Writing Prompts

There's only two rules; it has to be a thousand words, and you have to enjoy it. Obviously, if we don't get something done; it's not going to be so much of a shocker but just try your best, alright?
One thing however - don't feel compelled to take the perspective I've presented you with; make your own. Change it up! Make it bizarre - give me your interpretation.

1. What would happen if an asteroid struck Earth? Any perspective is permitted, any ideals, any time-zone.
2. Romance. Sad - happy? Your choice!
3. Pick a genre and and write an interpretation of your favourite fairy tale! Twisted fairy tales are simply the best.
4. The most amazing room in the world... and you, or someone you know has access to it. Ensue; a story!
5. What happened when Pandora opened the box? Bring on the horror; the romance, whatever you feel like this week!
6. A story from the perspective of evil. Any evil; a person, a sin, a deed. Reason it out; show whether it is ridiculous or makes sense.
7. Controversial issues. Not something necessarily that you agree on that no else does; but a topic that causes a lot of arguments within your country, your friends, your family.
8. Pushed into the dystopian future. What's happening - when are you? As abstract as you want or even as detailed.
9. The creation of the world. Were you present? Someone you know? Did they get pictures? Any perspective; any ideologies, so on and so forth.
10. Are you worth it? A story about someone's self-worth, of someone's conflict or assurance.
11. Steam Punk - what's your perception of steam punk? Here's a sentence to start you off; 'Dragons stalk the street, puffing out smoke and clattering their mechanical wings'. Use it within your story or as an inspiration.
12. Out into the universe. There's so much - quasars, neutron stars, science, emotions.
13. Adopt a suicidal mind frame. Tell your story through the perspective of someone else or the suicidal person themself. Reason out their thoughts; is it truly valid?
14. A life lesson.
15. "It hurts because it matters."
16. Tell a story through an inanimate object. What does the door think of the weeping child? What does the laptop feel about its abusive owner?
17. You wake up one morning and everyone's missing. There are no life forms to be found; it's you, only you wandering through your life.
18. "Out of the corner of your eye, you see a shadow. Yet when you turn swiftly, there's nothing to be found for it."
19. You're shipwrecked on another planet. The rest of your crew had died; you had just managed to make it. Is this planet habitable? Is it already inhabited? By what - or who?
20. Super secret missions. Did you accidentally walk into one or were you already involved?
21. Telling a story of you or someone you know getting a complete stranger to smile. To laugh. To feel proud about living.
22. What if the currency was made up of memories? How does this work? Do you lose them? Do they have to be material? Who would be the true beggars of the world? Would discrimination still exist via social class?
23. You're at school when there's suddenly an alarm; someone or something has broken it. Fantasy or reality. Sadness or happiness. What's it to be?
24. You meet yourself. Someone meets themself. Any perspective. Yet old and new must collide.
25. An invention. A good invention? A bad invention? Your choice; your story.
26. Losing your mind. What happens when your friend starts to get distanced? When they mean the world to you? Optimism or pessimism?
27. Something in second person. Make it creepy; make it funny. Yet it's a new style.
28. Slightly cliched - the world ending. Does it happen - how? Why? Who?
29. If humans were solitary creatures. If friends were ridiculously difficult to make. If you had no relationships that really mattered.
30. A heterophobic world. Inspired by http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=3ROXTFfkcfo
31. Who are the real monsters? Fantasy, realistic, romantic, whichever.
32. There's a forbidden wall. What's beyond it? Will cowardice keep you away from it?
33. Disappearances. What's really out there? Or is it simply kidnappings yet again?
34. Someone you could save if you'd sacrifice yourself. Is sacrificing yourself to something that will bring you pleasure that bad though?
35. Living underneath the water. Humans or unbeknownst creatures? Set in...?
36. What if we ran out of water? If it was so precious; so rare that it was common to kill for it?
37. A character from a book comes alive. Theories? What happened - what will happen with this character? Is it possible to return them?
38. You find a male in your bed upon returning home. Quite attractive, dangerous eyes, and a deadly smirk. Hate at first sight? Reactions?
39. "Look at what you made me do..."
40. A perfect world. How would it work? Is it really so perfect?
41. War rages around you. More of a free-style story, yet you're given a backdrop.
42. A fanfiction. Yes, we do need to indulge. Is there a familiar blue box in your backyard? Two strange men knocking on your door about the weird noises in your house? Or maybe a detective sticking his unwanted nose into your business? A skeleton? A prodigy?
43. Everytime you dream; you're living someone else's life. There are more bodies than souls. There are three people to one soul these days. It all depends on sleep patterns but are there further implications? Unwanted echoes? Does your society know of this?
44. "It's not wise to reveal your name in this sort of place."
45. What if Earth wasn't run by humans, rather humans were slaves of the true inhabitants?
46. The Bermuda Triangle - fantasy, as opposed to hard, solid facts.
47. Choose one of your favourite photographs from the internet and write about it. Do include the photo, love.
48. A zombie plague; humans becoming cannibals and you're running for your life.
49. Certain places in the world where there is no concept of gravity.
50. The first person in the world who died...
51. A world with an inversion of values. Good is bad, and vice versa.
52. Emotions. Hard, blinding, tear-jerking emotions. Portray them in any way possible.

A Finch

With the secure blanket of darkness smothering the city of Nottingham, a door opened precariously, an urgent hand beckoning a group of inquisitive people into the homestead; a mixture of young and old, female and male. There was only a candle at the table for light, and a boy watched the window, his gaze often slipping towards the alluring moon. He caught the eyes of some of the group as they walked in, his brow rising in judgment as he watched them settle down into a protective formation around the table. The unstable, wooden structure held an apparatus of which the company fawned over in awe and exhilaration of the upcoming event.

Benedict Wallace stood in the shadows observing his audience. A few young maidens were present, tittering nervously as they eyed the glass dome that rested at the top of the device; which could pose a problem for they’d be likely to draw attention to his home. The children giggled as they tugged upon their parents’ clothing; unscarred by the corruptions of the world, but eyes full of curiousity as their sights fell upon the machinery.  The adults themselves were sombre; and for the right reason. If they were caught today, the implications for everyone involved would inhibit the rest of their lives.

“An air pump, it’s called,” Wallace suddenly spoke, startling the audience to yelp with surprise, “They say that it will help us greatly in the future, but today is the future!” His voice had ended on a harsh note, causing the males to frantically nod in agreement.
“What an air pump does, you see, is create an area of low pressure right here by suctioning the air away.” He motioned to the bottom of the apparatus manically, “And that creates a high pressure system within the glass dome that from where the air then flows down to accommodate the air needed to keep the pressure level. But then what happens when there’s no air left? That’s what the scientists of the world puzzle about; the substance that is present when air isn’t. Though there is only one way to determine what it is…” With that dramatic speech out of the way, he turned to a cloaked stand next to him, jerking it off in a gracious flourish. A finch resided within a cage, glaring at them with beady, cold eyes before ramming itself into the bars, and withdrawing with a loud screech of aggravation as it started to preen itself with newfound energy.

The boy at the window looked back, a sneer in his expression as his eyes roved over the open-mouthed spectators, before gazing out again with disdainful eyes. Not paying heed to him, Wallace meticulously removed the air-tight dome before placing the bird within, and hurriedly re-attaching it.
“This is the first time that I’m doing this with an audience,” Wallace announced. “Though most of you have been waiting for this moment of truth. To see whether all the reports that the scientists give us are true. Behold; the experiment of the air pump!” With a loud clank, Wallace flipped the switch, causing a great, guttural grunting of the machinery before it spluttered into life, complaining whilst it started to suck the air, and exhale it with deep, hot breaths.

Indignant gasps filled the air, as the children clung to their parents, and wives buried their faces into their husbands’ shoulders. There was no sound from within the dome, so sight was the only observation upon which many could use. For a while the finch seemed lively enough, its frail wings flapping as it tried to navigate the dome; a mean of escape. After a few minutes though, when the machine was turned off and a stopper placed below the dome to stop the air flow to go back, it began to manifestly droop, appearing drowsy and clumsy as its wings fell limply to its side.

Wallace splayed his hand out, “So what does this dome consist of? Certainly, whatever remains is unable to sustain human life.”
Yet only silence followed as he looked over his audience. The only sound was of a young girl weeping steadily, muffled. Wide eyes were only on the struggling finch, which had now collapsed upon its side, shaking with twitchy breaths, wings futilely stretching. Weaklings, Wallace thought, that they couldn’t stomach an experiment that was vital for knowledge; for the power of being the dominant race. He was so absolutely sure that this was the answer to a stronger world; one filled with mechanical machinery and electricity. Instead of waiting for a hundred years for this evolution, he was determined to bring it crashing upon the world now and be famous for rushing the future; for helping the world to progress swiftly.
“And yet it remains alive for quite a while.” Wallace continued, forgetting his thoughts and disregarding the shocked quiet. Small steps at a time; first he had to convince an elite amount of people before appealing to the government “Does this give us the notion that the animal itself possesses something that keeps it alive?”
One of the men looked up, in shock, “You think so? Really? That was disproved years ago.”
“Animal energy.” Wallace nodded knowingly. “I believe strongly that it is what keeps it alive. You can see the plating here is steel, and what is the bottom? Copper. That is why the heart continues to beat.”
“Your theories are ridiculous.” Another gentleman disputed. “Galvani had tested it on a dead frog. How would it be affecting a living finch? And even as we watch; it grows closer to death, its eyes lidded with the pain and misery of this cruelty you afflict upon it! If only, it disproves your idea.”
“It will stay alive.” Wallace insisted stubbornly. “The animal energy will force it to take shallower breaths, to withhold as long as possible.”

“Eventually, it will run out, won’t it?” The boy at the window challenged, jumping down from his ledge by the window, looking disgustedly at the audience. “This animal energy, if it even exists; there would only be a limited amount.” He had watched Wallace conduct this experiment multiple times before and each time, the animal that was placed within the dome had died. Whatever Wallace was trying to do, he was killing harmless souls, abusing nature; abusing the world.

“Charles, you miscreant –“Wallace started speaking heatedly, his attention focusing on the boy; eyes burning in anger. The little brat had always tried to impose his narrow-minded ideas upon Wallace, but had managed to remain silent on the topic of the air pump. He should have known! Of course, he would have looked down upon it; the boy was simply a coward, unable to understand that to live in today’s world; one needed to make sacrifices on a daily basis. He shouldn’t have taken the little chit in, shouldn’t have kept him alive all these years.

The two men glared heatedly at each other; unaware of anyone else. The tension was palpable, and Charles could see a vein throbbing at Wallace’s forehead, and how he was starting to perspire. All Wallace saw was red; a dark scarlet that surrounded Charles; demanding his blood, and his dignity.
“You’re nothing but useless.” Wallace snarled, his hand rising to smack Charles and he ducked his head, waiting for the striking blow that would push him to the floor; like the countless other times that he’d been sprawled across the hard timbre floor, crying with shuddering breaths for the affection that he had never received. This was his life; but today he was putting a stop to it.

The blow came then, strong and harsh; his body tumbling onto the floor, as Wallace shook himself off with great effort; reining his temper in. Looking up, he saw the people who had originally come to witness the great miracle staring at him horror, some shaking their heads in revulsion.

“Sir Benedict Wallace?” A voice distracted him and he turned to look at the source of the noise; near the open door. Standing there was a man, dressed in a police uniform, his mouth set in an unforgiving line as he noticed the young male on the floor who was groaning in pain, as well as the finch in the air pump that had finally become still. Its body lay awry on the plate, breast upwards, and neck drooping behind its wings. He saw the finch’s eyes, glassy and lifeless, feeling a low sinking feeling as he realised that his rescue was too late; the animal had indeed been murdered.

“Wh – what do you want?” Wallace spluttered, his face red, as he straightened his coat and looked at the officer with a demanding eyebrow.
“A moment, please,” the officer sighed. “Civilians, I’ll require you to evacuate if you wish to not be associated with this man. Of course, we already have your names on record, but you’re being given a generous option here.”
The populace in the room looked at each other in resignation as they made their way out, some relieved, others grumbling about the new-found law.
The officer then put out a hand, picking up the young boy. “Is Benedict Wallace your father, young man?”
Charles shook his head, coughing raggedly as he looked up at the officer. “He’s my guardian.”
Nodding, the man cleared his throat importantly. “As you very well know, in 1876 – just last year – we passed an act as the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. You’ve just acted against the Cruelty to Animal Act Controlling Experimentation, and for that, Mr Wallace, I’m afraid that I do have to arrest you for breaking the law, and apparently abusing your charge as well.”
“It’s for science,” Wallace spat, looking around for an escape. “And he deserves it; just look at the little fool. Ever since the blasted police force has come into existence; you have made my life a living hell! I can’t do anything I want, constantly restrained by these ridiculous laws.”
The officer nodded knowingly, stepping behind him to take his hands, leading him out of the house. “Son, you’ll be alright until we get someone here, right? It’ll only be a day at the most.”
As Wallace was escorted away, expletives bubbling rabidly out of his mouth, he turned to see Charles give him a sarcastic, little wave before slamming the door shut. Growling in frustration, he vowed that one day, the boy would pay for the misfortunes that he had caused.

 Charles, as soon as the door was closed and locked, made his way to the air pump, where he removed the dome and removed the finch gently, placing it on the table. Taking the apparatus that had caused misery for many creatures; he went outside in a sudden rage, smashing it into small shards of metal and glass without a thought. The finch was buried hurriedly, and finally he was able to raid his guardian’s room for the information that had been abstained from him; information that detailed all the aspects of his life; facts that didn’t necessarily determine who he was, but where he came from. That night was spent reading through those papers, curled up in a  warm corner of the room, as tears teased his eyes, dripping steadily as he apprehended what had happened to his family. They hadn’t abandoned him, as he’d been told before in a mocking, taunting voice. They had loved him. They had cared. It was a good thing that he had alerted the authorities of Wallace’s depravity; had realised that his work was an abomination. Otherwise; he ever mightn’t have known about what occurred to his heritage; hadn’t ever learned the truth. 

As for Benedict Wallace, he was convicted for conducting animal experiments for years without a license, and for continuing the practice after the act that had strictly forbidden it had been put into place and thus sentenced to five years of harsh penal servitude.  The two never crossed paths again, much to the bitterness of Wallace who lived out the rest of his life, branded as a criminal.  

My Home

My home is in shambles.

In every town, every street, every corner, blares the constant whimper, whine and wail of every child orphan, piercing the ears of marching enemy soldiers, caterwauls ricocheting against newly polished rifle guns.

My home is in shambles.

What was once a glorious city of porcelain and marble, of gardens and fields, of trees ripe with the fattest fruit, is now a city of smoke and shadow, of bombs and explosions, of broken homes. Chaos smashes all, unbiased and unkind, reigning death and decay with ruthless fists . 

My home is in shambles.

Neighborhoods, homes, families, are in constant cowering. The father valiantly, yet uselessly, tries to protect what is left of his family. His son, stripped bare of his clothes, whipped until the belt gleams scarlet. His daughter, brutally raped, scarred, and beaten, the government issued soldier cracking his fists in loathsome satisfaction. His wife, pregnant, taken for hostage, and never to be heard from again.

My home is in shambles.

And it is all due to a savage man, corrupted and blinded by greed. A greed that, due to his wickedness and disgusting qualities, has marred the population of his nation. My nation. My home.

Remove this man from his position. Send him to court. Put him in jail for his sins, sins that the devil himself might revolt from. Punish him.  

My home is in shambles, and man is to blame.