I recently found a stash of old prompts I’d written and thought it might be interesting to write them up on here and see what people think. They’re not dated, but I think age wise they’re from around 2010-2014. At a guess, anyway, since I know some of them were posted on my DeviantArt which I had at around that time.
I’m not sure whether it will be one prompt per blog, or a couple, but I guess that depends on how long they are once I’ve typed them up.
(Trigger warnings for death/mention of stabbing/blood in second prompt: Adieu & whipping mentioned in Road to Nowhere)
Death By Chocolate
The doctor had said there might be cravings, but I’d laughed and told him I’d be fine. If only he could see me now, I bet he’d look at me with a smug little grin and say I told you so.
My fingers shook as I held the cigarette to my mouth, hand trembled as I tried to light it. I got it lit and took a deep breath. Ahh. But it didn’t stop the cravings. he need. The desire. I headed to the kitchen and stopped in front of the cupboard.
I know i should have thrown it away when I found out, but part of me hadn’t believed it at the time; still didn’t believe it now. Maybe if i just had a bit more. If i ate what I had and then didn’t buy anymore. Yes. It would be easier to go cold turkey that way.
Finishing my cigarette, I pulled open the cupboard, pushed aside the peanut butter, reached behind the sugar and wrapped my fingers around it. I pulled it out quickly, tearing into the wrapping like a child at Christmas. There it was, under two layers of paper and foil; like a bar of brown gold. It called to me. Made my mouth water.
My hands trembled again as I raised it to my mouth and took a bite. The flavour washed over my tongue like a cool breeze. Sugar nagged at the cracked tooth in the back of my mouth and I felt my cravings subside.
I polished off the bar in under a minute, revelling as my addiction took over. I felt great, on top of the world. The doctor had been wrong! Closing the cupboard, I took a seat at the kitchen table, satisfied. Picking another cigarette from the packet, I lit it and tried to take a breath. Something was wrong. My throad felt funny. Thick. Gasping, I clutched at my throat as my tongue swelled, filling my mouth.
The doctor had been right after all. He had warned me and I hadn’t listened to him. I tried to get to the phone to call for help, but didn’t make it. I collapsed on the floor.
Death by chocolate, I thought as everything dimmed, what a way to go.
I paced the waiting room wearily. It had been almost five hours now. Five long hours since paramedics had rushed John through the double doors at the end of the hall. Doors that taunted me, kept me separated from the man I loved. Every time a doctor came through, I rushed forwards begging to see him, only to be given the same answer; he’s in theatre.
He needed me and I wasn’t there for him. It was killing me. Part of me waned to track down the bastards that had done this to him and make sure that they were hurting as much as I was. But i knew I couldn’t leave the hospital until I knew John was going to be okay.
He had to be okay. He didn’t deserve to be attacked in the street. Violently, and for no apparent reason other than the other man had been drunk and was carrying a knife.
I looked up at the clock. Almost five AM. Seven hours now. The last two had snuck past me while my back was turned. Still no news from the doctors.
I stopped then and stared at the clock. Time couldn’t slip past when I was watching it. The second hand demanded my attention and I bliged, I saw each move made by the short red hand. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Red. So much red. John’s white shirt had been dyed red. Red on my hands. Red on the ground.
I couldn’t look at the clock anymore. My hands were still red and I shoved them into my pockets so I didn’t have to look at those either. I was dying to go and wash them but I was too afraid to leave for even a second in case the doctors finally came out.
As I passed the vending machine, I wondered how many times I’d wandered this waiting room. It must be nearing triple digits now. My back was to the door when I hear someone come through the double doors.
I almost hesitated. Afraid to turn around. But I did. I had to, and when I had I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. It was John!
I stared in disbelief as he walked towards me as if he’d never been stabbed in the stomach at all. I could almost believe that none of this had happened except that his shirt still bore the ugly crimson stain that had devoured the white fabric in greedy haste.
He walked forwards and enveloped me in his arms.
“shhh.” He petted my hair as the tears flowed freely. The first time I’d been able to do so since the attack.
“I thought you were going to die.” I choked into his shoulder.
“It’s alright.” He told me, stroking my hair. “Everything’s going to be alright.”
Lifting my face from his shoulders, I met his gaze. There was a strange look in his eyes as he leant down to kiss me.
When he pulled back, I could taste blood and salt.
“I have to go.” He whispered, leaning his forehead against mine and cupping my face in his hands.
“The only place you have to go is home.” I smiled, bumping his nose with mine. He kissed the tip.
“No. Back in there.” He motioned towards the double doors. He kissed me again and walked away.
I didn’t understand. Why did he need to go back? He’d only just come out!
“No!” I started after him, “Stay with me, John!” But he was already at the doors.
“I love you.” He said as he pushed it open and slipped inside. When the door swung back he was gone.
As I tried to follow him through the door, a doctor came through.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, seeing the expression on his face.
“I wish I didn’t have to tell you this, but your boyfriend – John – he, uh, he didn’t make it.”
“What? But I just saw him, you must have the wrong person!”
“But he was just out here!”
“He died on the operating table.”
“Can I see him?” I wouldn’t believe this until I saw it with my own eyes. There was no way he could be talking about my John. He’d held me in his arms not five seconds ago.
The doctor took me through and my world ended. There, on a be lay John. His ruined shirt lay in pieces on a tray full of bloody gauze. There were monitors hooked up to John but they were all off.
“When… how long has he..”
“Time of death was five fifteen.”
I looked for a clock. It was five twenty. John had been with me at five fifteen.
“You must be mistaken.”
“I’m sorry, I know this must be hard for you.”
What was happening. How could he have been with me if he had died?
Maybe I was having a nervous breakdown? Maybe this was my minds way of coping. I moved forwards and leant over John’s bed, kissing his forehead.
Whatever it was, at least I had gotten to say goodbye.
Primrose stood in front of the class nervously. It was her first day at Madam Scythe’s Reaping Semetary and she’d already been gawked at.
Renegade (May 12)
I know you were expecting to hear from me earlier, but my current situation prevented me from doing so until now. There are some people after me, and they’re getting closer. I’ve done some bad things, and there’s a bounty on my shoulders.
Village Prayer (May 5th)
The funeral pyre roared and crackled, even as the heavens opened. The passing of an elder was an auspicious and terrble momment. The entire village had turned out to pay its respects.
As the bells began to ring, everyone who as old enough to know how put their hands together and bowed their heads in prayer in hopes that the well wishes would carry their elder on to the spirit world where he could be happy until his reincarnation.
Road to nowhere (May 6th)
Alan trudged along the road, his shoulders slumped and his feet aching. He desperately wanted to stop and take a drink, but he knew that if he paused for even a moment without prior consent he would feel the sharp sting of a whip across his back.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been walking anymore. After the first twenty seven days he’d lost count. Every night he would be granted a sparse blanket that he could sleep under at the roadside, and every morning it was taken away again.
the road was neverending. The scenery never changed and the sun and moon always stayed the same distance away on the horizon. He never saw another soul out on the road. There was only him and his tormentor. The demon holding the whip. The one who decided when Alan could have a drink or a bite to eat.
He was Alan’s parol officer of sorts. The demon assigned to make sure Alan carried out his punishment. This is what happened to serial killers when they went to hell. Alan’s punishment. The card he’d been dealt when he landed downstairs was to walk the road to nowhere. Forever.
Happiness Is (May 7th)
“An Icecream on a hot day.”
“Playing minigolf with my dad.”
“Watching the footy with a beer and a fag!”
“Darren!” The teacher exclaimed, interrupting a small blonde girl. “These are meant to be things you like to do. Not your parents.”
“Oh, sorry miss.” Darren grinned sheepishly. “Then I meant watching the footy and drinking my dads beer when me mam’s not looking!”
Sooo what do you think? Should I post some more of these? Can you see where I’ve progressed between these and the vss365 prompts i’ve been writing? (I know I totally fell off the wagon with that, but I’ll get back on it in the new year)