Hump Day Kick Start – Writing Prompt #1

Writing prompts to kick start your muse.

I’m trying something a little different. Don’t worry. Picture prompts will continue. But let’s broaden the horizon. Every other week, I will either give you writing prompt, dialogue prompt, or idea prompt. Use them to get those creative juices flowing. Use them to do a quick exercise. Use them as inspiration. Write a short story (or novel!), a poem, a song, whatever moves you. Feel free to share your ideas or post your creations, even if it’s just a line or two. I encourage it! Let me know what you think about this new feature. I’d love to hear from you.

it-was-a-hell-of-a-way-to-die

10 Responses to Hump Day Kick Start – Writing Prompt #1

  1. jeff7salter says:

    Randy, the third string quarterback, finally got into the game during the late fourth quarter. Didn’t do all that much, but he sustained some abrasions and got his uniform muddy… finally.
    His girl friend had been waiting for this moment, with the promise of much more than smooching after Randy finally got in a game.
    Alas, on the way from the locker room to his pickup, Randy was plastered to the pavement by the school bus carrying the band of the opposing team.
    Not only the worst timing in the world, but it was a hell of a way to die.

  2. jbrayweber says:

    Haha! Perfect, Jeff. I expected something much darker, yet yours is comedic. Thanks for the laugh!

  3. jeff7salter says:

    well, it evens out — when you’ve been expecting comedic, I sometimes go dark…

  4. jbrayweber says:

    You do keep me on my toes.

  5. jeff7salter says:

    somebody needs to…

  6. pibarrington says:

    (Ooh, I love it, Jen!)

    It was a hell of a way to die. She didn’t know exactly how or when or even why parts of her body began to expire, but it was subtle if speedy. It started with a missed muscle twitch here or there, nothing too noticeable. Then came the numbness, a frightening inability to feel anything, spreading over and throughout her. She didn’t kid herself. She was a cop–had BEEN a cop–and she knew the stages of Rigor Mortis. Only this time, she actually felt it happen as opposed to a coroner pointing it out with a commentary. And she couldn’t ask any questions either even if a coroner stood over her body. She’d paid attention making pages of notes and copiously reading them back to herself at night, thinking that would help her as an officer and then as a detective. Right now she wished she’d stayed out drinking those nights away with her fellow cadets and forgetting nearly everything she learned. But no, she couldn’t. She wanted to be a cop more than anything ever and refused to jeopardize any tiny opportunity to become one. Homicide was her goal, just that one word meant everything to her, just that one. She wondered if any other cops were living through their own funerals right now and she wondered if they still thought it was worth it.
    Funeral. Funny she didn’t hear anything. No crying, no eulogy, no music, damn it. She wanted that last one. She wanted music blaring out over the crowd and filling up the street and the entire cemetery.
    She ignored the muscles stretching away from her face, making her look like a hideous skull grimacing and grinning simultaneously. She stopped listening because she heard something else. She couldn’t immediately recognize, but she thought it might be someone moving and gasping desperately, drowning without water. She decided to give it a try to save that poor person. Cop that she was and always would be, she couldn’t let someone else suffer and die; not if she could help it. She summoned what muscle movement she still had along with a deep breath and tried to move and scream out “Hey! There’s someone alive in here! Don’t bury them! Please, no!”
    It was an intern who responded. Any coroner would merely respond with an “oh, just the muscles one last time,” and shove the body back into the freezer like so much meat. But not this time. He somehow heard her and looked at his brother intern.
    “I think we’ve got a live one in this bag!”
    She heard that; what he said. She could hear the gurney wheels squeak and roll and suddenly felt a poke in her rib cage.
    “Ouch!” she shocked even herself.
    “Okay, Sweetie, it’s okay. We’re going to get you out of here as soon as possible, okay?”
    She felt her head nod. She shook her head and felt it move. Praying it wasn’t just one last attempt at life by her body, she looked up into big brown eyes. One of them winked at her and she tried to do it back but couldn’t. He must have seen the panic in her eyes because he told her that would come back in time along with everything else and not to be afraid this time, she would live for a hell of a long time. She nodded with an understanding she hoped he nor anyone else would have to deal with when their time came.
    It really WAS a hell of a way to die.

    *****

    I think I do better with verbal or written prompts. Also, I single-handedly ate an entire giant bowl of popcorn while writing this. it’s okay I’ve been craving popcorn for about two weeks. Well, that’s still no excuse to gorge, though. If you hear in the news about a woman exploding in Knoxville, it’s just me…

  7. jbrayweber says:

    This was wonderful, Patti. Great interpretation of the prompt. As for the popcorn…you didn’t save me any? Haha! I love and eat huge bowls of popcorn regularly. Not the microwave kind, either. The way we used to make it on the stove when I was a kid. It’s a guilty pleasure!

  8. pibarrington says:

    That is exactly how I was raised to make it and still do!! And thanks for complimenting the story. I appreciate it more than you know!

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