site member prompt One Word Prompts

[J_Ross]

One word prompts, borrowed from the spn50 community on LJ. Grab a word and write a drabble type story to go with it. At least a hundred words per prompt, but as long as you want. And they don't need to be in order.

 

01.Numb

02.Listen

03.Deep

04.Inside

05.Habit

06.Easier

07.Breaking

08.Run

09.Bottom

10.Hit

11.You

12.Lying

13.Somewhere

14.Belong

15.Disease

16.Unreal

17.Movie

18.Happiness

19.Lover

20.Goodbye

21.Bravery

22.Baby

23.Still

24.Try

25.Pain

26.Seen

27.Hidden

28.Unwell

29.Could

30.Glory

31.Education

32.Behind

33.Stay

34.Never

35.Father

36.Truant

37.Apart

38.Exile

39.Drifting

40.Gasoline

41.Remind

42.Heart

43.Set

44.Bad

45.Rubber

46.Sun

47.Steal

48.Hype

49.Back

50.Curse

[J_Ross]

Me first.

 

1. Numb, 419 words

 

It was a cold night. The kind of cold that you feel deep inside no matter how much you rub at your arms to heat them up. The kind of cold that crawls up and down your spine until the hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention. The kind that pierces your lungs when you inhale and bites at your skin painfully without ever being cold enough to make you numb to it all.

 

And there was no escaping it. Taylor knew that. He'd known it for some time, but he still pulled his jacket tighter around him in a futile attempt to keep warm. Part of him still itched to go inside, even though he knew that wouldn't make much difference. It was just as cold inside next to a fire as it was outside between the snow banks that flanked the sidewalks.

 

It was a horrible place where a blanket's only use was to keep the cold in and fires were used for nothing more than light in the thick darkness that was near impossible to penetrate.

 

He lived in a cold, cruel wasteland and though he'd been there for months, he still wasn't used to it yet.

 

It seemed odd that he wasn't used to it though, when he could barely remember anything else. He could hardly remember what the sun felt like, or what the word 'warm' really meant. Every so often, inside as he tried to make the trash he'd found into something that resembled a meal, he'd get hit in the face with a bit of steam and remember words like 'humidity'

Edited May 4, 2009 by J.Ross

[Cynical Romantic]

Good challenge, J.Ross! This one started as a one-off that was going somewhere, I think, but never really did.

 

35. Father

 

He sat in the tattered chair, held together with patches, smoking his cigar. His back was turned and I could see the scars on the back of his neck that he never wanted to see and refused to look at anytime Mom held the mirror for him.

[W_L]

33. Stay

 

Moments are everything. There is never going to be another moment in time that we can sit here with what we know of the world at this moment. Things change and people will change with it. Our minds are creatures of change. People will love you today, then cast you aside tomorrow. Then, why do we love? Why do we hate? If everything keeps changing, there should be nothing.

 

You’re staring at me and I’m staring back at you. You smile politely like I am amusing you, so I smile politely right on through. I try to tell you something is wrong. You just say it’s not same. Now, I wonder why we can’t be together. You just say it’s not the same. We sit there motionless without thought or desire; merely, staring at what we know now in each other.

 

Nothing stays the same, but right now we are together. I feel no hate for you, nor you feel hate for me. We sit here staring at each other, embracing each other, and making love with the other until the end.

 

Things will not be the same afterward. We will start feeling hate after the departure. We will start recriminations with our friends. I will say you were immature and callous. You will say I was obsessive and emotional.

 

Yet, we are here at this moment and hope it may stay.

[Dolores Esteban]

30. Glory

 

 

I look back in time. Forever I will remember this moment of glory.

 

The battle waged. I walked amidst the combatants. Warfare, hand-to-hand, sword-to-sword, bayonet-to-bayonet fighting. Men fighting, men struggling, men dying. The smell of blood in the air.

 

I climbed across the bodies, looking for a bayonet. I spotted a standard in the mud. I picked it up. I held in my hands the most valued prize of the French Army. A feeling of ecstasy took hold of me. The battle waged. I heard the cannons. I heard the guns.

 

I yelled aloud and I raised Napoleon's eagle standard that I had stolen from our enemy. I held up high the symbol of our victory. The battle waged. But here I was. Like in trance I walked on.

 

Sunday afternoon, 18th of June 1815. I walked through the cannon-smoke of Waterloo. One moment in time, on the edge of glory.

 

I lean back in my chair. So many years went by. I feel tired. That day is long since gone; and with it the feeling of glory.

[J_Ross]

27. Hidden

 

The boogeyman is real.

 

Or, maybe not the boogeyman, exactly, but other things. They come out when it

[Nephylim]

39. Drifting

 

Traffic noises, distorted by distance, mixing with the lowing of cows and the buzz of a lawnmower, drift through the open window. It is a drowzy day.

 

The sounds are clear, hyper clear, as if somewhere between their source and my brain they are taken somewhere, cleaned and polished, held up and shaken and dropped back, one by one, bypassing my ears to fall like crystal droplets directly into my drugged mind.

 

The heat falls like a blanket over my naked body. No breeze follows the sounds in through the window to touch my skin, a final kiss of life in day scoured and scorched by an unrelenting sun.

 

It is strange how, lying here drifting, the outside seems so close, so alluring. I have feared the great, open spaces, the faces like masks, hiding what lies beneath and making it so hard to learn to trust. I have no fear now. Soon I will run, wild and free into the most open space of all.

 

My hand lies like a white lily against the crimson silk of my coverlet. I cannot see it because I no longer have the strength to turn my head, but I can feel it, heavy as the rest of my body, leaking life and dying the heavy silk, a crimson river carrying me away from all that I have known. A lazy red river on which I am.... drifting.

[Kanaye]

12.Lying

 

The lies I tell fall from my lips constantly. I wish to tell you the truth, wish to tell you what happened but the lies wont stop. You know my secret though. You, only you know how to bypass my curse.

 

You sit me down and ask if I want lemonade. "No," I say, meaning yes, and you pour me a glass.

 

"Im not thankful" I lie and you smile. "Youre welcome, now tell me what happened.

 

The lies pour forth. "You know I hate to play baseball. I don't know who threw the ball threw Ms. Soton's window. I just know it wasnt Charlie Gowen"

 

You nod. I walk to you, give you a hug. "I hate you, father."

 

Being the mother you are, you hug me back and say, "I love you too"

 

 

EDIT:Forgot to put the number.

Edited September 2, 2009 by Kanaye

[KJames]

37. Apart

 

My Junior High Schools were in a crowded district and handled grades 7 through 9. In 1974 I went to the second toughest Junior High School based on its reputation among the kids. The students all, down to the last one, were horrible. Teasing someone about their name without even bothering to try and get to know what the person was like. In retrospect, I guess that forced me to grow up ahead of time and I decided not to let anyone give me any shit in school anymore. In 1976, we moved, and I was fortunate enough to transfer to the third toughest Junior High School in the district, little did I know why it had the reputation, since it was only a few years old.

 

At Junior High Graduation, the class valedictorian--great speaker that she was--brought up the subject of "Missing those no longer with us" and talked of bullets flying and friends bleeding. This school had been the target of a concealed, rogue sniper who was getting his jollies taking potshots at innocent kids. These kids were all forced to grow up just as early as I was.

 

That first day of High School back in 1977 none of you could even acknowledge me beyond the usual classroom introductions teachers make every time there's a new student.

 

Out of 1,200 students in my class year, not one of you bothered to stop the tall, fat school bully from trying to terrorize me during lunch, then I realized that I had to take action myself just to keep myself from getting a fist to the face. I felt sorry for myself because I had to hurt someone, even if it was the school bully. I felt sorry for him because I think I broke his foot, not because I stopped him from beating me up after being shoved into my locker bank--I stomped that foot pretty hard, just before he lost his balance and fell on his fat ass. Funny thing is, his two 'friends' all laughed at that. I think that's when my mindset started changing for the better.

 

For the rest of that year and the two following, not one of you asked me over to eat lunch with you. Not one of you invited me to a birthday party, out to a movie, or to a beach outing--I did body surf, back then, you know. I was gay, but didn't have the words for it--I only knew that girls just didn't do anything for me. I was lonely for friendship beyond the capacity of words to convey, yet my name was like some type of repellent to all of you. So you left me alone, when I wanted to belong, sad and heartbroken when I desperately wanted the love and respect of friendship, and that's how I remained through High School: Apart.

 

(483 words)

Edited September 2, 2009 by kjames

[Carl]

Edited November 7, 2009 by Carlxy

[JTRandall]

2. Listen 325 Words - By the way, this is a GREAT way for me to get back into the swing of writing! Im so glad these things are here!

 

 

I remember the small clearing that I used to go to and had come to think of as "my spot." As far as I knew, no one else had ever been there. I never saw anything to suggest that I was sharing this space, a piece of forgotten trash or something out of place from the last time I had been there.

 

It

[Rndmrunner]

Sun: 480 words

 

A guilty pleasure, perhaps. Guilty, because we refused to share this quiet spot. It really came into its own in August: the cooler nights, the active skies, the abundance of shooting stars. If I was lucky, I could catch a glimpse of the northern lights and. Tonight was one of those perfect evenings: the water like glass and the stars blanketed the inky sky. The air was clearer now, hot during the day and cooler now, the hair on my forearms prickling slightly in the dampening air.

 

I focused on my paddle, planting it into the water and the feel of the canoe sliding forward under me, almost silently. These moves so practiced as to be unconscious. I loved the feel of the butt of the paddle rotating under my hand as the blade returned for another stroke. I caught a soft scent of cherry. I had carved this paddle myself and we fit each other. Water swelled gently from the canoe with each stroke, the ripples cascading outward into the darkness.

 

I could see the dock now. James was already there, his canoe turned over and water still dripping lazily from the gunwales. I gently manoeuvred to the dock and centred my weight which brought the canoe silently to a stop against the canvas bumper on the edge. The deck was damp as I lay my paddle down and hoisted myself up to sit on the dock. My legs groaned as I moved to climb out, numb from kneeling on my feet. Grabbing the gunwale, I lifted the canoe to my thighs and felt the water on the hull soak into my shorts. With a slight audible suction, the canoe slid out of the water and I spun about and gently laid it to rest beside its brother.

 

The mud was soft along the short path up from the little dock with silent footsteps. The grass already damp with dew grazed my calves as I walked along. I could not so much see as feel this familiar path taking my bearings from the grounds very contours. Shortly the path opened up and I felt the hard Muskoka rock under my feet, shaped by glaciers eons ago. James was resting on his back and didn’t move as I approached. Neither of us made a word of greeting. He moved slightly to share the hollow in the rock in which he lay and I lay down and took his hand.

 

During the day we worked separately in the sun. In the evening we could share its warmth, stored in this ancient rock. My muscles relaxed as the warmth from the stone seeped into my bones, my thumb running over the roughness of his palms memorizing his calluses. Like the sun’s warmth in the rock, we had saved up our day waiting to pass it on in the quiet of the night.

[Mikelaing74]

Here's my attempt, 416 words

 

50. Curse

 

Walking down the passage from his father’s study, the boy stopped to look at the family portrait once more. There depicted in vivid colour, the image of a happy family. If only the world could see the truth behind the lie.

 

Ever since their mother had died in a freak road accident, the boy and his brother had been plagued by dreams. Every time the dream was the same, a faceless figure asking, “What do you want?” Neither of the boys could understand the question as it was asked, both of them had the feeling that there was more at stake than simply asking for their hearts desire.

 

To compound what was happening while they slept, their father had changed. He had always been a distant and difficult man to get to know, but now all of a sudden, he’d become abusive to the boys, verbally, physically and psychologically. Thankfully the abuse hadn’t turned sexual, but both boys agreed it was only a matter of time.

 

As the boy moved closer to his bedroom, he quietly opened the door to see his brother in bed. Moving across the room to his bed, he undressed and climbed into bed. Grateful for the cold sheets pressing against his back, it calmed down the stripes he knew were there from his father’s belt.

 

Lying there in the dark, the boy gradually drifted to sleep, and once again was faced with the recurring dream.

 

“What do you want ?”

 

“What will it cost ?” Asked the boy.

 

“Equal and opposite.”

 

“Then I wish to be free of my father.”

 

“So shall it be done.”

 

After that the boy slept in a dreamless state until he woke the next morning. Moving from the bed in the cold light of the dawn he made his way to the bathroom and from there down to the kitchen. Looking around he could not see his father anywhere. Sighing in relief, he opened the fridge and grabbed the juice. Things seemed to be slightly off, but the boy shrugged it off. He moved to get a glass for his juice. Only then did he see his reflection in the window, the juice slipped from his fingers to hit the floor.

 

Looking at the reflection he felt horror at what had happened during the night. When he had been told ‘Equal and Opposite’ by the dream, he failed to understand the meaning. The meaning now was very clear. He had been cursed to become his father.

[Andy78]

Here's mine (though I plan to write more) https://www.gayauthors.org/story/andy021278/andysshortstogaprompts/22

[Brayon]

20. Goodbye: https://www.gayauthors.org/story/bhopper2/my-shorts-and-flash-fictions/13

Edited November 12, 2017 by BHopper2

[Brayon]

38. Exile: https://www.gayauthors.org/story/bhopper2/my-shorts-and-flash-fictions/14

Edited November 12, 2017 by BHopper2

[Brayon]

32. Behind: https://www.gayauthors.org/story/bhopper2/my-shorts-and-flash-fictions/15