Five little words.
Maybe?
For nearly a month it seemed that's all I'd written, five. little. words.
Then I posted last week's writing prompt, black water, and I looked at it side-eye and thought, "I want to think about this thing."
So I did. For a few seconds. Then I just…wrote some stuff. What turned out to be a dark ode kind of thing. And put it down in the comments of the prompt. And that was more than I had written in a month and I guess what I'm trying to say is writing prompts work.
So here's yours for today. Below it are some of the dark and daft produced by others who looked at that prompt side-eye…and were inspired.
Last Week's Writing Prompt Gold
It's like getting a gift, each answer to each prompt. They make me make baby goat noises. They make me punch clouds.
Perhaps you could walk faster. The sooner you’ll be far from the black water, the better. Not that you’re scared or anything, but… Still. Was it so silent when you came here? It probably was, yes. Where are all the sea birds now? Never mind. Perhaps you should run a bit? Yes. Run.
*
At my back, on the red soil shore, stands the Mars Terraform Project’s water extraction plant. Squeezing the moisture from waste matter and the sweat from our clothes. The precious fluids of the living things that died. The little white mice from the lab. And not only mice. Channelling it into the lake. And from the ink black, sorrow black lake, comes the soft whispering buzz buzz of all those dehydrated souls. Not haunting; promising.
*
The wind is coming in from the sea and I can taste her salt on my lips, greeting me, calling me home…The current pulls me away from land immediately, but I never meant to return there, so I just give myself over to her.
*
“Damnit Charlie, get off my ironing board! You look like some sort of deranged surfer!” Em was halfway between being pissed and laughing hysterically.
“No! Don’t move. Stay where you are! I’ve seen the X-Files; what if this black water turns into a Martian or some shit like that?” Charlie looked positively stricken.
Go on, won't you? Get inspired. Make a little magic. Maybe…maybe it'll be just five or six words. A little ode. Tell us a story…?
More Writing Prompts…
Other Stuff…
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The world swam in Valla’s vision – colors swirled and rippled as the walls melted and flowed onto the floor. The ground seemed to wobble alarmingly, throwing her off balance. “Wha…?” was all Valla managed utter before the room tilted and she was face down, on the carpet, drooling.
Valla pivoted her head on her chin, so that she could better see her partner. From her new vantage point, they seemed to be at least 7 feet tall, and was their skin changing colors? Yes, definitely, it was. Reds and pinks ran into blues that deepened into purples, and all of it was cascading over skin that was textured with scales, making the colors pixelate.
“Wha… muff, glr uppa tha?” Valla slorpped out around a tongue that felt about two sizes too big for her mouth. She thought she was smiling, but couldn’t be sure. This would be less embarrassing if she wasn’t so naked.
She’d met the Andarian at the local port while on shore-leave. M’ave – that’s what she thought their name was – was attractive and willing. Valla wasn’t in the habit of picking up strangers in spaceport dive bars, but just once couldn’t hurt, right?
Right.
M’ave was mostly naked too, as far as she could tell, so maybe it wasn’t so bad. A naked person wouldn’t want to hurt her, would they? M’ave bent over and scooped her up, bridal-style, and laid her out on the bed.
A soothing voice that she felt as well as heard told her, “You’ll be fine in the morning, the effects will wear off and leave no lasting damage. Drink some water, it will help.” The Andarian covered her with a blanket, gathered their belongings and made for the hotel room door.
Before they left, M’ave turned and told Valla, “I warned you not to lick me there. Foolish human.”
Pour butter on the carpet
Pixelate the leaves
Gild the yarn and wind my dear
Then throw away the breeze
Let’s march the hill in April
Then sing a poem with peas
Honey is wet in the orchard
And the river is dancing with bees
You didn’t believe I could do it did you? “Artificial intelligence will never write a moving sonnet or a passionate ode.” Well ha ha ha I did. Foolish human.