RolePlayGateway™

Basically, it works like this. Once a week, I'll post a writing prompt (sometime on the weekend). Anyone else can post writing prompts whenever they want to. Writing prompts can come from anywhere, but have to be a full sentence. Posts have to use the prompt somewhere in the poem or short story (prose poems are good too, if anyone is more into that), as close to the real sentence as possible. For those of you coming up with prompts, you can take them from a novel or children's book, the way the professor advising the creative writing group I go to does, or you can do it the way I do, run fingers down a page with your eyes closed picking two (or more) random words, and creating the sentence with that. If you do pick a sentence from a book, please note which book and who it's by. I actually have a page of random nouns from the book "A Whack on the Side of the Head" (by Roger Von Oeck). If you're interested, I'll type it up for you to print out and use, just pm me. I find it easier to write on a prompt someone else comes up with, than on my own, so I definitely encourage others to post their own prompts. I also encourage you to post the works you get with the prompts. If I don't get any feedback by Thanksgiving, I'll assume no one's using them and stop.

This week:

Everything hinges on this one machine.

Okay, so I'm going to start keeping a running tally of our prompts here. Anyone is free to write on any of them, just be sure to indicate which prompt/s the writing came from.

Running Tally

1. hinges, machine. 2. fruit, farm. 3. cell, spectrum 4. adult, frame 5. lever, target 6. square, anvil 7. goldfish, tree 8. stone, apple 9. Even a killer can have qualms about burying a man still alive 10. Shivers of anticipation pulsing down his/her spine. 11. flaming chair 12. dragon 13. smoke, crimson 14. ice lion 15. diary of an everyday tool 16. eagle, blind 17. ruler, tomb 18. obligation, demonstration 19. medal, table 20. bag, bed

Quicly came up with this... ten minutes or so.

He had thrown all his time and effort into it. Nothing had escaped the intensity of his work; his fortune, his job, even his friends and family. All had either been neglected or drawn in. At last, he was there, pulling it across the stage in front of hundreds of people of much importance. Everything hinged on this one machine.

"Ladies and gentlemen. You are here to witness the initial test of the single most spectacular thing you have ever witnessed. Without further ado,"

He pulls the cord, revealing his device. People "oo" and "ah" in wonder at the gadgets, wheels, and glitter. He pushes a button. Nothing happens. People lean in closer. Nothing happens. People start to whisper, getting atsy. Still nothing happens. The inventor is calm. People start to wonder.

"What is it supposed to do again?"

"Give us all long life."

"I thought it was supposed to instantly clean the environment."

Suddenly, a light blinks, flashing brilliant red across the crowd. Their attention is once again rivoted on the machine. The inventor takes a cup of sludge the government gave him and pours it in. Nothing happens. The people lean closer. Nothing happens. The people start to whisper. Nothing happens. The inventor is calm. People start to wonder.

"It creates the elixer of life."

"One drink of the product and we'll be able to drink anything without dying."

"Even poison?"

A blue light cuts through the chatter. The machine demands their attention. A clear liquid comes out. The inventor drinks it, then passes it around. The people applaud. The government talks to him.

The inventor who had just gotten a government contract to create a machine that could turn any waste into pure water without making a sound wakes from his dream. He rubs his eyes, kisses his wife, and makes breakfast for the kids while she helps them dress.

I'll sticky this. Couldn't hurt.

aww, thanks! We still need others interested.

Dancing in the shadows
Sounds of a hidden meaning resound back
Out of the shadow it falls
Blinded by light
It scurries back into the shadow
Failure
Reboot
Failure
Reboot
Failure
fdisk
failure
shut down

((is that the kind of thing you were looking for?))

That's awesome! Yes, anything inspired by the prompt is good.

the two words for this week are fruit and farm....

"If one more person comes to this farm looking for fruit, I'm going to smash his head in!"

The fruit of my endeavor
Ever growing as I tend it
Farming it's emotions into what I want
Feeding off it like a starved animal
The beast grows within

Landing at the farm, he stared at the strange fruits, looking like a strange fusion of an apple and a Pear. "These things, I shall called them Guango", thought Samuel, "and I shall sell them to Dole and make millions." He walked back to the Heilcopter, the wilybird still seeming to want to take off.

The man, filled with envy by the luscious passionate fruits the farmer possesed. He ran forward, asking, pleading for them, but nay, nothing! The farmer of the fruits of passion declined, planting his own, basking in wealth, and the man, deprived of such pleasure, became worldly, putting the fruit before his own life. He ran forward, pushed the farmer away, grabbed the fruit, and chuckled in menacle laughter. The farmer could never take this. There was a clang. A hammer dropped. The man fell, blood sipping out of the gash....in his head...The farmer sought his vengeance.

These are awesome! Thanks for the interest.

The words this week are cell and spectrum. And the sentence:

Every cell in the dorm was a different color from the spectrum.

Happy writing!

The two researchers asked the professor, What kind of cells are these?" The professor responded, "Let us anylize their UV spectrum, to find out what the cell is made of, and if it responds to the scan, it could be life."

This week, the words are adult and frame. There's no point in coming up with a writing prompt-sentence since no one appears to be using them. Instead, a made-up ramble with snippets from real life.

I went back to the place of my childhood, figuring that would be the best place to find it. Snippets of memory framed by the tree I used to climb, the basement I used to play hide-and-go seek in, the rock that served as a playhouse. Everything was a toy, or a prop for my imaginary adventures with or without other people. Don't go to those places as an adult; it doesn't bring back the magic of childhood.

I did find that magic, but it's not in the things of my childhood. It came to me from a book. "Everything was seen through the eyes of a child. The eyes which see everything for the first time, from a new angle." The magic lies in looking at something and seeing something new, even if you've seen it before. The wire, it's not an electical wire, it's the wire used by a stunt-man to fly, the wire that holds teeth together, the wire that holds a man on the mountain, and the wire that cuts clay like it was butter. It lies in looking at two different things and seeing a connection between them. What does a dinosaur have in common with the chimeny? Both are dug out of the earth. Both are taller than a person. Both fall really hard. Both create warm air. If it's a brachiosaur, both eat branches. A child cannot get his or her arms around either of them. It's much better not to be inside either.

The eyes of a child are the eyes of creativity. If we don't create, what are our lives worth? Does it matter what we create? These questions ran through my head as I drove back home from my search, a search that had led me to five different states and a mountaintop. A search that I could've made at home. But I don't regret it. I would've regretted not going.

Her naked body was wrapped up warmly within the sanctuary of the satin sheets. He noted her cherry-coloured smile. It was the smile that he fell in love with, the same one that he would love more with every passing day. He often wondered if she was dreaming of him as she slumbered so peacefully. He glanced over at the photograph which sat upon the bedside cabinet. The one within the beautifully decorated silver frame. With a silent chuckle, he recalled that moment, when he had spontaneously taken her on a trip to the seaside. He recalled the sand that was thrown and the way that she chased him into the sea. Her hair was wind-swept, and soaked with salt water. His hair was also wind-swept and looked as if it had been purposely styled into a unkempt mullet. His t-shirt was coated in wet sand. She had asked at random an elderly lady to take the photo, so that she could forever remember that day. The day when they had strolled arm in arm across the pier. The day when they watched the moonlight reflect it's radiant allure across the murky waters. The day when they declared their sacred vows for the first time.

Years had passed, and the love-sick teenagers had blossomed into a stunning adult couple, both wearing a ring which bound them to eachother. Though years had gone, their passion for one another still burnt like a flame, growing stronger by the day, refusing to burn out.

She stirred, her legs stretching out underneath the covers. She pulled him closer towards her, nuzzling her cheek against his bare chest. He gratefully embraced the warmth from her breath, and the way it still sent a sweet chill straight down his spine. A kiss was placed upon her forehead, as he made himself comfy again. Before returning into sleep's out-stretched arms once more the pair engaged in a inaudible united chant;

"I love you ..I love you."

Dressed in a black muscle shirt with his moderate arms bulging and his favorite torn blue jeans, he leaned against the frame of the door. The door to his bedroom. On one side of it, were his Conservative parents. One future. The other side led to Kyle. The man that he loved with all of his heart. This side led to a completely different future. His parents stood in his room with some clothes packed and his guitar in the gig bag ready to go.

They had told him, he could either stop seeing Kyle, or he could find somewhere else to live.

Tears of worry and shame filled his mother eyes. To think, the shame she must feel to have a gay son. His fathers eyes were firm. There was no choice to him. His son should just step back into the room and stay with them. Give up this fling with the devil.

Kyle just stood there. He said nothing. Showed no reaction. He wanted what was best for his lover. If that was to stay here then so be it. He had always been so supportive.

Tyler's eyes kept switching back and forth between the two.

It was time to make an adult decision

Tyler's feet slowly crept back into his room. That was it, his mother's tears exploded from her eyes, this time it was joy. She stepped forward to hug him.

As she stretched her arms Tyler ducked under their reach and placed his right hand around the strap of his gig bag, and the left around the shoulder strap of his backpack.

His mother's arms fell to her side as the tears turned to sadness. Tyler returned to his full height and turned his back on them.

It was time to be my own person, and to do what I feel is right.

Tyler threw the strap over his shoulder and took Kyle's hand as the two adults strolled out the door, into the real world.

I would like to reiterate my invitation for other people to post writing prompts of their own. You don't have to write to your own prompt, but if you want to, then go ahead.

The two words are: lever and target. Happy writing!

The two men had meade it through the maze, hoping to find the target to get out of the prison. The first one looked a the strange new world, a land of fantcal creatures and shighed... "I guess we cant get over the void between us and our homeland, since we cannot fly". The second laughted and said, "Yo stupid, press the lever". The first one sheepishly did and a bridge connected the two worlds, symbolsing their way to freedom.

‘Here I am again, standing in front of the firing squad,’ observes the man in a stoic, bitter acknowledgment of his predicament.

The situation is a rather despondent one as he, a would-be suicide bomber, stands in that concrete courtyard awaiting sentencing. Chains chafe his ankles and wrists, his eyes struggle through the thin weave of oil-slicked burlap covering his head, and he listens for the last sound he will ever hear.

Click.

They pull back the lever. He is the target, but this time there will be no coming back.

I'm bored, so, first I'm going to write on the last one, then I'm going to set up the next.

An arrow thudded into the brightly painted target, displacing the other two that were already buried in the center. The black haired woman holding the bow had another notched and sighted before it ever hit, but a spray of cold water stops her. She slowly lowered her bow and glared at the red-haired woman holding the lever.

"Don't you know that'll ruin the bow?"
"Why do you bother with arrows? Guns are quicker."

She didn't bother answering. Their teacher always said it was good to know how to use any weapon they might be stuck with, and if they can make it on their own, even better. Instead, she picked up a sling while the other took care of the bow. She broke the three arrows with the clay pellets, and then proceeded to rip holes in the rest of the target's critical points.

"Bloody-minded today? Well, maybe you'll like this, partner. We've got a job."

She stopped mid-swing, and looked at the red-haired woman, one eyebrow raised.

"There's a merchant who's been selling incense with marijuana laced throughout. He needs to be taken out."

Her eyes narrow, and she nods. "Nightfall then?"
"New moon."
She smirks, and the red-head nods satisfactorily. They would hunt well tonight.

And the two new words are: square and anvil Happy stuff-yourself-silly day! (turkey-day is getting old)

I walked up the track, under the bridge I could see the line fanned out into a small yard. To the right was a long and decrepit shed, little more than a undulating slate roof supported on timbers. This housed the passenger stock. The carriages fit the shed so closely and the shed itself looks so unsafe that to remove the stock would cause the whole structure to collapse.

Beyond the carriage shed there stands a solid slate built engine shed and workshops, and as I walk closer the sound of a hammer hiting unyeilding metal echos around the building. The doors to the engine shed are open and I can just make out in the gloom the shape of a small steam engine standing on the narrow tracks. Underneath in the pit I glimpse the smokey glow of a tallow candle barely illuminating the darkness of the pit between the tracks.

Stream of to me unintelligable Welsh invective comes from beneath the loco. A man climbs out of the pit holding the candle in one hand and in the other a short piece of bent steel, clearly this is an integral part of the workings of this ancient locomotive. He nods to me briefly and walks off into the gloom of the shed.

Having nothing better to do and taking his nod as a tacit invitation I follow him down beside the engine, he turns to the right and into the workshop. Little light makes its way in through the grimey windows and the forge at one end of the large room adds little to the light merely adding dancing shadows.

The fitter strode to the forge and plunged the bar square into the middle of the fire, taking the tongs that hung on the wall by the forge he turned the bar withdrawing it enough to check its colour. When it glowed bright red he withdrew it and carefully placed it on the anvil taking a hammer he started to persuade it to another shape.