Writing Prompt Wednesday 5/4/16

Well, it’s Wednesday and I still have not come up with a hip name for my Writing Prompt Wednesday, so guess what we are going to call it. That’s right! Writing Prompt Wednesday.

Here’s how it’s going to work. Each Wednesday throughout the summer, I will post some sort of writing prompt on this blog. It might be a picture, a word or phrase, or a bit of dialogue. It could even be a feeling or a smell.

Anyone who wishes to play along may write a scene or an entire story using the prompt. You can keep these stories to yourself if you like, using this as an exercise for your writing brain, or you may share with us in the comments below. Occasionally I will share my scene or story as well.

If you choose to share your story in the comments, please keep it clean. I started this series by request of a student, and would like to keep it where people of all ages and backgrounds can participate.

There are no winners and losers here, no prizes or fame to be had. My intent is for everyone who participates to have fun and be encouraged.

Here is the writing prompt for this week.

You open the door to your backyard and see this. How did it get there? Where did it come from? What are you going to do about it?  (These are just some questions to get you thinking...answer one, all or none.) Have fun.

The Harplyrist -Flash Fiction

I wrote this piece for Warm-Up Wednesday over on Flash! Friday. Come check out what we are writing, and add your own story on Wednesdays and Fridays.

Harp. PD photo by Skitterphoto.

The Harplyrist
By Charity Paschall

You walk by without seeing me. Just a harplyrist. I’m here every day—nothing unusual. Unless you stayed to watch me, you would never know. I don’t sleep, though I am tired. I don’t eat, though I hunger. I am here; alive yet not; I hunger for life before. Before the deal. I was naïve; and all too vain. I needed to be the best, so I asked. He kept his bargain, but in exchange, I must play for him always–until death; so I wait—for a death that will never come. Because I made a deal with the devil.

Flash Friday - Willow's Wrath

Picture Prompt for Flash Friday @ http://flashfriday.wordpress.com/ 

Click the link for rules and to enter your own flash, then read my response below.

 

Bell Tower of Guadalest, Costa Blanca, Spain. CC photo by Anguskirk.

 

 

 

Willow's Wrath

 



 

Willow sprinted through the old forest, flames licking her heels. This was her final race--the bell tower, her goal.

Tears streamed down her face--she cried for the trees, for the animals, and for the spirits.

She stumbled up the stone steps towards the tower. At their summit, she summoned the last of her strength to ring the bell. Its peals echoed through the hills--a warning of approaching danger.

Willow murmured a final prayer for her people and flung herself from the tower. Eyes closed, she welcomed death.

Her eyes opened in the spirit world--but nothing had changed. She rode the wind, untouched by the fire as it consumed the forest.

As her village came into view, she willed the wind to turn south--it hesitated, unaccustomed to following orders. She strengthened her resolve and commanded the wind to change direction.

Seeing her village was unharmed, she searched for the pale faces--they would not escape their carelessness, nor her wrath.

 

 

As a bonus, here are two more bits of flash I wrote recently which I didn't blog.

 

 

Earth goddess. Imaginary Worlds exhibit, Atlanta Botanical Garden. Photo by C. Joey Ivansco.

 

 

 



Fountain of Beauty

In a fit of jealous rage, she trapped me here--turned me into an earthen statue, living but dead. It was not my fault Zeus loved me, I did nothing to entice him--but Hera is a jealous woman.

I do not create the water, but it flows from my hand. I can influence it, poison it, imbue the drinker with special qualities. Now...what would infuriate Hera?

Each maiden who drinks from my pool will be given a double portion of my beauty. The nymphs who make their home in my waters will be second in beauty only to Aphrodite herself.

Zeus will be filled with all-consuming lust for these, my daughters. Hera will have no choice but to release me from my prison. But in case she gets any ideas to partake of my nectar herself, my spell will work in reverse on any immortal who drinks.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.



Chia Goddess

“Earth Goddess” my sign reads but the flowers here have given me another name.

“Ch-ch-ch-ch-chia!” they call.

“In a few days you will be nothing but a grass-covered hill,” laughs the Peony.

“You look like an overgrown Chia pet,” chortles the Dahlia.

As the seeds begin to grow, I fear they are right—their taunts weaken me, and even my Chia grass withers. I will be but a barren hilltop—not even fit to grow grass.

Deep inside, something stirs. Their barbed words no longer bind.

I set my mind to my task. I enrich my soil daily. I drink in the water, the sun, and the nutrients available. More plants inhabit my soil—only a little Chia grass remains.

When the botanical garden opens, people hurry past the Roses, Irises and Dahlias. The Lilies are admired but a moment.

At my exhibit, people linger; they gaze on me with wonderment. I am now worthy of the name Earth Goddess.

 

 

 

I welcome your comments. Which story is your favorite? Why?

Flash Friday 5-16-2014 -- Independence Day

Picture Prompt for Flash Friday @ http://flashfriday.wordpress.com/ 

Click the link for rules and to enter your own flash, then read my response below.

Emil Jannings in Berlin. Creative Commons photo Bundesarchiv, Bild 102-07770.

The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.

Independence Day 

(140 Words)

 

Oh, the celebration!

America’s most recent purchase from France has arrived and all the world has turned out to see. Dignitaries from across the globe have front-row seats for this momentous occasion. The Queen of England with her entourage sits next to the Prime Minister of India with his.

 

The crowd cheers as the president is led to the platform. For all he has done for America, our esteemed president will be the first.

 

Everything is in place, the tracks are greased, blade sharpened, equipment tested, only the basket is missing.

The crowd grows silent in anticipation of the release.

 

Whoosh…Thud!

The president’s head rolls at my blood-spattered feet as the crowd thunders.

 

“Best seats in the house.” I wink at my husband as more politicians are brought to join the growing line.

America has declared her independence once again.

Your comments are welcome, but please be nice. This is a work of fiction and is not meant to be representative of any specific person. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it.

Flash Friday 5-9-14

Picture Prompt for Flash Friday @ http://flashfriday.wordpress.com/ 

Click the link for rules and to enter your own flash, then read my response below.

Past and Present No 2, by Augustust Leopold Egg, 1858. Public domain photo.

The Strong One

I heard Mama scream and ran into the bedroom. I watched her lift his lifeless body. She held him for several long minutes. I broke the silence. “Mama…” She looked toward me and then blankly past me. Absently, she passed baby Jonah to me and stumbled across the floor to her rocker.

Mama was still rocking when I saw Lizzy coming up the lane from school. I wanted to keep from upsetting Mama more, so I stepped out to meet Lizzy. I explained what had happened in the best way I knew how, but I mustn’t have done a very good job, because she ran inside and buried her face in Mama’s lap.

I re-entered the house to find Mama absently smoothing Lizzy’s blond curls and felt a pang of jealousy. I wished momentarily that I was small enough to crawl into Mama’s lap and let her take away my troubles.

Now it’s my turn to be the strong one...

(The above is a (condensed) excerpt from the historical fiction novel I am writing.) 

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 Here is my second entry.

No More Secrets

Loraine’s sentient hair curled around her mother’s fingers, drawing her closer. Warmth spread through her body under Leda’s touch.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I’ve kept this secret for sixteen years. Your father doesn’t know we lived and I didn’t think you would understand.”

Loraine pulled back from the embrace. “Understand what? That my father tried to kill both of us—simply because I was going to be different than other kids?”

“He was trying to protect us both—or so I am told.”

“From what? And you don’t protect people by killing them!”

“Your father was confused and scared—he didn’t know any better way.”  

“Loraine, I want you to know; you saved both of our lives.”

“Me? How? I wasn’t even born yet.”

“I didn’t understand until later, but somehow a tendril of your hair coiled around my heart—and started it beating again. I thought I had dreamed it until you were born with these abilities.” 

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Edited to add: I won honorable mention for this second piece at #FlashFridayFic. I am truly grateful.

I'd love to know what you think--leave me a comment!

You can also follow me on social media.

Twitter: @CharityPaschal2 https://twitter.com/CharityPaschal2 

Google+: https://plus.google.com/111131437103050318091/posts/p/pub 

The Morling Stronghold - Picture Prompt

500px originally shared:

"1000 Years" by Impossible: http://bit.ly/1lC5rjT

The Morling Stronghold

Loraine gazed over the city from her vantage point on the cliff. The fog hung low in the streets and cracked with electricity. Her hair twitched nervously. She knew this must be a Morling stronghold and that she had no choice but to enter. It was her duty as a Protector. If there was any chance her charge might be there, she must risk all to find him and return him to his parents.

Looking over her shoulder, she interrupted the whispered conversation of her companions--her parents. "You don't have to come with me," she said, half-hoping they would agree to stay behind--at least then they would be safe. "Balderdash," her father said, "This little boy may be your charge, but the fate of an entire race is at stake--you're not going in alone."

Thanks for reading. Constructive criticism or unfettered praise is welcome.

Flash Friday 4-25-14

Picture Prompt for Flash Friday @ http://flashfriday.wordpress.com/ 

Click the link for rules and to enter your own flash, then read my response below.

Canal Workers (Suez Canal). CC Photo by Hossam el-Hamalawy.

A Daughter in Peril (158 words)

Leda donned the black hood nervously. "What if he refused to help?" She rapped on the door of the dilapidated apartment building.

“May I help you?”

Leda took a deep breath. It had been years since she had seen him.

“I need your help Beck. Your daughter is in trouble.”

“I have no daughter,” he replied wistfully. “I almost did, once.”

“Remember this picture?” She handed him the device. “Leda had just told you she was pregnant—scroll through—that’s your daughter.”

“Impossible,” Beck muttered, returning the device. “Leda is dead—I killed her.”

Leda removed her hood and stared into the eyes of her husband. “You did. Our daughter saved my life.”

“You kept her from me all these years--why?” Beck challenged. “I didn’t even know she existed.”

“You tried to kill us, remember? But now she’s in trouble and you are the only one who can help. She was taken by Morlings a week ago.”



Thanks for reading. Let me know you liked it. I love comments!

Picture Prompts: Flash Friday 4-18-2014

Flash Friday is no more, but my picture prompts were taken from http://flashfriday.wordpress.com/.

Gare du Nord, Paris. CC Photo by Elliot Gilfix.

Loraine tugged at her green hoodie. The station was crowded; people bumped and jostled her as she picked through the crowd. She had taken the norm tincture, effectively hiding her webbed fingers and scaly skin, but the hair—it could not hide her sentient hair.

She cursed silently as her hood was knocked back. She yanked it up, drawing it tighter about her face as she scanned the crowd. She had seen the amulet earlier—the one worn by the Morlings. She could not be captured.

She knew there was a Morling in the station with her. She had seen the amulet; she could smell the electrical charge of his breath.

Leaving the crowded station for the empty platform, she hurried to board. “Soon,” she thought, “only a few hours and I’ll be safely home.”

“I know who you are.” The electrical hiss in her ear rendered Loraine unconscious. She had let him get too close; now she was helpless.

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So...Whadya think? Let me know in the comments!


Wow! I won an honorable mention for this piece. Quote from the judge:

Charity Paschall, Untitled. I love flash fiction that hints at a much larger story, just as this one does. What are Morlings? Why does the Morling’s voice render Loraine unconscious? Don’t even get me started on her sentient hair! If this was an excerpt on the back cover of a book, I’d open it up to page one.

Here's the link to see the others that won.

http://flashfriday.wordpress.com/2014/04/20/flash-friday-vol-2-19-winners/

Picture prompted.

Photo Credit:

"Foggy Otzarreta" by Joserra Martinez:http://bit.ly/PGw37k

+MJ Bush asked "What kind of scene would you write here?" Here is my response:

Breathless, Loraine slumped against the tree--a soft cushion of moss beneath her. She peered through the early morning fog back the way she had come--towards Morling Manor.  

The house would soon be waking; they would find her missing and set the dogs on her. Loraine dipped her bare feet, bloodied by sharp rocks, into the water. Whirlpools of red, changed to pink froth and were swept downstream. The wounds healed almost immediately on contact with the water. 

Loraine's fingers splayed over the moss carpeting the forest floor. If only she could stay in this place--but such dreams were impossible. Her kind would never be safe in Shermel Forest; not while the Morlings were around. She shivered at the thought of her recent captivity--she must keep going. 

Thanks for reading. I would love to hear your thoughts! Leave me a comment.