Tag: writing prompts (Page 3 of 27)

“The Empress bathed in regolith and suffering,” Yolinda stated gravely, waving her hands dramatically. “They say she lived a thousand forevers…”

A scoff. “I don’t think that’s right.” Jagira interrupted her, scowling. “Even the Empress isn’t that old.”

Garrett nodded, emphatic. “Even if she has been in charge for forever. How can you have more than one forever?”

“That seems logical,” Zamett agreed. His face scrunched up and got a little red, like when he was offended. Yesterday, he’d even gotten offended by an offering he felt was meager, despite the woman in silks passing over the exact daily allotment recommended in the Book of Zeuzatt.

“Who’s telling this story?” Yolinda demanded. Then, as footsteps approached — a thump of a cane alongside deliberate pacing, all far too familiar from class — “Shh!”

They huddled on the floor of the closet, shuttering the lantern together, as if the steadily approaching thumps would spark more than a lecture or perhaps a switch for being out of bed.

Perhaps it would, Yolinda thought inanely. Perhaps Zeuzatt would come down from his mountain and embody the guardian caretaker to punish the orphans in his care. Perhaps she would lose her chance to become an acolyte, and be turned out into the streets.

She was the eldest of the group, after all, and Zeuzatt preached that elders should take care of them all. It was why the Empress ruled Olymp, after all; who else but the eldest to protect the holy city?

Her words came in a whisper, even long after the footsteps had passed. “Tomorrow.”

The others took their cue from her tone, and waited only long enough to scatter back to their dormitories, quiet as the mice they spent the day driving from the grain stores. A flash of fingers formed their pod’s sign, and hers formed the lie with reluctance.

In her heart, and deep under the rough linen blanket, Yolinda feared that storytime had ended. And she was not quite certain what might take its place.

***

Thanks to TA Leederman for the prompt this week! I’m in, just under the wire, with: The Empress bathed in regolith and suffering. They say she lived a thousand forevers….

Mine went to AC Young: “I thought you said this thing worked.”

Find more, over at More Odds Than Ends, and join in if you’d like to play along!

“Weather approaching,” Greaves announced over the intercom, startling Izz out of her inventory.

“We’re not near atmosphere.” She frowned, still clenching a brass-colored — well, something, she hadn’t a clue what its original purpose was, although surely it would make a lovely, albeit narrow, vase. Her frown grew deeper, though the edge of panic in her voice was well-hidden from all but the AI she spoke to. “Unless you happened to change course and put us near atmosphere for some reason?”

The AI in question laughed at her. “No. It’s a space storm.”

The wind chimes Izz had hung over the cockpit chimed softly. Loud enough to be heard two compartments away. In the three months she’d been running salvage, they’d only ever chimed during takeoff and landing.

Rastan, that absolute pirate, had told her last month that it was silly to have them inside. Izz had given him the aghar with a flick of her fingers and hadn’t cared how rude she’d been. He was a pirate, after all.

And they were the last memory of her sister, who’d loved the obnoxious, cheerfully noisy things.

A low wind began a faint howl, and the wind chimes sounded more desperately.

Even if it was an annoyingly cheerful warning.

“Shall we change course before we’re trapped?” Greaves asked merrily. “I’ve plotted the optimum way out.”

“Yes, yes,” Izz murmured, and bumped her forehead with the brass vase-thing as she rubbed the bridge of her nose. “You know, this is the sort of situation that you should change course without asking me.”

“Not after last time,” Greaves muttered darkly.

Izz was fairly certain the subsequent course correction would have been significantly smoother if she’d kept her mouth shut. “Only a sentient ship.”

***

Thanks to Becky for a chance to redeem myself with chimes this week! My prompt on aliens went to Leigh – find more, and play along, over at MOTE!

Chimes rang softly in the breeze. Kaleh laid in the soft grass and smiled, knowing the sound meant his wife was coming to wake him from his impromptu nap.

It was rare enough that a farmer could rest, but with the last of the wheat harvest in, he’d taken a dip in the pond to clear the debris from his bare chest and arms. The stone cabin was close enough to the pond to provide easy fish and water; far enough away the marsh and its mire stayed properly away from harming the humans that lived nearby.

He’d done well, Kaleh thought. Better than he’d hoped. Better than Bella had teased him, as he’d built the stone and wood cabin during their courtship. He’d installed the bells and pipes for her as a decorative touch last midwinter, when she’d mourned the loss of daylight and fretted that the snow wouldn’t melt in time for a proper plowing and harvest.

Bells for his Bella, he’d told her, when the wind blew or the door opened.

It had been worth the coin to the smithy to hear her peal of delighted laughter at the gift, followed by a delightful embrace onto the bearskin rug with a swirl of lemon and vanilla. He was convinced that particular session had resulted in her current condition.

Footsteps approached in the grass, and he smiled and reached a hand blindly toward the sky. If he were very lucky, he could still tug her down into a pile of laughing skirts. They’d have to be more careful, since her time drew quite near indeed. Perhaps he could convince her it would help their firstborn arrive sooner.

Footsteps, slower even than her current pace, and a squelching sound that made him furrow his brows together. The movement hurt, causing a pulsing throb across his right temple. The heavy beat joined the ringing and drove away questions about why lemon and vanilla had somehow been replaced with copper and scorched earth.

Kaleh let his arm fall and found his eyes were covered in sticky, warm goo. He opened them with difficulty.

A man in unfamiliar leather armor stood above him, spear hoisted high. Crimson splattered across his face.

“Bella,” Kaleh mouthed.

***

Thanks for the prompt about chimes, Becky! Sorry about what I did with it. This week was a trade, so make sure to check out what she did with twining moonlight – and don’t forget the rest of the Odd Prompts crew, or that you too can play along!

Selma waited for the children to settle, then smoothed the blanket and met three pairs of waiting eyes. Each were a different height and color, but all shared the same anticipation.

“Once,” she began, and drew out the word until the littles twitched with anticipation. “Once, there was a woman grievously harmed.”

“Wha’ happ’ned?” Elisee lisped.

“Never you mind,” Jared retorted. He jabbed her with a pointy elbow, for all that she was bigger. “Let Grandma Selma tell the story.”

“It does, however, matter.” She drew a deep breath. “But for the present, it’s enough. You are young, and once every few generations is enough to learn before the time comes. Suffice to say, for now. Grievous harm was done, not just to her body, but to her soul.”

She held a finger to her lips – suddenly, dramatically – as questions clamored in their eyes. “To her soul,” she repeated. “The worst loss in this world is innocence, and that day it shattered.”

“Vigilance,” she continued. “Rare would it be that she would trust again, and always a piece held back.”

“Did she seek revenge?” Jenna had been quiet until now – mostly – but her question cut through the night with clarity.

“Not revenge,” Selma answered solemnly. “Dark fire had burnt out the core of her heart. Instead she sought cold retribution.”

Jared scrunched his face. “I thought that was like…the law.”

Selma’s lips curved, but there was no mirth behind the reminder that the child was well on his way to an academic career. “Oh, but this was a different sort of retribution, my good child. This woman lived in the shadows, spending years steering the visible leaders. And once the system was weaponized against them and they had nothing left…”

“Yes?” prompted Elsee. “She killed them?”

“No.” Rising, she smoothed her skirts. Time enough for the real story, the full story of how their little kingdom had come to be. “She let them live, which was worse.”

She walked away from the puzzled children. Shadows slipped across her face as blood had once run down her cheeks.

It was only after she carefully shut the door to the children’s dormitory that she let the memory flicker into life. She let laughter bubble, eyes unfocused, still gleeful after forty years.

***

Thanks to TA Leederman for the prompt: Dark fire had burnt out the core of her heart.

Mine went to AC Young: Fog shrouded the town each Halloween, concealing…

Don’t forget to see what else the Odd Prompts crew came up with this week, over at More Odds Than Ends!

Medina giggled and chased the soccer ball. Again.

Looking up from where he manned the grill, Peter gave a nostalgic smile and rotated a bratwurst. “My younger cousin used to do the same thing. Chase the ball, then sit on it and hide it with her skirts. Until she got up, no one knew where the ball had gone.” He shut the grill’s lid and sniffed appreciatively. “Made it hard to play footie.”

“I think she just wants to make it pop out from underneath her so she can giggle about landing on the grass,” June said dryly. “And chase it.

And oh dear, I’m out of time! Well, two-year old Medina is quite intrigued with that growling pile of compost, but June and Peter are quite alarmed…perhaps it just wants to enjoy a brat as well? Apologies to TA Leederman, whose prompt I did not do justice, but go check out the rest over at MOTE!

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!