Prompt

6. After being let out of the hospital, a tabloid journalist fell in love with a princess.

Love was nothing Whitney had ever thought about.

She wasn’t beautiful, smart, or funny. She was tenacious, but considering the reaction that usually got her, she didn’t think it was necessarily to her benefit.

Her prettiest feature was her hair. It naturally tousled itself into looping curls and was a soft brown that urged hands to touch. At least, people were always touching it or asking to touch it.

Sometimes it was awkward. Sometimes it was weird.

With Flora, it was wonderful.

Princess Floriana Della Bonadeci, second daughter of Crown Prince Darius Mekiah Bonadeci of the small kingdom of Kharvis. Beautiful, gentle, and for some reason interested in Whitney.

And while the commonsense thing would have been to reject the princess’ attentions, for once Whitney refused to be sensible.

She wanted the whirlwind romance. The sweet kisses that would eventually have to lead to a bittersweet goodbye.

Because Flora was as high above her as the birds sweeping through the sky, wings widespread, impossible to hold in place. Because a bird needed to fly.

And Flora, beautiful Flora, was as tied to her homeland as those birds were tied to the air above. Someday she would have to go home. And Whitney would have to stay behind.

Because Whitney was a journalist for a trashy tabloid that nobody respected. Because it had only been chance that let the two of them meet–their arms brushing as they both tried to use the same hospital vending machine–and chance was what would part them.

Because Flora’s father was going to be a king. Someday soon from the way she spoke of her grandfather. And when that happened, Flora would be propelled into the public eye, and

… Read the rest “6. After being let out of the hospital, a tabloid journalist fell in love with a princess. #HarperWCK”

So, I’m working on my project now. This is one of the prompts and prompt-fills that I’ve got so far.

52. After being seduced by a demon, a telepath ordered a birthday cake.

Being a telepath meant having a clear sense of self.

The breaks in his mind were clear. The fractures and replacement of things he hadn’t otherwise noticed the loss of were glaring in their obviousness.

The demon had woven itself throughout his mind.

It choked the idea of telling anyone out of his mind before he could speak the words.

He suffered in pleasure. Experienced physical and metaphysical pleasures the like of which he’d never imagined.

7 months later, on his mother’s birthday, he went to pick up the cake he’d ordered the week before.

The demon had metaphorically hung over his shoulder while he spoke on the phone, but he’d been relieved it hadn’t made him change the order. It seemed like proof that his theory was right: the demon couldn’t hear his thoughts. It only controlled his physical actions (his physical being).

While it had kept him from telling anyone about its presence either vocally or telepathically, it had been through physical means.

It knew his first impulse would be to tell someone of its presence. So it flooded his body with hormones. Locked his bones in place. Froze his vocal cords. All through physical puppetry of his body.

His mind was his own, when he could get it to work. The haze of hormonal pleasure made it very hard to concentrate. To even want to concentrate.

But there were some things too important to be ignored.

He was glad that his brother was there to meet him at the bakery. Joseph had walked from work and had his uniform polo slung over his shoulder. … Read the rest “Prompt 52: After being seduced by a demon, a telepath ordered a birthday cake #HarperWCK”

Prompt-Fill: 016. hand 2A

It was gone. Only a stump remained at the end of his wrist. They’d amputated his hand.

Tears gathered in his eyes. He’d trusted them when they said they wouldn’t do anything without his permission, yet they’d drugged him and cut off his hand. The betrayal stung even in the face of his loss.

The door began opening. He hurriedly wiped his eyes dry on the pillowcase and the shoulder of the hospital gown he wore.

By the time the nurse came in, he had a stoic expression on his face. She didn’t mention the redness of his eyes, simply gave him a smile and asked him how he was feeling.

“I’m feeling like they chopped off my hand,” he snarled, then bit his lip, instantly contrite. “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault.”

She gave him a sympathetic look. “From what I understand, it’s not your fault either. A decision had to be made or you would have died.”

“I know.” He avoided looking at the bandaged stump. He looked toward the window instead. “It’s sunny out there. All those days of rain, and now it’s sunny.”

The nurse—PAM, said her nametag—moved around the room. She opened things and shut things, checked readings on the machines and changed the IV so quickly and expertly he wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t watching.

“It’s a beautiful day,” she said. She crumpled up a blue paper cloth and tossed it in the garbage can. “I think I’m going to recommend that you get some time outside today.”

“What?” He gestured with his hand at his stump. “They cut off my hand yesterday.”

“That was yesterday,” she said. “This is today. And while the stump is still tender and I wouldn’t jostle it around, it should … Read the rest “Prompt-Fill: 016. hand 2A”

2. The prepaid cellphone made an odd sound before dying, plunging the interior of the box into darkness. The occupant’s breath came louder in panic as the realization sunk in.

A. The prepaid cellphone made an odd sound before dying, plunging the interior of the box into darkness. Jackie’s breath came louder in panic as the realization sunk in.

Buried alive! I’ve been buried alive!

One minute she was enjoying the first real vacation she’d had in her entire life. And the next she was waking up in a box buried underground.

It didn’t seem fair.

*

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Cool,
~HarperWCK

Hanging out, down the street, same old thing we did last week...

Not a thing to do, but hang with you...

This song's so catchy I don't know what to do.