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First blog post

Well! I took a deep breath and jumped.

This is my very first blog. I’m kind of nervous and excited to get this started.

I’ve been writing stories on the Writer’s Digest Creative Writing Prompts forum every week for the past two years. It’s been a wonderful learning experience to take their prompts, no matter how weird or specific, and turn them into two or three completely different stories. I’ve written stories on there that I normally wouldn’t have considered writing – science fiction stories, vampire stories, and so on. My fellow forumites, who are awesome writers, have helped me with their suggestions and comments to grow as a writer.

So, after much mental fidgeting and nail biting, I finally decided to create this blog to give my prompt stories a proper home.

Hope you enjoy them!

AK

The Daily Spur Presents……The Pink Nightmare.

The nightmare was the same.

Every night.

Every time she closed her eyes the nightmare played out.

The bathroom.

Every moment.

Pink tiles.

Every second.

Golden yellow grouting.

All the same.

The pink glowed both hot and cold, like cooling magma.

It never changed.

The mirror….

It never, ever changed.

She was always drawn to that mirror.

It was all so predictable.

As she approached the mirror, the dream pulled back from her point of view to an outsider’s point of view. She could see herself approach the mirror.

It never changed.

She stopped in front of the mirror. Her hair shielded her face.

It always stayed the same.

She couldn’t see her face.

Every single night.

Not in profile.

Every time she slept.

Not straight on.

Every time she closed her eyes.

And not in the mirror.

The nightmare was always there.

Her reflection….

It was always there.

Her reflection was not there.

It always waited so patiently for her to fall asleep.

The mirror reflected the bathroom’s hot and cold pink tiles and the golden yellow grouting.

It would always be there.

There were no other reflections in the mirror.

It would always be the same.

She wasn’t there.

Photo Prompt

The Daily Spur Presents……Cuboid Storm Conundrum.

She looked at the prompt picture on her computer screen—an almost cloth-like spiral of black and blue and green. The ones on the far left side gave the impression of being made out of soft, soft rubber, like a Koosh ball. The ones on the close right looked like out of focus Christmas tree lights. It was all lovely and surreal.

She shook her head in dismay. What can I write about this? How can I put into words the way that this picture makes me feel? I could write a story about it, I guess. But no story ideas are coming to mind! But this picture is too lovely, too….something to not write about it.

She positioned her fingers on the computer’s keyboard—her fingers all lined up on asdf    jkl; with her thumbs resting on the spacebar. The white screen waited for the words to come.

And they came.

Letters.

Spaces.

Words.

Punctuation.

Thoughts.

Feelings.

Not quite a story.

But it was enough.

Cuboid storm

Christmas Tree Surprise!

LM trudged down the stairs at way too early in the morning. He rubbed his eyes and yawned. Some strange sound downstairs had woken him up, which should have put him on his guard. But he was still too tired to be adequately spooked.

He shifted his rumpled feathers into order as he stepped off the last step.

There was that sound again. An ecstatic crinkling sound, almost like a cat playing with an extra-sized crinkle toy. It came from the living room.

He walked into the living room and stopped short. All of his feathers bristled out in surprise.

A six-foot-tall fluffy pine tree stood in the center of the room, filling the whole space with its scent. That was surprising enough. After all, pine trees of any size never made a sudden appearance in Capernaum’s living room. This was quite an extraordinary occurrence.

But there was more to it than that.

Capernaum had decorated most of the tree with shining glass balls and plastic things that looked like icicles. Strings of small blue and green lights circled the tree.

Boxes of shimmering blue garlands sat nearby.

“What…?” There was more to that question. LM was sure of it. But the word “What….” was the only one he could manage to say.

Capernaum startled, nearly dropping the new package of ornaments that he’d been struggling to open. “Ah! You’re awake. I was hoping to surprise you.””

“There’s a tree in the house.” It was both a question and an accusation.

“Not just a tree. It’s a Christmas tree.”

LM sized it up. “No. It’s a pine tree.”

Capernaum chuckled. “True enough. But this time of year we bring pine trees into the house and decorate them for Christmas. That’s why they’re called Christmas trees.”

His feathers flattened back down. “That’s strange.”

Capernaum shrugged. “It’s a tradition.”

“Oh.” LM walked over to the boxes and examined the blue garlands. Contrary to what he’d been expecting, they were made out of some form of plastic instead of fabric. But they felt so soft! They made an interesting shh-shhh sound as he ran his hands over them. “These are very pretty.” he said matter-of-factly. “You should put them on the tree too.”

“Oh, I intend to. But I also want to string some of them around the house.”

“Good. That will be very pretty.”

Capernaum looked affectionately at the young half-fey. “Do you want to help me decorate?”

“Can I? You…don’t mind.”

“No, my dear LM. I don’t mind at all.”

LM’s feathers flapped happily.

***MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!***

The Daily Spur Presents……Pretty Baubles That Crunch.

I found the box of ornaments. Oh, such lovely things they are. Shiny red. Shiny green. Shiny gold.

And look!

Ohhh, loooook.

There are some pretty, shiny silver ones too! Oh, so nice and lovely. And see? See? They are lined up so neatly inside this box.

Ha ha ha ha.

Like….candy.

Bon-bons neatly lined up in the box.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve.

A shiny dozen….and all for me.

Ohhh, okay. I’m not that greedy. I’ll share some with my family and friends. But! I found it. So, I get the prime choice.

Mmm. Hmm? Which one to choose? They are all so yummy!

I’ll take…ohhhh…hmmm…

What?

What was that? What was that sound?

Oh, no! Someone’s coming. One of those humans is coming. I got to hide. I can’t let them see me. Must hide.

But I will take one. Just one. A lovely, pretty shiny red—no. Gold. I want one of the gold ones. They have the best crunch.

I’ll carefully put the box. Don’t want to drop it. Don’t want the dear darlings to shatter. Gentle….set it down on the closet floor and—-

*Poof!*

////////////////////////////////////////

Wendy opened the closet to put her winter coat away. She sighed when she noticed the open box of ornaments on the floor.

“What’s the matter, hon?” George asked.

She gestured to the open ornament box. “That. I don’t know what keeps getting into that ornament box, but whatever it is, it stole one of them.”

He picked up the box and examined it. “Maybe it was a Christmas mouse who wanted to decorate their tree.”

“Ha. Ha. Not funny.”

“Oh, it’s kind of funny. At least, I think it is.” He put the box back into its rightful place. “But who knows? It could have been a grentelnek.”

“George. There are no such thing as a grentelnek.”

He shrugged. “I’m just saying it’s a possibility.” He closed the closet door.

///////////////////////////

The grentelnek crouched inside of the ceiling and ate the ornament. Oh, how it crunched! And the taste was divine.

It smiled with its impossibly wide mouth.

It would come back for the others later.

Christmas baubles in a box

A Hint Of A Ghost.

There was a hint of ghost in the air. It smelled like fall in a cemetery and tasted like peppermint hard candy. It felt like the beginning of winter.

Ambrose glanced around, trying to pinpoint the ghost’s location. But it was elusive and everywhere at once. “Who’s there? Show yourself!”

The ghost didn’t respond nor did it make any appearances.

I’ve lost so many people over the years. Family. Friends. Could this ghost be one of them?

He sniffed the air, hoping to catch the ghost’s individual scent.

But scent is the individualized combined smells of skin, hair, and bones.

Ghosts have none of those.

Ambrose snapped to attention as the faucet in the kitchen turned on by itself. He ran in there.

As soon as he entered, though, the water shut off. The room was silent.

“SHOW YOURSELF!”

The room’s silence deepened into that of a winter’s night.

What if it’s someone I killed?

“What do you want from me?”

There was no response.

“Answer me. Find a way to answer me. Who are you? What do you want? Tell me!”

No response.

“Mother? Is it you? Father?”

Something metallic dropped into the sink.

He hurried over and looked inside.

A silver locket necklace lay in a perfect arrangement—the chain all curled into a nice, neat pile, the open locket face up on top of the chain.

Inside the locket was an old-fashioned, sepia-toned picture of a young woman. Her long, wavy hair was arranged to fall in just the right way down her shoulders. Her hair framed her face rather than obscured it. Her expression was as serious as it could be, but there was an irrepressible joy in her eyes.

Ambrose gently picked up the necklace as if it were the most fragile thing on Earth. He cradled it in his right hand and looked longingly at her face. He lost himself in her joyful eyes. “Maria.”

He raised his head. “Maria? Are you here? Please answer me.”

But there was no response.

The Daily Spur Presents….Eldred.

The easy path leading into the Hysta Mountains was trampled with a multitude of footprints—some human, some not. But there were so many footprints and they were all muddled together. It was nearly impossible to tell the size and shape of them all.

It was impossible to tell what kind of creatures had hidden their footprints amongst the humans’.

All of the footprints were restricted to the path. There were none that had strayed off into separate lines. The snow on both sides of the path were untouched. It was almost as if the humans had been masterfully herded into the mountains.

The mountains were rock solid. Nothing would move them. Nothing but the earth itself.

The gray clouds drifted by, heavy and tired.

Every now and then, a bit of a breeze would spring up and whistle mournfully through the mountain’s crags. The snow would ssss ssst sss ssst as the breeze shoved it along the ground.

As the hours ticked by, the snow filled in the footprints, causing them to lose whatever definition they had.

But no one came down the path.

No humans.

No animals.

Just Eldred.

Eldred wore a black baseball cap with no logo and a short sleeved gray t-shirt. His slacks were close-fitted khakis.

He carried a pair of ski poles in his sharp-fingered hands. They were the last ones. He had found all of the other poles and put them away.

He walked through the path of footprints, leaving behind the impressions of his bare feet. But he had no concern about it. In time, the wind and the snow would work together to obliterate all of the tracks.

Maybe someday a search-and-rescue team would find the remains of the hikers.

Eldred smiled an uncanny smile.

They would not find him.

Photo Prompt

Procrastination.

I would write today
But I don’t have any donuts
And my Keurig magic machine is out of magic.

I could go to the store.
I could buy a box of donuts.
I could buy some more magic for my Keurig.

But that would involve getting out of bed.
And my bed is so warm.
And the cat is purring nearby.
And all is cozy and lovely.

I will go to the store later.
I will buy my donuts then.
I will buy my Keurig’s magic then.
And then, I will write.

But not right now.

The Daily Spur Presents…Does She Know?

Everything about her is beautiful.
Her eyes.
Her skin color.
Her ears.
Her hair color and texture.

Everything about her is graceful.
Every gesture.
Every movement.
Every little thing.

Everything about her is delightful.
The music of her voice.
The brightness of her laugh.
The brilliance of her mind.

Does she see herself the way I do?
Does she know it the way I do?
Is it clear to her as it is to me?

How beautiful she is.
How amazing she is.

Does she know?

 

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