story today, but I was mainly thinking of the seven virtues for this one. Where each virtue was a gift, given to a newborn child.
Well, perhaps it's more wishful thinking, or something? More like, "We want this child to have these things!" but, curcumstances might dictate otherwise?
Damn, I've no time left!
Day 11
Prompt - From North the Escape Came
The castle was under seige, and it was not looking well. The walls had been breached, and the enemies were poring in.
The aged Oracle shook her head, and spoke openly, "We need to get the Prince out of here."
Upon her saying this, her protoge stood up, as if to volunteer. The Oracle nodded, the said, "Thank you. Look to the keep's north wall. There should be a hidden passage there. The tunnel should lead you away from this."
A soldier nearby spoke next, "There may yet be enemies after you come out of that tunnel. Please, allow me to go with you."
Man, I could have written so much more, if I had the time.
Day 12
Prompt - Rue With Time
It started simple enough. A seemingly innocent comment. There was certainly something odd about the comment, but he initially said nothing.
All the sudden, his friend exploded. Unsure of where the anger came from, he tried to calm him down, but could not find the means. Things begain to get heated.
The impluse to just leave was there. But what kind of person would just leave while a friend was in a crisis? He took the abuse, and asked for forgiveness.
His friend managed to calm down, but asked his friend to consider what transpired. He searched within himself for an answer.
Day 13
Prompt - The Clockwork Lover
In the morning, we wake with a gentle kiss. In the afternoon, we argue. In the evening, we have forgiven ourselves. At night, well, that's none of your business.
It is something of a cycle. Never changing. Yet, I don't think either of us would have it any other way.
Day 14
Prompt - The Midnight Lane
I might be taking this prompt too litterally. My surface thoughts are about driving down a highway at midnight. Not that there's nessessarily anything wrong with such thoughts, I suppose.
Perhaps a bit of Twilght Zone could be in order here? Like, the highway "lives", in some way? Or, the driver makes a stop at a hotel, only to be caught in a space-time loop until some deed is performed?
Hrmm. I think I might be onto something, but the time limit prevents me from expanding on this too much further. Oh well.
Day 15
Prompt - Murder Most Foul
The servant had just poured the tea, the medication ready. He chocked on the stuff. He always did. This time, however, the chocking didn't stop. He couldn't breathe. The mistress and servant did what they could, but it was no use. He was dead.
That is the story I was given. With how many could benefit from his death, it just seemed too simple to me. However, if there was a case of murder, I would need proof.
Day 16
Prompt - The Open Door Policy
She lived in a humble abode, alone. Her visitors were few, but she always treated them well. Perhaps out of need of companionship, perhaps not.
One day, a known criminal came to her house. Of course she knew what he was. Even so, even with the threats made to her life, she did not inform the police. She was still the finest hostess she could be.
It is not known how long he used her house as a base of operations. However, being treated with respect rather than disdain? Something must have snapped within him. He gave himself up.
Day 17
Prompt - Guns and Smoke
The men faced away from each other. Ten paces. Then, they turned.
One purposefully missed. He was here because of revenge, but the revenge was not directed toward his opponent. This was his trial. If God thought he was going too far, why would He not stop him now?
He stood as his opponent wavered. He also purposefully missed. His opponent knew what it was he saught. The history behind it all. And it seemed to him that God was on his side after all.
A bit of Count of Monty Crisco influence, here.
Day 18
Prompt - Strawberry Nightmare
What they heck kind of prompt is this? The words "strawberry" and "nightmare" do not come together very well in my head. Unless I want to make some kind of Spaceballs connection?
The line I'm thinking of at this moment is, "Yogurt! I hate yogurt! Even with strawberries!" So, even that connection is not particularly appropriate for this prompt.
Though, if I had some wherewithall, I supposed I could have written about the kinds of nightmares strawberries would have. Such as, imagine a life whose sole existance is to be consumed. What would a being whose life like that would think? How would it feel? When the time came for it to be consumed, is there any regret?
Or, perhaps I'm just going off a really deep end. Yeah, that seems possible.
Day 19
Prompt - Consistently Ever After
Huh. Well, this is an interesting prompt! The connection I made is with "Happliy Ever After", but that's not the task.
Well, I suppose it could be. If there is consistant happiness. However, if we want a more realistic story...
Who said anything about a realistic story, though? These prompts are here to spur imagination! To let loose the Bludgeon of Insipration, regardless of the consequences! I thought this is what I was best at.
There's little time left, and the Bludgeon has not stricken. Outside of this stream-of-consciousness, that is?
Day 20
Prompt - The Far Off Hills
Somewhere, in those far-off-hills, is home. The place where the warmth of the hearth is welcoming. The place where there is peace.
Somewhere, in those far-off hills, is home. The place where one's loves lies. The place that gives comfort to a weary soul.
Somewhere, in those far-off hills, is home. The place one is sworn to protect with one's life. The place where one's last thoughts drift to, as the shot is heard.
Prompt - Children of the Waves
The sky was clear, and the sun was bright. The children spilled out of the car almost as soon as the door opened. Asking them not to run too far ahead was already out of the question. Of course, were they any different when they were that young? The irony wasn't the only thing that made them smirk.
The sandcastle was among the first things they tried to accomplish. Watching that being washed over by the waves, they decided to enter the water proper.
And... that's all I had time to write!
Day 2
Prompt - The Six Gray Men
They came together in counsel. The topic was, of course, the removal of the so-called "Blue Man".
They each took turns making arguments, each time, there was another point to refute it. Indeed, how could anybody defeat a person who proved nigh-invincible?
One stood up, and made a bold suggestion. One of them must become a "Blue Man"!
The other five, of course, outright despised this answer. Too risky. Even if it was one of them, and even if the original was somehow defeated, who is to say that the new one would not cause more trouble, if not more?
This one is based on a childhood superhero idea I once had. To say the least, it was long, long abandoned.
Day 3
Prompt - Golden People
Blondes? Well, that can certainly be one definition of "golden people", but then, there are the so-called "golden years". Which are, I believe, a reference to individuals in their fifties? Something like that?
See, this is the problem with stream-of-consciousness thinking. You supposed to write down everything, and I mean everything that comes to mind, even if it has nothing to do with the proposed subject matter. Speaking of which...
Had a blank moment for a bitsy. So, yeah, I'm not going to write an actual story for this prompt at all, apparently. I'm already four minutes into the prompt!
Right. "Golden People". Focus. Er...? Um...? Yeah, I've got nothing. I don't think I was "ready" for this prompt at this particular time interval. Damn it, FOCUS!
Man, I can't think straight at all. I should have waited a bit. Though, it wasn't really a problem before. Was it?
Okay. Everybody together, now...
Way to fail, Sataro!
Darigaaz, this is terrible.
Day 4
Prompt - Future Legacy
Matsuda wondered at the laughing Tomika. He didn't like this at all. "What do you find so amusing, villan?"
Tomika's wounds made it difficult for him to speak, but he managed, "Well done, hero. I knew only you could possibly defeat me. Now, it can all begin."
Matsuda desired a more direct answer, but was angered by Tomika's response. He spoke more forcefully now, "What do you mean? Are you telling me that you wanted to be defeated?"
The grin on his face was obvious, but spoke no further. This response only made Matsuda grow more impatient, "What evil have you unleashed!?"
The wizard died before he could make a response. It was not until nearly twenty-five years after these events that the meaning behind his words were known.
This is more like it!
Day 5
Prompt - The Lost Button
They couldn't find it anywhere. They searched high, low, and everywhere in-between. Why today of all days?
It was the princess' wedding. Traditionally, she would wear a broach that had the royal crest on it. She has lost it before on several occasions. Time and time again, she was told of it's importance, but, of course, she did not listen.
The groom had arrived!? So soon? There was no getting out of the embarrassment, now. They tried to dance around the issue about how the princess was not ready yet, but he became impatient.
After a brief exchange of words, the prince realized what was going on, and with a smirk, showed them the broach!
Day 6
Prompt - The Woman and her Honor
Oharu stood before her opponent. He was already half-beaten with previous blows, and she had managed to disarm him. All she needed to do was finish this foe off.
But, no. She did not finish him off. She allowed him to pick up his weapon, even going so far as retrieving it for him. Perhaps it was a dangerous, if not outright idiotic, move. However, even if her opponent would show no mercy, she would.
Such is the burden of what it means to be honorable.
Day 7
Prompt - Tommy Speaks Truth
I don't think I'm going to end up writing a proper story for this one, so, please excuse the idea dump.
Mainly, I'm thinking of a tale of a boy (the titular "Tommy") who saw something, and has kept quiet about it until he is pushed by someone to speak the truth.
Thing is, he will not be believed. What he is saying is so "impossible" to what everybody believes to be true. He gets ridiculed for years. It would not be not until several years after his death that it would be discovered that he was, in fact, telling the truth.
Though, what he saw, and what this "impossible" truth is? I dunno. Perhaps a hometown hero isn't as heroic as they think he/she is? That was my first thought, but I suppose there could be other situations.
Day 8
Prompt - Murdered by Trade
For some reason, I'm getting reminded of my CLOSAT entry for this. As I recall, there was a femme fatal assassin, and a rather smitten-with-her man.
She was definitely using him for some purpose, but I never defined what it was she was ultimately trying to do. I assume I didn't because of the constraints of my "extra challenge".
The "ranger" of that story seemed to know what she was, or she was trying to do. Or, perhaps, they were rival clans, or something? Possibly!
Anyway, the amount of time left for this prompt is... er... oops!
Day 9
Prompt - The Wind that Never Speaks
(Personal aside: I'm listening to Tales of Phantasia's "Sylph's Mountain" for this.)
The dusk came silently. Even the wind itself was fearful of what would come next.
They have all heard the stories. The stories of the mountain spirits that come down to the village. Some of these spirits merely obvserve the living, but there are those that which take others back to the mountain. To become one of them.
The villagers all shut their windows, and locked their doors. The streets were evacuated. There was no particular assurance that such preparations would stop the more aggressive spirits, but it was the only protection they knew how to muster.
Day 10
Prompt - The Seventh Gift
I'm not sure if I have the werewithall to make a proper story today, but I was mainly thinking of the seven virtues for this one. Where each virtue was a gift, given to a newborn child.
Well, perhaps it's more wishful thinking, or something? More like, "We want this child to have these things!" but, curcumstances might dictate otherwise?
Damn, I've no time left!
Day 11
Prompt - From North the Escape Came
The castle was under seige, and it was not looking well. The walls had been breached, and the enemies were poring in.
The aged Oracle shook her head, and spoke openly, "We need to get the Prince out of here."
Upon her saying this, her protoge stood up, as if to volunteer. The Oracle nodded, the said, "Thank you. Look to the keep's north wall. There should be a hidden passage there. The tunnel should lead you away from this."
A soldier nearby spoke next, "There may yet be enemies after you come out of that tunnel. Please, allow me to go with you."
Man, I could have written so much more, if I had the time.
Day 12
Prompt - Rue With Time
It started simple enough. A seemingly innocent comment. There was certainly something odd about the comment, but he initially said nothing.
All the sudden, his friend exploded. Unsure of where the anger came from, he tried to calm him down, but could not find the means. Things begain to get heated.
The impluse to just leave was there. But what kind of person would just leave while a friend was in a crisis? He took the abuse, and asked for forgiveness.
His friend managed to calm down, but asked his friend to consider what transpired. He searched within himself for an answer.
Day 13
Prompt - The Clockwork Lover
In the morning, we wake with a gentle kiss. In the afternoon, we argue. In the evening, we have forgiven ourselves. At night, well, that's none of your business.
It is something of a cycle. Never changing. Yet, I don't think either of us would have it any other way.
Day 14
Prompt - The Midnight Lane
I might be taking this prompt too litterally. My surface thoughts are about driving down a highway at midnight. Not that there's nessessarily anything wrong with such thoughts, I suppose.
Perhaps a bit of Twilght Zone could be in order here? Like, the highway "lives", in some way? Or, the driver makes a stop at a hotel, only to be caught in a space-time loop until some deed is performed?
Hrmm. I think I might be onto something, but the time limit prevents me from expanding on this too much further. Oh well.
Day 15
Prompt - Murder Most Foul
The servant had just poured the tea, the medication ready. He chocked on the stuff. He always did. This time, however, the chocking didn't stop. He couldn't breathe. The mistress and servant did what they could, but it was no use. He was dead.
That is the story I was given. With how many could benefit from his death, it just seemed too simple to me. However, if there was a case of murder, I would need proof.
Day 16
Prompt - The Open Door Policy
She lived in a humble abode, alone. Her visitors were few, but she always treated them well. Perhaps out of need of companionship, perhaps not.
One day, a known criminal came to her house. Of course she knew what he was. Even so, even with the threats made to her life, she did not inform the police. She was still the finest hostess she could be.
It is not known how long he used her house as a base of operations. However, being treated with respect rather than disdain? Something must have snapped within him. He gave himself up.
Day 17
Prompt - Guns and Smoke
The men faced away from each other. Ten paces. Then, they turned.
One purposefully missed. He was here because of revenge, but the revenge was not directed toward his opponent. This was his trial. If God thought he was going too far, why would He not stop him now?
He stood as his opponent wavered. He also purposefully missed. His opponent knew what it was he saught. The history behind it all. And it seemed to him that God was on his side after all.
A bit of Count of Monty Crisco influence, here.
Day 18
Prompt - Strawberry Nightmare
What they heck kind of prompt is this? The words "strawberry" and "nightmare" do not come together very well in my head. Unless I want to make some kind of Spaceballs connection?
The line I'm thinking of at this moment is, "Yogurt! I hate yogurt! Even with strawberries!" So, even that connection is not particularly appropriate for this prompt.
Though, if I had some wherewithall, I supposed I could have written about the kinds of nightmares strawberries would have. Such as, imagine a life whose sole existance is to be consumed. What would a being whose life like that would think? How would it feel? When the time came for it to be consumed, is there any regret?
Or, perhaps I'm just going off a really deep end. Yeah, that seems possible.
Day 19
Prompt - Consistently Ever After
Huh. Well, this is an interesting prompt! The connection I made is with "Happliy Ever After", but that's not the task.
Well, I suppose it could be. If there is consistant happiness. However, if we want a more realistic story...
Who said anything about a realistic story, though? These prompts are here to spur imagination! To let loose the Bludgeon of Insipration, regardless of the consequences! I thought this is what I was best at.
There's little time left, and the Bludgeon has not stricken. Outside of this stream-of-consciousness, that is?
Day 20
Prompt - The Far Off Hills
Somewhere, in those far-off-hills, is home. The place where the warmth of the hearth is welcoming. The place where there is peace.
Somewhere, in those far-off hills, is home. The place where one's loves lies. The place that gives comfort to a weary soul.
Somewhere, in those far-off hills, is home. The place one is sworn to protect with one's life. The place where one's last thoughts drift to, as the shot is heard.
We'll give this a go, as I've been slacking on your topics lately. D: Ten minutes actually makes me spew stuff out pretty quickly because I panic at how little time I have. At least that'll get me to actually write stuff..
Day 01
Children of the Waves
It spat a few cobbles of sharp, brittle shapes from its gaping jaws and retreated back along the shoreline. The specks of shell and dust that had emerged then clattered forth, lest they be bombarded by a second torrent of salty saliva. With a triumphant roaring trumpet which snarled and sucked the debris from its feet, the wave gathered up its mass and towered itself over the escapees. A scuttling dweller of the sandlands made a break for it and skittered its way across the shore, hoping for dry reprieve in the sun's shine.
Alas, the towering dragon lowered its maw and threw itself back down. Flicks of water launched themselves away from the mass in fright and dithered on the dust in a short shower. As the wave crashed down, it engulfed the scuttler and withdrew its prey into the darkening depths - a manic child playing with his food.
The prey's begging and squirming was soon drowned out, though it desperately fought to cling to the shelf of sand slowly being drawn in again. There was an ominous silence blanketed by the calming whooshing of the water that now lay almost still, only ebbing back and forth in its facade of innocence.
Day 02
The Six Grey Men
"It's a garden of sorts," the honking, nasal voice of a woman resounded in the darkness.
The sound of her words echoed in the towering shadows which formed the walls enclosing them. She lightly pelted one of the small figures on the ground with her foot.
"But it's not much to look at, that's for sure."
It was far too bright to even make out her presence in the brightness of the garden, as one of the tall lamps spread a blinding light over the foliage. The leaves were not even green to the eye, as the obnoxiously white light was in their way. The shapely, whitened rosebushes encircling us seemed unable to breathe under the strain of the clean colour.
From what could be made out around us, the tall lady's feet were enveloped by still, little figures on the floor, barely a foot tall each. They had pointed hats and what could only be described as ridiculous stone beards upon their faces. Their colours seemed unaffected by the light source, and the only visible thing otherwise was a solid grey shade.
"Interested in them, are we?" she snorted softly, "he left them here after he died. I can't exactly get rid of them now, can I?"
She stepped over the figures, and they retorted without motion. Their response was so evident in their little, unmoving faces: stern and forever scornful. Her bare feet pattered along the patio underneath as she approached.
Day 03
Golden People
Don't touch that.
It was a special medallion strewn across the letters on her desk. It didn't symbolise achievement or nobility, but it represented where she belonged - or rather with whom. She saw it as the symbol of a vow amongst people: like a group all wedded together, or family separated at birth.
They gave it to her before she went. Before she left them.
She had realised her folly far too late to go back now, and all she had left was this trivial trinket. And yet she guarded it from my wandering fingers as I threw things from the surface of the desk and pointed a bare flashlight at stinging eyes and corners of things unseen for generations which now awoke with groggy grumblings. The dust and the cobwebs had become quite tricky to navigate now, as if they healed over not a moment after I had violently broken through them with my dark-gloved hand.
I was trying my best to make this seem legitimate in front of them, but I couldn't help notice the souring look on her face as I tore her possessions apart whilst looking for the vital clues they needed me to get. I chose to ignore her medallion, and I quickly stepped away from her and the desk.
I could see the sweat sparkle on her relieved brow.
Day 04
Future Legacy
Why had she left it laying there?
I remember telling her to sell it - that she needed the money.
I scooped it up it my hands and gently passed it from finger to finger. It was so tiny and frail now, and its age showed in the wearing of the inscriptions on the back. With a great deal of care, I lay it back on its cloth within the cabinet and shut the glass door over it, still glancing at it as I mulled over why she could have possibly left it to me before she passed away.
And then Haru started watching funny videos and I got distracted so my ten minutes were up. DAMN EVERYTHING.
Day 05
The Lost Button
There was a violent crunching sound when she slammed her head forcefully on the keyboard. The white desk rattled, photos and notes slipped off onto the carpet below. There was a following crash as the half-full bin by her feet tipped over and spilled its messy contents out.
She had so little time to think. She lifted her face from the glaring computer and pulled a stern expression. Readying her hands at the keyboard, she prepared to type.
And she began. She furiously tapped at the board with a thunderous clickity-clack, not taking her focus from the screen which reflected in her deprived eyes.
There was a problem, of course. She had found her inspiration, but her words were disjointed and somehow simply broken.
"I had bn thinking of what to typ whn suddnly the bin fll ovr."
What was this trickery? Where were her e's that she had painstakingly written?!
How could she type anything without the letter e? The cogs turned and she realised just how important a letter it would be to completely skimp out on in her text.
She searched around frantically. The remaining papers were brushed aside by her paws, and she knocked down two picture frames in a desperate hunt for the key.
Where was the button? Did she ever even have an e key in the beginning? What if it had been gone all this time?
She tried to retrace her steps: picking the bin back up and furiously laying it in its place, throwing the peels of fruit and candy wrappers towards it but not into it. She drew the photos and notes from the floor towards her and messily shuffled them onto her desk.
It still wasn't making any sense!
In a passing moment, a bright spark glittered in her eyes. She looked upwards and inwards almost into the depths of her own skull, and she could see a dark shape wiggling around on her forehead as she moved it. She lifted her fingers to her face and felt around, exploring the wrinkles. At last she plucked the key from her skin, and could feel a horrible indentation where the button had left a large, red square on her head.
Day 06
The Woman and her Honour
The grubby gavel's handle was beginning to sever from its tip. The weight from the heavier end had caused the wood to creak and warp into an unfamiliar shape, almost unrecognisable as its former being.
It was lifted up from its padded pedestal and taken by a wrinkled hand into the air. She pulled it above her frizzy greying wig which was bundled into little sausages at her ears. Loosened, fraying hairs had struggled from their grasp and slithered down her face.
Before it knew what was coming, the gavel was harshly slammed back down onto the pedestal. It recoiled in its agony and reverberated back along the handle. On the second strike, the aging wood split completely. The handle had given up the fight. The pieces lay separate and lonely behind the bench.
Day 07
Tommy Speaks Truth
"Did you see it?" there was an obvious sparkle in his eyes that I simply couldn't indulge, "look! There's still some smoke coming out!"
"I don't see it," I turned my head away on purpose.
His face actually sank. His chubby cheeks drooped down to his neck again, and his eyebrows turned down. There was still that sparkle in his eyes, but it was that of a glistening tear welling up and trailing down his nose.
"You didn't even look.." he rubbed his moist, reddening face with his sleeve.
"Don't do that," I wrapped my fingers around his thick wrist and started pulling him away, "you'll ruin your new coat."
I tugged at a clean handkerchief from within my own sleeve and dabbed under his nose with a slight wiping motion.
"... did you see it?" he continued to question as I dragged him away from the scene.
He was pulling his head back with intrigue, trying to get a last look.
Of course I saw it.
Day 08
Murdered by Trade
I can't even brain at the minute, so I'll just muse on what this could mean for potential storyline ideas. And to have a bit of a warm up I guess.
Maybe I could go for something quite obvious and have it be about a hitman who kills people for money. Maybe then he could be murdered by his own trade as a kind of twist, either by the hands of another hitman sent after him or maybe he feels guilty about what he's done and tops himself. Oooorrr he ends his trade, "murdering" it, and he then vows to be helpful and carry the shopping and help old ladies cross the street and.. and..
Perhaps a trade between two parties is the destruction of another. Possibly even a trade of lives, like a woman being traded away to marry for wealth and protection of her family. If she ended up being miserable, she could end her own life DRAMATICALLY. Or she could even kill her new husband/family, which would be quite the kick in the teeth to her own family who won't be protected anymore. Unless they got inheritance.. ooh, this is becoming quite a nice sounding plan! Maybe I should be traded away.. But anyway, any survivors to her husband would be pretty mad that she killed him, so they'd probably murder someone in her family too. Back and forth like a weird tennis match but with gore and mourning.
Well.. This was productive.
I think uhh.. maybe that first idea.. is slightly less silly..
Day 01
Children of the Waves
It spat a few cobbles of sharp, brittle shapes from its gaping jaws and retreated back along the shoreline. The specks of shell and dust that had emerged then clattered forth, lest they be bombarded by a second torrent of salty saliva. With a triumphant roaring trumpet which snarled and sucked the debris from its feet, the wave gathered up its mass and towered itself over the escapees. A scuttling dweller of the sandlands made a break for it and skittered its way across the shore, hoping for dry reprieve in the sun's shine.
Alas, the towering dragon lowered its maw and threw itself back down. Flicks of water launched themselves away from the mass in fright and dithered on the dust in a short shower. As the wave crashed down, it engulfed the scuttler and withdrew its prey into the darkening depths - a manic child playing with his food.
The prey's begging and squirming was soon drowned out, though it desperately fought to cling to the shelf of sand slowly being drawn in again. There was an ominous silence blanketed by the calming whooshing of the water that now lay almost still, only ebbing back and forth in its facade of innocence.
Day 02
The Six Grey Men
"It's a garden of sorts," the honking, nasal voice of a woman resounded in the darkness.
The sound of her words echoed in the towering shadows which formed the walls enclosing them. She lightly pelted one of the small figures on the ground with her foot.
"But it's not much to look at, that's for sure."
It was far too bright to even make out her presence in the brightness of the garden, as one of the tall lamps spread a blinding light over the foliage. The leaves were not even green to the eye, as the obnoxiously white light was in their way. The shapely, whitened rosebushes encircling us seemed unable to breathe under the strain of the clean colour.
From what could be made out around us, the tall lady's feet were enveloped by still, little figures on the floor, barely a foot tall each. They had pointed hats and what could only be described as ridiculous stone beards upon their faces. Their colours seemed unaffected by the light source, and the only visible thing otherwise was a solid grey shade.
"Interested in them, are we?" she snorted softly, "he left them here after he died. I can't exactly get rid of them now, can I?"
She stepped over the figures, and they retorted without motion. Their response was so evident in their little, unmoving faces: stern and forever scornful. Her bare feet pattered along the patio underneath as she approached.
Day 03
Golden People
Don't touch that.
It was a special medallion strewn across the letters on her desk. It didn't symbolise achievement or nobility, but it represented where she belonged - or rather with whom. She saw it as the symbol of a vow amongst people: like a group all wedded together, or family separated at birth.
They gave it to her before she went. Before she left them.
She had realised her folly far too late to go back now, and all she had left was this trivial trinket. And yet she guarded it from my wandering fingers as I threw things from the surface of the desk and pointed a bare flashlight at stinging eyes and corners of things unseen for generations which now awoke with groggy grumblings. The dust and the cobwebs had become quite tricky to navigate now, as if they healed over not a moment after I had violently broken through them with my dark-gloved hand.
I was trying my best to make this seem legitimate in front of them, but I couldn't help notice the souring look on her face as I tore her possessions apart whilst looking for the vital clues they needed me to get. I chose to ignore her medallion, and I quickly stepped away from her and the desk.
I could see the sweat sparkle on her relieved brow.
Day 04
Future Legacy
Why had she left it laying there?
I remember telling her to sell it - that she needed the money.
I scooped it up it my hands and gently passed it from finger to finger. It was so tiny and frail now, and its age showed in the wearing of the inscriptions on the back. With a great deal of care, I lay it back on its cloth within the cabinet and shut the glass door over it, still glancing at it as I mulled over why she could have possibly left it to me before she passed away.
And then Haru started watching funny videos and I got distracted so my ten minutes were up. DAMN EVERYTHING.
Day 05
The Lost Button
There was a violent crunching sound when she slammed her head forcefully on the keyboard. The white desk rattled, photos and notes slipped off onto the carpet below. There was a following crash as the half-full bin by her feet tipped over and spilled its messy contents out.
She had so little time to think. She lifted her face from the glaring computer and pulled a stern expression. Readying her hands at the keyboard, she prepared to type.
And she began. She furiously tapped at the board with a thunderous clickity-clack, not taking her focus from the screen which reflected in her deprived eyes.
There was a problem, of course. She had found her inspiration, but her words were disjointed and somehow simply broken.
"I had bn thinking of what to typ whn suddnly the bin fll ovr."
What was this trickery? Where were her e's that she had painstakingly written?!
How could she type anything without the letter e? The cogs turned and she realised just how important a letter it would be to completely skimp out on in her text.
She searched around frantically. The remaining papers were brushed aside by her paws, and she knocked down two picture frames in a desperate hunt for the key.
Where was the button? Did she ever even have an e key in the beginning? What if it had been gone all this time?
She tried to retrace her steps: picking the bin back up and furiously laying it in its place, throwing the peels of fruit and candy wrappers towards it but not into it. She drew the photos and notes from the floor towards her and messily shuffled them onto her desk.
It still wasn't making any sense!
In a passing moment, a bright spark glittered in her eyes. She looked upwards and inwards almost into the depths of her own skull, and she could see a dark shape wiggling around on her forehead as she moved it. She lifted her fingers to her face and felt around, exploring the wrinkles. At last she plucked the key from her skin, and could feel a horrible indentation where the button had left a large, red square on her head.
Day 06
The Woman and her Honour
The grubby gavel's handle was beginning to sever from its tip. The weight from the heavier end had caused the wood to creak and warp into an unfamiliar shape, almost unrecognisable as its former being.
It was lifted up from its padded pedestal and taken by a wrinkled hand into the air. She pulled it above her frizzy greying wig which was bundled into little sausages at her ears. Loosened, fraying hairs had struggled from their grasp and slithered down her face.
Before it knew what was coming, the gavel was harshly slammed back down onto the pedestal. It recoiled in its agony and reverberated back along the handle. On the second strike, the aging wood split completely. The handle had given up the fight. The pieces lay separate and lonely behind the bench.
Day 07
Tommy Speaks Truth
"Did you see it?" there was an obvious sparkle in his eyes that I simply couldn't indulge, "look! There's still some smoke coming out!"
"I don't see it," I turned my head away on purpose.
His face actually sank. His chubby cheeks drooped down to his neck again, and his eyebrows turned down. There was still that sparkle in his eyes, but it was that of a glistening tear welling up and trailing down his nose.
"You didn't even look.." he rubbed his moist, reddening face with his sleeve.
"Don't do that," I wrapped my fingers around his thick wrist and started pulling him away, "you'll ruin your new coat."
I tugged at a clean handkerchief from within my own sleeve and dabbed under his nose with a slight wiping motion.
"... did you see it?" he continued to question as I dragged him away from the scene.
He was pulling his head back with intrigue, trying to get a last look.
Of course I saw it.
Day 08
Murdered by Trade
I can't even brain at the minute, so I'll just muse on what this could mean for potential storyline ideas. And to have a bit of a warm up I guess.
Maybe I could go for something quite obvious and have it be about a hitman who kills people for money. Maybe then he could be murdered by his own trade as a kind of twist, either by the hands of another hitman sent after him or maybe he feels guilty about what he's done and tops himself. Oooorrr he ends his trade, "murdering" it, and he then vows to be helpful and carry the shopping and help old ladies cross the street and.. and..
Perhaps a trade between two parties is the destruction of another. Possibly even a trade of lives, like a woman being traded away to marry for wealth and protection of her family. If she ended up being miserable, she could end her own life DRAMATICALLY. Or she could even kill her new husband/family, which would be quite the kick in the teeth to her own family who won't be protected anymore. Unless they got inheritance.. ooh, this is becoming quite a nice sounding plan! Maybe I should be traded away.. But anyway, any survivors to her husband would be pretty mad that she killed him, so they'd probably murder someone in her family too. Back and forth like a weird tennis match but with gore and mourning.
Well.. This was productive.
I think uhh.. maybe that first idea.. is slightly less silly..
Just gonna throw a few things (tips and stuff) here.
Okay, first off - absolutely get this >ZEN WRITER< It's very helpful with inspiration and is customisable too.
I get the ideas for this months' prompts from random generators so that I'm as surprised as you guys. XD
Just write about the first thing that pops into your head. Don't edit too much (try to do that as you put the words down - or before you put them down, anyway) and I don't mind you running the finished product through a spell/check, but don't edit after the 10 minutes are up.
Chearlie and other non-native English speakers - It's not about what the prompts are but about what comes to mind when you read them. Don't worry if it doesn't make sense or adhere to the prompt too much, it's more about getting the creative juices flowing and seeing what you can come up with in the first 10 minutes of 'new idea!'
Just try to have fun~
Lastly, a question. Do you think I should unveil the prompt from the day before or leave it under a hide tag?
Okay, first off - absolutely get this >ZEN WRITER< It's very helpful with inspiration and is customisable too.
I get the ideas for this months' prompts from random generators so that I'm as surprised as you guys. XD
Just write about the first thing that pops into your head. Don't edit too much (try to do that as you put the words down - or before you put them down, anyway) and I don't mind you running the finished product through a spell/check, but don't edit after the 10 minutes are up.
Chearlie and other non-native English speakers - It's not about what the prompts are but about what comes to mind when you read them. Don't worry if it doesn't make sense or adhere to the prompt too much, it's more about getting the creative juices flowing and seeing what you can come up with in the first 10 minutes of 'new idea!'
Just try to have fun~
Lastly, a question. Do you think I should unveil the prompt from the day before or leave it under a hide tag?
hehe :3 that's what I did, it was hard since nothing came to my mind but I manage to write something.
Also, I prefer for these to be unveil one each day, if it is all at the same time my lazy me leaves it for tomorrow and at the end I forget to work on my promts :/ (although that's me to blame). But I like this way since I really am expecting the next one as if I was expecting the next episode of a TV Show.
Also, I prefer for these to be unveil one each day, if it is all at the same time my lazy me leaves it for tomorrow and at the end I forget to work on my promts :/ (although that's me to blame). But I like this way since I really am expecting the next one as if I was expecting the next episode of a TV Show.
XD
Oh this will happen all this month. I meant should I keep the ones from past days in a spoiler or only the one for the current day? ^.^
Oh this will happen all this month. I meant should I keep the ones from past days in a spoiler or only the one for the current day? ^.^
ohohoho, my bad :P. I vote for keep the ones as spoilers so people could still do it as in a surprise and in 10 minutes.
Seeing as I'm kind of late, and just want to do as much as I can this time, I'm just going to do Day 2 for now, until further notice.
Day 02
The Six Grey Men
6 men creep up behind me, not knowing at the time I turn around. Jumping back, screaming, I turn around in a full circle, seeing all 6 men, or at least I think it's six men...
I try and get away, but nothing happens. They follow me, as I walk into a wall and they disappear. I am in a new area it seems, as I turn around, and don't see them. I walk away, only to find them again, but this time there is only one of them. I turn around, and see another, and another, but ones I saw before the present disappear, as if there is only one, appearing everywhere. I can't run as I see him come toward me. I turn around and try to run, as white light flashes in my eyes, and I turn around. I see nothing.
I walk forward, questioning what had happened, until I realized it was a dream, in which I woke up. I tried to go back to that dream, to see if I could fix it, work it into the way I wanted, but every time I thought of that dream, I thought of the grey man. I go to sleep again, without thinking of the grey man. And he appeared again, this time, I knew he was different. Not the same one from before, I just didn't know how. And then I remembered what happened the night before, maybe there were 6 grey men, and they replace each other...but why are they after me? I run into another wall, and leave the strange world I'm in, until I find another one, again different. This cycle repeats, as I'm no longer scared by the time the sixth grey man appears...I wake up again, only to find myself, once again, facing six grey men, this time visually, all of them are there...
I scream, as they touch me, knives in hands, ready to slice me open...
"Happy birthday!", they said, as my eyes clear, and the world brightens. It was just my family! There was a cake in bed...I don't know why, but there is. I then see my sister in her goth clothes as usual, at least they aren't grey. I guess the 6 men weren't there in my dream either, but then again, I did take LSD the night before.
6 men creep up behind me, not knowing at the time I turn around. Jumping back, screaming, I turn around in a full circle, seeing all 6 men, or at least I think it's six men...
I try and get away, but nothing happens. They follow me, as I walk into a wall and they disappear. I am in a new area it seems, as I turn around, and don't see them. I walk away, only to find them again, but this time there is only one of them. I turn around, and see another, and another, but ones I saw before the present disappear, as if there is only one, appearing everywhere. I can't run as I see him come toward me. I turn around and try to run, as white light flashes in my eyes, and I turn around. I see nothing.
I walk forward, questioning what had happened, until I realized it was a dream, in which I woke up. I tried to go back to that dream, to see if I could fix it, work it into the way I wanted, but every time I thought of that dream, I thought of the grey man. I go to sleep again, without thinking of the grey man. And he appeared again, this time, I knew he was different. Not the same one from before, I just didn't know how. And then I remembered what happened the night before, maybe there were 6 grey men, and they replace each other...but why are they after me? I run into another wall, and leave the strange world I'm in, until I find another one, again different. This cycle repeats, as I'm no longer scared by the time the sixth grey man appears...I wake up again, only to find myself, once again, facing six grey men, this time visually, all of them are there...
I scream, as they touch me, knives in hands, ready to slice me open...
"Happy birthday!", they said, as my eyes clear, and the world brightens. It was just my family! There was a cake in bed...I don't know why, but there is. I then see my sister in her goth clothes as usual, at least they aren't grey. I guess the 6 men weren't there in my dream either, but then again, I did take LSD the night before.
30 seconds early, I finished as much as I could think of. Yes, this is based off of LSD:Dream Emulator
Definitely keep the previous prompts underneath the hide-tags. This way, if one gets behind, or comes in late, they wouldn't be at an advantage over those that did them on-time.
@Marrend: Day 7 prompt:
I guess the story could revolve around not actually revealing what the truth was, but just people's reactions to that truth after his death - even more tragic if he died young or because of the truth he revealed. Or perhaps them lamenting that they didn't listen before it was too late to change things to stop a calamity from occuring or, well, anything really. It's a story idea with a lot of flexibility~
It kinda reminds me of the Liar Norland story in One Piece, where Norland was forever considered a liar through history so much so that it became a sort of insult to be associated with his name... but it's eventually found out that he wasn't lying at all and the thing he'd been accused (and beheaded due to his supposed lie) of lying about had changed thanks to something that had been introduced at the start of that arc as something inconsequential.
It kinda reminds me of the Liar Norland story in One Piece, where Norland was forever considered a liar through history so much so that it became a sort of insult to be associated with his name... but it's eventually found out that he wasn't lying at all and the thing he'd been accused (and beheaded due to his supposed lie) of lying about had changed thanks to something that had been introduced at the start of that arc as something inconsequential.
@Liberty:
I don't know about One Piece, but I might have had To Kill A Mockingbird subconsciously in my head. Though, the thoughts weren't about Atticus, and his defense of... I forget his name! I believe my thoughts were more about "Boo" Radley.
I don't know about One Piece, but I might have had To Kill A Mockingbird subconsciously in my head. Though, the thoughts weren't about Atticus, and his defense of... I forget his name! I believe my thoughts were more about "Boo" Radley.
Day 1
Day 2
*Note: It took me less than 10mins to write this but I had to go out for a while and so the true time is a bit over 30mins.
Walking on sand
Your shoes in your hand
The closest human being very far they stand
That refreshing wind making your hair wildly behave
You forget all your pain like a child so naive
Don't ever forget, it was the doing of the children of the wave.
Your shoes in your hand
The closest human being very far they stand
That refreshing wind making your hair wildly behave
You forget all your pain like a child so naive
Don't ever forget, it was the doing of the children of the wave.
Day 2
*Note: It took me less than 10mins to write this but I had to go out for a while and so the true time is a bit over 30mins.
It was a time of great chaos in the land of the colored men. The Indigo, Blue, Green, Yellow and Red Kingdom were all fighting to prove once and for all which colored kingdom was better. The war raged on for years. So many souls lost and so many bodies lay unattended. But the pride of none of the kingdoms would waver, neither the King’s nor their Men's.
At last all of the six kings go down to the battle fields themselves as most of their best men had already been long forgotten.
A crippled dying soldier held the Red King’s leg and said, ‘Your Majesty, win us this battle and the pride of our color.’
The kind was confused because he did not recognize the dying soldier. He was not sure which kingdom the soldier was from. His clothes were torn, tattered, full of grim and dusty. The color of the cloth was unrecognizable, grey at best. Then he saw a hint of red as the soldier took his very last breath.
The red king stopped fighting just for a little while and looked all around him. As soon as he came to his senses he rushed across the battle field. He reached the Blue King and tried to explain something. The Blue King would not listen at first but after he saw the Red King take a hit from his sword and still not retaliate he calmed down.
Then they came to an agreement and went to explain things to the other kings and eventually all the Kings stopped fighting.
What they understood was that the colors they were so proud of were no more,
And everyone but the Kings themselves were just miserable and grey, and the same in every other way. They formed what now is known as the Unified Kingdom of the Six Grey Men. the Six kingdoms did not always agree on everything but they mostly lived happily ever after.
If they stopped fighting earlier and just took some time to understand each other they would have realized that they had a lot more in common, then they had in difference and all the needless blood shed could have been avoided.
At last all of the six kings go down to the battle fields themselves as most of their best men had already been long forgotten.
A crippled dying soldier held the Red King’s leg and said, ‘Your Majesty, win us this battle and the pride of our color.’
The kind was confused because he did not recognize the dying soldier. He was not sure which kingdom the soldier was from. His clothes were torn, tattered, full of grim and dusty. The color of the cloth was unrecognizable, grey at best. Then he saw a hint of red as the soldier took his very last breath.
The red king stopped fighting just for a little while and looked all around him. As soon as he came to his senses he rushed across the battle field. He reached the Blue King and tried to explain something. The Blue King would not listen at first but after he saw the Red King take a hit from his sword and still not retaliate he calmed down.
Then they came to an agreement and went to explain things to the other kings and eventually all the Kings stopped fighting.
What they understood was that the colors they were so proud of were no more,
And everyone but the Kings themselves were just miserable and grey, and the same in every other way. They formed what now is known as the Unified Kingdom of the Six Grey Men. the Six kingdoms did not always agree on everything but they mostly lived happily ever after.
If they stopped fighting earlier and just took some time to understand each other they would have realized that they had a lot more in common, then they had in difference and all the needless blood shed could have been avoided.
@Day 13's Prompt:
I wonder if anybody is going to take this prompt in the direction of the lover in question being an automation?
I wonder if anybody is going to take this prompt in the direction of the lover in question being an automation?
@Day 13's Marrend Comment
Cause we need to hide the evidence.
That would be pretty interesting, although it depends if someone else comes with the idea, I made 4 prompts that day, so when I did that my train of thoughs was dry and wasn't going to get to do that in 5 minutes :P hehe.
That would be pretty interesting, although it depends if someone else comes with the idea, I made 4 prompts that day, so when I did that my train of thoughs was dry and wasn't going to get to do that in 5 minutes :P hehe.
