this is a page for
Browsing Tag: #writingprompt
{#777 “I shouldn’t have consumed that water from Saturn”} My name is Amy Farrah Fowler Cooper. I married the world famous string physicist Sheldon Cooper in a small ceremony five years ago, and to date, this has been my greatest accomplishment. Admittedly, this is a fairly disparaging state of affairs, as I should be as famous as he is for my work in neuro-biology. But I’m not. So, one day about four years ago, Rajesh came to me bragging about how they were putting a man on Saturn like they had back in the sixties with the moon. Howard was designing a top-secret Rover for it. Howard would not be going, seeing as how the one fiasco in space nearly did him in. Of course, the excitement was palatable among our little group. And now we await the return of our cadet and all the spoils from deep space nine. Rocks for the geology lab. Some dirt for the ecologists. And data for everyone! Except me. I could study the brains of the astronauts, but I didn’t expect to find anything different than I ever had before. Maybe some endorphins from going where no man had ever gone before, pardon the pun, but no Earth shattering evidence of anything. I was bemoaning my woes to Sheldon that evening over dinner when he said in that offhand way he has with actual interesting information (instead of his usual tedious fact sharing…
I can only think of one story I want to tell. There’s this local color here in the mountains. Fly fisherman extraordinaire; he’s been featured on the Heartland Series several times. Everyone knows him for his singin’, and his late daddy for his preachin’. He’s an excavator by trade, but a big cut up at heart. To know him truly is to love him. So one day, I’m standing at my post behind the counter at the Co-op and he ambles up with his long legged stride. I don’t know how he finds overalls to fit. Toothpick in his mouth, he says to me, “How ya doin’ girl?” Same as always. I grin. “Just fine, Mr. Ball. And how are you today?” “Oh, I’m a-gittin’ by. I been at the hospital a-visitin’.” “Oh no, I hope whoever it is gets well! The hospital is no place to be.” “You’re tellin’ me!” As always, a smile was playing on his lips and his eyes twinkled. I had no doubt he had brightened the day of whoever it was he went to see, just as he always brightens mine. “I got in the elevator, and it was busy, you know. Lotta people sick this time of year. Anyway, there was seven or eight of us in there, and…
{#411 The story you shouldn’t have overheard on the bus} I was looking at their shoes and thinking they didn’t belong. I admit, I judge people by their footwear. I can’t help it, I profile. Forrest was right, you can tell a lot about people by looking at their shoes. Where they are headed, where they’d been. And these Christian Louboutin’s did NOT belong on a scuzzy old city bus past midnight, or any other time. You’ll find duct taped running shoes on the bus. Or polished-within-an-inch-of-their-life secondhand oxfords. Or sensible thick soled lunchlady shoes. People eking their way through life, working two jobs in order to scrape by. But never Louboutin’s. Maybe some knockoffs on a hooker, some that she’d painted the soles red to fool no one. Because the people who knew what Louboutin’s were knew they weren’t gonna find ’em on a girl painted up like a brazen hussy at two o’clock in the afternoon. But as I was saying, it wasn’t two o’clock in the afternoon. It was two in the morning and I sat very still in my muddy Redwing work boots, pretending to look at my phone but really watching a guy on the aisle two rows up on the right, silently nodding along to his iPod music. Or maybe he…
You have to wait 21 years for the privilege of learning about people. You will find no more truthful person above the age of five than you will at the bar. You will find no bigger liar than you will at the bar. You will find love, heartache, loneliness, and elation at the bar. You will find quick tempers, bruised egos, generous and agonized souls at the bar. You will find great senses of humor and know-it-alls and the barely literate at the bar. You can also find excellent examples of these in almost any church pew, but I’ve found that you get to know them much more quickly over a Miller Light than a hymnal. Once upon a time, at a bar in Gatlinburg that has been closed for at least ten years, the bartender said something that has stuck with me forevermore. “Don’t ask, just pour.” I was eating twenty-five cent wings. It was Monday. I had been at work all day. His wisdom was beyond his years. I did want more beer, but I don’t think he was only referring to my empty glass. A good bartender knows to let the patron initiate conversation. I didn’t want to talk about why I was at the bar without my boyfriend. I didn’t want to talk about my crappy day spent waiting on the ungrateful spoiled public. I didn’t want to do…
{#112 A man goes to a pawn shop with one single item. What is the item, why is he at the pawn shop?} Jena chose C, the word prompt is peanuts. This should truly be a challenge…🙄 ********************************** He was down on his luck. He was down on his knees. He was in a pawnshop two towns over. “They’re magic beans,” he assured her. “Man, you crazy!” She replied, flipping a long braid over her left shoulder, popping her grape gum loudly. This was followed by the drumbeat of her outrageously painted nails on the scuffed glass countertop. Girl sure could make a lot of noise. “I’ll give you a dollar, Jack, and that’s just because I’m kinda hungry and don’t want to eat another candy bar.” “They’re magic beans,” he insisted. He was here because these truly priceless magic beans, disguised as lowly legumes, had broken him. They had broken him mentally, physically, and financially. He would have sold his soul to the devil as a young man to get his hands on them…but now…now they only caused him pain and remorse. “They’ll take you anywhere you wanna go. You just gotta believe.” “Where I come from, you put ’em in a RC cola and watch ’em fizz,” she said absently. He shrugged, keeping his eyes steady…
{#63 Word count 200. You are on death row. Describe in detail your final meal} It arrived on a styrofoam plate but even that couldn’t diminish my delight. The bacon wrapped filet, prepared medium rare, was the most perfect piece of bovine excellency I had ever laid eyes on. (It could nearly be cut with my fork, but I had been allowed a plastic knife for the occasion). Paired with a two pound sweet potato, dripping with cinnamon butter and brown sugar, I couldn’t get it in my mouth fast enough. There was spinach maria too, creamy, cheesy, salty, and steaming. I sunk my fork into the shallow dish and watched the cheese stretch. A marvel. I gulped the sweet tea and reveled in memories of decades ago, on my momma’s porch, before everything went so wrong. Mama tried. Lord, she tried. The roll I requested was hefty with quality grains and yeast. I slathered it with butter and didn’t look up except to eye the turtle cheesecake patiently waiting for me with a glass of milk. I took my time, relishing in every bite, savoring the texture and all the flavors. Bless the hands that prepared it, and the farmers that grew it. Let them never know the evil that I had in me…
I was born with eight brothers and sisters. One of my sisters didn’t make it. I was the runt, but you can’t tell it now, can you? My mother was fawn colored, with little patience for us and our needle teeth. She tolerated us until she didn’t have to anymore. Her relief was visible. I only knew my father from a distance. He was massive, and kept behind chain link on concrete. His ears were docked, and he was the color of a ten-year old nickel that had been carried in many pockets. I thought he was magnificent. One day, the man who feeds us brought another man and I was picked straightaway. I was happy to be held, and my ears rubbed. Nobody had ever given me singular attention before. He put me in a box on the seat of his pickup, and I promptly jumped out. He let me ride on his lap to my new home. It was so exciting to be somewhere new! All the smells! All the sounds!! All the people!! I was loved for a time, and then the family all left. I was put in a black cage. It was lonesome. I missed my brothers and sisters who were always climbing all over me. There were two other dogs there, but neither were extra friendly. One was downright hateful, and I think the one who was grey like the fog was not hitting on all four…
{#60 word count: 60. A gypsy places the most ridiculous of curses on you} Of course I would make fun of her nose. Anybody who had eyes in their head would. It was truly hideous. So the old woman with the bulbous nose and curly gray hair woven with tattered ribbons pointed a gnarled finger at me and said I would never finish another sentence. Now, isn’t that the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever 😂😂😂 I especially like this one. Take that, you bunch of whiners who always want MORE…
Because one writing challenge isn’t enough. I’m gonna try to run two as long as I can stand it. Seeing as I’m starting this one over a week late, we’ll see if I get burned out before I ever get caught up. For these prompts, I’m choosing to take a more realistic approach. Of course, being only one word, they are much easier to manipulate than the almost full scenarios the other challenge presents me with. I promise to do the best I can to entertain you. ********************************************************************* It was one of those days I didn’t want to get out of bed. I just knew if my feet touched the floor, I was either gonna throw up, cry, or fall down. But things had to be done, so I slowly peeled the covers back, relishing the feel of cool air on my clammy skin, and began to ease out. I kept a hand on the bed for reassurance and I crept, gingerly now, along the side towards the bathroom. When I got to the corner of the big tester bed that had been in my family since they came over on the Mayflower (not REALLY, but just about), I gripped the post and breathed deeply through my nose. “You are not sick, you are not sick,” I chanted. I squinched my toes against the dark plank scuffed hardwood. “You are not sick, you are not sick…
{#262 The monologue of a serial killer before court on why he did it} “It’s funny how you can see people, you know, and think how much better lookin’ they’d be dead. I mean, I get it, we’re supposed to wait on the wraith of God to strike ’em down, but I never was much none for patience….and this ol’ girl, she was on a bad road, y’know? In a bad way, doin’ bad things with bad people. And her little boy deserved better’n that, so I just waited one night, when she was comin’ up her walk, there, in them slutty shoes and that indecent dress you could see straight through, and she was a-rootin’ through ‘er bag for ‘er keys. And I was sittin’ there a-waitin’ crouched down real low-like beside them bushes and I just reached out and caught ‘er. She didn’t even get a chance to scream. That clothesline, hit was a good ‘un, paid six dollars for it up at the hardware…I knew it wouldn’t give till the job was done. Hit sure didn’ take long, neither. She had one of them real skinny necks you see on girls that do so many drugs. Her breath was right awful, though. I don’t know what she’d drunk…
