Prompt Fills

My prompt was to personify “love hesitates”. I also drew a picture of him afterwards (which you can see HERE and named him Ditus. XD So, hello new character, thank you writing prompt.

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Love hesitates. This isn’t like the sorts of jobs he’s been seeing so far—he’s more accustomed to teenagers stuttering along shaky confessions. But Cupid’s on vacation in Bermuda and if he doesn’t fire the “arrow of love”—which is more like a very sharp crossbow bolt—he’ll get griped and whined at.

“Jeez,” he says, hiking up the entirely too pink crossbow and staring down at the stern-looking girl with too-big glasses, staring at the school’s resident delinquent, who has an awkward flush of red on his cheeks. “You two are such a weird couple. But, all the happiness too you.”

And Love feels a peverse sense of satisfaction watching the crossbow bolt thud into the delinquent’s head (though he’s kinda sad the kid can’t feel it).

He swings the weapon over his shoulder smugly and disappears in a whorl of red.

I chose prompt 149.

[and in case anyone wants to know where they came from and didn't catch the website... http://creativewritingprompts.com/ ]

My prompt was to write about some girl named Nancy and some guy named Dan - one of whom is antisocial - who meet five years into the future. Based around the plot "Giving her a cell phone proves to be a big mistake"

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It is the year 2014. Five years into the future. Nancy was running around downtown, looking for some kind of way that she could communicate with her family at home. She was late – as usual – and since she had sworn not to be late ever again – which was a big mistake – she knew that the folks at home would be impatient while waiting for her to get home.

(Unfortunately, looking for a means of communication resulted in her being delayed much further.)

Suddenly she quite literally ran into a man. And promptly fell over, scattering her bag and its contents out onto the sidewalk. She hurriedly bent to pick them all up when she noticed that her cell phone – not charged – had fallen into the street.

It was a second after she realized this that it got run over.

Quickly grabbing the remnants before they, too, disappeared from view, Nancy stared at the mutilated thing that had once been her cell phone. Sure, its battery didn’t last nearly as long as it should, and it was a very old model, and it hadn’t cost her anything since her boyfriend had paid for it, and she was always talking about how she needed to get a new one... but it did not deserve this fate.

The man noticed her dilemma. “Need a cell?” he asked, and quickly pulled out his own.

Nancy grasped at the opportunity for the means of communication and practically grabbed the cell phone from the man’s hand – although she tried her best to be polite.

After the quick call she had to make – which involved much yelling on the other side of the phone – she hung up the phone quickly and headed to the nearest bus stop, change purse already in hand.

The man, Dan, watched as she ran off down the street. He called after her, but she seemed to be much too immersed in whatever she was doing to hear him.

As he walked towards his office, he was thinking about the rather interesting woman he’d encountered. And how he’d need to buy himself a new phone, now that she’d stolen his phone.

But he didn’t care much. His work had been the ones to give it to him in the first place.

2007 - Tarian - 20k-ish
2008 - Jeu de Role - 53k - WIN.
2009 - Chance?

Prompt #311: Include "photographer", "needle", "dormitory", and "bicycle".

I arrived o the 7th of October to visit my niece. The annual journalists' conference had brought me to the small town and while the rest of the print literati were out drinking away their stipends in a local pub, I decided to visit my niece at the tiny campus nearby.

Upon arrival, the taxi driver mentioned a photographer scouring the town to catch a glimpse of a wild boar for an exposé, and asked if he was with my group. I pretentiously declined and failed to tip him.

I walked through campus, past bicycles and cars scattered along the neat roadways. Doors to the vehicles were open, the beeping inside coming from the keys jingling in the ignition.

I bent down, my gloved hands resting on the door and hood, and peered into the car. The radio was on, volume low--the announcer rambling on about the swine and needles, and vaccines saving the world.

As I looked over the car, standing up straight, I noticed... (and then I ran out of time--how anticlimactic!)

ML Jam

To settle is to fail.

Apparently green wasn't a number, so I chose prompt number three. Oh, how glorious it was. Good evening, I'm O'Rourke.

Take ten words from the dictionary that you don't understand, and without looking at the meaning, write them down and make up meanings. Oh yes. Except, mine was botched a little, without having a dictionary on hand and while knowing most of the words shouted at me. Here's my turn out;
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Anachronism: The ritual action of microwaving spray-painted spiders.

Skedaddle: Cried out during the violent consumption of skittles in Seattle, but only on rainy Tuesday nights while thinking of friend tin cans.

Blabber: Noun. A Small black box that must not be opened, that doesn't contain oranges.

Ninja: The word 'ninja' is actually read as 'ajnin', meaning a bus load of Korean kids. But don't tell anybody that.

Coffee: A satanic drink from the underworld that tempts NaNo writers into the land of giant carrots, with the promise, 'you can sleep when you're dead'.

Hypochondriac: A cross between a stressed hippo and a bloated piece of cauliflower.

Idiocrisy: Cures poison, sleep and petrify, but casts confusion on the user.

Golocious: a mashed street light salad fork, best served cold. Slang. Ex: Oh my, what a splended golocious." Often times eaten with toothpaste as the beverage.

Symbiotic: Supposed to 'abiotic', this thing is alive. Very alive. And watching you.

Apostasy: A crime against the English language and over all spelling of words. May also be read as a blue square of toilet paper or a sharp stick used to agitate small animals.

My prompt was 'I once dreamed about...'. Yeah.

I once dreamed about...

The Oscars. Not only once, really, if I'm being truthful. Several times. Sometimes, I'm hosting them, pulling an Ellen and going out into the audience, rocking clint Eastwood's world with my wit and charm and enjoying the chance to touch all those I fancy from afar. And oh, would I ever take advantage of that chance. I'd be rubbing up against Hugh Jackman like it was nobodies business—even if it would be on national television, thus clearly everyone's business. I'd take to the stage, pretending I can sing and dance and entertain people, while my charm really lays in my ability to laugh at myself. God, I'd be clever, though.

Sometimes, I'm just sitting in the audience, listening to my name be called with the likes of johnny Depp or Al Pacino. I don't really know why it's always with male actors—I'm willing to bet there is some deep seated issues to blame, but Hell, my name said in the same breath as the Pacino's? Who cares! I'll be a boy, whatever! I sit, and I sweat, and I look damn gracious when I get the award, acting as if I'm completely surprised that I won, while really, we all knew that Depp was just over reaching his charm as an eccentric character actor, and Al is getting on in years. It was my year, people would say as I walked up on stage, kissing Harrison Ford on the cheek as he handed off my little gold man to me. Hell, I could get cheeky and kiss him right on the lips, smirking as he swooned. He would swoon, damn it, since it's my dream, thank you. Anyway, I'd give an amazing acceptance speech, thanking everyone, and I'd play myself off, humming/singing the theme tune to Murder, She Wrote, in dedication to my friend, James. I'd say that, too. 'This on goes out to my bestie, James.'

I'd walk off the stage gracefully, smiling happily as I went backstage to have pictures of me being taken with the oscar, and I'd give little interviews. No, I'm not surprised I won, though Al did deserve it. Yes, I'm looking to work with Depp sometime, but you know how schedules are! What, no, I'm not pregnant! What, yes, of course I'm on drugs! Aren't you? Yes, I'd be the belle of the ball, and when i went to leave with my date, the hot actor of my choice, I'm thinking George Clooney right now, people would shake their heads with surprise--”Who was that again?”

Sometimes, though, I'm just one of the screaming fans, lined up along the red carpet, holding a sign that reads 'R Pattz Go Home' or 'Cut your hair, Tom Hanks!'. Something like that. I get hoarse as I scream with complete and utter bliss when Angie and Brad show up. I so have a thing for them. Both of them, to be clear—sexuality goes out the window with Brangelina are in the equation. I'd babysit for them during the awards ceremony any day, if only to have the awkward 'dad of the kids giving me a ride home' drive with Brad fucking Pitt. He could be awkward any day with me, if you know what I mean.

I mean fondle me in his car. That's what I mean.

Anyway. Sometimes, I'm just watching them at home, sitting on my awful green couch and eating popcorn as I try and guess who is a winner and who actually deserves to win. I'm usually joined by James, who also is disgusted when yet another beautiful cowboy love story gets passed over for a movie about a pimp or something. We boo the obvious choices and cheer when Kate Winslet does anything—appear on the screen, win an award, whatever. When Mickey rourke appears, we wonder if he is the real mickey rourke or the wax one, like that game you see online sometimes. Then we realize the melting effect is just his poor aging. Poor Mickey Rourke. At least he had that movie about that guy with the hair or whatever. Poor guy with the hair.

I once dreamed about the Oscars, and I liked it so much that I kept doing it.

Foul, no rhetoric.

" Heheh...What is 'Evil'? If I'm loyal to what you say is right, is that all it takes to make me 'Good' ?" - Bakura, King Of Thieves ( Yu-Gi-Oh!)