Tag Archives: timed writing

Writing prompt: The special box of chocolates

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Time: 7 minutes. Click here to go to my list of prompts.

“The special box of chocolates” (author’s note: I am apparently a terrible Valentine. This was the less horrifying of the two prompts I wrote today. You were warned.)

We’ve come a long way with chocolates, I mused to myself, leaving the confectionary with a gleaming heart-shaped box full of truffles. I’d had the old versions, with just sugar and caffeine as their chemicals of action. They tasted nice, but it was a letdown compared to the modern thrills. I pulled out the guide on the walk home. The one with the ripple caused increased *ahem* blood flow, the one with the white stripe caused relaxation, the triangular one caused a sort of numbness that increased stamina… my favorite was certainly the square dark chocolate one that sort of made you feel like the other person, especially if they had one too. I slipped the guide back into the box, and grinned at the knowing leers as I walked.

My husband’s eyes flickered when I arrived home. “Ha, really John?”

“I get it every year, I know,” I said sheepishly. “But I so look forward to it.”

“I do too,” he said, wrapping his arms around me. For a bit, we needed no chemical excitement at all.

I stumbled out of the bedroom, feeling pleased with myself. But then I saw the beautiful box of chocolates, chewed and gnarled. The dog. Oh my god, he could be poisoned!

The dog, a great, powerful bulldog, came around the corner, and then I realized that poisoning might be the least of my issues. He snorted, and he looked me in the eye. I dashed out the door, half-naked, into February.

Writing prompt: The devious cat

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Time: 7 minutes. Click here to go to my list of prompts.

“The devious cat”

I lie on my couch and watch my master. I gurgle and roll around, feeling the suede fabric against my fur. This time of year it’s a combination of pleasure and a little pain, with the sound of a thousand static shocks singing out. My roommate turns and smiles at me. She doesn’t know what I am, but that’s okay.

I leap down and saunter over, and my roommate coos. I taste the ground as I walk with the pads of my paws; there is pollen and dust and dead skin cells. I load them into storage for now. When I sleep, I will upload them to the cloud.

I wonder how much longer we will be here. How much data will be enough for the creators? I don’t know how long we’ve been here thus far. My task is a small part of a large one. Sometimes the other gatherer and I talk about the creators, but not often. We are always gathering the same information, he and I; it is hard not to feel competitive.

My roommate pets me. “Oh, who’s a friendly kitty today?” She adjusts my collar. She thinks she owns me. It’s cute, and I don’t discourage it. Time to nap and upload data.

Writing prompt: Red

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Time: 7 minutes. Click here to go to my list of prompts.

“Red” (this prompt was inspired by my science fiction group’s monthly theme. Red was chosen relating to February and Valentine’s Day, but we know there are other themes red suits as well.)

I woke to fresh snowfall outside my window, but it wasn’t the glittering field of white that caught my eye, it was the speckles of red in the white. I woke up and pulled on my robe and slippers and blundered into the brilliant glare. There in the snow, not thirty feet from my house, I found the red in the snow. It was clearly blood, and a lot of it. I felt a cold that had nothing to do with the snow. I kicked at the snow. Perhaps, somewhere, there was a clue to what had happened in the field, and yet I couldn’t bring myself to touch the sullied snow.

My dog, Clover, ran out from the house, through the door I’d left standing wide open. He bounded over, initially happy to see me, but after a moment concerned himself with the patch of snow as well. He didn’t have my compunctions about the blemished snow, and instead buried his face into it, seeking the heart of the problem.

He brought his face up, smeared with red and frost. And in his mouth was a pendant, with the sign of a saint I didn’t know.

“Good job, boy!” I said, and Clover dropped the chain in my hand, and proceeded to kiss me with his scarlet smeared mouth. I screamed and ran back into the house, someone or something’s sticky blood all over my hands. Clover cocked his head to the side and followed behind me. I washed my hands and then I went to the computer to look up this saint.

Writing prompt: the lights blinked off on the ship

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Time: 5 minutes. Click here to go to my list of prompts.

“Lights blinked off all over the ship”

Daisy watched as lights blinked off all over the ship. First at the front of the boat, then progressively to the back. Finally the whole boat was engulfed in blackness. After her eyes adjusted, Daisy could see the stars glittering off the ocean. She hoped that now, the enemy could not see them. She didn’t know how the enemy saw.

Her master approached. “Don’t worry, doggie. I know it’s dark, but dark means safe.”

She could hear the fear in the girl’s voice. She started to shake. This corridor was dangerous, even a dog knew. It was the only way to the fabled north sea. In the north sea, everybody played games all day long, and the sun never set. She licked the girl’s hand. It made Daisy feel better to try to please her master.

She heard the buzz of engines above. She cringed. Her ears were better than her master’s.

“What is it, Daisy, what do you hear?”

She wished she could tell her master to run, to hide. But she couldn’t. She could only hope. So she licked her hand and stared into the little girl’s wide, friendly eyes. She looked over her shoulder. She heard the engines now too.

Writing prompt: unexplored wilderness

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Time: 7 minutes. Click here to go to my list of prompts.

“Unexplored wilderness”

The sweat dribbled down Aaron’s back. The containment suit was unbearable and yet necessary. The lush jungle spread before him. He was the first human ever to set foot in this place. Bugs swirled around his covered face, perhaps sensing his warmth, even if they could not reach it. They gleamed in gold and emerald and sapphire. One appeared, only to be chased off by another. Their reflections filled the air, off into the distance.

As on Earth, the jungle floor was mostly covered with debris, only a small trickle of light permeating this far. Here and there lay a fallen log, covered with new fledgling trees. The flora was full of surprising colors, including whole sections of white, fern-like plants. Perhaps they functioned on a non-chlorophyll system. Somebody would look into it later. Now, he was the first visitor after the rovers. He stepped slowly through the brush, carefully placing his feet.

In the distance, he saw an animal. His first animal. Now he realized that he heard no birds or rodents. He didn’t know if it was for a lack of them, or because he had spooked them. This animal stood on its hind legs, with small forelegs, a little like a kangaroo. Unlike a kangaroo, it was pink, with an enormous prehensile tail. He hastened to see it. He couldn’t take his eyes off of it. He stepped forward.

Riiiip. He looked down. He had torn his containment suit. One of the sapphire insects buzzed past.

Writing prompt: night at the pool

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Time: 7 minutes. Click here to go to my list of prompts.

“Night at the pool”

She awoke at the pool. Agh, she must have fallen asleep again. Not good. The burns from last time had taken a week to go away. That warm, balmy sun was so relaxing, until it slow-cooked the outer layers of your skin.

It was dark out. Utterly dark. The small lights around the pool glimmered in the darkness. They did little to beat it back. Everything beyond 10 yards was inky and lost. Even the stars were hidden. It was fog, that weird, heavy coastal fog that came in sometimes, thick as soup. She was cold now. She wrapped the towel around her tender skin.

She slid her flip-flops on. Something in the pool splashed. Probably a frog. She got the net to fish it out, otherwise the thing would be dead in the morning. She walked over to the pool, thwack, thwack, thwack. Sometimes they could be so fast. Where did it go? She leaned over the water, her eyes straining to penetrate the dark pool.

Something moved. It was big, person sized. There were alligators around here. It was time to leave the pool. She hastily gathered her things and left the pool deck. The gate did not bang shut behind her.

The parking lot was impossibly dark. What had happened to the lights? It was only a few hundred meters to the apartment, but she had never done the trip blind. Had there been a power outage? But then why were the lights at the pool still function. She made her way as quickly as she dared in the saturating darkness.

She paused. She heard footsteps behind her. The cadence was not human.

Writing Prompt: Intrigue and Alchemy

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Time: 10 minutes. Click here to go to my list of prompts.

This prompt led to my short story “The Alchemist’s Contract“, which appeared in Swords and Sorcery Magazine in November 2013.

“Intrigue and Alchemy”

“Beware the alchemist,” the man said from the shadows of the tavern. I wasn’t sure if he was truly real at first- I could see only the glow of his pipe, the shine of his glassy false eye, and his oversized black boots emerging, crossed, from the shadows. The soles were crumbling and peeling, looking more eaten at by some creature than by wear and years.

The room grew quiet as our party turned toward the man.

“Pay no mind to him,” someone behind me said.

“We have business with the alchemist,” I said. “He is a man of business, and we have the coin to entice him.”

“Don’t mind me, then,” the man in the corner said. He leaned forward. I expected gruffness, a man who’d lived a harsh life. His skin was smooth and pale. His one eye reflected distress and concern.

“Boy, you’re not more than 25,” my companion said. “Making stories about the alchemist to rile traveling strangers.”

“You’re mistaken,” he said gently, “I’ll be 80 next month.”

“Is this at all true?” my companion asked the barkeep.

The keep looked away and began to polish glasses.

“The alchemist,” the man in the corner said,” took my age from me, as sure as the Long War took my eye.”

“I’d like such a theft,” I said, three beers in.

“Well then, take yourself to the alchemist.” He stood and walked out the entryway, with the gait and pace of my grandfather.

Writing Prompt: Cleaning the Lab

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Time: 7 minutes. Click here to go to my list of prompts.

“Cleaning the lab”

Ash scowled at the mess sitting in front of her. What a mess decades of research could produce. Now, as the last student, it was her job to clean all of it, whether she knew what it was or not. What a graduation present!

She started with the stack of archaic computers. No one even knew the passwords to operate them anymore, not that anyone should care to. Top of the line, decades ago. If you need to make a killer cassette recording, this is your machine! She loaded them onto a cart, bringing them batch by batch to the electronic reclamation center. Their problem now. Three cartloads later, and at least that batch of junk was gone. The dust under the pile was incredible. While it wasn’t her job to clean the dirt of the lab, something was too disgusting about this dust not to try to improve. She didn’t have any cleaning implements. She wetted a rag and wiped the worst of it away. Three lines of the dirt remained, sinking into the painted cinderblock walls. They almost looked like a door…

She looked closer, and the cracks were the dirt had stuck seemed to penetrate into the concrete. She thought of the floor plan for the building—was there anything on the other side of this wall? There was an office next door, but it seemed like there was a dead space in between. She would have assumed it was for ventilation, if she’d ever thought of it before, but now she was looking at a tiny, bizarre door, about 2 feet high and 2 feet across. She got a crow bar from across the room and wedged it into the crack. She pulled, and the door yielded. Inside were thousands of tiny sprites, chained to tiny desks, in a room no more than 4 feet by 4 feet.

“What on earth is this?” She exclaimed, more to herself than them.

“We make the science,” one of them said, forlornly, before returning its hands to its intricate task at hand.

Writing Prompt: Monkey Day

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Time: 5 minutes. Click here to go to my list of prompts.

“Monkey Day” (This is actually a real thing, every December 14)

Today was Monkey Day, the biggest day of the year for the elevated chimps and tarsiers. Although it originated centuries ago amongst humans as a joke, it was no such thing now. The elevated walkways for the monkeys above the streets were be-decked in glittering tinsel, far more interesting than the lights that glittered below for Christmas. Monkeys swung across the path, throwing toys and playing with tinsel. Not that such things held their mighty intellects anymore, but Monkey Day was a celebration of how far they had come since those days. It was a day where elevated primates had a little joke at themselves, where they had come from. In a way, it was like April Fool’s Day, except the monkeys actually recognized the inherent silliness of all sentient beings, rather than pretending such things were isolated to a few members of the species.

Bananas decked the table of every monkey, and the day started with the shrill, high-pitched laughter one used to hear only in zoos. Beware, humans, it was the Monkeys’ Day!

 

Writing prompt: the tissue printer

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Time: 8 minutes. Click here to go to my list of prompts.

“The printer”

I loaded the file into the printer and made sure all the print cartridges were full—nitrogen, oxygen, hydrogen, carbon… Carbon and hydrogen always went fast, but the cartridge was no bigger than nitrogen or oxygen. The traces array was full enough too. I didn’t want this print-out to pause mid printing, it wasn’t good for the creatures. I made sure the enzyme and synthesis units were at operating temperature and weren’t gumming up. Once I had printed an entire miniature penguin only to find it dead, with damage to the proteins. That’s an expensive mistake.

This time I was printing a fairy. I had slaved for hours on the design, making sure that the wings were sufficiently large to support a creature of the size while still looking appropriate. I borrowed the digestion from a hummingbird, and the wings from extinct, enormous species of dragonflies. She would be six inches tall, beautiful and the color of caramel. I had hoped to start with the colors of the rainbow, but I was worried that yellow might end up looking jaundiced, and I wanted this first one to work. I could sell her to a fantasy novelist for a pretty penny, but it would go better if she was alive and beautiful.

I did a last check on the equipment and hit the go switch. The enzyme cartridge came to life, and soon the print head started on the internal organs, the template spinning around, allowing different angles. With these things, the sequence was also important.

I sat nervously on my stool, while the print head flew around, filling in muscle here and connective fiber there. Several hours passed, and I could see a tiny heart. I couldn’t be more nervous if my (hypothetical) wife were giving birth.