Prompts

1 comment on "“Partial Curse” PROMPT-FILL: 407."

PROMPT-FILL: 407. Cursed by a random and cruel stranger

A stranger casts The Curse on a young girl with not a single exchange of words between them. In fact, with the heavy traffic on the road, she never saw who cast The Curse.

She simply woke up the next day in screaming agony as her body began to rearrange itself in preparation for the change.

She was terrified but helpless to it. There was no cure and no stopping what was happening to her.

She forced herself to endure as her bones shifted and broke. As her skin ripped as it failed to stretch over her new, larger shape. Blood and plasma stained through her sheets and ruined the mattress below. They were the gushing fluids of her rebirth.

And for a time she rested in wretched skinlessness. Days passed with no food or water. Her breath came in a dull, agonizing wheeze as even the tiniest motion made her flesh burn.

She’d thought she’d died. She should have died. But she didn’t. She endured.

She survived until she could crawl from the bed to the bathroom sink. To the water she greedily swallowed even as her patchy and scabbed skin stung and brought tears to her eyes.

She stayed in her home for weeks, surviving on water and the few scraps of food she could force herself to swallow.

Gradually she healed. Until one day all the pain was gone and her scabs were solid and had ceased to split and bleed. She wasn’t healthy yet, but she was mending.

So with some trepidation and a large dose of fear, she stepped in front of the long mirror. And she looked at herself, at her new life.

=THE END?=

Want a Prompt filled* and dedicated to you? Donations … Read the rest ““Partial Curse” PROMPT-FILL: 407.”

PROMPT: “Like werewolves and serial killers, I prefer a fullmoon and clear skies.”

*
A. Florentine and Rickets:

R: “What’s with the helmet and leather jacket?”
F: “I’m going out to ride my scooter.”
R: “It’s the middle of the night.”
F: “Like werewolves and serial killers, I prefer a fullmoon and clear skies.”

*
B. A Last Goodbye to Balor Hammerhart:

The last flight of Balor Hammerhart was burned into Aeron’s memory. He’d been in the crowd of spectators watching the launch of the first Seed ship. He’d seen it arch up and up, then there was a flash of light so bright that the outline of the ship seemed burned into the sky. It was the last thing he’d seen before his eyes were permanently damaged by the radiation released during the explosion of the hyperdrive.

Balor’s last words rang through his mind, “Like werewolves and serial killers, I prefer a fullmoon and clear skies…” and it didn’t hurt as much as it used to. It seemed that he was finally getting over what had happened.

Seven years of therapies, surgeries, and sacrificed dreams and he finally felt as though he could let go of Balor and move on.

“Which is why I need to visit his grave,” Aeron said.

“But it’s all the way on Titan,” Saera said. He could hear the worry in her voice.

“Mom, it’s going to be fine,” he said. “It’s a short shuttle ride to the Gatestation, then a needle trip through the Eye. I’m only going to be gone a few weeks.”

“Still, anything could happen. It seems dangerous to me.”

“It’s not anymore dangerous than a trip past the Wall. Plus I’ve already hired a Security clone to act as my Companion.” Aeron held out his hand until … Read the rest “magazine 001 – prompt, Eric Andre, Snowden,”

Title: $85 Dry Cleaning Bill
Author: Harper Kingsley

PROMPT: I need to wash my blanket. It smells like dirty girl.

FILL: I need to wash my blankie, Holden thought, wrinkling her nose.

The dark cream colored rectangle of fake fur smelled of dirty girl and rancid powdered Corpse. Her own familiar smell had been completely wiped away by her cousin. Her terrible, terrible cousin. The would-be necromancer and part-time necrophile.

Her blanket felt tainted now. And the smell made her want to gag. If she didn’t love that scrap of fabric so much she would have thrown it away. As it was, she’d have to take it to the Dry Cleaners and hope they could save it.

Holden bundled the blanket into a garbage bag and tied it shut. She tossed the bag in the backseat of her car and drove to a coffee shop where she enjoyed a black coffee sweetened by two sugars and a croissant sandwich for lunch. While she was there she ran a quick Internet search for highly rated Dry Cleaners.

She chose and saved the directions to Happy Harry’s onto her phone. She ignored the notification that said she’d had five missed calls (This is my day) and finished her coffee. Then she drove to the Dry Cleaners, who told her it was going to cost $85 to save her blanket.

By the time she was home getting ready for the evening’s Entertainment, she was simmering over the amount of the bill. Her cousin hadn’t even apologized when she’d made such a big mess at Thanksgiving. (That selfish bitch. She only thinks about herself. She didn’t even look sorry when she got Uncle Raymond’s fingers chopped off. It was all about her. Never mind our family.) She’d swooped in, dropped angry criminals on them … Read the rest ““$85 Dry Cleaning Bill””

A. Once humans begin farming in space, the wealthy move onto luxurious space stations while relying on the Earth for resources and labor. Instead of there being a rebellion, the stationers begin seeing themselves as above normal humanity.

1/A FILL: After the Blight struck, there was no choice but to move agriculture production to the orbital farms. Which meant building a place where humans could live.

Some nights, the sky looks nearly blocked out by the ag-farms. They’re curving bends of metal and plastic, each its own little world, containing thousands of people living miles away from the problems of the Earth below.

The ag-farms once answered to Earth command, but after the War they governed themselves. They chose to use their newfound independence to make themselves into the kings of the sky, doling out food with ungracious superiority.

The Dirt People toiled in factories and in mines while the Exalted enjoyed the fruits of their labors. Ever more fantastical scientific advancements were made on the backs of the people, but the wonders they created were not for themselves.

While the lifespans of the Exalted grew ever longer, the lives of the people became short and filled with sickness and discontent.

What parts of the Earth not destroyed by the Blight were damaged as the people were forced to dig deep and drag out the precious ore.

Year by year, the dying cries of the planet made themselves known to the people. From earthquakes and tornadoes, to explosions of hidden gas and mile long fissures that opened with deadly suddenness. Yet the Exalted did not listen to the dying cries of the people.

They floated high above the world in their shiny and clean habitats, served by their robots and genemod slaves. They lay in their healing pods and never … Read the rest “PROMPT: Humanity splits itself apart”

I make wishes on the stars all the time. It doesn't seem like a waste to me. Because in the forming of a wish--an idea--a concept of what can be is created. And until a wish is formulated, it's nothing but stardust and fantasy.