You’re face to face with a large creature…
Write what happens next in less than 100 words. You’ll have until 11:59pm EST Monday to do it!
All entry items will then be compiled in to a poll, and voted on. Winner will see his/her story in video format.
Here is the winning story for the July 6th Story Prompt Challenge!
As I lie in the white bed, in a white room, I close my eyes to try and ignore the sounds of machines that surround me.
A place where golden fields ruled the landscape.
Where my body is constantly caressed by the light Northwest breeze, opening my senses to all that nature has to offer.
A place where peace and calm reign.
This is my earthly heaven.
But, there’s another calling to me from beyond this physical realm.
Just as beautiful and serene.
I’m struggling to accept the finality of leaving this home for another.
Am I so bound to this world which makes it difficult to want to move on?
The blipping sounds of the machinery are beginning to fade…
…until all I hear are the songs of doves.
Yum, he thought, that hiker was delicious. And the new clothes were just the right size for him too, though the shoes and the hat were a little too shabby. Yep, he’d been a hiker himself — actually more like on the run, ever since he escaped that circus sideshow — but he’d found a place here that suited him fine. High in the mountains, isolated, plenty of unspoiled water to drink in the stream, and best of all the hunting for food was almost too easy.
Path of Seasons
In spring, the explorer jumps at the possibilities his map presents. One step, the flowers bloom, the rains fall.
Another step and summer blazes. His face is rugged now, the map unnecessary, compass barely helpful. The trail is his friend, adventure his companion.
One more stride and the leaves fall. A look at the map reveals wasted time – why didn’t he travel beyond the known? But now he tires easy and can’t travel as far.
Walking into winter, the explorer takes off his hat and boots. He drops the map, a few new trails marked by his own hand.
*Video for the winning story should be live by early to mid-August.
Congrats to Marge Simon!
She watches as the sun slowly lowered in the purple-hued sky. Another day is done, and she is alone.
Not really by choice. Not directly, anyway.
She blames the booze. She also blames her mother who introduced it to her before she was even in high school. And because of them both, she never saw graduation. Just endless days and months in rehab centers.
All for what?
To end up alone and penniless?
Today she buried her mother. Rather, a woman who gave birth to her. She never really cared for her. Not as much as she cared for those colored bottles that forever littered their home.
Mother died a drunk. That is what she’ll always be known for. Not as a woman who tried to raise a daughter by herself. Not as a woman who nursed sick and premature babies back to health. And certainly not as a woman who became the town’s first female mayor.
No, her life has and will always be linked to the bottle.
For years, she defied her mother. She never wanted to end up like her.
She stood over the wooden casket, deep in the hallowed earth, and allowed the tears to flow. Not for her mother. She was happy that the woman, the thorn in her side, was gone. No, she cried for herself. For her unborn child.
What kind of future will her baby have if her or his mother was a drunk?
Her eyes turn up to the darkening sky. Stars glittering among the dark purple clouds. A soft breeze sweeps over her like a whisper. Closing her eyes, she tilts her head to one side to listen to this whisper as if it has some great secret to share.
With her eyes still closed, she smiles.
She still has something that her mother no longer has…
Another chance of a new beginning.
For this week’s image, write a micro-story (less than 100 words) or a poem, and post it in the comment section below.
Deadline is 11:59pm Monday.
For all entries a poll will be created and the one with the most votes, wins! For the winning piece, a short video will be created.