prompt fill

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”

This is one of my prompt-fill for "WIPs, Snips, Bits and Bobs."

8. After the divorce was finalized, an out-of-work astrophysicist caused the zombie apocalypse.

The zombie apocalypse was nowhere in her plans. It was just something that happened. That was her story, and she was sticking to it.

God, she hated the way the guilt ate away at her. It felt like it was searing straight through to the heart and soul of her.

She’d screwed up. The whole world was being punished for it.

Huddling in the mess of her office, she gave in to her despair for a time. Sobbing into her hands, her mouth opening wide in silent screams, while snot dripped from her nose and her whole body shook.

She hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. She’d been trying to fix things ever since she’d realized what she’d done. But it was no good.

She had to face the facts of the situation: There was no reversing the zombie virus ravaging across the country.

There was no cure. No magic bullet to fix everything.

There was only going to be a fight to survive, and the reality of success or failure at living. No bringing anybody back once they were infected.

The thought of all the dead turned her stomach. And it wasn’t completely guilt. It was the hopelessness of it all. The realization that no matter what she did it wasn’t going to make anything better, because there was no longer anything to make better.

All those people out there, turned into ravening monsters, attacking their families and friends… They could not be saved.

They were already dead. And now they were killing any living creatures they came across, from human to animal. Though only humans were reanimating. So-far.

She’d thought giving … Read the rest ““After the divorce was finalized, an out-of-work astrophysicist caused the zombie apocalypse” #HarperWCK”

Title: The Realness of Things

Author: Harper Kingsley
Description: A man that’s afraid of the doll in his house.

It watched him from its perch in the corner. That fucking doll.

He hated it because he feared it. Such a stupid, childish fear.

He hated that it was able to eat away at him, draining the energy from his bones with each moment that he knew it was there. Watching him. Waiting in the dark for him to fall asleep. Planning during the day when he was away.

The thought of it moving around the house when he was gone made him tense all through the workday. It was the dark circles that grew beneath his eyes that had him ordering surveillance cameras. He had them sent to the office.

Innocuous-looking items he was able to arrange around the house as though he’d simply gone on a store closeout shopping spree. He mixed in non-surveillance ornaments he’d purchased to get the garishly bright shopping bag he’d carried the cameras in. He’d made sure the doll could see the name of the popular shop on the bag.

Every day at work, he would call up the camera feed from his house on his tablet. He’d set it up on its stand within his line of sight and it would comfort him to see the doll perched in its corner.

He hated the doll because he feared the doll. Because his only comfort was looking at that screen and knowing the doll was still there. Because he spent every night with the curtains drawn tight around his bed and his ears tuned for the tinkle of the "decorative" bells he’d sewn all around the hem.

He hated the doll. He feared the doll. His every moment and every thought had become … Read the rest “SHORT FIC: The Realness of Things #HarperWCK”

Haunted by the ghost of you,
the things you said,
and made me do;
the darkness that called out to me,
pulled me in,
set me free.
I lie here in my bed at night,
dream of you,
our Maybe Life,
regret the choices that we made,
the love you took into the grave.