STEEMIT'S FIRST FLASH FICTION WRITING PROMPT CHALLENGE: There is a picture of you committing a crime on the morning news..
Alright guys and gals. It's time to spice things up!
And I can think of no better way to inspire this incredible community of writers than with a flash fiction writing prompt challenge.
This is the official start of the #steemitwritingprompt tag!
For those of you familiar with Reddit's r/WritingPrompt, you're going to feel right at home. Otherwise, the rules are simple:
1) I will submit a writing prompt in the form of a simple story idea or premise.
2) You all will write stories based on the prompt and submit them as comments on this post.
3) We (the Steemit community) will upvote the best stories and on Steemit that means making money!
I've always found writing prompts to be a fantastic way to improve your writing ability. Even if you never write fiction, it's a great way to challenge yourself and strengthen your creative muscles.
And with the added incentive of Steem Dollars/Power, you have nothing to lose and everything to gain. There has never been a better time to become a better writer.
I promise to read every single story, so at the very least, you have an audience of one.
I can't wait to see what you all come up with!
Today's Writing Prompt:
There is a picture of you committing a crime on the morning news. It doesn't make sense. You remember falling asleep last night.
Shoutout to some of the great storytellers on Steemit: @complexring @georgedonnelly @krystox @stellabelle @razvanelulmarin
I've switched off the phone before falling asleep.
When I switch it back on, I've got 72 missed calls. Among them, it's my mother. I call her back, and she answers me with trembling voice: 'they are looking for you, where are you?". "I've always been here, mama. Nobody turned up to my door, yet". While I was saying so to my mother, somebody knocking the door: "Police, open!".
Allright, I need to escape. I go to the bathroom, where there is a window that gives to the fire escape stairs. Jump down, cross the street and get swallowed by the crowd.
I will have to defend myself, but nobody was with me. I need an alibi.. but.. they are after me.. oh no.. police is stopping random people in front of me. They are pointing at me.. I need to run.. oh no.. 'STOP', it's the last sound I've heard while running, then a cold sensation in my back.. I try to run, but my strenght is fading out.. my knees are folding.. can't run, can't stand up.. I need to.. I need to fall on my knees, I need to lay on the floor, I need to die.
This is great! Way to kick things off @ztl!
thanks, and sorry i am not native english. can you tell me if you could tell?
You had a few mistakes but it didn't take away from the story. Definitely entertaining!
thank you. please post more of these challenges. until the mass will notice you. ciao
I am scared that this post has too much intellectual value to get upvotes. I hope I'm wrong.
What do you mean?
that you'll see..
it's one of the most engaging post i've read in 2 weeks, but it won't get too much tips. hope i'm wrong
I did my part.
My coffee was my heaven that morning, as it always was. Morning time just didn't seem right without a strong brew and I gave thanks as I filled my cup. I was too groggy to think straight most mornings so I was lucky Hex had already taken care of it by the time I was up.
My brew in hand, I flipped through the periodicals on my table, also left by Hex on her way out this morning. This routine she had was a charming habit, her way of expressing affection to set up the morning just the way I liked it. I was by far the more whimsical of the two of us so she balanced it out with small, practical expressions.
I was enjoying the latest tidbits and developments when a strange headline and confusing photo caught my attention. Right on the front page of The Daily was an image of my smiling face, paired oddly with an image of someone who looked like me pointing a firearm, bag in hand, looking for all the world like they were escaping from a shattered storefront. A sinking feeling filled me as I saw the insignia on the store glass was very obviously a striking midnight crescent moon. And worst of all, in my gloved handed I seemed to be armed with a stylized, spiked pale knuckle ring. In colour, I had no doubt it would be silver.
Oh god, I thought. This can't be happening.
For someone who was unfamiliar with our city, you might think it was the crime that had shocked me awake. Oh no. It was who this doppleganger had stolen from. It might not have seemed like a big detail to anyone else, but I knew the beast of this city was tamed by the complex bonds of loyalties and politics and I had spent a lifetime cultivating the favour of the Blackmoon. I would never in any part of me risk my neck to cozy up to the tetherless Silverthorn, whose signature weapon I seemed to be holding. They had no power to speak of, no territory in this gritty city, and certainly no allies strong enough to warrant a very public attack on the city's largest family.
I couldn't understand it but I did know one thing... I'd have to run. It might already be too late.
This is awesome! Great work @renegadegaming
Thank you!
Really enjoyed this!
Thanks! :D
I wake up in a tree just like any other day. I stretch my long limbs and jump nimbly down to the forest floor, yawning. I gnaw the cold remains of yesterdays kill, fatty meat wrapped in strange fur and blue hide. It isn't a preferable flavour, but food is hard to come by. I walk through the bushes, ever wary but full and content. Yet there is never a time not to be on the hunt. I look around and smell the air - something isn't right.
For the rest of the morning I roam. I can hear the two-legged beasts thrashing through the forest. I avoid them. It is not hard. But as I cross my territory there they are, and I go back, and there they are again. North, South. East, West. Every time I turn away I find them sooner and sooner - thrashing, yelling, exuding powerful odours that assault my senses and threaten to drown out the harmony of my territory.
I don't understand revenge. When an animal is beaten, it will resign itself to death even if it had some small strength left. There is no fear once it is resigned. There is no hatred for the killer, just as a hunter does not hate his prey. I look around and listen for a break to escape the tightening circle. If I were desperately hungry I would steal one of the two legged beasts and drag it away from its fellows, as I did the day before. Or if I could catch one alone I would kill it peacefully from behind. Is this how it feels to be hunted? But I am not hunted. I have tasted one of these beasts. I know that they do not eat tigers.
A sound - I look. I see dark eyes, green clothes, a man. Not thrashing, not yelling. Silent. In his hand, long and dark. Something bites me. I run, and I run. I am not tired but my body begins to fall asleep. I will it on, on, I am alive, I am not beaten, I am still afraid. I haven't resigned myself to die here. But my legs collapse, I breathe deeply. My eyes close. I do not understand.
Very cool!
Thanks! Feel free to vote on it ;p
This is what I love about writing prompts: everyone goes to a different place. Well done!
Hey thanks for your feedback! Really means a lot. Thanks for hosting this.
Of course, thanks for writing that story!
Yes thanks @mindover! Mucho fun- respect to everyone!
#steemitwritingprompt
"There is a picture of you committing a crime on the morning news. It doesn't make sense. You remember falling asleep last night."
Christian Rock stared at the words displayed by the nu-retro text-based rpg that he was playing. It had looked awesome on Steam, based on the virtual box art, but now he was regretting the purchase. He had spent a whole fifty cents on the damn thing, and it was utter trash. Thank god he got it during the summer sale and hadn't spent the full nineteen ninety-nine on it.
He ctrl-c'ed that pile of regurgitated fecal matter. He brought up his games library. There were one hundred thirty-seven thousand, five hundred and seventy-one games listed. He congratulated himself on buying all these games for at minimum 80% off. Out of the nine he had played, six of them were pretty darn entertaining.
He scrolled through the list. And kept scrolling. And scrolling. And scrolling. All these games and nothing to play! He rage quit out of Steam. Why did they make him buy so many games! Those sales were too good to pass up! It was a conspiracy to bankrupt him, he just knew it. He had known it for a long time. He couldn't help himself tho. Even after he sold his house and moved into a van down by the river, he kept purchasing those damn games.
It was all that Newell's fault. With his smug hair and beautiful nose. He knew what he was doing to honest, hard-working joe's like himself. And yet he sat up in his ivory developer's tower constantly slashing prices on games that easily could have sold for almost full price! Christian imagined Newell up there, topped by an extravagant crown and waving a golden, jewel encrusted sceptre. And laughing maniacally. Of course he would be laughing maniacally. That was the kind of person that Newell was. Only a devil would bankrupt a poor working man.
It dawned on Christian. Newell had to be stopped. There were unsuspecting people out there who hadn't completely emptied their life savings and quit their jobs so they could cash out their 401k and throw the money at Valve. Valve. Valve Software. More like, SLASHES PRICES SO LOW THAT YOU CAN'T RESIST CLICKING THAT BUY BUTTON AND THE NEXT THING YOU KNOW, YOUR WIFE HAS LEFT YOU AND TAKEN THE CHINCHILLA, AND YOUR DIET CONSISTS OF SPAM THAT YOU EAT WITH SPORKS STOLEN FROM KENTUCKY FRIED CHICKEN, AND YOU'RE LIVING IN A VAN DOWN BY THE RIVER Software.
Christian decided that it wouldn't be that hard to single-handedly save all those potential victims of Newell's tyrannical price-slashing. But first, he would need a good night's sleep! He always thought clearer on a solid eight hours. There was that pesky sleep-walking habit that sometimes interrupted his sleep. Like there was that one time when he woke up with the chinchilla stuffed in his mouth. That had been a terrible night for sleep. Maybe he wouldn't sleep walk tonight. Maybe. He willed himself not to sleepwalk. That was all he thought about as he laid down on the sofa and pulled the tarp up over his ovoid body. He wouldn't sleep walk at all tonight, and then in the morning, all fresh and chipper on eight hours, he'd get started with his revenge/reluctant hero/saving the world deal...
Haha. This is riddiculously amazing.
Thanks. I don't think anybody will see it though cuz this post got buried? Hm.
Maybe not but Ive doing a new one every day. Yesterday someones submission made around $25. Hopefully it will start catching on!
Any story? I write some pretty bizarre fiction? :)
Any story at all. Go wild!
Ok, let me put my writers cap on, thanks
No problem! Can't wait to see what you come up with.
Nice @mindover...I'm up for it! We need a bit of intellectual stuff too, to keep the universe in balance....a nice little bookish sandpit that we can play in. Roughly how long a story? Flash fiction is new to me!
Totally up to you! Can be as short or as long as you'd like.
A great story doesn't have to be long or perfect. Just entertaining!