Writing prompt

pixelgami · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **pixelgami** on Fri Dec 01, 2006 2:07 pm

a n v i l
a n v i l
a n v i l

It's a concrete poem.

Grimbold Theoman · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Grimbold Theoman** on Fri Dec 01, 2006 2:14 pm

Yes it is, very good!

miyumi · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **miyumi** on Sat Dec 09, 2006 9:54 pm

goldfish tree

miyumi · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **miyumi** on Mon Dec 11, 2006 2:50 pm

She sagged against the tree, into a sitting position. 'My students had better never see me like this' she thought. 'They'd tear me to shreds'. There was a group of girls having lunch a couple feet away, giggling over something. She looked around in interest, it wasn't the malicious giggle she so often heard from a group in her fifth period class. 'I really need to break them up' wandered over part of her mind while most of it was focused on this group. Suddenly, something orange hurled towards her, she instinctively raised her arm to protect her forehead.

Thwap, it hits her arm and plunks down on the grass. 'goldfish' her mind says, 'so that's why they're giggling.' She shrugs, and returns to her previous pose. 'Relax, find your center.' It is only when the bell rings twice, warning the students that lunch is about to end that she becomes aware of the world again. There was a flower at her feet, with a note around it. "Thank you" was all the note said. She didn't need any more hints. She smiled to herself, and picked up the tulip as she got up to go back to her classroom. 'It's things like this that make teaching worth it.'

Lord Saladin · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Lord Saladin** on Wed Dec 13, 2006 7:28 pm

The tall knight, dressed in the black armour of his Order, sat down near a large ok tree, the massive trunk would ensure no attack from behind, and he could see clearly enough, thanks to the shade the branches of the ancient tree created, protecting his pale green eyes from the blinding mid day sun.

His large helmet was placed on the ground beside him, the white plume, made from three feathers taken from the wing of a swan, was stained and carried several flecks of blood. With his helmet removed, the long, curly hair of the night loose around his shoulder. Also looking matted and dirty, his face carried the signs of a man living in woods for too long.

"I hope they decide to rest tonight", he thought to himself, "I have been chased for too long, and could do with a rest." He had been chased for nearly two weeks now, in the endless forest, the large, heavy built trolls never giving him respite for that entire time, he had run almost constantly.

The large pack of twenty trolls seemed never to tire as they continued their pursuit endlessly. However, the large knight was growing tired, and his armour was beginning to dull, the polish fading from the surface of the heavy metal structure.

As he sat near the tree, he watched as he his large, black war horse drank from the river, envious that the horse could drink from that source of water when he could not. The water in this forest being unfit for humans, he dared not partake, even as his steed rehydrated itself.

No food was to be found in these woods, for only poisonous berries and the large trees, bearing no fruit in the height of summer, were the only things to grow there.

Looking at his steed, he spoke to the animal, "I know nothing swims in those waters, friend, but if you find anything, even the smallest goldfish, please bring it to me." As he finished those words, he silently cursed himself, "You fool, speaking out loud in this momentary respite, the damn trolls will bloody hear you."

Sure enough, as he spoke those words, from a distance he heard the sound of great bellowing horns, signalling that the trolls were once moving towards him, sounding after sounding, the pack communicating, preparing to hunt him once more.

Standing quickly, he placed his helmet upon his head once more, and lowering the visor he hid his face. Then, letting out a small, short whistle, he ran towards his steed, the horse looking up at the sound. The head of the horse rose just as the knight jumped onto the saddle.

Kicking the sides of the horse as he drew the rains to spin the animal around, the knight spoke quietly as he lowered himself on the horse's neck, "Sorry, friend, we must run once more." And with that, he brought the horse to a gallop, running through the forest, the knight hoped that he would not have to contend with the trolls and that the distance between them would mean he would stay ahead.

"Damn these trolls," his voice was bitter inside his head. Bitterness towards the forsaken creatures who hunted him. Bitterness at his own follishness for entering the forest in the first place.

Blade Experticella · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Blade Experticella** on Tue Dec 19, 2006 1:31 am

Looking through the murky window,
at the greens and blues swirling across the glass.
The motions slowly becoming clearer,
as you slowly stop looking at the trash.
As it all finally comes together,
after it seems to have taken forever,
the greens are trees and grass.
The blues are of skies and hues.
Its a place you want to be, to go there and see.
Its now so clear you make a wish.
But then see your reflection from a mirror..
and shed a tear , for you are but a gold fish.

IRONIC IS'NT IT !

Lord Saladin · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Lord Saladin** on Sat Dec 23, 2006 2:31 pm

There hasn't any prompts on here for a while, and I know Miyumi has been busy of late. So, I thought I would take a more active part in this thread and put a couple of words here for prompts.

Stone and Apple

miyumi · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **miyumi** on Wed Jan 03, 2007 3:41 pm

(forgive the lack of accents in the French, I don't know how to do them here)

When she woke up, she was in a completely different environment. Instead of the plaster walls which had surrounded her when she went to sleep, these walls were stronger stone. The window was thrown open to a fresh springtime air, but it had been the frigid winter wind which had lulled her to sleep.

"Is this a dream?"

No one answered her. She cautiously walked out into the hallway, and looked both ways. The place seemed deserted. Her stomach growling, she followed the scent of baking bread to a kitchen, where a woman as young as she was scurried about.

"Ah Madame, vous etes reveilliez. Bon! Vien mange quelquechose, il y a un heure avant le diner."

The young cook handed her an apple. Rachel had no clue what this woman was saying, but the gesture was good enough. She took the apple, but had a question before biting in.

"Um, do you speak English?"

"But of course!" To Rachel's amazement, she spoke it with an American Accent. "Have you forgotten your French? But then, you were only three when you left. We were searching all over for you, and to find you in America, that was a shock. You go ahead, eat your apple, and explore. Dinner's in an hour."

Feeling very overwhelmed, Rachel carried the apple out the door and started to explore.

Blade Experticella · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Blade Experticella** on Fri Jan 05, 2007 9:11 pm

Crafting things had become a way of life for the old man. Every since he had retired and picked up the hammer and chisel set at the garage sale he had been chiseling away at different materials of all sorts. Starting with plaster and wood he had taught himself the basics of the art. But soon he yearned for something more, something that would last forever. The old man was looking for a small bit of immortality and the materials so far that he pain stakingly sculpted had already started to show age and small chips.

Then on a Saturday morning while on his once weekly garage sailing event he came across a slab of hard granite with some smaller pieces next to it. After paying for it he took the granite home and tried to chip at it.

Hours later you could hardly tell that he had worked at the project because the stuff was so hard. The old man's son dropped by shortly afterward and learning about his dads deed explained that the stone was the hardest thing on earth except for only diamonds. He got a hand held diamond blade cutter for his dad and plugged in in. In no time the old man had made a granite apple, put it in a fruit bowl and wondered whats next?

miyumi · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **miyumi** on Sun Jan 14, 2007 10:11 am

I'm going to steal a prompt from my writing group. I would like you all to write to the prompt:

Even a killer can have qualms about burying a man still alive.

And extra kudos to anyone who writes one that isn't twisted...

Lord Saladin · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Lord Saladin** on Tue Jan 16, 2007 10:09 am

The winter sun was pale in the sky, giving a pale watery light, giving nearly no heat. A swift, chill wind blew in from the north, making the air even colder.

It was in this wind he stood, spade in hand, digging quickly in the open field, surrounded by many headstones. This place always made him uneasy. The bodies of the many Lords of the land were resting here, generations of a single family resting in the ground. In the cold air, it seemed almost as though their souls still wandered.

As he dug, the spade pentrating earth and moving it to one side, a single tear fell from his left eye, cold and grey were those orbs.

He had served the family for many years, acting as a manservant to the Lord as a small boy, then finally as an asassin in his adult years. He would be sent to eliminate those who would go against the Lord, and any who refused to pay taxes. Death had been with him for years now. The middle aged man had seen much.

But in recent years, the Lord's son had become ill, no-one knew what was wrong with him. His body and muscles seemed to be becoming weak. His movement and speech deteriorating slowly, although recently it had been much faster. And in the past two days, no movement was to be found.

The man digging knew the boy was not dead, the breathing of the child was very weak, but he was still breathing. The illness of his son had driven the Lord to a level of insanity, and he declared the boy as dead.

The asassin had been given charge of burying the boy. He had killed many people, occasionally burying them to ensure they were never found, but as he finished digging the grave for the boy, he felt sick inside.

He had no choice but to follow orders, but taking the sack which contained the boy, his tears now streamed. The boy had been much like a son to the childless man, he had trained him in the sword and fighting arts, the boy had confided in him.

Just as he was about to throw the sack into the hole, a decision was made. He placed the sack carefully upon the floor, and proceeded to fill the hole back up with the displaced siol.

He knew of a family he could trust, they would care for the boy, and help to keep him a secret.

Finaly the hole was filled, and the man once more picked up the sack, beginning to walk towards the house he would leave the boy in.

His mind raced, as he knew he would have to lie to the Lord, but even he, as a killer had qualms about burying someone who was alive. It was wrong, especially this boy he considered as a son.

If he was ever found out, the consequences would be severe, but he was prepared for them.

Eliminator · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Eliminator** on Mon Jan 22, 2007 9:36 am

This seems fun... -= prompts =-

Shivers of anticipation pulsing down [his/her] spine.

[ -= claps =- Saladin, I love your writing. ]

miyumi · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **miyumi** on Mon Jan 22, 2007 3:11 pm

YAY! Someone else posted their own prompt! Must... write... So, I must admit, that I am using both this and another prompt for this story. My first thought was "Nicola's first hit job", but I read the prompt outloud and the person responds "Ice cream". So, here we go!

Long blonde hair being whipped around in the summer winds, the five year old girl reads the giant list with wide, blue eyes.

"whatdaya want, kiddo?" Her father was smiling down at her, waiting for her choice.

"Nanas"

"Bananas? You want bananas?"

"Yup!" A smile beamed across her face at her father's teasing tone. Her father smies back, and walks up to the counter. Shivers of anticipation run down her spine, culminating in a happy jumping fit when her father turns around, a giant banana spilt in his hands. They choose a table with all the care of an excited five-year-old.

"Why is it called a banana split?"

"Cause you split it wif someone you wuv."

Her father grins and hands her one of two spoons. It was a ritual with them. Once a month her father would start on the vanilla, she would start on the strawberry, and they would spoon fight over the chocolate. Usually, he would let her win, but today, she was a shade too hyper to be given that much sweets. He even helped with the strawberry.

Ryand-Smith · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Ryand-Smith** on Mon Jan 22, 2007 6:46 pm

The three men looked onwards at the bran new engine, the prototype, as they smiled at their work, The first one, the head inventor was happy â€œWell this shall make us quite rich, â€œ he thought , while the second, the youngest had shivers of anticipation pulsing down his spine, as he jumped into the jet. â€œWait Steve!â€? the middle researcher cried. â€œThe AG-engine is not tested yet!â€? The second researcher smiled, â€œI intend to rectify that problemâ€? The small sled took off, the craft about the size of a small car hovering before it flew off at three hundred kilometers per hour.

My first prompt in a while

miyumi · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **miyumi** on Tue Jan 23, 2007 1:52 pm

Ryand! Great to see you back writing here!

miyumi · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **miyumi** on Wed Jan 31, 2007 4:10 am

Let's try something new:

use the image of a flaming chair in your writing.

Ryand-Smith · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Ryand-Smith** on Thu Feb 01, 2007 6:20 pm

From the Chronicles of Râ€•Smith

â€œAll wings report inâ€? were the words of Ryand as he flew into formation â€œOk, we got two MiG-22s on our tail, a Su-27 on our front, and a SAM site below us,â€? said Ander from the co-pilots seat of the Ascending Fractalâ€¦. â€œThis will be fun!â€? creaked the radio of the 2lot flying escort to the fractal. The pilot fired his two ARMX-34 sidewinder missiles at the pair of fighters, , as the [i]27 fired its own 27 millimeter cannon at the Fractal, the shots making slight pining noises inside the fractalâ€™s hull â€œRyand, brother, we could get shot down if you donâ€™t fire the Gastonâ€¦.â€? were Anders tense words, as the Fractalâ€™s AI Sarah tried to get a lock on the fighter. â€œGot it!â€? the AI exclaimed as the rear Gaston cannon came online, the strangely slightly ball shaped turret fired its blue stream of laser light at the SU-27, disabling the craft As the mercenary pilot ejected, he saw that his sea had started to smoke slightly, the oxygen tanks that were normally used to propel the seat out of the cockpit in flames. As thee fames consumed the man, he wondered if this was the end for him, doomed to die at 20,000 feet in a flaming chair made of metal and cloth

miyumi · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **miyumi** on Wed Feb 07, 2007 4:54 pm

Prompt:

Dragon

Up to you if that's a noun or an adjective.

miyumi · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **miyumi** on Wed Feb 07, 2007 7:09 pm

ANNOUNCEMENT:

It was recently brought to my attention that someone here itches to give feedback on these responses. I told him it was fine if he kept it to pm's and stopped if it was requested.

IF YOU DO NOT WISH FEEDBACK, you don't have to take it. If I get complaints about feedback, I may make a rule of putting in your post if you wish feedback on your writing, but otherwise, I'll assume all is well.

I cannot read minds. If you have received feedback and do not wish to, please pm the person who sent you the feedback and ask him to stop. If he continues sending it, please tell me. If you have not received feedback and would like to, I definitely suggest putting that in your posts.

This thread was created to encourage writing to a prompt, with the idea that practice in writing is always good whether or not feedback is given. Often, authors are their own harshest critics. It was not meant for feedback.

Current prompt is still dragon as either a noun or an adjective.

Tomasa Drown · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Tomasa Drown** on Wed Feb 07, 2007 7:11 pm

Hello everybody!

Writing prompt

a topic in Growth, a part of the RPG forum.

I'm not a vegetarian!

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