Tag: writing prompts (Page 8 of 20)

Hayes’ satchel made an odd noise. The battered case looked incongruous enough against the authentic Persian rug – hand-woven, he could tell – outclassed by eons beyond the salary he hoped to make.

It might have gone unnoticed, if it hadn’t happened again. This time, a lengthy croak.

“Excuse me?” The woman behind the desk broke off her previous question with a sternness Hayes suspected she displayed most during hostile client negotiations. “I daresay your briefcase…ribbited.”

“I apologize, ma’am,” Hayes interjected with a tap to the top of the brown leather. “I silenced my phone for the interview, of course, but expect my daughter got into something that chirps. She’s a regular Houdini, hacking into things.”

“Like her father,” Celia commented. She settled back into the executive leather chair and steepled long brown fingers together. “A miniature coder. How wonderful. You’ll have to bring her to the company picnic next week. I bet she’d be an absolute terror.”

He covered his surprise and bobbed his head, nodding. “Well, of course. I’d be delighted. I’ve got the job, then?”

She extended a red-tipped hand toward him and gave him a fierce smile reminiscent of a shark that’s spotted a wounded tuna. “You do. Get with Kelly up front for the paperwork.”

“I’m so pleased.” Hayes kept babbling as he backed out of her office and into the sterile yet luxurious entryway.

Kelly turned and gave him a conspiratorial wink. “Paperwork’s already hit your inbox, as long as the address you provided is still good.”

He nodded, the adrenaline pumping still. One hurdle down. “Thanks so much. The whole process has been very organized.”

“Of course. Now, when you take the elevator, head for the basement. Security might as well get you your badge ASAP. Boss lady wants you to start tomorrow.”

It wasn’t until he was alone in the elevator – as posh as the rest of the building, but as art deco in function and speed as in style – that he held the case to his chest and dared a whisper. “You’ll have to keep it down, if you want to come with me. You promised to be quiet.”

A peeved, thin voice answered him sharply. “It’s instinct, curse you. I can’t help it. Besides, she was about to ask you a question you couldn’t answer.”

“Uh-huh. Your instincts kicked in right in the dragon lady’s plush lair?” Hayes laughed. “She likes power symbols. We can use that.”

A frog leg extended nimbly from a crack and made an unmistakable gesture with long toes. “Let me out when we get to security, noodle brain.”

“Yeah, I love you too, partner. Speaking of unanswerable questions, where am I supposed to find a daughter within a week?”

The elevator doors creaked open.

***

This week, nother Mike challenged me with: There were frogs in his briefcase.

My prompt went to AC Young: The dreams of a hero frozen into stone.

Go check it (and more) out over at MOTE!

They say home is where the heart is, but it turns out it was the hart.

Let me explain.

As it turned out, it all started with the deer.

And the first victim was my sister, who couldn’t stand to see an animal hurt. The hart staggered into the garden, she slipped outside with a cheery wink, and a laugh as I warned against antlers.

“Don’t worry so much,” she said. Her last words.

The last coherent ones, anyway. I still hear her, sometimes, slamming into the basement door and moaning.

***

A very quick blurb today, inspired by AC Young: “Home is where the hart is.” I’m afraid I got a touch morbid with it!

My prompt this week went to nother Mike, who investigated killer trees.

Find this, and more, at MOTE!

“How goes the waiting?” Selahi called as she came in on the power line for a landing. “Anything die yet?”

The other vultures continued to stare into the backyard of the latest dying place, the sweet scent of rotting garbage and bones wafting upward. None of them responded.

“Guys? Hello?” She settled in and started to preen, self-conscious that her feathers might be ruffled and unsightly. “Did I offend you?”

“Just look,” Jeskor hissed without turning his head.

She craned her neck around so fast a muscle twinged. “Good thing I like my prey already gone,” Selahi muttered. “And…”

Shining, glittering red came from the dump below, where something caught the light and made it gleam like a nuclear reactor.

Her beak watered at the thought of mutated prey. “What is it? Can we have it yet? Is it dead?”

“That,” creaked the white-streaked Ensor two perches down, “is called a dragon. And they are delicious. You missed the Salt Wars, but trust me, you won’t forget the taste of rotted dragon.”

She snapped her beak twice and mantled her wings. “It’s huge. We’ll feast for days. I haven’t had something new in so long. Just rabbits.”

“Evil, red-eyed little sots,” Beccki muttered. “I enjoy their demise, and regret not being the cause.”

A golden gleam approached from the west, for all the world looking as if the great airborne fireball had spit out a smaller, less predictable version of itself onto the earth.

Selahi’s anticipation dried up as she watched the gleam approach. “I think there’s another one coming.”

“Fire!” croaked Ensor, flapping his wings in futile effort. “Fire breather! Flee!”

The roar of flame proved him correct, and Selahi mourned the loss of her babysitter’s mate.

The vultures scattered, settling into a new flight pattern…keeping an eye on the ruby scales below.

***

A snippet here, though I think I’ll come back to it sometime. This one from Becky Jones was fun, and I hope she enjoyed the trade as well.

Lots in progress, and now back to work!

**New! Update at the end!**

Fourteen Years Ago

“Here’s one.” Mala circled an ad in the folded-up local newspaper pressed against her knee and wondered how much longer they’d be able to hold on before having to close. She felt a pang of guilt. Even the magical world wasn’t immune from the progress of time and technology. Perhaps she’d have been able to help keep her father’s paper open, if she’d made different decisions, if she hadn’t moved away —

But Pops was doing fine, with his new paranormal investigations gig, and when she looked at Lars, she had no regrets for the life she’d chosen.

The man in question came into the room with a jangle of car keys, carrying her jacket. “I don’t care where it is, we’re going to see it. It’s the first one you’ve sounded excited about in a week.”

She laughed, and opened her arms, pulling him down onto the sun-warmed loveseat with her. “Silly man, we have plenty of time to find a place. This one does sound perfect, though.”

Lars smoothed a strand of hair behind her ear and settled in close, one arm protectively wrapped around her. “Tell me about it.”

“It’s a full acre of land. Four bedrooms, two and a half baths. Room for a garden, and ends on a lake. And reasonably priced to boot. I’ve no idea why it hasn’t sold before, so could be a lot of work.”

“Enough space the neighbors won’t see us using magic to fix the place up.” His beard tickled her jaw. “Hey, what’s this?”

Writing formed underneath the neatly printed typeface. Handwritten, in ink, as if one of her father’s ghosts were writing it as she and Lars watched.

Magic portal access in backyard included.

“Now we know why it hasn’t sold,” Mala breathed.

“Old-school,” Lars observed. “I haven’t seen the mundane eye-skip spell since I was a kid.”

She grimaced, turning her head against his. “A portal, though.”

“Quite grand, having one in the backyard rather than using a public transport. Convenient to get to the Department every morning.”

She held his hand over her stomach. “We have more than ourselves to think about now. What if he stumbles into the portal?”

“Oh, we’ll solve that problem by pretending it doesn’t exist.” He rubbed her belly and kissed her temple. “Or the more reasonable solution, darling.”

Mala looked at him questioningly.

“A fence, darling. We’ll put up a fence.”

***

**Keep scrolling for an update to this post**

This week, I remembered it was Tuesday, huzzah! I’ve got something in the works this dovetails with nicely, so I combined my missed prompt from AC Young last week – the problem that doesn’t exist – with this week’s, from Becky Jones, about the advertisement with a magical portal in the backyard. Cheers! Find these and more at MOTE.

Update! Just received this in the mail. My name isn’t on the cover, but my story is. 😉 Coming 24 March!

“You’re doing what?!” Beth asked. Her expression was comic, mouth hanging open and nose crinkled. She saved her coffee mug from spilling onto the living room rug and shook her head, braids rattling.

“Yeah, I know. I need help. This assignment is whacked.” Blade poked at his keyboard in frustration. “‘Design an intuitive navigation system for cats. Dude, I don’t even like cats.”

“What’d Fritz ever do to you? He’s just curled up in a ball over there.” She pointed to the corner where a fluffy ear was barely visible over a squashed pillow. Both ear and pillow looked raggedly well-battered.

He held up a hand. “I’m not going there, but I was trying to avoid allergy meds and you knew it.”

“Lucky the rent is so cheap and you have a fantastic roommate.” She batted her eyes at him. “Seriously, is this a joke? Fritz is about a hundred years old. He sleeps all day, then maybe jumps straight up, does a backflip to his food bowl, and takes another nap.”

“Huh.” Blade rubbed a hand over the itchy scruff on his chin, feeling his brain start to function again.

“Then it’s actually appropriate for a week two exercise in whatever-funky-name they-have-for-this-particular-coding-language 101.”

“So if I treat this as an exercise in practicality…” His voice trailed off as he began to type.

Beth rolled her eyes, knowing he wouldn’t hear her anyway. “Good boy, Fritzy.”

***

This week’s prompt was inspired by Chat GPT. Check out more at MOTE!

“You know I love you, John,” the hologram began, and the look on her recorded face was so earnest he knife-handed the replay. The woman he loved stilled, a sad apology still frozen upon her lips.

“I’ll be damned if you Dear John me on our anniversary, Fedora.” He yanked shirts out without looking and slammed the drawer, so close it caught the tip of his finger. It throbbed as he continued packing with hands grown awkward. “Your happiness was worth the risk of going to space. But if you won’t come to me, then I’ll have to head to you.”

The tabby on the bed flicked her tail in response. Fedora, her hair unnaturally short for the days spent in zero-grav, watched it all with an unblinking stare, even as yawning fangs emerged from her chest with a yowl.

“Fine,” he snapped, and dug in the closet until he found the carrier he’d bought half as a joke, the one with the sturdy viewing bubble and its own emergency oxygen supply. “But you’re lucky the station even allows you to come with me.”

Fedora watched it all, until he left her silent and still, in the empty, grief-shattered home they’d once shared.

He regretted the decision to bring the cat as he argued with the spaceport’s ticket salesbot. “How much extra for this rat catcher?”

“Rodents are not yet an on-station problem, sir. Cats are therefore permitted as a luxury item of baggage and subject to additional fees. It’s quite clear on our website.”

The robot’s bland enunciation was somehow a condescending snub.

“The policy may be revised once the station is fully inhabited and functional terraforming has begun. Do you still wish to purchase a ticket at this time?”

He smacked a fist onto the counter. “It’s this or retirement.”

“I’m sorry, but that is not an answer.”

“Yes, blast it.” He pulled his wallet from his back pocket, then unzipped his jacket to access his spacepass. “Retirement wouldn’t be right without her anyway.”

“John?”

That voice – dulcet, surprised tones he’d heard only this morning, leaving the void of a fractured heart. John turned, disbelief and hope warring in his throat. “Dora. My Fedora.”

She rushed him then, duffle bag slung over one shoulder, wrapping him in arms grown fragile from months on station.

He spun her around, ignoring the bleating bot and irritated passengers dodging her long legs swung wide.

The cat’s squall from the specialty backpack brought him to a slow halt.

“What are you doing here?” Her laugh was casual, confused. “Did you come to pick me up? How did you know I’d be on this flight?”

He dropped a kiss on her forehead, rescued his bag with one hand from the slow approach of a security bot, and hugged her close. “I came to get you back.”

“What?” She started to laugh again, then sobered. “Did you get my message?”

“Yes.” The word was terse, dropping into the mix of announcements and happy reunions.

Fedora looked at him, patted his stubble with one hand, and tugged on his jacket. “Come on. Let’s go find one of those outside benches. I want to feel sunlight on my face again.”

They sat in silence, waving off taxis, his arm wrapped around her frail figure. The tabby rested at their feet in her bubble, watching traffic and travelers with alert ears and whiskers.

“Why?”

She snuggled into his shoulder, burying her face into leather and flannel.

“Two days ago, there was an accident.” Dora rubbed a thin hand over her eyes. “At least, it looked like one. I suppose it could have been clever sabotage. Space does strange things to people.”

He hadn’t thought it was possible to pull her closer.

“The matériels mix was wrong, and just as we pressurized and thought we were safe…Suddenly, there’s a damn hole in the wall. The one we spent a week building. Just crumbled away.” She shuddered. “Air rushing through, and I’m just standing there, in space with my helmet off, wondering why there’s a hole in the damn wall.”

The sun’s comforting warmth was incongruous with the sobs wracking her body.

“Kayla and Bob didn’t make it.” A security announcement in four languages nearly drowned out her words. “Bob, you know he has – had – a thing for her, and I knew he wanted to go to her. But our training is clear. You help who’s closest. And that was me.”

She let out a bitter laugh. “I saw his eyes flicker, and once I’d snapped out of shock and got moving, I pushed him aside. Got my helmet back on and oxygen flowing.” She pushed her short hair back, a habit space hadn’t broken of her even after years. “The rest of the wall had collapsed on both of them.”

He didn’t have words, so he stroked her hair.

“The job wasn’t worth the cost anymore. Not if it meant losing you.” She wiped her eyes. “I’d already lost my crew. So I sent you that message and told you I was coming home.”

“I probably should have listened to the whole holo,” he admitted after watching a pigeon peck at the cat’s plexiglass bubble, secure in its taunting in the way only city pigeons had.

“Wait. Why were you here, John?”

“Coming to get you back.” He shrugged, as much as he could without dislodging her from his arms.

“You hate space,” she said in a whisper.

“And I wasn’t about to let it have you permanently,” he answered simply. “Though I’m glad you caught me before I paid for that ticket.”

Her laugh turned into a snort this time. She nudged the pigeon away with an outstretched boot. “Worse, before you paid for your really expensive and angry carry-on.”

“Means I didn’t have to pawn this.” A brilliant rainbow cut through the spring afternoon’s glow. He held the open box toward her. It’d taken some doing, tugging it from his jacket pocket and opening the box one-handed. “What do you say?”

Her kiss cut off his question.

“I say let’s go home. Forever.”

***

MOTE

Ami looked doubtfully at the metal contraption that rested on the tile floor and swiveled her head to gaze at the attendant. “It looks like a coffin.”

She could have chosen the term spaceship instead. The hatch wheel certainly gave that impression, though the clunky box was less than aerodynamic. Or perhaps a refrigerator from the nineties, repurposed for spa use. The metal box was an odd shade of pearlescent eggshell, most popular with government buildings across the world. This contraption and the plain tile room didn’t fit with the spa’s luxury offerings, soothing paintings, and beautiful floral arrangements.

“I don’t know…” Her editor Lisa had sold her on the idea, after hearing about a man who’d written a book in a day after spending a few hours in a sensory deprivation tank. Lisa, who was probably already a pile of blissful mush from a full-body massage two rooms away, and didn’t have to climb into a metal coffin and seal the door behind her to relax.

The woman whose nametag proclaimed she was Skylar laughed and pushed brown curls off her forehead. They bobbed back into place immediately. “I promise you, our sensory deprivation tanks are safe. Like I said earlier, we recommend people test it for an hour first before working their way up, but after that? Quite relaxing once you get used to the lack of stimuli.”

“They’re supposed to have good health benefits.”

“Massive amounts of magnesium salts make you float and give you a nice mood boost.” Skylar’s curls bobbed again. “A lot of people report peacefulness.”

Ami sucked in a breath, feeling her lips pull back in trepidation. Claustrophobia hadn’t been a problem she’d had to deal with before. “Oxygen flow on that end?”

Skylar nodded. “Some people prefer their heads by the door, others want a bit of obvious air flow. I’ve done this plenty of times and find the air currents disruptive.”

Ami didn’t think she’d mind oxygen in her metal coffin. Seemed preferable to the alternative. “I see.”

Skylar walked over to the hatch and rested her hand on the wheel. “If you decide you prefer the door open, just spin so the latch stays out.”

Ami sucked in a deep breath again, so hard it made an odd sound. “Sorry.”

“You don’t have to do this.” Skylar gave her a sympathetic wink. “Spas should be fun. If this is popular enough, the owner will invest in a modern version, but I promise, the water’s sanitized and warm. All you have to do is float.”

She shoved her shoulders back and jutted her jaw in the air with a confidence she’d lost years ago. “Change over there?”

“You’ll love it,” Skylar gushed, pointing to the corner Ami had indicated. “I promise.”

The door shut and locked behind the attendant as Ami took her jacket off. “I’d better,” she muttered. “Can’t believe I’m doing this voluntarily.”

She studied the hatch wheel a few moments later, barefoot on the cold tile floor. “In for a penny.”

Ami reached for the door and yanked, then nearly fell as nothing happened. The hatch was already sealed. “Stupid.”

She spun the wheel and slipped inside – and then slid into the salt water as gravity and physics took over, banging the door shut behind her.

Whether she’d wanted to or not.

Her breath came in pants as she realized the oxygen was on the other side of the coffin, but she couldn’t bring herself to move away from the door. Perhaps – perhaps it would be fine. She had an hour in the tank, and could get out early or spin around to the air flow later.

All Ami had to do was make it through the first five minutes. Then a book would magically pop into her head, the book that was already a month late with barely three chapters written.

Hadn’t Skylar mentioned this end of the tank was supposed to have a floatation pillow on the wall? Ami reached out a hand blindly and encountered something velvety and soft. She gave the slippery pillow a tug.

“Bad enough you interrupt my bath.” The voice burbled like ocean foam on the shore, irritation like waves breaking on rocks. “Would you mind not manhandling me?”

What could only be a tentacle wrapped around Ami’s arm, strong suckers pinning her in place. Her breath came in gasps too rapid to do more than hyperventilate.

***

This week’s More Odds Than Ends prompt came from Cedar Sanderson: That’s when that spa showed up. You know, the one with the cephalopods.

My prompt went to Becky Jones, who has a new author page you should go check out: The everyday purposes of megalithic structures were finally revealed to the modern world when…