Forums » Creative Corner » Read Thread

Share your short stories, poems, collaborative works, original artwork and more.

Writing Prompt: Week #2

5 years ago

There are most likely not going to be prizes for writing, other than the satisfaction of actually writing something.

Everyone is free to join.

Each week, there'll be three prompts available. One will be an idea, one will be a picture, and the last will be a random quote or even a word/phrase I made up to base your writing off of. Please don't get too off-topic, though I understand the interpretations will be very different :)

You may attempt as many prompts as you like.

There is no time limit. However, if you wish to have a self-imposed one ( written in 1 hr), you are free to do so.


Prompt #1: The protagonist sacrifices themselves to save the antagonist.

Prompt #2: The king is dead...

Prompt #3: "What happens when the clock strikes twelve?"


Week One is right here.

Writing Prompt: Week #2

5 years ago
Commended by JJJ-thebanisher on 1/15/2017 2:36:57 AM

A/N: So uhhh I kind of accidentally flipped prompt one, but I only realized after I finished so I'm posting this anyways.


The Friend

Charles knew he couldn't let this go on any further. The king had given him special instructions to find and capture the infamous Ferdinand Alvarado, a thief who steals information and sells it on the black market. Charles had been given this mission once, twice, a thousand times, and he always got so close, yet always seemed to fail. Ferdinand was just too good.

It was early evening, just after dusk, and the stars were beginning to venture out. Charles wandered thorough the streets of the city, hoping for a clue as to where Ferdinand could be. He'd been out all day, searching for the thief. He chuckled to himself while thinking back on how often he did this. It had been years of chasing and just barely missing apprehending; that sly criminal always had a last minute escape route. 

Suddenly, a figure raced in front of Charles, stopping him in his tracks. The figure leapt through the air at incredible speed, almost pirouetting in front of the detective. Charles would've laughed if it weren't for the strange outfit the man had on: a black button up shirt with the first few buttons undone to show off obviously groomed chest hairs, a black cape, black skintight pants, and a black mask around his eyes. Ferdinand always seemed to revel in revealing himself to Charles.

The detective chased the thief all through the city, running for what seemed like days, though it was only half an hour. He silently chided himself on being unathletic. Ferdinand suddenly ducked through a door in an alleyway and into a large room, Charles right on his tail despite athletic inferiority. This always seemed to happen. Charles theorized that Ferdinand slowed down in order to let the detective catch up, though it didn't add up. Why let law enforcement catch up when you can easily get away?

The thief smiled at Charles. "Welcome to my humble abode. Is there anything I can get you to make you more comfortable?" The only other person in the room, a thug, walked over and locked the door the runners had come through, pocketing the key. 

The detective sighed, "look, I know we've been doing this for years. You run, I follow, you tell me your dastardly plans for no reason, and you get away at the last minute. Why don't you just let it all be over and come with me? You could finally stop running if you just give up."

"Oh please, and rot in a dungeon for the rest of my life? Thanks, but no thanks. Besides, don't you want to hear about this plot? It's a real doozy!" Ferdinand excitedly wagged his finger which each syllable of the last sentence.

Charles knew he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon because of the whole locked in situation, so he conceded to hear another plan. This was only the ten millionth of Ferdinand's plans that he had heard. Some of them worked, most didn't, because of the whole telling a detective the entire plot thing.

The thief almost squealed with excitement. "Okay okay, first I'm going to sneak into the palace! Now I know what you're going to say-"

"That's impossible"

"Exactly! I knew you would say that! I knew it! Well guess what? I have a secret weapon. It's not impossible for someone as skilled as me. You see, all I have to do is-" Ferdinand stopped suddenly, mouth agape and fear in his eyes.

"What? What?! Get on with it." 

"Behind you" the thief almost whispered.

When Charles turned around, he was greeted by the thug holding a sword to his throat. 

Ferdinand screamed, "I demand you to stop this right now! These were not your orders!"

The thug laughed, a deep, conceited laugh. "I work for the crown, not for you, ya petty thief. I was sent by old crown-head to get rid of this here fellow. Said he was piss poor at 'is job but didn't wanna fire 'im 'cause he's popular and he didn't wanna have no angry townsfolk. I just signed on with you 'cause you guys are always together."

The thief leapt towards the thug, tackling the armed man to the ground and landing on the sword. He grunted in pain as blood spilled but still managed to grab the weapon and kill the thug, who was in shock from the display. Ferdinand sprawled himself out on the floor next to the dead thug, bleeding profusely. "What the hell? Why would you do that? Don't you want me dead?" Asked Charles.

"So naive, even now," he coughed up crimson. "Don't you realize how much I cared for you?"

"What?! That's stupid. You're stupid." Regardless, the detective started trying to stop the bleeding.

"Did you know that you only friend? All I ever did was steal things, sell things, I never had anyone. Then you came along. At first, I would let you find me just so that I had someone to talk to. Even if you were trying to lock me away and throw away the key, I always enjoyed our time together." Ferdinand touched Charles' cheek, "it was a good ride, huh? Thanks for...all....the.........the good................times." With a final smile, the infamous thief, Ferdinand Alvarado was dead. 

Charles walked home, thinking of his deceased archenemy. It seemed his mission was over. He spent the last fifteen years chasing the same man and yet, it was over. He stared at the moon, wishing the tears would go away. "Maybe he really was a friend after all." He would make plans to flee the country in the morning, but for just one night, he mourned his best friend and worst enemy.


Writing Prompt: Week #2

5 years ago

I must accept the call of slumber. However, prepare yourselves for a written submission!

Writing Prompt: Week #2

5 years ago

Thank you, Zag Lick :)

Writing Prompt: Week #2

5 years ago

We are two entities, in one body. You are very welcome.

Writing Prompt: Week #2

5 years ago

Oh, yes. Almost forgot...tagging people who may be interested/participated last week.

@temporaryaccount @mizal @ISentinelPenguinI @Crescentstar @Drew8521

Please inform me if you wish not to be tagged in future prompt threads :)

Writing Prompt: Week #2

5 years ago
Huh, for some reason I didn't get a notification from that tag.

I saw the thread this morning though. The first prompt is of interest to me.

Feel free to steal Axiom's tag list off her old writing prompt threads, btw.

Writing Prompt: Week #2

5 years ago

Okay ^_^ I hope Axiom and everyone on the list doesn't mind.

Writing Prompt: Week #2

5 years ago

Ooh... is it next week already? Yeesh...

Writing Prompt: Week #2

5 years ago

Yup xD

Writing Prompt: Week #2

5 years ago
Commended by JJJ-thebanisher on 1/15/2017 2:37:26 AM

Here we are! I shall be answering prompt #3. Enjoy!

-  -  -  -

The clock ticked away, noting the passing of time. Leaves fell outside, plucked away by the harsh winds.

The young man stood in the center of his dining room, and inhaled deeply. The stagnant air had a familiar smell, a scent to which he had known most of his life. He paid no attention to the other details of the dining room aside from the gleaming polished table, and the busy clock which hung in an important manner on the wall. 

Wasting no time, he stepped into the kitchen. The young man licked his supple chops, salivating at the though of his finished product. He had decided it was time to cook an enjoyable meal. He opened the pantry, searching the sizable closet for the required ingredients. Arm reaching, he grabbed a can of marinara sauce, and a box of dried noodles. He was about to close the door before he realized he wouldn't just be cooking for himself.

A friendly voice chimed in his mind, "We'll be sure to be there!" 

Ah yes, he had invited a couple of comrades for lunch. His lips molded into a light smile at the memory. His heart beat a little faster, as a time with friends was bound to be an enjoyable one. With this in mind he stuck his hand into the pantry again, for another set of ingredients.

Taking the cans and boxes he set them onto his counter, and bent over to open a cupboard below. He chose a sizable pot, and large measuring cup. Setting the metal pot onto his stove, he turned a small dial to control the heat. In a hasty manner, he turned to the plain sink behind him, and set the cup underneath the tap. He activated the faucet, as to allow water to flow into the large cup. As the cup filled his mind drifted off to the thought of him enjoying the meal with his guests.

Water overflowed, spilling out and sliding into the drain. The young man snapped back to attention, turning off the water and reaching for the measuring cup. It was just enough to fill the pot with the required amount of water. Being careful to not spill any, the man poured the water into the warming pot. He reached above him into his spice cabinet to retrieve a salt shaker. The water began to heat up as he shook salt into the pot. Returning the salt, he stared into the tepid water. He was happy to be able to serve the people he cherished. To see their smiles and contented faces would be reward enough for him.

The water bubbled, threatening to leap out onto the stove and onto the floor. Taking action with swift and decisive movements, the young man twisted the dial, lowering the heat. He grabbed the boxes of noodles and opened them accordingly, wasting no time in emptying their contents into the boiling water awaiting below. The young man hummed a pleasant and familiar tune as he cooked, and remembered to grab a sauce pan to heat the cans of sauce. With a few sharp twists of his wrists, the can opener did its job. The thick red sauce dropped into the pan, and he adjusted the heat in the same manner as the pot of noodles earlier.

He took a glance at the clock in the other room. It would be a while until his guests arrived, and the meal was ready. A sigh of relief escaped the lad's lungs. As the food cooked, and steam rose the man set the table, placing plates and necessary utensils upon the polished wooden table. Soon enough, everything would be ready.

The noodles softened to the lad's delight, returning to the cupboard he extracted a suitable strainer for the noodles, and set it into the sink. With a lift and tilt of the pot, the water and noodles poured into the strainer and the noodles were caught as the hot brine was cast away.

Tearing into a drawer, the man found both his ladle and pasta fork. He rushed to grab the plates and forks from the table, and gave equal portions of food to everyone. He glanced up at the clock as he worked. It was almost time. The guests would be here soon, and he could hardly wait.

He set the finished plates of food onto the table and inspected everything to reassure himself that everything was in it's place. Like a sound forged in the heavens, the doorbell rang. Sprinting to answer the door, he turned the nob and was pleased to see the faces of his friends. He took their coats and hats while urging them over to the table and lead a short prayer before they ate.

He was very glad to have his comrades in his home to share his lunch. The winds outside died down, and whipped back and forth lazily. With a smile on his face and a forkfull of food on it's way to everyone's mouths, the clock struck twelve. 

Writing Prompt: Week #2

5 years ago
Tick tock, tick tock.
The clock is chirping.
Tick tock, tick tock.
Time is slowly passing.

Each second waiting
Raises my frustration.
Each second waiting
Is my time wasted.

It's nine o'clock, and he's still not home.
I've been sitting here waiting for him.
It's nine o'clock, and he's still not home.
I get up to go to the kitchen.

Tick tock, tick tock.
The trees are yawning.
Tick tock, tick tock.
Time will keep passing.

It's ten o'clock, and he's not back yet.
I try to call, but he's not answerin'.
It's ten o'clock, and he's not back yet.
I slowly open the knife drawer.

Tick tock, tick tock.
The lights are turned off.
Tick tock, tick tock.
Time will never stop.

It's eleven o'clock, and he's not around.
I hop into my car and drive off.
It's eleven o'clock, and he's not around.
I know the house where he could be found.

Tick tock, tick tock.
The moon is shining.
Tick tock, tick tock.
Time passes quickly.

The clock strikes twelve, a midnight chime.
I leave the car and walk to the door.
The clock strikes twelve on this silent night.
Knife in my hand, I ring the doorbell.

Tick tock, tick tock.
The night is calling.
Tick tock, tick tock.
I am done waiting.

(Edit/Note: Feedback highly appreciated. c:)

Writing Prompt: Week #2

5 years ago

Ooh! Eerie! ^_^

It was a pretty neat poem, Crescent.

Writing Prompt: Week #2

5 years ago

Ye! I wanted the poem to give off that kind of feel. :D


Writing Prompt: Week #2

5 years ago

I really liked it! It was very ominous; please don't murder anyone.

Writing Prompt: Week #2

5 years ago

Murder? What ever are you talking about? :3


Writing Prompt: Week #2

5 years ago

Only five days late to see this thread

I'll give prompt number one a try.

Every single day on a job like this was a dangerous one.  There were always dangerous people doing dangerous things and putting others lives at risk.  The job had been an arduous undertaking.  He hadn't seen Anna, his wife, in months.  When he was doing his work saving lives, it was so hard to stop.  Any distraction could cost thousands of lives.  He couldn't stop now, not when he was so close.

They were hiding in plane sight.  The building reached up towards the clouds.  He could be in any one of the floors, in any one of the rooms. Some people just don't care about any one else.  They can't see that their actions have real consequences and cost real lives.  He entered into the building.  Everything seemed normal.  There were elevators, standard plants and paintings, a was a front desk.  Two women sat, greeting and answering others with smiling faces.  How little they knew that crimes against humanity were being committed right above them.

He entered the second elevator.  So many floors, so many places to hide.  Where were they?

He had done his research beforehand.  Could the criminal really be stupid enough to be on the floor that wasn't occupied?  He feared the worst.  In his profession he had taken down multi-millionaires.  It would not be unlikely that these despicable people were hiding behind the name of a reputable company.  In that case, the company would certainly become more cautious when they saw him sticking his head through their door.  He tapped the button for floor number 42.

The floor that he stopped on held the headquarters of some tech company that had started in California.  He wished that it was them, but that would be too easy.  He walked towards the stairs and walked up to the 43rd floor.  One month ago, the floor had belonged to a small law firm that specialized in domestic dispute.  Unfortunately, the firm had fallen on hard times and went bankrupt.  For now, the floor was supposedly uninhabited.

The door was slightly ajar.  That was strange, a floor like this should have a secure door.  He slowly inched through it, whispering for backup on his walkie-talkie.  He may have struck the jackpot.  He gripped his pistol, and held it out in front of him, checking for "Lucky27".  All the doors were securely closed, except the far end of the hallway.  


He threw the door open.  Two figures stood on the other side hunched over a computer.  One was tall man with dark skin wearing a ski-mask.  He was standing over a much smaller figure.  The boy couldn't have been more than sixteen years old.  He was extreme pale complexion, and he was all skin and bones.  His eyes were wide with a mix between surprise and fear.  Analyzing his options the man quickly pulled a gun that was concealed in his pocket.

"Drop the gun or I shoot him!" He demanded, putting the gun to the head of the boy.

It didn't make sense, but it made perfect sense.  This was "Lucky27". Could this boy have really broken through the security of Lockheed Martin?  Could he have brought the cyber defenses of the United States government to it's knees?  Why was he doing this?

"Drop it.  I'll shoot!" He demanded once more pushing the gun into the head of the boy for effect.  He screamed in terror.

He had no backup yet.  He couldn't make a shot like that, and what if he missed?  He lowered his gun to the ground.

"Good officer!" The dark skinned man said, shoving the boy aside and pointing the gun at the officer.

"Is this really how you do your bidding?  You let a child do all the work?"

"Officer, you should give me a break. This boy had nothing before he found me! I cultivated him, so I own him! I'll tell you what, if you call up your buddies on that walkie-talkie and act like this never happened, you may get out of here with your life."

He had his one chance and he took it.  He grabbed his pistol off of the ground, and took a fateful shot at the man in the ski mask. At the same time, the man pulled the trigger on his own gun.

Time slowed as the bullets both reached their destinations.  

Two men lie dead on the ground, and one fourteen-year-old hacker was finally free.


(Feedback is appreciated)

Writing Prompt: Week #2

5 years ago

I don't know why I did it, but I did. In the last breaths of my life, I see a flashback. Of several flashbacks. My life moving across my eyes like a black-and-white film.

---Six months ago---

The handsome young man winks at me, and I fight to keep my expression blank. He wears the crest of the enemy nation. He wears the sword that had slain our queen. He wears a carefree smile on his fine face.

As the meeting goes on, I swear that he’s staring at me. I try to focus on what the other delegates are saying, but his eyes burn into the side of my face. I’m asked a question, and I answer as strongly as I can, trying to remember what I’m trying to say.

The young man chirps, “Why, that’s a wonderful idea.”

The other members of the international council mutter, discuss, whatever. I glare at the young man, who says softly with a slight bow, “At your service.”

---Five months, 3 weeks ago---

His name is Kaiden Bokartion. I had reviewed all of the representatives prior to the meeting, but apparently they had changed the original person to mess with the rest of us. When I review his profile, which I access through the spy center, I am stunned. The enemy king has an heir? Apparently, this new information had been retrieved a day after the meeting. So this Kaiden guy is the enemy prince. I wonder if I could just kill him now...

---Five months ago---

At our next meeting, a month later, we review the effects of industrial expansion on the environment. Kaiden Bokartion is again that infuriating presence, eating away at my patience.

Who is he to act like that? If he wants to play this little game, I'm up for it.

When he speaks, I act bored and subtly rude. His eyes flicker to mine, and the game has begun.

---A week ago---

None of us has worn down yet. We had both maintained our acts flawlessly. For some reason... I become excited every time I'm about to go to the meetings. But... today has been stressful. They say they want to replace me with someone else. I muster all of my experience, skill, and patience to explain to the head of the ambassador board why I cannot be replaced. I don't know why I'm being to passionate.

I shake my head at the thought that comes to mind. I am not smitten with Kaiden Bokartion.

---50 minutes ago---

Something's off with this council meeting. Some of the other members seem nervous, anticipating. When I take a seat, I give a few of them curious looks, and they smile stiffly at me. When I see Kaiden Bokartion walk in, the tension seems to rise. Did something happen that I had not been informed of? Kaiden seems oblivious to the atmosphere of the room as he looks at me. Am I seeing things or did his eyes just light up?

He takes his seat, and the room seems to breathe for a moment. What's... going on?

---5 minutes ago---

As the meeting goes on, the mood has not changed. Several of the members are sitting stiffly, eyes moving around the room. Kaiden seems to see this too, but we don't know what to do about it.

Suddenly, I hear a footfall under an argument about some act or another. I look around. Kaiden does not hear it.

Or see a man pointing a gun at him from the balcony. The other nations must have found out his identity and decided to kill him. Even my country is not that stupid. Why wage a war?

Before I knew what I was doing, I push my seat back and run over to him. I hear the gunshot as I near him and feel something pierce into my chest.

---2 minutes ago---

I’m lying in the arms of my enemy. What the hell is wrong with me? His eyes are wide, and the clamors around us seem dull. I’m bleeding. I’m bleeding my stupid life out, and it’s so painful, and it’s for him. Him.


My vision darkens slowly. I’m blinking slowly. My life ebbs from me. All I know is that I don’t regret it.