Posts Tagged ‘writing prompt’

201-05-may-28th-2017

First contact had not gone as planned. Two dozen dead littered the forest, lying amongst fallen leaves. Rivers ran with their blood.

Only six crew remained, their minds trapped in the heat of battle. She’d been left in charge, the only senior officer left standing.

“Sir,” a crewmate asked, “what’s our objective?”

She looked through the looming shadows of the trees to where the ship was perched on the mountain, its sweeping white lines looking delicate as glass. To get to it, they would have to walk through a mile of unknown territory.

“Forward,” she ordered. “And eyes on the trees.”

They crept on. Rifles swung at the slightest sound. Even their own footsteps made them cringe.

She kept her chin up. She couldn’t let them know she was as terrified as they were.

The trees gave way to the mountain path, the safety of the ship. They all sighed in relief as the hatch opened.

The aliens descended upon them, white teeth shining in crescent mouths, pink, tan, and brown skin gleaming with sweat, five slim fingers clutching rifle triggers.

She struggled, but they were too fast, their weapons too deadly.

The humans showed her crew no mercy.


Word Count: 199

This is for Sunday Photo Fiction. Photo credit goes to A Mixed Bag.

j-hardy-rubble

Ash piled high over racked concrete, splintering rafters, rotting furniture. As far as Jared Thomas looked, there was nothing but grey.

“Look upon what you have wrought,” the woman said, her face hidden behind shining steel. “This is your legacy.”

Jared bent down to see a photograph of a girl and her mother, trodden underfoot and coated in dust. He wondered if there was anyone left.

“I never wanted this,” he said.

“You did not care before you beheld it with your own eyes.”

“I can change,” Jared said. “Please. Take me back. I can change!”

The woman said nothing.


Word Count: 100

This is for Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for running the challenge and J. Hardy Carrol for providing the prompt photo!

photo-20170522162303645

Ian Thorn was happy with his reputation as the finest mind in England, his impressive number of completed cases, and the money that piled up in his bank account. What he could live without were the bodies.

It was all right at first. His clients came in and he solved their murders. But then he found a man stabbed to death on the Underground during his morning commute. A visit to his brother’s house in the country revealed a secret Satanic cult.

Solving mysteries was all very good, but he preferred not to have his work follow him home.

“Take a vacation,” his friend, Inspector Banks, said. “Try the beach.”

So Thorn went to the beach. He walked the golden sands, watching sunlight play over clear waters, a salty breeze in his face.

And then he found it, floating in the shallows.

He sighed. There was another case to solve.


Word Count: 150

This is for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Thanks to Priceless Joy for running the challenge and Louise for providing the prompt photo!

tltweek68

There is a school that does not advertise, that has no website, no campus tours.

Its alumni are the powers behind the world, the figures in the shadows, whispering in the ears of presidents and kings.

They are the writers of history.


This is for Three Line Tales! Thanks to Sonya for running the challenge and Faustin Tuyambaze for providing the prompt photo!

The picture looks like a graduation which, coincidentally – or not coincidentally, given the time of year – is what I’ll be attending next week. Only a BA, though, not a degree in ruling the world from the shadows. 😉

inside-the-diner

Cheerful fifties tunes greeted Tara and Greg as they walked into the diner, a bell chiming behind them. There wasn’t a speck of dust in the place.

“Hi, folks!” a waitress said. “What brings you to our diner?”

“We needed somewhere quiet,” Tara said. “Somewhere to relax.”

The waitress smiled. “That’s usually what it is.”

The world flickered, like a bad signal on a television: counter rippling with black mold, music slowing, the waitress’s face rearranging itself like a jumbled jigsaw.

Tara blinked and all was normal again.

“So,” the waitress asked, leaning close, “what can I get you?”


Word Count: 99

This is for Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for running the challenge and Roger Bultot for providing the prompt photo!

photo-20170515154640540

They whisper of her, as they have whispered for six years of watchful peace. To some, she is a legend. To others, she is as real as the scars on their faces, the ruin of their lands, the screams that echo still as they try to sleep at night.

But now, though it is spring and the sun should be bright in the midday sky, dark clouds are drifting in. The wind grows chill and icicles form upon the leaves of trees. Children laugh as the snow settles on the ground, sprouting flowers covered in a blanket of crystalline white. They do not remember.

Horns sound from the mountains and the swift horses tear through the fresh-fallen snow. Above a great multitude in mail and fur flies the flag of the White Lion, billowing in the wind she has made.

They whisper no more.

The Winter Queen has returned.


Word Count: 149

This is for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Thanks to Priceless Joy for running the challenge and Ioniangraphics for providing the prompt photo!

tltweek67

“Just sing,” they tell him. “You’re only an entertainer and it’s not your job to talk about these things.”

But he has seen what comes of silence.


This is for Three Line Tales. Thanks to Sonya for running the challenge and Paulette Wooten for providing the prompt photo!