Writing Prompts Week 8: A Story Set During a War

The bombs fall nearly every day. Strange soldiers in dark uniforms sweep the streets with their tanks and vicious dogs, searching for survivors. Every morning and every evening right before it gets dark.

They’re not so scary.

The soldiers only come during the day. I can see them. The monsters come at night.

They were people once, before they died. Souls of the dead, fed on hatred and violence until they gained a corporeal form, twisted and horrific. None of them look the same, except for those glowing red eyes. They chase me and that’s all I can see.

The monsters hate the light. They chased me into a burning building once. I found a concrete niche that I’d squeezed myself into. They couldn’t get me because of the firelight, but it was so hot. Others were chased there too. They didn’t make it.

I don’t know why I’m still here. Food is scarce. I get my water from the rain and puddles, but it’s poisonous. Every day I’m sick. The medicine’s all gone.

I’m giving myself up to the soldiers today. I’m too tired to fight anymore.


Writing Prompts Week 7: A Story About a Journey

You’ve come a long way since then.

Once, you were a bright-eyed, naive little thing. You wondered if the world stretched on forever and dragons slept underground to make mountains. Classes seemed to go on forever and Summer was never long enough. The trees were filled with all manner of fae and the dark corners of the hall held the scariest monsters.

And then you grew up. You learned that things were not so wondrous as you had once believed. Your eyes lost their gleam and your steps became heavy. Things you’d once enjoyed did nothing to lift your spirits and became a chore. Life was hard for you.

You sought help, though. It wasn’t easy. Therapist after therapist, medication after treatment; nothing seemed to work. But you weren’t alone. Your friends, your family; they all encouraged you, helped you the best they could. So you kept trying.

One time you nearly gave up. You were found, though. Saved. Because you are worthy of being saved.

It took a long time, many tears, and more than a few meltdowns, but you finally found something that worked. Everything started to look up again. The childhood innocence you’d cherished once was gone, but there was light in the world again. Your sense of wonder had returned. Unicorns and trolls might not exist in this world, but they did in your own. Stories could almost tell themselves as they ran through your mind and out of your fingertips.

Even on the days the stories would not come, there was still small magic to help you. The early morning sun peeking through rainclouds at just the right angle, a knot on a tree that made it look like it had a face, unexpected letters in the mail from faraway acquaintances. All these things and more. You’re no longer what you once were, and the journey here was hard, but you made it in the end. You are stronger.

Writing Prompts Week 6: A Story About Finding Something Lost

Silence ruled. The river bubbled, the trees applauded in the wind, but no one was there to hear, save for the deer and the butterflies and the bees and whatever other small creatures deigned to wander the isolated valley.

Crumbling stone buildings covered in moss continued to stand against the elements. Though the wind and rain buffeted them, still they were there. What once were carefully tended gardens and fields became overgrown and wild. The rusted plow was all but hidden amidst the tangling long grass and vines. Relics of a bygone era.

Humans had not walked through these woods in many years; not since before the woods were but a few scattered trees that had been too thick to fell. The orchards had long since joined the forest. They gave easy food to the squirrels and the birds in autumn.

What was once a village square, all neatly cobbled and meticulously maintained, was now just a collection of loose stones and falling archways surrounding a well far older than anything else.

A stag looks up from his grazing at the sound of stones shifting further up the mountain. A lone human stands there, utterly in awe. The faded map that had laid tucked in the darkest corner of the archives had indeed been correct. This was the lost city.

Writing Prompts Week 5: A Story Set in London

(Sorry this one was late. I had a bit of a week and didn’t remember to write until I was too busy to get anything done on time.)

Amelia never particularly enjoyed riding the tube. It was dark and crowded and far too difficult to get anywhere with a loaded suitcase. She did enjoy the Charing Cross Library, however, and the tube was the fastest and arguably easiest way to get there from her house. The bus was far too easy to lose track of oneself on with the passing scenery and quiet radio.

Finally, Charing Cross Station. Amelia wasted no time hanging about the underground and went straight for the surface, taking the familiar path to the library. There was an air of calm inside, settled gently over the room like a fluffy blanket. It smelled like old sealing glue and wood. Perfect.

The familiar shelves stood tall as Amelia wound her way around them. There was one book in particular that she was looking for. It was a musty old tome, bound in leather and string. Open it too quickly and the velum pages might just tear themselves out. It was with an air of reverence that she plucked it from its shelf, carrying it ever so gently to the lecturn.

With delicate touches, she turned the pages. When she reached the one she’d been looking for, there was a reverent pause. A deep breath. Fingers traced the air just above cryptic runes. Muttered words beyond comprehension.

The room hummed with electricity, and all the books on the shelves burst into life. Creatures strange and wonderous flowed from the pages and danced through the air around Amelia’s head. Unicorns, dragons, harpies, chimera, and all manner of other beasts weaving to and fro on an invisible path, whispering into her ears.

A thousand stories told in a single day.