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Writing Prompts: Tétartos

2 years ago

Tétartos basically means four in Greek...I am so creative, my writing prompt has words in a different language :P
Anyways, while I was looking through pictures...found this. Idk. Just found it funny. Why am I putting it here? Because why not?

1) You're a psychiatrist, and you have a patient with Dissociative Identity Disorder. throughout the entire session, both of the personalities claim that they are the original one and if you make them go away, you'll be killing the real person inside. 

2) Just casually putting my face on.

3) "I had read between the lines. But that didn't mean I like what I found there."

Anyone is free to participate, don't need to ask me if they can in PMs; you can join as it's a public writing prompt. No pressure if you can't think of anything for the current one, since there'll be another one next monday, and I'm sure I'll eventually have a prompt you like.

Not doing ranking + judging anymore, but I can give criticisms if asked.

Inform me if you don't wish to be tagged to this anymore. Also tell me if I missed anyone. I'll eventually see it.
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Writing Prompts: Tétartos

2 years ago

what the heck man I didn't even get to complete my other one

Writing Prompts: Tétartos

2 years ago

You can still do the other one x'D

Writing Prompts: Tétartos

2 years ago

Oh, I will.

Writing Prompts: Tétartos

2 years ago

Alright, here you are. I probably wrote too much and bent the rules, but whatever. I'd like a number 9 criticism with a side of fries, please. 1, 2, 3, Action:

One finds comfort in the room of a therapist, but mine has become a private Hell. 

At the time of the incident, it had been a gloomy eve following a shower that mildewed the curtains and left me sopping wet as I trudged into my warmly lit office. On the walls, I had pictures of ancient family homes and children eating ice cream. I had soothing textures that patients could grab onto in times of internal peril, clocks that did not tick, and windows of light, silky fabrics that let but sparse light into the room. On the floor was a large throw rug with a spiraling pattern.

Perhaps the only disturbing artifact was a painting of a wolf that I kept in such a position so that only I could see it unless my patient turned around. It was a large gray wolf, with hair sticking out of its back like hay from a bale and a tail that hung low to the mossy ground. It bared its teeth menacingly before skin that scrunched up around its beady red eyes.It was a reminder to me of the savagery hidden within any animal spirit with the will to survive, even when the clock behind the eyes does not function, does not tick to the time.

That evening I had a singular visitor, one of whom the local townsfolk said had turned into a madman who turned on himself and on others. I myself was a fond follower of Freud's practices of psychoanalysis, and I knew I could crack the code of this man's complex. I knew all about the man, who was a struggling fur trader in these parts, and whose father had served in the Civil War around half a century ago. His name was, as I recall -

"Roelf." 

"Excuse me?" I blurted, alarmed. 

"Name's Roelf Higgins, pleased to meet you, sir." 

"Oh, of course, of course. I was only a little startled, but - hold on - why did you not wait outside until sent for?" 

Here, the young man sitting before me cringed to a deep violet color and bowed his head. 

"Oh, sorry sir, most definitely, I did not mean to bother you. If you please, I will just take up my things now and leave, really, if I cause you so much trouble." 

A nice enough man, I thought. I promptly waved away his apologies and offered him a cup of tea. 

"Oh, thank you kindly. I shan't be so greedy, though. You have some things to tell me?" 

"Yes, It's about the matter of your skinning off the top of someone's arm during the white seal fur auction yesterday afternoon." 

A blank face stared back at me. "I'd better leave, sir. You've been gracious to me, but it seems there's been a mistake." 

"And why would that be?" 

"I never did such a thing," he replied, with the bluest and most innocent eyes I have yet seen on this Earth. 

I quickly scribbled a few notes in my pad. Yes, memory repression is natural, but this is... well, so short term. I looked up again. 

"Mr. Roelf, why exactly have you come to my office on this Wednesday evening?" 

"Roelf, sir? Why, me name's ne'er been Roelf, silly name it is. Name's Filch Diggory.I been walkin' along here and I thought a to myself that Mr. Jeremy might be wantin an addition to this fine rug 'ere," he announced, patting the floor with a veined hand. 

"I got me some bear furs, mountain cat furs, deer furs, rabb-et furs, why, I even got some fine wolf furs. Just let me know, Mr. Jeremy, and I'll bring a cart right here, right'a to your own doorstep." 

I looked at him again. It was the same face, sure, but something was different. Something had changed. I could see it in his lusting eyes, a hungry blue, steel around the rims and gleaming like a bar of gold. 

"What do you say, pal? Wanna buy? Wanna buy? C'mon, I got a family to feed." 

"Mr. Diggory, if that is what you call yourself, quiet down. Yesterday, whether or not you will admit it, you viciously attacked a disgruntled auction participant. I am here to find out why.Now, I want you to tell me about your father. How would you describe your relationship with him?" 

And here his face changed again. It shriveled up around the nose, picked up around the cheeks to stretch out a leering smile, and creased in the forehead.The eyes turned an amorphous, dull gray.

"Oh,fa-ther,"he sang in a lilting voice. 

Something about this new form chilled my heart and stopped my blood from flowing for seconds. A disorder that changed the very nature of the man, left him with only seconds of solace as a self. Something had cleaved him, something had torn the rage from the greed, the greed from the placid innocence, the purity from - 

"Father always wanted his way, didn't he? Wanted me to clean the horses, clean the rifles, sell the heirlooms. 'Hurry, Roelf. Hurry,' he would say. 'No one's got time for you, little brat. See these spots on the floor? And you haven't sold in a week? Intolerable. I ought to beat you.' " 

Here he stood up and picked up the heavy oak chair casually and lunged forward. But he dropped it, and it splintered on the ground as I grimaced. 

"No, don't do it, please, he's not father, he wouldn't understand," a pure voice reached out from tortured lungs. 

He lurched to the other side of the room. "The eye, I can see, watching me, just like father always did, always disapproving, always seething."

Here I saw him looking down toward the rug, the beautiful spiral rug whose black center stared up at all in the room and saw even the primal rage hidden within my heart. Its black terror reverberated into the upper darkness of my abysmal room.

"Please, let's leave now, sir, you've been kind, you've been-" 

"Selfish, isn't he? And naive. Thinks he can see inside us. Thinks he can understand the heart, billowing like a great stain on this earth, a cancerous-" 

"Good man, you are, thanks for the tea, thank you kindly, just don't forget to send a letter soon," and he was about to leave the room daintily when he bellowed “Shut up!”, picked up a clock from the wall, smashed it on the ground, and began to rip at his own throat with the jagged end of the wooden pendulum.

His eyes bugged out as the sliver pierced deeper into his pale, dainty skin. And a voice retched out from the cavern of his mouth. 

"Furs for sale, kind gentleman. Furs for sale, cheap!"

Right before my eyes, two figures began to diverge from the one, just like when you squint your eyes and try to see double. There were two Roelfs, one digging the pendulum into the squealing one's throat, and the oppressor had changed again; he was snarling; he was a wolf; he was sinking his teeth into his own neck.

As I watched silently in horror, my mouth ajar, one was left bleeding on the floor while the wolf snarled at me.I snatched a loaded pistol from the very bottom drawer of my desk, and even as the wolf pounced at me a shot went off. Powder fell like perverse snow onto my now-stained rug, which had beheld all, witnessed all that had occurred. And now on the floor there was but one body lying, destitute and ripped to shreds.

Writing Prompts: Tétartos

2 years ago

Welp. I tried and failed. Blame it on my brain only half working and it being my first time actually writing anything like this. I am most certainly not proud of this, because it just sucks. I'll try doing the next one better :')

----

Some different cases have been coming in this day. One of my patients had a trauma, another one had bipolar disorder but the one that came waltzing into my office during my break time was the worst case.

"Hi, I'm Joseph." The man in front of me said, holding out his hand for me to shake. He was tall and had blond hair, his eyes as green as a young tree's leafs. 

I hesitantly grabbed onto his and and shook it. 

"Hello, I'm dr. Kanwal. May I ask why you are here? I have never seen you before, neither do I have you on my list of appointments today?"

"I don't Know actually, just saw this and thought, why not go inside, and introduced myself. What is this place?" His eyes began scanning the room. 

"So you just went inside without knowing this place? Where are you from and what is your full name?"

I fished out a paper to fill in his details as he walked around the room, looking at some books on a shelve in the corner.

"Did you read all these books?" His voice was a bit softer now, making me frown.

"Excuse me?"

"Have you read all these books, sir..."

He dragged on the sir, as if not knowing who I was. 

"Kanwal, dr. Kanwal. Now please answer my question, Joseph. What's your full name and where are you from?"

His eyes landed on me, a questioning expression on his face.

"Kanwal? Joseph? Who are these people?" He looked even more puzzled now, his hands were folded in front of him as he began looking scared.

"Your name's Joseph right? Ok, then. I am doctor Kanwal and I'm willing to help you during my break time so you'll have to be thankful. Before helping you, though, I need your info. So please, for the third time, answer my questions."

I began getting a bit frustrated with this guy. He was annoying, acting like he didn't know what just happened seconds ago... wait.

"I'm sorry, mister Kanwal, but I do not know of said person. My name is Charon van Donk and I am from this small town here in England. What else is it you will have to know, sir?" His eyes began to relax before hardening.

"Will you now tell me what the hell this place is mister Kanwal? You really suck at keeping up a convo." He sneered.

I studied him as his eyes became softer again. 

"Did you read this book?"

The man turned back to the books on the shelve, picking out one and turning it to me. "It's a really nice book..." Smiling softly he put it back.

Then I realised. DID. I should've known it. This person, these men. They are two, yet one.

"Charon, do you have some kind of voice inside your head?" 

He turned to look at me with a scowl.

"Excuse me, old geezer, but my name is not Charon. I am Joseph. But now you say it, yes. Yes, I do have some voice in my head. His name is Charon and he's really fucking annoying. He talks too softly and I'd rather get rid of him. Please help me with that?"

His eyes began changing rapidly and his knees buckled. 

"H-help... Us." A mixture of both their voices cried as the man in front of me grabbed at his chest, seeming to get no air. 

I couldn't do anything at that moment. I had never seen anything like this happening. The man, Joseph and Charon, began to fall back trying to get air into his lungs. 

Five minutes after staring  at the horrible scene in front of me it stopped. 

"You had little to do with this so you are to not feel guilty. I will still thank you for your help for now I have seen the voice within myself and made an end to it. Not just him but also myself."

It was Charon speaking, and choking. 

He made an end to it..

My room became silent again. What had just happened?

I kept staring at the dead man in front of me for the following 10 minutes before a knock came.

"Mister Kanwal, your next appointment is here. Do you want me to let them enter?" My assistant Mary asked through the door.

"Tell them to find a different psychologist, Mary. I'm quitting this god damned job. I have had enough bad cases but this had to be the worst, please clean it for me as I take my leave."

 

Writing Prompts: Tétartos

2 years ago

Nah, this is decent.

I don't know if it's what you were going for, but I found it pretty hilarious at parts. The way he just casually leaves and tells his secretary to clean up is priceless. Also, where did you come up with the name Charon van Donk?

It's pretty funny that he quits his job over an entirely unscheduled appointment with some random guy who just waltzes in and starts making conversation about books while the psychologist continues to ask why he's there. The "patient" then courteously informs the psychologist of his own suicide. How has this guy survived for so long? His two personalities are completely hopeless!

Writing Prompts: Tétartos

2 years ago

Thanks,

I did try to go for something really random, so that's what's up. The name charon just popped up in my head and van Donk.. I really don't know to be honest just began writing and that popped up, kinda shitty how I explained that. I'm happy your actually liked it :)

Writing Prompts: Tétartos

2 years ago
If anyone reads this criticism would be really appreciated, I need all the help I can get please!

After serving the Maryland State police for more than eight years now, the office coffee machine had been abused to the point of no return. Bandy Jamison has just completed her usual morning harassment of said machine, and took her cup of mediocre coffee into the main office. She had been working here for quite some time, and at thirty-six she would probably only have a few years left out on the field before being chained to an office desk. Already Brandy felt her waistline was growing - it was hard for her metabolism to keep up tight the constant stream of sugary coffee and donuts. She by no means had the intimidating aura of her youth, and in fact her demeanour was quite friendly for a police officer. She walked past the desks of the new recruits, smiling encouragingly at a few who looked up with nervous eyes. It was hard when you first started, especially the paperwork. Some days work was hard for her too, especially today. Brandy had been assigned the case of a young girl's death, and it was her job to interview the mother of the child. Luckily it was just a routine investigation into an accidental drowning, but dealing with the grief and anger of the mother would undoubtedly make for a tough morning.
Brandy came to a halt in front of a plain metal door, 'interview room four'. Sighing, she stepped inside.
"Zara Monal?"
A slim, brown-haired woman looked up quickly and hurriedly wiped away the remnants of tears from her piercing green eyes. She appeared pale and tired, weighed down by the dark bags that came with endless sleepless nights.
"That's me." she said, her voice catching slightly.
"I'm so sorry for your loss, Zara. We really appreciate you being so cooperative, it helps us wrap this up as quickly as possible."
Brandy forced a smile, trying to seem encouraging. It must have worked, because she was rewarded with a perfect grin from the grieving mother.
"Now, Zara, I just need to confirm a few detailed with you, if that's okay.
Zara sat up taller in her chair and nodded her approval.
"Alright. So to begin, would you please state the full name and birthdate of your child."
"Lily Grace Monal. Born 19th August, 2012."
"Thank you. Now would you mind talking about the events leading up to the incident? Feel free to take your time, there's no rush."
"No, it's fine, I can talk about it." Zara took a deep breath. "Everything was normal, just like any other day. It was a Saturday, so we slept in that morning. Lily had been given ice skates for her fourth birthday, and she was desperate to try them out. We drove to the ice rink, she was out there all day. She took to it so quickly, absolutely loved it. Later that night, I was making dinner. I thought she was in her room, and I went upstairs to tell her to come and eat, but.. she wasn't there. I searched the whole house, top to bottom, all her usual hiding places."
"How long were you searching inside?" interrupted Brandy.
"I'm not sure, probably fifteen, maybe twenty minutes?"
"Thanks. So what did you do next?"
"I- I walked outside, screaming out to her. It was freezing, it was around 8:30 and there was a wind blowing in. Somehow I noticed footprints on the ground, and that's when I realised she must have gone off to the old pond in the back garden. It had frozen over, so she probably thought she could skate on it. I should have realised sooner, I should have paid more attention." She hung her head. Brandy could see how hard it was to re-live the horror all over again.
"What did you do when you... found her?" she prompted. Zara sniffed and bit down on her lip, trying not to cry.
"I sprinted to the pond as fast as I was able. I tried to be there in time, tried to save her. But I came around the corner and the ice on the pond had already been broken. It looked so wrong, the pale ice had been so pretty but now it was scarred by that dark gash. The water looked so black in the darkness, so deep and unforgiving. I ran over to the hold in the ice, stuck my hands into that cruel water. I touched something-" Zara began to sob, her tears falling unchecked.
"I felt her hand, it didn't even feel like her. It was so small, so cold. I couldn't- I couldn't accept she was never going to hold my hand properly again. I pulled on her, pulled her out of the water just by one hand and I heard the socket in her arm pop, I was pulling too hard but she didn't cry out, she didn't move and she just lay where I had heaved her to, face down on the dirt."
Brandy decided to interrupt. Enough was enough.
"Thank you for that, Zara. I know it was hard. I just need to ask one last thing. Did she have any injuries before the incident? We're just trying to tick all the boxes, find out what bruises Lily accumulated during the actual event."
"Uh, she had... She had some scrapes on her knees, just small ones from playing outside... Oh, and her head. She hit her head falling down the stairs, it left a big bruise." Brandy looked up.
"A bruise on her head? Whereabouts? When did that happen?"
"It was towards the back, right on the top. Happened probably a week before. It didn't seem serious."
"Excuse me, just a minute." said Brandy. She rushed out of room four and back to her desk, reaching for her case file.
"Lily Monal, aged four. Deceased, cause of death: accidental drowning. Notable injuries: Large bruise, upper cranium. Inflicted 0-2 hours before death, possibly contributed to drowning."
Brandy sat down heavily. She had read between the lines, but that didn't mean she liked what she found there.

Writing Prompts: Tétartos

2 years ago

I like it! I found it well paced, with only a few spelling errors. The plot twist caught me off guard, and really tied up the story well. You write people in despair pretty well, I might add.

 

Writing Prompts: Tétartos

2 years ago

Here's a story on last week's prompt, Critisism is helpful:

Bobby walked home from work, being careful not to step on the cracks in the cement. He didn't want to consciously harm his own mother; she was the one who single handedly raised him, after all. In fact, getting home to Mama (as she was affectionately called) was the only thing on his mind. She was making baked potatoes and pork ribs tonight, and that was his favorite. In fact, that was the thing she made every night, now that he thought about it. Not, that he did that much.

The smell of dog poop and freshly cut grass was a familiar thing to Bobby, as he walked through the shortcut that cut directly across the park and to his home street. He looked directly upwards, hoping to see if he could catch a glimpse at the stars through the closely knit tree branches, thick and full of leaves. Catching him by surprise, a gruff voice cut through the thin veil of Bobby's concentration.
"Hey Bobby, is that you?" A young man with pale skin, dirty blonde hair, wearing a faded and stained green hoodie and holey jeans called out to him.

"Yeah, Ches-ter, it's me." Bobby smiled at his friend, his only friend, Chester. "I take this path every night and day to work and back. You know that!" Bobby smiled and laughed, with a ridiculous grin on his face. "I gotta be home by 11:00 PM! I work at the old Farnesi's down the roa-" His words were interupted by the sharp insult of his friend.

"Of course I know that, Bobby! You tell me this every night, you blockhead!"

Bobby frowned at looked down at his feet, "You know I don't like you calling me names, Ches-ter. Mama says I shouldn't talk to you," He began twiddling his fingers together, while still avoiding eye contact  with his friend.

Chester sighed, taking a few steps towards Bobby. "You know I can't see very well in the dark." Bobby looked up, and took a glance around the park. The closest light was near the bathrooms, nearly 500 paces away. "I wanted to look around in the sewers near here, people say it's haunted."

Bobby sniffed, and looked at Chester. He smelled like cigarettes. "But, Mama says I gotta be home by 11:00 PM." Bobby stated this almost master-of-factly as he looked into the depths of his comrade's tired, blue eyes.

Chester laughed and put his arm around his friend, squeezing his shoulder a bit. He grinned at him and shook his head, "Y'know buddy, it's just you and I in this world. Bobby and Chester against the whole dang world!" Chester spread his arm, moving it slowly in an arc.

"What about Mama?"

Chester frowned. "Mama? Mama doesn't care about you, man! Why do you think she has you work at Farnesi's from 7:00 AM to 10:00 PM? She can hardly stand to be around you! Really, you and I are the only people worthwhile in this crummy place!"

Bobby pouted, and tears formed in his eyes. What did Chester mean by all that? Of course Mama loved him, she made him his favorite meal every night. "I dunno," Bobby said rather flatly.

"Whatever, man." Chester began to walk off into the dark. Bobby fidgets alone, unsure of whether he should follow his friend or not. Bobby frowned, and decided to stick with his buddy. He sprinted over to Chester's postiton, and macthed his stride. "You made the right choice," Bobby heard his friend smile.

The two walked in mostly silence, the dark sky and dimly lit streets gave them both an uneasy feeling. "I've never been over by this side of town." Bobby looked around and put his hands under his armpits as a chilling breeze licked their faces.

"Don't worry buddy, it'll be worth it." Chester doesn't sound very reasurring. Eventually the two came to a considerably sized manhole in the middle of the road. Chester looked down at the old iron manhole, cobered in rust and dirt. "I'll go down first and you come after me. But I'll need your help gettin' this thing off," He pointed at the iron covering. Bobby nodded and squatted down, aiding his friend. The two pryed the metal covering off and slid it over to the side. A series of metal rungs decended into the dark, greeting them. Chester wasted no time in climbing into the pitch balck hole, and called out to his companion as he hit the bottom. "It's not so bad down here! Come on!" Chester reached into his pocket and pulled out his lighter, igniting it. The small tongue of flame illuminated a small space around him, but only Bobby could see the thing behind him.

Bobby's heart dropped into his stomach. A gaunt, pale beast towered over his friend, it's gaping mouth full of rotting teeth. The eyes of a souless monster stared into the inner being of Bobby and saw his darkest fears and brightest hopes. He could only watch as it only stood behind his only friend. "Ch-Chester..." Bobby's throat began to feel tight, and tears of fear streamed down his face.

"What?" Chester frowned, and looked over his shoulder only to see the most horrifying thing in his entire  life. He flailed at the beast, and only managed to fall over thus releasing his grip on his lighter. It landed on the floor with a clack and his only source of light vanished in an instant. The beast dug it's hideous claws into his body, gripping at his throat and belly, slicing them both. Bobby could only hear the guts of friend spill onto the cold concrete ground, and his screams for help. Bobby squeezed his eyes shut and slid the manhole cover back obto it's rightful place, sealing the beast and his good-as-dead friend away.

Writing Prompts: Tétartos

2 years ago

*finally having the time to read these*

These are really good ^w^ and I mean really good. 

I'll get around to giving criticism later, but I just wanted to say I really, really, really liked these and y'all did a really great job!

Writing Prompts: Tétartos

2 years ago

For some reason I didn't get a notification for this. Is it too late to write?

Writing Prompts: Tétartos

2 years ago

It's never too late to write.

Writing Prompts: Tétartos

2 years ago

It is never too late to write x'D

Writing Prompts: Tétartos

2 years ago

Seto, may I be added for next week's? I think I'd really like to get involved with this!

Writing Prompts: Tétartos

2 years ago

Sure!

Writing Prompts: Tétartos

2 years ago

Thank you!

Writing Prompts: Tétartos

2 years ago

No problem ^w^

Writing Prompts: Tétartos

2 years ago

Also, no new prompt this week Q.Q
See y'all next week.

Writing Prompts: Tétartos

2 years ago

Wtf Seto at least give me a warning when that happens so I can swoop in like a buzzard valiantly step in and help for a week.

Writing Prompts: Tétartos

2 years ago
Could I be added as well please? Thanks!

Writing Prompts: Tétartos

2 years ago

Sure ^-^

Writing Prompts: Tétartos

2 years ago
Aw why isn't there a prompt for this week?

Writing Prompts: Tétartos

2 years ago