Category: Writing Prompts

Prompts are short, fun exercises that can be used to get the creative juices flowing or break the ice at a critique meeting. They start as a brief list of ingredients, forming a challenge for the writer to incorporate all of them into one self-contained piece. There are many ways to come up with prompts and each author will find a unique way to express a given prompt.

“Bingo”

  • by KentTranslation: feed me or I eat the cat.
  • which contains the key-hole
  • Why are rich people like this?
  • they wanted a dead body
  • evil influence of Uranus

Tune in next time part 798      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Bingo,” the tall, lightly polarized man said. “Here’s the message: trapezoidal zoology ferments pawprint neckerchiefs.”

To an ordinary person, that sounded like a password generator having a stroke. But I recognized it as an example of the Anarchy Code. Translation: feed me or I eat the cat. Which was, hopefully, another code. It had to be one that Jason and Lyudmila cooked up together, and I had no idea how, in this case, her twisted brain — which contains the key — would try to communicate with my twin’s twisted brain — which contains the key-hole.

“So, now you’ll let us go, right?” asked the tall man.

I winced.

“I knew it!” he said. “I knew you’d screw us over. Why are rich people like this?”

What made him think Jason was rich? His #1 ranking might sound impressive, but most wedding-goers wanted a rapper in the ceremony as much as they wanted a dead body in place of a cake.

“I know why, actually,” Tallness went on. “It’s the evil influence of Uranus. You think us normals don’t know about that, but we see it!”

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Lyudmila Hated Jason

  • by jenwanted nothing to do with him
  • fatal slugs
  • “When the sirens went off,”
  • directly to my tongue
  • (but I definitely did)

Tune in next time part 797      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Lyudmila hated Jason. She always said she wanted nothing to do with him. Had she been lying the whole time, or had something recently changed her mind? Something, perhaps, like an encounter with near-fatal slugs? Lyudmila was both fascinated by and allergic to icicle slugs. The danger of anaphylaxis turned her on almost as much as the slugs’ aphrodisiac qualities. “When the sirens went off,” I remember her telling me, “I knew the EMTs would save me, so I didn’t worry about it. I just rode that wave.” Having recently had an icicle slug applied directly to my tongue, I felt like I probably knew how she felt. Unless I didn’t (but I definitely did). Would a near-death experience cause her to rethink her anti-Jason stance, if he were the one to supply the slugs? He’d had a pair of them since we were at the Academy, raising them as pets.

I looked at Too Tall and lisped, “Icicle slugs.”

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“It’s Funny You Chose That Word”

  • by Kentbuild little prisons for all my food
  • definitely into some weird shit
  • Spanish for Scotland
  • So he kissed her again
  • “Sorry, sorry, alright already, I’m going, sheesh.”

Tune in next time part 796      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“It’s funny you chose that word,” Tall Man said. “When I was a lad, I used to build little prisons for all my food, and the butternut squash was always the warden. And this Lyudmila chick was definitely into some weird shit, but that isn’t the keyword.”

My hand twitched by the control knob for the polarizing couch. “But that doesn’t make any sense,” I said. “That’s absolutely the code word she would use, if she wanted you to make sure you were giving the message to the right person.”

“Well, I’m sure you’re the right person,” he replied. “Like I wouldn’t recognize America’s #1 wedding rapper!”

So, the message was for my twin brother, Jason!

“Silly to even suggest it!” I said. “Can you give me a hint about the keyword, though?” I rolled my eyes significantly in the direction of his diminutive companion to remind him what the couch’s higher settings were capable of. “You did say you’d tell me everything.”

He swallowed. “Something I noticed about Lyudmila is, when she sneezes it sounds like Spanish for Scotland.”

Was that supposed to be a clue? I began to wonder if we were in fact talking about the same Lyudmila, but that just made me want to hear the message even more.

We were interrupted by the barkeep, who appeared just then to ask who was going to settle the Right Anglers’ tab. Before I could shoo him away, Tessa spoke up. “We’re a little light on cash at the moment, but I’m sure we can work something out.” She stood with her hands clasped behind her, digging one toe on the floor and batting her lashes. The barkeep looked as surprised as I felt, but then he stepped over to her for a kiss. She moaned softly and wrapped her arms around his neck. So he kissed her again.

“There,” she said. “That should about cover it, don’t you think?”

“What about my tip?” he asked.

Tessa growled.

The bartender lurched backwards away from her. “Sorry, sorry, alright already, I’m going, sheesh.”

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Lyudmila had a Very Sketchy Romantic History

  • by jen, the occasional magician
  • it had been about eels
  • don’t be cruel to me
  • “How genius of you.”
  • a very long running affair

Tune in next time part 795      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Lyudmila had a very sketchy romantic history. She’d dated con-artists, exotic animal smugglers, back-alley dentists, the occasional magician. You get the picture. She said being a contortionist made her tastes flexible, too. The night of the butternut incident her date was an accordion player who’d had one hit song, and it had been about eels. Lyudmila wanted him to sing it for her, and he was refusing because he wanted to be known for something — anything — else.

“Don’t be cruel to me,” she pouted. “Sing it.” She pouted very fetchingly, but he refused.

I plucked the accordion from his hands and, thanks to my Academy training, played a passable version of the hit, which, in the Yankovic code spelled out the word “Butternut” over and over.

“How genius of you.” Lyudmila purred, running her hand up my thigh and cupping my very own butternut. And that was the beginning of a very long running affair between myself and my best friend’s sister.

Things ended messily, of course, but that’s a story for another day. For now I needed to know what she’d sent these two wooly dreamboats to tell me.

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“Do Your Worst”

  • by Kentperformed a sexy little number
  • “Oh, fuck,”
  • you were in the circus together
  • threatened to kill again
  • “Butternut,” I said.

Tune in next time part 794      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Do your worst,” grunted the small man through clenched teeth.

“Okay,” Tessa chirped. She turned the polarization impulses on his couch all the way up. He tensed, then began to quiver. The vibration speeded up until his outline blurred, and then kept increasing until it hit a resonant frequency where he transformed into a mass of cubes in different sizes, all slowly revolving against each other. He looked like Picasso having a nightmare about Escher. I found the event nauseatingly hypnotic, but it seemed Tessa found the spectacle somehow arousing. She performed a sexy little number on her tip-toes to show her enjoyment.

“Oh, fuck,” said the tall man. “I’ll tell you everything!”

“Good,” I said. “Start with who recruited you back when you were in the circus together. Was it Lyudmila?”

“We were never… But wait, it was someone named Lyudmila. How did you know that?”

“Because it’s always someone named Lyudmila. Don’t tell me, she said I was a killer, and that I had threatened to kill again?”

“No, nothing like that. Actually we just have a message for you. All that stuff about an ass-kicking was just our way of making it a little more fun.”

I scowled at him. “Okay, whatever. What’s the message.”

He eyed me nervously, the low-level polarization of his couch making his limbs twitch. “This is going to sound like I’m trying to play for time or mess with you, but I promise I’m just following her instructions.”

I nodded wearily.

“She said I can’t give you the message unless you tell me the keyword.”

“Butternut,” I said. I said it without hesitation, because of one very strange evening years ago when Lyudmila had been present.

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“I Wish You Wouldn’t Talk about Arlo”

  • by jenwhere lasers mimed demonic lightning storms
  • dripping out of your ears right now
  • bunch of tiny cubes
  • the color of urine on snow
  • “I’m not here to make friends!”

Tune in next time part 793      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“I wish you wouldn’t talk about Arlo,” I said. “With or without clogs, that guy is such a dick.”

Tessa laughed, and it was the sort of laugh that made it impossible to believe that she might be a robot whose head was filled with circuits and microchips, where lasers mimed demonic lightning storms as they rocketed around and simulated thoughts.

The two bebearded gents on the sofas began to twitch. The mime juice was wearing off, and once that process starts it goes quickly. Since we hadn’t restrained the men, I said, “We better switch these things on now, before they fully recover.”

“Aye-aye.”

Tessa and I each pushed the Polarize button on the sofa we were stationed beside, and the process began. A few minutes later, the men were fully conscious and in the throes of polarization. I cleared my throat and spoke loudly to be heard over the mechanisms. “You’re probably wondering what is dripping out of your ears right now. It’s a bunch of tiny cubes the color of urine on snow, and you know what that means.”

“You’ve polarized our ear wax!” Tall Guy cried.

“You animal!” Shorty yelled.

“I’m not here to make friends!” I said. “I’m a General of the Contrarian Humor Battalions, and I’m here to find out who sent you. The polarizing sofas are currently on level 2. Will you answer my questions, or do I need to turn up the reactor power impulses?”

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I Grabbed The Tall Man’s Ankles

  • by Kentonly poets could properly express
  • fart and fall down
  • how your boss feels about robot nipples
  • The first rule of Magic Club is
  • regretted not bringing his own clogs

Tune in next time part 792      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I grabbed the tall man’s ankles and started dragging him across the chapel. I said to Tessa, “I’m going to stick you with the little one.” And friends, only poets could properly express how sly her smile became. We got both of the Right Anglers loaded onto those couches, and I managed not to fart and fall down even once during the whole process.

Each couch’s polarizing controls were located on the end, so that if you were sitting by the arm you could reach down and activate them. Why you’d want to do that is a mystery. I moved into position by one button and Tessa manned the other. Then we just had to kill time until the mime juice wore off.

“Why were you so concerned about whether I’d killed them?” Tessa asked.

“Well, Fleur would probably disapprove, and she’s not only my wife but also kind of my boss on military matters.”

Tessa shimmied a little, her Ultra-Druid getup making it quite a show. “Did you ever wonder how your boss feels about robot nipples?”

I blinked. “Are you telling me that you’re a Tessabot?”

She laughed. “The first rule of Magic Club is not answering that question!”

“What’s the second rule?”

“Can’t tell you, but I can say it’s why a certain viscount regretted not bringing his own clogs.”

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With My Right Fist I Drew a Figure in the Air

  • by jendescribed as peanut shaped
  • “One of your lovers?”
  • spider venom coursing through his veins
  • five kinds of tranquilizers
  • those polarizing candy cane striped couches

Tune in next time part 791      Click Here for Earlier Installments

With my right fist I drew a figure in the air, one that my sensei once described as peanut shaped. It was designed to distract and mesmerize an attacker. I hoped it would work when there was more than one.

“Who taught you that?” the taller man asked. “One of your lovers?” The way he said it I could tell he was hoping to upset Tessa by implying she was not my only paramour. She ignored his taunt and pulled out a blowgun, and moments later both the tall man and his little buddy were on the floor, not moving.

“They’re not dead, are they?” I asked. I wasn’t sure how Fleur would feel about that sort of thing on her airship.

Tessa smirked. “Not unless either one of them is allergic to the spider venom coursing through his veins now. Or any of the other five kinds of tranquilizers.”

She’d dosed them both with mime juice. I shuddered. You can take the girl out of the invisible box…

“I wonder who sent them,” she said.

“I know how we can find out. Help me drag them over to those polarizing candy cane striped couches flanking the altar, and when they wake up–”

Tessa finished my thought. “We’ll polarize them.”

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If You’re Like Most People

  • by Kentviolent constipation
  • I know what a kitchen is for
  • he’s… “passionate”… about… fish?
  • “Observe: a perfectly shaped square.”
  • movie stars with long hair, rosy cheeks, and beards

Tune in next time part 790      Click Here for Earlier Installments

If you’re like most people, you’ve given a lot of thought to what someone who lurks in the shadowy recesses of a pickle chapel should look like. And, how someone whose greetings are vulgar and hostile should dress. In neither case do you probably expect movie stars with long hair, rosy cheeks, and beards that could conceal adult raccoons.

The owner of the booming voice was a hairy adonis, as was his companion. Both men held up their left hands, palm outward. Booming-voice said, “Observe: a perfectly shaped square.” Inked onto his palm was a lopsided oval that might have been an eggplant. The other man’s hand displayed a horseshoe, complete with nail holes.

“Who are you?” I demanded. Under my breath I added, “And who taught you geometry?”

“All things are squares to us, for we are Right Anglers. Your ass-kicking is the thing I’m second-most passionate about, right behind our finny underwater friends.” He stood, and I was startled by how little difference it made. His companion, however, was fully a head taller than me.

I tried to inventory the situation, but it made no sense at all. I’ve never heard of this guy, but he wants to kick my ass, and he’s… “passionate”… about… fish? Then what’s he doing on an airship? Now he’s coming toward me, so I better do something.

My favorite stance for unarmed combat was the one they called a kitchen in my dojo. There were all kinds of other options, from powder rooms to breakfast nooks, but their purposes were never clear to me. I know what a kitchen is for: not getting my ass kicked.

“Ugh, men!” Tessa huffed. “Your emotional landscapes are nothing but violent constipation.”

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I Didn’t Care Why She’d had a Xylophone Glued to her Head

  • by jenBetween every single smooch I was sopping up sweat
  • Jeepers creepers!
  • the standard inking method
  • enters her wedding night tongue-tied
  • weirdly pleasing metallic smell

Tune in next time part 789      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I didn’t care why she’d had a xylophone glued to her head. Simply knowing that Tessa was an ultra-secret spy was a total turn-on. I leaned over and kissed her, hard, on the mouth. The pickle brine on her tongue made my eyes sting, and her kisses raised my body heat. Between every single smooch I was sopping up sweat with the tablecloth, but I kept going back for more.

“Jeepers creepers!” Tessa cried. “You’re going to drown us both!”

“I’ll be dehydrated soon,” I murmured, in what I hoped was a seductive voice. I must have been wrong because Tessa immediately started talking about tattoos again, and how the standard inking method wouldn’t work if she used the pickle skewer, but she was willing to improvise.

“Tessa, no. No improvisation. No tattoos.”

“You’re acting like some blushing bride who enters her wedding night tongue-tied and scandalized, but I know you. You’re a man of the world. You’re the sort of man whose copious sweat has a weirdly pleasing metallic smell. The kind of man who is up for anything. The kind of man who–”

She was interrupted by a deep voice booming from the depths of the pickle chapel. “The kind of man who’s about to get his ass kicked.”

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