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This is a daily writing exercise. Each weekday I'll post a prompt consisting of a single word, for you to interpret as you will. Write as much or as little as you want, and then post the result if you'd like. Quality doesn't matter (as you'll see from what I post), the idea is just to stretch your creative muscles. Quantity matters insofar as if I conclude you're phoning it in for points, you will get no points. If it's just for the lulz: suit yourself.

I hope people will want to participate in the challenge on its own merits, but as an added incentive, I'll award 5 points to anyone who completes all five prompts in a given week. (Must duel me to receive points). You can go back and do prompts that you missed until I tally them shortly after midnight on Sunday night.

To keep the clutter to a minimum I'll be posting new threads weekly, with each day's post made to the current thread. Week six starts now!

2/6/23

Light

Twinkie, Twinkie, donette rings
Hostess sells some tasty things
Ding dongs, bouncers, zebra cakes
I feel bad about how much I ate
Twinkie, Twinkie, donette rings
Thank you for the light you bring
To my life and to my day
With cosmic brownies and coffee cakes
Twinkie, Twinkie, donette rings
Hostess sells some tasty things

A Light of Change (Sonnet) 

---

A broken kingdom, desolate 

 

Desolate from war and decay

 

To rebuild from annihilation

 

A impossible task for the king was fray

 

Army's lost to obliteration

 

Officers who flee and disobey 

 

For the kingdom had fallen to retaliation  

 

Retaliation from the giants that caused disarray

 

Retaliation for an unnecessary war that caused aggravation  

 

Now you a fallen stray

 

Must seek salvation 

 

Or fall to dismay 

 

A stray like you can be a light in the darkness

 

A light that can end the everlasting ruin that has gripped the land

/2
You hear a heavy door shut. Your vision clears. You are left lying on your back looking up at an almost full moon. Within a minute or so you’ve regained your senses. Back on your feet, the library appears empty. You still feel unwell, but, at least for the moment, the worst has past. The key is no longer in your hand, but now you are wearing a strange silver ring, though it may have been there before - you might not have noticed after all. The ring, unlike everything else you are wearing, is altogether unfamiliar. It fits snuggly and has strange engraving around it.

In your left pocket is a knife, a switch-blade even. You handle it very comfortably. You’re sure that you’ve handled it in the past, but just can’t seem to remember anything else.


Taking one of the tall candlesticks off a nearby stand you resolve to take a look around. In its light you see the glimmer of fresh blood. It isn't much, but it dots across the floor until it leads to a hard wooden door.

2/7/23

Library

I already knew that my childhood friend Sarah was a bit of a liberal, commie, extremist, but around three months ago, we finally found something we could agree on.

It happened on our families’ joint vacation to Washington D.C. Our parents had just gone into the Library of Congress, and the two of us stood brooding outside the door.

Sarah looked at me, her half shaved, green dyed hair cascading down one of her shoulders as she tilted her head. “What’s your problem?”

It was honestly hard to focus on what she said. She had a tongue piercing that showed every time she opened her mouth, and even when her mouth was closed, her septum ring made me question her ability to blow her nose.

I refocused and answered though. “Oh, there was a colored boy in the doorway and I didn’t want to go near him, so I stayed outside.”

She glared at me with a condescending look in her eyes. “Really, Steven? I thought you were past all this Aryan Brotherhood crap.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “I am. I didn’t call him a nig— I mean ‘the n-word’ one time.”

She rolled her eyes and stared at the library. She yawned and stretched, her unshaved armpits bare to all the world.

Mostly in order to stop thinking about Sarah’s armpits, I pushed the subject a bit further. “You’ve got to admit though, that coming here and reading isn’t really doing spearchuckers any good.”

“Obviously,” she agreed, though seemingly tense at something I had said. “The vast majority of books in this library are from whites for whites, and that doesn’t do people of color any good.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying,” I agreed. “There’s no real reason to expect apples to understand complex ideas after they just crawled from the jungle.”

She looked at me irritated. “What I mean is that we can’t fix the mistakes we made by enslaving them until we destroy this country and start over with them as the masters.”

I raised my eyebrow again. “You’d be okay with being a black guy’s slave.”

She didn’t answer, but smiled creepily.

I looked straight ahead so you don’t try to imagine whatever fantasy is playing out in her head right now.

Suddenly, my head snapped back. “So, we both agree that this library is a problem, right?”

She grinned. “What are you planning?”

I pulled a lighter from my pocket, and that was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Deep within a ancient library a mage removed an old book from a shelf.

 

To any other person the book looked old and ruined, destined to be trash but to the mage it was a book like no other. 

For years the mage had looked for this old dusty book a book that had been used so often the cover itself had been completely rubbed off.

 

In fact despite being such a heavily sought after book most who seeked it didn't even know the name, a name that had almost been lost to time.

 

But the mage did, for he had searched for the book in many lifetimes seeking the lost library it laid in until one day he found it deep beneath the sands of a desert.

 

Now the mage finally has the book...

I'm back in her library.

The woman who owns this book collection is nearly as mysterious as the place itself. I've never actually seen her in real life, but I've spoken to her while in a book several times. Yes, you heard me right, in a book.

To an average observer, every page looks completely blank. However, to those of us who are Able, they hold infinite worlds. Last week I travelled to 15th Century France, and a month back I went to a planet named Krygon, where the people were all made out of sand.

I don't choose when to go to the library. I could be eating breakfast, I could be in the middle of a debate, I could be singing my solo in a concert, but when I feel the call, I know I must leave within the next five minutes, somehow. I've never missed a call. It's a good thing my parents don't come to any of my events or care if I get counted absent at school, because I don't want to find out what happens if I don't make it to the library in time.

I've tried to find it without a force pulling me towards it, but I just can't. The library chooses when I can come, and when it does, I must obey.

I wouldn't have it any other way.

/1
“...but of course, I can’t expect you’ll care to hear out anything I have to say.”

You are standing in an old library. It’s just one room, as tall as it is wide with half a dozen rows of shelves 12 feet tall. A long central table rests between the rows. The room is layered in dust and lit by numerous candles, a roaring fireplace, and cool moonlight passing through a skylight just above the table. Still the room is dim and a cold draft passes through it.

You are standing in an aggressive posture. The table is behind you and the hearth is before you. Seated in an old chair near the fire is an elderly man in a red robe. He stares at you intently, awaiting your response, but this moment comes to you as a shock, for you have no recollection of this place, this man, or why you are here.

You have the feeling, though it presently fades, that only moments ago you knew very clearly what you were doing here. Your senses are on alert. The scent of mildew and dust are in the air and the room creaks, presumably the result of a windy night. In your right hand you are gripping something tightly. Opening your fist just a little, you see a strange key therein. Your other hand is in your skirt pocket, also holding something. Right, this is your favorite skirt, the one with the pockets.

The old man shifts in his chair, a suspicious look creeps into his eyes, “Miss Arkwright, are you feeling quite well?”

You start to remember a few other things too. You take a step forward and your knees start to buckle, your vision blurs. The elderly man starts to stand slowly. His expression has changed but you cannot make it out. You reach for the table as you fall but miss it. Everything is muddled, but the old man is speaking, “Quite the scare…”

It is hard to hold yourself up at all and you only manage to understand bits of what he is saying.

“...beginning to think...work…”

Consciousness seems to be leaving you. A hand takes you by the shoulder, rolling you over onto your back.


“...be...good girl now…”

He grabs your hand and forces it open, spreading your fingers. You manage to gather yourself up enough to give him a push and deliver a kick. It connects, but you aren’t sure where. He howls. Your vision fades in and out...

2/8/23

Rust

Ruining my car, it's
Useless now, well
Somewhat. I guess I can still use it. Don't want
To, it looks ugly when it's all rusted over

 

A hunter looked out across a field, a field full of holes.

 

Here and there weapons and armor laid collecting rust.

 

The hunter orginally didn't plan to come here but he had to see the field one last time.

 

The field where his brother had died...

/3
Attempts to open the door fail. It is locked. You examine the ring, finding it as steadfast as the door. You can hardly move it all, let alone push it over your knuckle. However, as you try to do so you notice symbols on the inside of the band as well. The likeness of such symbols is totally foreign to you.

“I don’t think that I came here wearing this.”

You continue to look around the room, your heartrate climbing steadily. You approach the warm hearth. The intense glow of it is mostly hot embers, as the flame itself has mostly died down. A badly rusted fire iron rests among the coal bed. There is a crooked walking stick beside the old chair. On top of the hearth are 6 picture frames. Inside the leftmost picture frame is a woodcut print of a woman. The next picture frame has the same kind of image. In fact, all the images are of women. The third and fourth feature more sophisticated drawings. The women featured in them are similar in appearance. Studying them it’s possible that the first four drawings are of the same women.

The fifth picture stands out in that it is a photograph. Perhaps these are drawings of this woman.

You turn your attention to the nearby table. The table is well preserved but visibly aged. It is mostly clear of dust, that is perhaps the most remarkable thing about it. The rest of the library is heavily covered. It was used or at least cleaned more recently than the rest of the library.

Then there's a sound. It isn’t very loud, but it’s louder than the moan of the bookshelves. One of the doors opened for a moment then closed. Now there something in the library. You can hear it. You can hear claws sliding against hardwood floor. The sound is coming nearer.

2/9/23

Day

The day breaks
The night fades
And with it, memories of yesterday

If no one edit locks this I may add later

Locked

I knew the second I said that someone would do this

lol

Just make another post to continue your work. No one should mind.

Daylight flooded through the ruined city as a new day began.

 

But it wasn't just a new day but a new era.

 

The former king knew this as he stepped off the ledge. 

Antholar the vast, the fertile, and the unsettled land, where deep pure rivers flow from the Northern Glaciers gently around the rolling hills and open plains of the countryside. Dense are the forests, untouched for thousands of years, and they drink from the waters of great untainted lakes. It is a land of treasures.

The gold and artifacts of an ancient and unforgotten civilization. Antholar of the Archmages, Antholar, where the gods of magic are said to have made their beds. Fields of grain, roots, and tubers grow to this very day, as if the hands of their caretakers were upon them. Antholar, where cities lie undisturbed for the ages, where deep tombs and wide battlefields are filled with unplundered wealth.

Libraries of forgotten knowledge wait patiently for the light of day again. Where once the greatest minds and magicians in all the world made their lives, and found their deaths. Antholar of the roaming armies, the mindless legions, of the hateful dead. Resting place of Lell’ndier, land of unclaimed fortunes, where are your masters?

Where are the eyes of those who watched the stars from your soft hills? Only empty sockets behind the helms of that which march over the hills, and in the shadows of the forests and along the riverbanks. What now but beasts reside in the fields and treasure troves of the past?

You arrived at Heathen's Cross in mid spring. It is a trading outpost in the southern foothills of the Dwarven lands, West of the rivers of Jarrum, North of Cassia, and South West of Antholar. Along the great west road all manner of merchants pass through here. It is here you will make your fortune.

You traveled here with no home to return to, escaping execution after being on the losing side of war, and bloody change of power. You were a warrior, and a leader of men. Now you have decided to stake your life in the guild halls of Heathen’s Cross, where guildmasters pay handsomely for risky ventures into Antholar, and one need really be loyal to oneself - oneself and one job on any given day.

2/10/23

Choice

Deep below the ground a city once stood.

 

For years the city flourished as it became a major trading stop along the mountains.

 

But one day that ended.

 

That day the choice of a single greedy miner ended it all.

 

That day the miner dug too far and awoke a slumbering dragon....

/4
Fearfully, you hide yourself behind a nearby bookshelf. What choice do you have? The shelves are in no way sparsely lined. The tremendous collection, of both literature and dust, burden the aged boards to a point near their limits. You peer through and see a large dog stop near where you'd been lying down. It sniffs the air and rushes to the blood trail. It follows that trail to the door then sets it's nose back to the floor.

You attempt to relocate before it catches sight of you, but the floorboards give you away. They creek under your weight. Savagely it barks and rushes toward you.

“Oh God…”

You dash towards the opposite side of the bookshelves. As it hangs the turn you can hear it sliding somewhat. The sound of its bark is more fearful than the sound of its nails against the hardwood just behind you. You grab the end of the bookshelf to swing yourself sharply around the turn, the whole bookshelf creaks and shakes, dropping thick clouds of dust. The dog doesn’t quite make the turn and slides into the shelves against the wall. A few books tumble down and the dog keeps after you. It is faster than you and very soon closes the gap. You angle around another corner and the hound careens past. It whirls around with an irritated snarl.

You run down the aisle and hear it tearing after you. You throw yourself around the corner and down the next aisle on your right. The dog skids past you again, snapping its jaws near your thigh before crashing into a chair. It’s hard to breath in here. You bounce off the shelf to your left, retaining your balance after a couple clumsy steps and run down the aisle, the shelves swaying on both sides. Your burning lungs gasp for more air. You turn another corner this time pushing off the wall to change directions. You see a heavy wooden ladder on wheels at the far end of the row. The dog hits the wall behind you, then you hear it scraping the floor as it picks up speed for another sprint. Suddenly the lighting grows a little dimmer, the hound must have knocked over the candle stand at the end of the row. The sound of it rolling across the floor is quickly overwhelmed by fierce snarling.

You push yourself forward as quickly as you can. You’ve almost reached the ladder but can hear the beast’s growl as it rapidly closes in.

You skip the first two rungs of the ladder and take two more steps before the dog catches up to you. It leaps and snaps its jaw shut near your leg, nipping it and grabbing hold of your skirt. Nearly snatched off the ladder, you make a desperate scream as you grip the sides. It pulls downwards on you, its front legs off the ground. If you’re pulled to the ground you’ll be mauled for certain, that’s the fear that gives you the strength to hold fast and even continue to climb. Your skirt starts to rip with the weight of the muscular canine pulling down on it. The ladder rolls a bit, then starts to tip. You scream as the ladder crashes down.

It was a hard fall. You’ve hit your head and the world is momentarily very dark. But the howling you hear helps you retain your sense of urgency. You try to clamber to your feet but it's still holding onto your torn skirt. You can feel it struggling under you. You and the ladder both have landed on top of it. You panic for a moment before remembering the knife in your pocket. You flip it open and begin plunging it into the animal below you. It whelps and cries as you stab it repetitively. It manages to do little more than scratch you kicking its legs frantically. Eventually it stops fighting. Your clothes are a little torn and bloodstained, but you’ve killed it. What choice did you have?

Week six complete!

Winners:
Aldreda
ugilick

Participants:
fresh_out_the_oven
Petros

Winners should duel me with PAPER for five points!