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If you are a writer, or want to be a writer, please participate!

The idea behind this writing prompt is to simply supplement your story here. In other words, don't spend hours (or days) working on this prompt, this prompt is just to get you writing. Perhaps you can find a way to twist this prompt into something that can help your current work in progress. If not, maybe it will just get the creative juices flowing. This should be a short exercise to help you write. If you're not a writer, you can still participate and try it out.

Right now there's no risk or reward. Perhaps, if we get good participation on weekly basis, one day this might be worth something (like maybe 1 point for participating, and 1 commendation for weekly winners). But for now, let's just see if we can get some participation. Just come on in and join in. The only rule is that you cannot spend more than 10 minutes on this prompt!

Prompt: Create a story about a lie you once told (or someone told you).
Starter: The balloons...
Setting: in a cemetery...
Words to be included: Nag, Bullet Hole.

Have fun with it!

This poor thread. Fine, here's something for Ogre to be confused by:


Secrets.

They whisper their way in green waves along the crooked limbs of the old black locust. It hunches protectively over the carved stone set in place beneath it, a tireless protector in sun or in rain. Just as twisted, just as cryptic, though alive yet in your memory is the one whose discarded husk it guards.

There was a time in your youth you could have believed him older than the roots, older and more enduring than the granite that made the slab. The hair turned white, the cheeks sunk in and the lines carved their landscape of ravines and crags, but those black eyes still peered out. Glittering as coldly as a reptile's from beneath a rock, a dragon guarding its ill-gotten treasures, never would you have dreamed any force in this world could have made them dim.

But years have passed since the earth became his keeper, and even the words of remembrance etched in the granite have begun to fade. You stoop and trace your fingers over their remains, mouthing the pretty lies with a sharp expulsion of breath that's half disbelief, half derision.


(Annnd...that's as far as I got, and I think I went over the time limit anyway. Honestly I think these might do better if we were given a few individual things we could pick from. Trying to pull together all of these separate elements into one story is a tall order for ten minutes and limiting even for a full story. Luckily I didn't even try to combine more than two but it might be putting off other people who would otherwise give it a shot...)

Thanks for playing!

Right foot.

 

HEART THUMP

 

Left foot.

 

HEART THUMP

 

Right foot.

 

HEART THUMP

 

Left foot.

 

HEART THUMP

 

Right foot.

 

HEART THUMP

 

Left foot.

 

HEART THUMP

 

Right foot.

 

HEART THUMP

 

Breathe in.

 

HEART THUMP

 

Look behind you.

 

HEART THUMP

HEART THUMP

HEART THUMP

 

Breathe out.

 

HEART THUMP

 

Keep running.

 

…

 

I kept running, I had to.

 

…

 

I think I’m in a cemetery. And there’s a dead man in front of me. There was a single bullet hole in his palm.

 

Behind me I can hear the sound of my mother nagging me. She repeats the same words.

 

“Clean up your room this instant!” I was in college, it’s been years since I’ve been in “your room”.

 

Her nag that she keeps on repeating is interrupted by the old man.

 

...

 

“Would you like to have the balloons young man?”

 

He tells me this cheerfully lying down.

 

Smiling with what had to be hundreds of tiny teeth.

 

I screamed.

 

------

 

Well, I think I went a few seconds over for this one. I've started writing a bit more seriously now, so writing prompts like these are really nice. I am writing something longer right now but they are both horror stories. Though, this may need some revision especially with how I patched in the words, nag and bullet hole.

Well it took you a couple of years but I'm glad this thread got you posting.

Flash fiction has always been difficult for me but it pairs really well with horror if you're wanting to make that your niche.

'He tells me this cheerfully lying down.' had kind of weak phrasing compared to the rest. The way it's structured is just a bit odd (as a corpse it's already implied he's lying down, but this makes it sound like he might actually be standing up and then lies down as he speaks, as opposed to speaking from a position on the ground)

As a general rule you want to try and use -ly adverbs sparingly, they're easy to use as a crutch, very passive and especially out of place when attempting a more intense scene like this. Honestly I'd have gone with something like
“Would you like to have the balloons young man?” he asks me in a cheerful voice, above the buzzing of the flies.

The stuff with the mom I wasn't too sure about, is he hallucinating all this or just remembering it when he encounters the man? Either way it doesn't tie in with the rest as well, although I realize you were probably just trying to cram in something about nagging for the prompt.

Good job getting all this stuff in and managing a complete story, and I hope you keep posting and participating in these things. If you need some more inspiration there are actually a ton of prompt threads buried in this board, it's never a problem to necro them if you have something to add.

Hey Ogre :-)

Do we have to use the starter, the setting and the words? Or are those just for flavor/inspiration?

Oh, and can it be real/non-fiction? :")

There's not a lot of rules here. The idea is to use the setting and words, but if those inspire you to write something else, that's great! The point here is to get you writing and preparing for additional writing and great stories!

Well, I tried to use all the suggestions.

 

The balloons seemed out of place over the worn rock. To anyone passing by, I explained it was her birthday. Perhaps they wouldn't think so odd of me then, looking as if to celebrate her death. With the small, cake-stained plate in my lap, I closed my eyes for a moment. If only I had told her the truth, she could enjoy the treat with me. Instead, I sat alone, pushing away thoughts of bullet-holes, and wishing I hadn't nagged her so. Though I knew that I couldn't blame myself for her death, it didn't stop me from lingering on the thought that I'd worsened her life. I leaned down and whispered the words I should have said. “I love you.”

I like it! Nicely done.

The nag walked up the tombstone, and lowered her head… she slightly nuzzled the marble slab… oblivious to the bullet hole in her calf… she’d seen a balloon once when she was young… chased it in the wind… her owners were delighted by her frolic… she sat and rested her head on the mound of dirt before her… This was the woman… the wife of the man that raised her… The nag recalled that this man had just been riding on her back… running from the police… on their way to visit this very spot, just one last time…

Edit locking to avoid temptation LOL

Argh!: "The nag walked up to the tombstone"

I hope you don't mind Ogre, but I put a little bit of lipstick on the pig. Thanks for the fun exercise! :-)

The nag walked up to the tombstone and lowered her head. She slightly nuzzled the marble… oblivious to the bullet hole in her calf.

She’s seen a balloon once when she was young. Chased it in the wind. Her owners were delighted by her frolic.

She sat and rested her head on the mound of dirt before her. This was the final resting place of the person she loved most. The wife of the man that raised her.

The nag closed her eyes and replayed a recent memory as her strength started to fade... The man was riding on her back. Running from the police. On their way to visit this very spot just once last time.

Arg! Edit lock. LOL
Thanks again! :)

If you're having fun with it and it's encouraging you to write, it's a success!

The Balloons? Something about them eats at me. Like a nag who happens by chance to be right, but you'd rather swallow your eyes than swallow your pride by admitting it. If she'd just shut up about it and let me feel like I'm doing it because I want to, because I'm responsible - and not because she said so.

"Damn it!"

That childish feeling where you accuse a game of being unfair - being out to get you - because things didn't go your way. It's got nothing to do with fair, and that's really what life is like. Unlikely things will eventually happen sooner or later. That's what I keep telling myself, but it's got as much a chance of mending a bullet hole in my heart than fixing this mess. It was her birthday for god's sake - on a Sunday. Who gets blitzed at 2 and makes a drive for cigarettes anyway?

Sarah's dead. Her last act painting the underside of a '94 and curling up in the driveway after taking a sack of rubbish to the curb. I said I'd get it. I kept saying I would. I guess I lied. Sarah tried to cover for me is all.

"Damn," I whisper. It's all I can manage. Our parents still don't know why she was out there.

 

Nice use of bullet hole!

Thanks. I probably ended up spending about 12 minutes. I got to the end of my time and realized I hadn't followed all the prompts yet. Whoops. This was fun.