Tag: writing prompts (Page 3 of 27)

Lieutenant Bork held in a twitch – other than that understandable tremble of one or two fingers against the stiffness of his new uniform – as his new commanding officer approached, bouncing slightly in the eighty percent gravity.

“Welcome,” Lieutenant Colonel Antelope said, hand outstretched. The squadron commander snagged a miniature candy bar and pushed the bowl across the admin’s desk toward the younger officer.

Dan shook his head and swallowed hard. The station’s recycled air was already wreaking havoc on his throat.

“C’mon,” Antelope said, taking a moment to study Dan while he chewed the treat. “Let’s do the tour and get you situated before we chat. Leave your kit here, other than the emergency oxygen.”

“Yessir.” Dan managed the words, wondering how training hadn’t pounded nerves right out of his limbic system. He grabbed his kit and tucked it out of the way, then scrambled to follow.

“It’s an old station,” Antelope said casually. “Several put together, actually. Bit of a maze, and we’re scattered all over. Restrooms, just here.”

Dan shook his head at the raised eyebrow. They kept walking.

“All right then. Archives on the left, wiggle around” – which really was the most appropriate term for the hallway, as if the planners couldn’t make up their minds on how wide the path should be, or the direction, or even what height – “we’ll keep going, but that door on the right is one of our big collaboration partners. You’ll work with them a lot, but they’re all playing an offsite today.”

“Space golf?” Dan asked hesitantly. It seemed like everyone in training had been mad for the game, or thought they could play with the greats.

“Krav maga,” Antelope answered. “We do PT with them, too.”

“Sweet, sir.”

“Ah, some personality begins to show underneath all that respectful attention.” Antelope cracked a grin, and Dan matched it faintly. “You like martial arts?”

“It’s great exercise and training,” he answered truthfully. “But it seems awfully aggressive as the first thing you learn about me, now that I think about it.”

“Then tell me more. Where do you call home? How was the launch?”

The men kept walking as they talked, until Antelope stopped in front of a double door. “Portal to the dragon realm,” he dropped with a wink. “I’ll introduce you to Sergeant Sparkles in a moment. Brace for impact.”

***

This week’s prompt was from AC Young about a portal to the dragon realm, but I wanted to do something a little different. Real dragons or hyperbole? You decide.

My prompt about grief and loss went to Becky Jones.

Find more, over at More Odds Than Ends. Want in on the fun? Email odd prompts at gmail dot com with a prompt and let us know if you want to trade or submit a spare. Or just snag one and post once you get your creativity on!

Look in between. Rianna ran the words through her head on repeat, no matter how much she didn’t want to hear them anymore. Her mother’s words had replaced the lyrics to the latest K-pop song, infectiously and incessantly catchy.

Her mother’s words, a whispered false hope that dementia hadn’t quite stolen the voice that had once been strong enough to call her to supper no matter how far Rianna had strayed in the neighboring woods.

“Look in between,” she muttered, and bit her tongue with a blandly pleasant smile at the woman exiting. Rianna stabbed her badge toward the turnstyle entrance and dropped the lanyard over her head, then headed for the elevators. It doesn’t matter that I know it won’t make sense, I just want to know what she meant.

She nodded to her boss, who barely acknowledged the greeting while barreling toward the building’s coffeeshop. Too dear for Rianna, these days, not with saving her pennies in the hopes that Mama could go into a nicer home when it finally got to be too much for family. And it would, eventually, the doctor and social worker had made that clear.

“Look in between,” sang Mama’s voice to the beat of the migraine-inducing chirpiness that echoed inside her skull. Rianna jabbed her thumb at the button for her floor, glad she was for once alone in the windowless box.

She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. Look in between.

The elevator stopped with a lurch. Rianna clutched the railing and swallowed. There was still power, for now, and it told her the box was suspended four and a half flights above the ground.

Do something. She poked the button for her floor again, with no result, then tried every other button. It took several minutes to pry open the call box, only to find the handset missing.

Look in between. The words were more than an irritant now. She thumped her fist on the door.

The metal pulled back smoothly and silently.

“Oh. Hello.” An elderly man with wispy tufts of white hair greeted her. He was surrounded by shadows, arms were full of books, and an expression of surprise on his face. “I don’t get many visitors to the Library.”

She stepped into the room cautiously, one hand on the doors. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but the elevator got stuck and then dropped me off here.” She gave a short laugh and let her hand slip. “It seems to think I’m halfway between floors.”

The man nodded gravely. “Indeed.”

“Er.” Air moved behind her. She whirled to find the doors already closed. “I need to get to work.”

“No,” the man said kindly, and somehow she wasn’t as concerned as she should have been. “Your need must have been very great to find your way here.”

Rianna’s eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. Endless shelves filled the room, as far as she could see. Stacks of books mixed with scrolls, scraps of random paper, and even what might be a clay cuneiform tablet, if she squinted. The scent of old paper reminded her of hours spent in the library, chasing research projects.

The man set his books down and settled behind a heavy mahogany desk, well-scarred and stained with splotches of ink. “Now. What brings you to the Library of Last Resort?”

***

This week’s prompt was inspired by Parrish Baker: The elevator stopped between floors in the last place she thought to look.

My prompt went to Becky Jones: He was a modern-day noir detective, with all that came with it — but the cost of helping her was higher than even he’d suspected.

Find more, over at MOTE! And don’t forget, you can join in anytime. Get a prompt sent to odd prompts at gmail dot com to trade tonight, or snag a spare tomorrow!

“Welcome to Zama Industries!” The chirpy woman’s black curls were hidden by a white industrial hard hat. She extended her hand, followed by passing an identical helmet and a visitor’s badge. “I’m Reika.”

“Lizbeth. Thanks.” She’d worn a bun this morning, anticipating the spaceport construction tour. “Really excited to be here.”

Reika gave a half-smile. “I doubt we’re going to launch anytime soon. Still, at least seventy-five percent of the space colony’s cargo is already scheduled go through the orbital port here once it’s finished.”

Lizbeth followed Reika over a metal catwalk that overlooked the start of the construction base. What must be the elevator shaft loomed starkly overhead, leaving them in shadow. A metal bot moved its limbs in perfect unison, creeping steadily upward

“I’m afraid watching the spider climb the drain spout isn’t very exciting…”

“No.” She couldn’t hold back her grin. “I spent all of university hoping to help build our path to the stars. It’s why I went into engineering.”

Reika’s reserve broke — as much as Lizbeth thought it ever did, at least. “I did the same. I wish everyone had your enthusiasm for the project.”

“Oh?” Her brow furrowed. “Have there been protests against it?”

“Protests, demonstrations, threats, the lot.” Reika grimaced. “I’m afraid we’ve had to increase our security. That’s why we had you come in the tunnel entrance this morning. But don’t worry —”

An alarm blared, with blue flashing lights turning the few others visible this early a ghastly corpselike hue.

“—we’ve taken quite a few precautions. Nothing to worry about. If you’ll follow me? I’ll give you the evacuation handbook once we’re back inside the offices.”

***

This week’s prompt was from nother Mike: Watching the spider climb the drain spout wasn’t very exciting…

My prompt went to Parrish Baker: The alert blared to life just as he sat down at the piano stool.

As always, don’t forget to check out everyone’s submissions, and jump into the prompt challenge if you’re interested!

“Beep beep.”

Josiah carefully twisted the paintbrush in a final swoop and tucked it into a bag until he could properly finish the design or clean his tools. He looked up finally to discover a petite brunette in her early twenties, gazing eagerly at him with sea-siren eyes, lids covered in a shade of glitter not he’d not seen in his 264 years.

“I like your mural.” Glitter girl reached forward with a wistful hand. “Always loved that cartoon while growing up, even if it was old-fashioned. An escape, whenever he wanted it. I guess that’s what you get from this hobby, huh?”

Her hand, he observed, glowed faintly red at her fingertips, which had nothing to do with her azure-painted nails that — unsurprisingly — also shimmered. The portal tremored, and he swallowed his sharp admonition that she was about to disturb the still-drying paint.

Glitter showed no sign of noticing what happened, nor his sudden friendliness.

“I expect you’d like to travel through yourself,” he interrupted smoothly.

She stared, then stuttered. “Ye-yes, of course. But there’s no secret faeryland beyond the brick. It’s just a cruel dream.”

“Good,” Josiah said, and seized her wrist. “I’ll show you.”

She tugged her arm, pulling back to no avail. “Let me go!”

He smiled, exposing fangs. “But my dear Glitter, you already gave your permission.”

***

Well, I went dark with nother Mike’s prompt this week (and have plans to expand this one to something even darker, yikes!): Painting 3-D tunnels on the sides of buildings was his hobby… and a memorial to Roadrunner cartoons!

My prompt went to Becky Jones: He’d sentenced her to a life of alarm clocks.

Find more, and play along, over at More Odds Than Ends!

“It’s never been checked out,” Lisbeth hissed. A woman two tables over fluttered her wings and a man wearing headphones that she suspected might be a technowizard looked up at the disturbance before going back to their respective archive projects.

She blushed, cleared her throat, and remembered her scribe’s vocal training. A low tone and soft voice carried less than a whisper, despite the echoes of the archival hall. “Sorry. We’re running low on space, that’s all, and there’s not a single record of anyone using this book.”

Lisbeth thumped the book down atop the librarians’ shared counter and felt her cheeks flame as the library’s users stared.

“Let me see that file.” Richard coolly pushed his spectacles toward glassy blue eyes with an ink-stained finger. “Ah, yes, this one. It stays.”

“A single look and that’s it?” Lisbeth was quietly outraged. “We have four hundred tomes in transit, and there’s not enough room.”

“True,” Richard answered amiably. His authority and calm befitted the head librarian position, as did his patience. “I applaud your candor and willingness to speak up, Cadet Lisbeth. Tell me, however, where do we work?”

She stuttered. “The – the library.” Her voice rose until it was nearly a question.

“Indeed,” Richard answered, pressing the tome into her waiting arms. “More specifically?”

“The King’s library?” She glanced around at his gesture for her to continue. “The…the magic library.”

“Uncouth to put it so bluntly, but yes, we are in charge of the kingdom’s archives, both magical and historical.” He leaned forward, sharp-pointed nose zooming so close she nearly forgot to look beyond the cracked glass of his lenses. “And what do you think happens every so often in a magical library?”

“We run out of room,” Lisbeth said uncomfortably, and tugged the book close to her robes.

“And what do you think happens when a magical library runs out of room?”

She shook her head, confused.

“It grows,” he said softly.

Lisbeth’s internship hadn’t felt real until that moment. Her own magics were small, and it was easy to think of the larger magics as illusions, or powered by technowizard mechanics.

Now the weight of her chosen career field began sinking onto her shoulders, and she felt every missed drop of the caffe she’d missed this morning as she struggled to study the hall that had seemed so familiar only moments before. “It grows,” she repeated. “Grows?”

“This particular book catches fire whenever it leaves the protections of this hall,” Richard said quietly. “Balefire. The pages aren’t damaged.”

Gulping, she realized the implication, and hastily shoved the volume back onto the shelves. “But the person carrying it…”

He nodded. “It will never be checked out.”

***

A fun one from Parrish Baker this week, with a bit of a tweak: The librarian discovered that one book in the collection had never been checked out—and when she opened it, she understood why.

And hey, it was a trade week, so check out what Parrish did with mine: “Of course it’s only cheesecake.”

Find more and play along, over at More Odds Than Ends!

“The forecast said it would be dry,” Izz said through clenched teeth. She studied the swirling cloud of pale gold and ice with a steadily increasing throb at her temples. That unpredictable nebula was moving faster than they’d expected, and half the hull still yawned open.

“That was last night.” Greaves sounded as cheerful as only an incorporeal sentient AI could.

An AI that clearly had never dealt with storms, Izz added silently. A molar twinged, and she eased up before she wound up dependent on Greaves for dental surgery.

“G, if I might remind you…you were the forecast. These aren’t normal storms moving in.”

Puzzled silence hissed over the ship’s speakers.

Right. She sighed, tugging on her spacesuit. “A normal storm, planetside, is a bit of rain, maybe some lightning. A bad storm adds high winds. Most storms are an inconvenience.”

“I understand.” That was as robotic as Greaves ever got — a sign the AI was learning. “This is not a normal storm. I should have woken you sooner. You need to finish the repairs so the ship is safe.”

“I need to finish the repairs because the ship is what keeps us safe,” Izz corrected. “Because that’s ammonia rain and faux-pyrite hail on its way, and we’re docked at an ancient station that’s been abandoned for at least the past five hundred years.”

***

Thanks to Leigh Kimmel for the prompt this week! Last night the forecast said today would be dry. Now we have storms moving in — and I need to get that work done…

My prompt about rocks went to nother Mike – check it out over at MOTE! And don’t forget, you can join in the prompt exchange or snag a spare – new prompts roll in tomorrow.