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.

“Bjorn, I Presume?”

  • by Kentit feels a bit… forced.
  • the Queen’s public image isn’t exactly one of wild frivolity
  • smell anything out of the ordinary?
  • moved there two years ago to join a cult
  • conducts disturbing hot dog experiments

Tune in next time part 918      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Bjorn, I presume?” I asked through clenched teeth. I was still under the nanobot swarm’s control, but having reached my destination it seemed that their hold on me relaxed.

“I didn’t give you permission to speak,” was the reply.

“Yet speak I can, even if — like a lot of things around here — it feels a bit… forced.” Whoever was hiding in the shower, he obviously had the phone with the control app that I desperately needed. I stalled for time while I tried to think of ways to get it from him. “How’s your sister these days?”

“She’s fine. Quite giddy actually, even though the Queen’s public image isn’t exactly one of wild frivolity. I’ve just come from one of her secret parties; smell anything out of the ordinary?”

Ursula was Queen of Colloquillia? That was impossible. I kept up with political news. I knew all about the Queen, how she was an outlander who’d moved there two years ago to join a cult that conducts disturbing hot dog experiments, and wound up running it in a week and then parlayed that into running the whole country. Her name wasn’t Ursula, it was… Her name was…

Why couldn’t I remember that name?

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The Stairs Continued Up For Several More Flights

  • by jen“What color are your panties?”
  • pop his gum annoyingly
  • No, I still hate him.
  • important landmark
  • in a bathroom with an anchor

Tune in next time part 917      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The stairs continued up for several more flights, until I was sure I must be nearing the summit of the summit facility. Unbidden, my hand turned the knob on the only door and I found myself in a bathroom with an anchor-shaped toilet and a porthole-shaped mirror. The Nautical Restroom is an important landmark in any Colloquillian public building. This one being full of salamanders meant it was consecrated, and I shouldn’t enter.

But enter I did, compelled by the nanobots coursing through my system. I tangoed over to the very complicated toilet and relieved myself. You might think that I would be grateful to my puppeteer for allowing me to empty my bladder, and providing the knowledge on the workings of such obscure plumbing. No, I still hate him. I imagine he’s the kind of guy to pop his gum annoyingly while you’re trying to read, the kind of guy who asks perfect strangers, “What color are your panties?” and acts offended when they act offended. I didn’t want someone like that handling my junk, even if they were using me as a proxy.

I washed my hands in the clamshell sink.

“At last, we meet again,” came a voice from behind the seaweed shower curtain.

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When I’d Solo-Tangoed

  • by Kentpulverize it with my powerful molars
  • fetish for mythical cephalopods
  • almost obscenely plush
  • it just kept going up
  • referred to them as frogs instead of salamanders

Tune in next time part 916      Click Here for Earlier Installments

When I’d solo-tangoed to the opposite side of the steam bath, my hand involuntarily reached out to touch the wall. My thumb and fingertips clasped a loose section of mortar between some moldy bricks and started wiggling and tugging on it. The idea that the person controlling the nanobots — and thereby controlling my fudging mouth — would force me to chew on that gritty chunk of cement and pulverize it with my powerful molars was revolting and terrifying.

But, when it came free I simply dropped it and began scrabbling around the other edges of that same brick. Soon it was loosened and my hands drew it out of the wall. I watched as my hands turned it around to reveal strange carved runes, and a tiny keyhole shaped like a squid. I felt something shift inside the hollow brick. Was it a secret storage compartment for the marital aid of someone with a fetish for mythical cephalopods? Without the weird key, it seemed unlikely I would be finding out.

The next unbidden thing my hands did was root through the fanny pack. My fingers brushed against the socks inside, and compared to the clammy brick they felt almost obscenely plush and soft. In the toe of one of the socks there turned out to be a key, and of course it resembled a squid. But, I still didn’t find out what was inside the brick-box because my desire to try the key was overridden by the nanobots. And another word clanged through my skull: “Climb.”

I didn’t know what to make of that command, for the only stairs were descending. It was toward those stairs that my feet carried me, but when I reached them my hand found a knob that released a sliding wall panel. Behind that panel was another staircase, and it just kept going up and up as far as I could see. As I trudged up the slimy steps, I spotted spotted creatures skittering on the walls. I recognized the species immediately, but the heads-up targeting display being generated by the nanobots and sent back to the control app referred to them as frogs instead of salamanders, or even newts. Why would Ursula allow such a weird bug to sneak into her code?

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I Always Trust My Instincts

  • by jentwice as much poop
  • she’s one queenly lady
  • brother was not happy
  • he’s definitely dodgy
  • but you are the exception

Tune in next time part 915      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I always trust my instincts, and things usually work out well. There are times, though, when I land in a world of poop. And the fact that the nanobots controlling me wouldn’t even let me think of the other, nastier, word for poop meant that I was in twice as much poop as I’d thought just a moment ago.

Poop.

I could think of only one person who would program such prudish nanobots. Her name’s Ursula, and she’s one queenly lady. That I could now remember her meant that at least one part of my plan had worked. I wasn’t sure I was better off, though. Remembering Ursula meant also remembering Bjorn, and that was dangerous. Back at the Academy, Ursula’s brother was not happy that she was spending time with me. I’m not sure if you’ve ever heard of Bjorn, but he’s definitely dodgy, devilish, and downright dangerous. I don’t remember how he altered my memory to make me forget I ever met his sister, but clearly he did.

My dancing feet twirled me around, and my sultry strut carried me away from the slippery tiled stairs. My eyes darted to every corner, hoping to spot whoever was controlling me. Just because Ursula programmed the bots didn’t mean she was still in charge.

“Ah, Ursula,” I said, utterly without intending to. “I thought that there was no one who could make me forget Tessa, but you are the exception.”

Who the fudge was controlling my mouth?

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Hoping My Companion Could Hold His Breath

  • by KentMy bare ass almost made contact!
  • already sweaty
  • a nearby fanny pack
  • socks with cherries on them
  • tango that culminates in an extravaganza

Tune in next time part 914      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Hoping my companion could hold his breath really well, I worked as fast as I could to fashion the rest of the apparatus. I whipped yards of foil off the roll, rapidly forming it into another box with one side left open so I would be able to place it over my own head. The other component was a narrow tube to connect the enclosures once they were both in place. The final maneuver was the most challenging part: I took the knife from his hand and, working blind because I had already sealed myself up in my box, poked through the other man’s foil and also the skin on his nose. Then I quickly put the tube in place over the opening so that the escaping nanobots would flow over to me. I gave them a few seconds, and then pinched the foil tube shut to keep them on my side.

“Okay, you can unwrap yourself!” I called out with the last of my held breath, and when I tried to inhale I felt the microscopic swarm tingle across my mucous membranes along with a pittance of stale air. That had been my goal all along, but something about the situation suddenly felt off.

I pulled the foil off so I could breathe, and so I could see. The pharma man was gone. He must have been in a hurry to resume his secret mission.

The phone with the nanobot control app was gone, too. That was bad, because without it I had no way of programming them to restore my memories, or keeping anyone else from using them to control me.

“Sleep.” The word sounded within my head, and my last thought before I passed out was that I really needed to get that phone back.

Seemingly the next instant, I was in a Colloquillian steam bath. But the thing is, everything in Colloquillia needs scare quotes. What they call a “steam bath” is… not nice. I was also nude, and poised in the act of sitting down on some random slimy surface. My bare ass almost made contact! The place was horrid, but the steamy part of the name was true. I was already sweaty from the presumably mild exertion of disrobing. I didn’t see my own clothes anywhere around, so I searched a nearby fanny pack and discovered one garment: a pair of socks with cherries on them. I didn’t bother putting them on, but donned the fanny pack with them still in it.

“Dance.” The word again seemed to fill my skull but came from no discernible source, and the effect was immediate. My limbs arranged themselves into a classic pose, and my feet carried me in a marching cadence across the fetid chamber. Unless they stopped soon, I would be dancing a tango that culminates in an extravaganza of bruises, because this steam room had stairs going down.

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The Pharma-Man Stared at the Television

  • by jenpainfully tuneless
  • be your righthand man
  • “I’d salute, but I’d start bleeding again.”
  • dive into the secrecy
  • the opposite of “mindblowing”

Tune in next time part 913      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The pharma-man stared at the television screen and hummed a painfully tuneless little song which I recognized as the hold music used by Fleur’s father, the Warlord of Contraria. To know that tune so well, the pharma-man must spend a lot of time on the phone, waiting to talk to my father-in-law. Unless it was the nanobots riddling his system that were playing the song?

I mumbled, “Maybe your righthand man is really a righthand army-of-microscopic-robots, eh, Warlord?”

From the corner of my eye I saw the pharma rep reach for a knife.

“How dare you threaten a high-ranking member of the armed forces?” I growled. I’d almost called myself a “General,” but I wasn’t one anymore, and Fleur hadn’t told me my new rank.

The knife-wielding fellow said, “I’d salute, but I’d start bleeding again.” He cleared his throat and said, “I don’t have time to dive into the secrecy of my mission, sir. Suffice it to say we’re on the same side. The nanobots are desperate to leave my body. It’s all I can do to keep them from exploding out of my skull. If I cut my finger, they’ll have an exit.”

“But they’ll escape!” In order to harvest the nanobots in a way that was the opposite of “mindblowing” I had to act fast. “Hold your breath,” I said, and quickly encased the man’s head in several layers of foil.

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Proper Use of Aluminum Foil

  • by Kent“I just wanted to say bon voyage, darling.”
  • someone involved in the circus
  • an excuse to rub it all over you
  • his handheld computer
  • after the whole hippo’s foot incident

Tune in next time part 912      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Proper use of aluminum foil had become a small obsession of mine after the whole hippo’s foot incident. Let’s just say clearing customs that day was a major headache, as the inspector scrolled endlessly on his handheld computer in search of the proper import duty on such an item. He finally gave up only when I told him, “This will give me time to bring in the rest of the animal, and think up an excuse to rub it all over you.” He found an exemption that could be applied if I were someone involved in the circus industry, which according to my phony papers I was. Due to the delay, I had to race through the airport to make my next connection, and then the customs inspector appeared again to bar my way. I thought he’d discovered my false paperwork, or finally tracked down the amount I was supposed to pay. He seized me in his arms, and I was convinced he was arresting me, but then he whispered in my ear, “I just wanted to say bon voyage, darling.” He slipped me a note, which I read on the plane. Turned out he had a fetish for being slathered with exotic cuts of meat.

None of which I would have ever had to know if only the parcel had been wrapped more effectively. I took the lesson very much to heart and practiced religiously until I could encase almost anything in a smooth, gleaming cube of foil. I’d never before tried to do a room, though.

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My Mother Kept Many Secrets

  • by jen“Nice neighborhood.”
  • with bars on the windows
  • often requires a flight of stairs
  • within sleepwalking distance
  • (depending on thickness, of course)

Tune in next time part 911      Click Here for Earlier Installments

My mother kept many secrets about her past. Could she have possibly spent time in Colloquillia and learned that wretched recipe? The only time I could remember her mentioning the country she had said merely, “Nice neighborhood.” The way she said it, disdain dripping from her words, meant she thought it was the kind of place with bars on the windows, the kind of place so full of vermin it often requires a flight of stairs to avoid them, the kind of place with dangerous cliffs within sleepwalking distance of every bedroom. Not the sort of place she’d want to spend any time. But Colloquillia was so secretive, how would she know that unless she’d experienced it first hand?

My mind was swimming with even more questions than mere moments ago. I stared at the roll of foil in my hand. Covering an entire room with the stuff was a challenge. It was prone to tearing (depending on thickness, of course) and creasing. But it was still my best bet. If I could restore my memory, I might suddenly have the answers to my questions about Ursula, my mother, and any number of other topics.

“Forget the stinky man,” I said. “We have work to do.”

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My Lack of Knowledge

  • by Kent— the European kind with beaks —
  • videos of quivering food
  • while screaming like a demon
  • with the smallest number of syllables
  • she calls “the stinky man.”

Tune in next time part 910      Click Here for Earlier Installments

My lack of knowledge about how Colloquillian summit facilities are laid out quickly became apparent. The pharma man tromped along obediently behind me, because the nanobots under my tenuous control gave him no alternative. But I could tell by his frequent, loud sighs that he was growing exasperated with my navigational decisions.

Ten minutes into the trek, we encountered the kitchens. Colloquillian cuisine is another weak area in my education, but it seemed to me this must actually be a culinary school. The gleaming steel counters held row after row of neatly folded uniforms. Each little pile comprised an apron, a shirt, and a pair of chef’s clogs — the European kind with beaks — and the uniforms were stationed in front of dozens of flatscreens playing videos of quivering foodstuffs. Fortunately the sound was off, because every few seconds the instructor would appear, hurling ingredients onto hissing griddles while screaming like a demon.

I located a roll of heavy-duty aluminum foil. Now all I needed was a smaller room that I could cover with it.

“Make food,” grunted the pharma man. I was surprised he could speak at all, so it was natural that he would express his wishes with the smallest number of syllables. But, did he want me to make food, or did he intend to do it himself?

“You can eat later,” I said, using the nanobot control app to steer him toward the exit. But he resisted the compulsion with vexing effectiveness. His feet didn’t budge. He pointed at the nearest video and its gelatinous images. Shockingly, I recognized the recipe it depicted, something foul that Mother forces us to consume on special occasions, the only meal I’ve ever known her to prepare personally, which she calls “the stinky man.”

What was this nanobot-addled pharma rep trying to tell me?

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Of the Many Looks People have Given Me Over the Years

  • by jenspooky, grim, unearthly, and rebellious
  • “And I will cut off the sixth finger, this very day.”
  • wore a top hat over a hoodie
  • “The doorman knows your movements.”
  • foil-covered room

Tune in next time part 909      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Of the many looks people have given me over the years (spooky, grim, unearthly, and rebellious among them), furtive is my least favorite. I prefer to be the furtive one in any and all interactions. I turned my attention back to the nanobot app and entered the homing command again, paying careful attention to each glyph. During my Digital Mystic training, my partner and I devised a mnemonic song for remembering the purpose of each arcane squiggle. I could remember that much, but not who my partner had been. That must be a clue!

I stared at the glyphs and let my mind drift back. In my memories I saw a hand wearing a haptic glove with too many fingers. “I stole this from my brother,” a feminine voice said. “And I will cut off the sixth finger, this very day.”

Had I ever heard of anybody with six fingers who might have a sister named Ursula? The only six-fingered individual I could remember was someone who was kicked off the Academy’s beatnik team when he wore a top hat over a hoodie to a competition, but as far as I could remember he was an only child.

But could I trust my memory?

Stomping footsteps announced the pharma man’s approach, and with him the nanobots I needed to restore my faulty memory. I gave him a furtive look and whispered, “The doorman knows your movements.” His eyes went wide with fright.

To safely transfer the nanobots from the pharma man to myself, I would need a foil-covered room in which to work. This being a summit facility, there must be one nearby. “Follow me,” I said.

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