Guest Rumpelstiltskin Posted February 10, 2019 Share Posted February 10, 2019 Just going back to catch up on a couple past prompts so that I can start with new ones : Prompt #2: "Everything is fine!" Everything was not fine. Quote Six. My son looks at me -- trepidation and fear carving lines into his face. He looks at me because he knows he can trust me. He looks at me because he know I'll keep him safe. He looks at me because he is terrified. I squeeze his hand, praying that the smile I was trying to muster made an appearance. "Everything is fine!" Five. He scans the small crowd around us, still uncertain. "Where's Daddy?" "He'll be here," I reassure, pulling him in close to press my lips against his temple. "Everything is fine! Daddy will be here soon." Four. The sirens seem impossibly loud, even down here in the bunker -- even over the panic and the sobbing. "Why didn't he come with us?" my boy asks, choking back tears. My heart shatters. Three. I still can't tell if I'm smiling or not. "Daddy's job is very important -- he had to help some people so that they can be with their families, too. He'll be here soon. Everything is fine!" Two. With a resonating creak, the doors begin to seal. He looks at me with widened eyes, the same horror clearly running through him as was with me. "You have to stop them!" he cries. "He's not here!" One. I just hold onto him. There's no stopping it. "Everything is fine!" "You have to do something, mom -- please." Zero. "Everything is fine!" Everything is not fine. Consuming and obstreperous, the ground shook, drowning all of our cries. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
galadriel Posted February 10, 2019 Share Posted February 10, 2019 rumpels omg. i am literally stunned right now. how on earth do you manage to write something so incredibly powerful in such few words without it seeming rushed? this is such a beautifully-written, overwhelmingly sad piece, thank you for sharing. ❤️ Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest Rumpelstiltskin Posted February 10, 2019 Share Posted February 10, 2019 ;_; You're too sweet, Nim ❤️ . ^ Prompt #6: This week, we have a picture prompt! Take a look at this+ image and write a quick drabble related to it. Ummm. Modernized Shakespearean prose? *nods* Modernized Shakespearean prose -- let's go! Quote What sweeter nectar have you to offer than the taste of my lover's kiss? What more tender touch have you to offer than the caress of my lover's hand? What rapturous beauty have you to offer that could overshadow my lover's visage? Could you choose a sound more melodious than my lover's laugh? Whose daunting wit and cunning would dare compare to hers? What sword is sharper than her tongue? The light she bathes in transcends her being, casting blessed rays unto we beggars. Kiss her feet. She is the glory. A single rose is all I have to offer, dusty pink as are her lips, whispering into my ear, "You are loved." A greater gift than I could ever give to her, for she outranks we who are tethered to the earth. Wash her feet. She is the opulence. Heaving bosom, be still thundrous heart of mine. Quaking hands cannot worship her sufficiently. Be calm. Bask in her radiance; revel in her luster. A single rose is perched on her nightstand, but that is not my own. What venomous words might spill from my greedy mouth if I stay? But she breathes, "You are loved," and I am but a captive to her will. Oh, gentle heart, why must you betray me so? Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest Rumpelstiltskin Posted February 17, 2019 Share Posted February 17, 2019 Prompt #7: Use the below colour palette as inspiration for a drabble! You have full freedom with the way you interpret it and use it. ? #spoilers for WLB sequel, <.<! Quote Aede leaned around the corner of the shop's mouth, careful to stay hidden behind the pinkened reams of animal skins, watching her father tinker with the RI Coupling unit that'd been toppled over in the windstorm the night prior. She crept behind fading, warped wood of the counter, continuously stealing glances to Cyril, starting when he'd mutter something aloud to himself or curse under his breath when the unit sparked. Carefully, she pulled one of his field journals from his impressive collection, ignoring the coat of dust from the white sands, and she slinked back into their living quarters. Feeling particularly victorious, she clutched the bound log to her chest and spun around, prepared to slip out of the house completely unnoticed. As she turned, however, she was met face-to-face with her other father, his charcoal eyes gleaning and mouth quirked up into a smirk. Her breath caught in her throat as she scrambled to come up with an excuse. Mark crinkled his nose, leaning to block the doorway to the back of the house with ease. "Watcha doin'?" he asked, grin growing despite his nonchalance. "I -- I was just..." "You were stealing and sneaking out of the house?" Mark offered as she struggled with her words. "Mark? Is that you?" Cyril called from the front of the shop. Mark moved from the doorway, jerking his head to the side. "Get outta here." Aede snorted a laugh, giddily steering around him. "Thanks, Pops." "Yeah, yeah -- take Amelia with you!" Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Bunbury Posted February 18, 2019 Share Posted February 18, 2019 I'm really enjoying these! The variety of styles, tones, and settings is great, and I love what you did with this week's -- the phrase "pinkened reams of animal skins" is especially evocative. 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest Rumpelstiltskin Posted April 4, 2019 Share Posted April 4, 2019 *is excruciatingly behind on prompts* Prompt #13: Write about your character's deepest fear. Quote Mark watched the sun creep over the wall, staining the sky in mottled streaks of pinks and oranges. He'd watched the same sunrise yesterday, though it made less of a colorful display as it did now -- the important part was that he could clearly remember the first young rays glimmering over the cold, mossy stone border. Cyril snored quietly, sprawled out across their bed as he did the day before (and the day before that). Mark could clearly remember each morning, the routine of waking up as he was unceremoniously pushed out of bed by the slumbering man, unconsciously claiming territory on both the mattress and all the blankets. Everything was as it should be, so long as Mark could remember all of it. The constant looming threat of forgetting, of being forced to take the medication and losing each day as a new one began, would only gnaw at the back of his mind in moments like these. However, it remained as perilously present as the Sword of Damocles, ready to reign terror onto him at any moment. It was awful enough that much of his life consisted of mere second-long snapshots -- lost memories swirling around without context, rhyme, or reason -- but the thought of forgetting everything again unnerved him the most. If he lost himself this time, he might not ever come back, and his chance of ever getting out of this place (with Mark at his side) -- his chance of being free -- would be another forgotten memory. word count: 250 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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