Writing Prompt Experiment

Good afternoon Netizens, bloggers, followers, and non-followers!

So, as I look at my inbox, I’ve come to realize that I am approaching 50 followers! Not much by some standards, but that is pretty big if you ask me, since I started this little endeavour without any real thought as to who would end up following it. So, as a sort of celebration I have decided to do a little something.

Here is what I ask of you: Whether you have followed my blog for a year, or just for a day, or not all at, I open up a prompting challenge. Simply prompt me in the comments with a word, a scenario, a picture, a bit of music, an emotion. ANYTHING! With what you give me I will then write something, a story or a poem, from 50-200 words, inspired by what you have given me and post it in reply to your prompting comment.

I will leave this prompting open for TWO WEEKS and a day, so it will close FRIDAY APRIL 4, 2014 and 11.59.59 PM. I will then take those prompts, and within 14 days respond to them. If I get more prompts then I can complete in those days, I will continue to write until I have filled all those which come in before that April 4th deadline. I may get none, or I may get a bunch, we’ll just have to see. This is also to get people engaged, thinking in their own creative way, about what inspires them.

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6 Comments

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6 responses to “Writing Prompt Experiment

  1. Why do I wish to taste of this again?

    • Since you were the only one to leave a prompt, I have been working on something extra special. It is, however, not completely finished and won’t be until after the long weekend.

      • I’ll be here,
        Waiting.

      • “Why Do I wish to taste of this again?”
        Jason thrust his hands into his pockets, hunching his back to help protect his head from the cold wind which whipped around him. Nights like this were rare; it was often impossible to see the actual sky through the pollution, but tonight the moon was eerily visible. It was a risk to be out this late, he knew it, but it was a compulsion and he had been unable to resist the call. It had set his bones to vibrating beneath his skin, beckoning him to move even if his will had been dead set against it. In the distance he could hear the warning calls of the curfew patrol; no one, unless they worked the night shift at the production plants or the prisons, were allowed out past night fall. Jason knew better, and he still risked his very skin to go out. It had started out innocently enough when he had been walking home from his shift months ago. Out of the corner of his eye he had seen movement, and been drawn to it without pause. What he had found had horrified, astounded, and mesmerized him. There, in the cracks of the lifeless concrete and steel ground he had seen colours that he had only dreamed of before. He couldn’t explain what it was, only that it moved rhythmically, and had been oddly calming. He had only stayed a few moments the first time, unwilling to risk the possibility that he would be caught, and whatever it was he was seeing would be destroyed. Worse yet, he imagined the possibility that it was only he who would see it, and that he would be culled for being ‘weak minded’. In the months that followed, he had come back time and time again, later and later, risking everything just to get a glimpse of it. The first cracks that had let him catch his first glimpse had been steadily spreading with each visit, and he knew before long a piece would fall away, and maybe he would get to know what it was that he saw, what it was that made him risky his life to see. Still, he could not explain why he had to come again, or why he had to come when he did.
        Tonight was no different, as he hurriedly crossed the barren street and began to run, his heart beating heavily in his chest. Just one more look, he promised himself, one more glance and he would be satisfied and would never have to come back again. A final glance over his shoulder as he approached assured him that he had not attracted any unwanted attention, and he hurriedly dropped to his knees before the cracked pavement. There, as it had been that day, blue and green moved together as if breathing. He set his hands on either side of the crack and bowed his head down over it, watching with bated breath as it moved. He had been right, though, and what had only been a sliver before was now almost as wide as his arm; he could see more than he had any other time, and he felt the warmth of it fall over him like a blanket, filling him like the memory of hot chocolate from the days before the world had changed. Though he could not explain it, he was certain that whatever it was beneath the streets was growing. It felt almost as if it was looking back at him.

        ((I apologize for the time it took to complete this; things kept popping up that I had no control over.))

  2. Pingback: Quick Words and Information (be mindful of that fourth step) | From Horror to Daily Life: Creative Writer and Academic

  3. Indeed I am growing. Growing and calling through my hunger. I have been trapped in this prison for so long, bound by the collective power of humanity. But no more.

    I pulsate, consuming fear and thought alike, harvesting scattered remnants of consciousness. I saw the man, and knew his name – Jason. His superficial thoughts glided across the night air, and I read his doubt and desire even as he thought them. Eventually I shall know more. So much more.

    Why do I wish to taste of this again? Why do I wish to consume that consciousness of man? The taint of it will course through me – a thousand tons of self-loathing accented with self-absorbed pretentiousness. When I drink him we shall be united as one, even if only for an infinitesimally brief moment. We shall be one, and I shall know all that it is to be Jason. To be man. To be in this wasteland of concrete and steel.

    So I call to him. With color and memory and desire, I call to his soul. Yes, I know his name. I know the texture of his soul. As bait to the catch, I lure him with Tantalus pleasure – the mere hint of the scent of events long gone. I call to him as I grow, as I flex my being to burst this cage.

    Why do I wish to taste of this again? No, I do not wish for the taste. I do not long for the pleasure of knowing, nor for the pain of connection. No. I do not wish to taste. I wish to consume. I wish to consume it all.

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