.
When is a door not a door?
Simple, when it is ajar…
While you may cringe to your core,
As this pun leaves a deep scar,
Can you feel the slight chuckles
That rise deep inside your chest,
And before your mind buckles,
Now aware that you detest
This joke and not just a bit,
Take a second to look back
Upon your life, quick flashback,
And you might have to admit,
Despite great fear and pretence,
Despite your views and your stance
On this matter which seems mad,
You have now become a dad!
.
“It was blue, it had always been blue. So why not?”
So, here is something I have never done, at least not from this side of the game. I love participating to story prompts like this, most of the time it’s motivating and brings inspiration, and the rest of the time it’s just interesting to go and read what others have imagined.
For some time now I have been toying with the idea of doing one myself, to see if I could manage to motivate some people to try playing with me and also to see how different our imaginations work. As I just said I don’t have much experience with this kind of exercise, except for those I have participated to so I apologize in advance if anything is unclear or not well-organized, this is my first. I’ll try to do better next time, because indeed, I hope there will be a next time!
After thinking about it for the last few days here is the prompt I have come up with. Imagine the sentence I offer you at the beginning is the beginning of a novel, a poem, a short story or anything that you might want to write. The goal is simple, you have to answer this single question: what comes next?
Your writing is absolutely not limited in any way, it can be in the form you want, go on for the length you want, be about the subjects you want and end or be destined to be continued later.The only restriction I would apply is that it has to contain the prompt as its first sentence, or in its first line(s) if you decide to go for a poem or something of the sort. That’s all, apart from that you are free. You choose, you decide, you write.
If you want me to give it a go and read it (to give you a bit of feedback on my impressions), you can send it to me via comments on this blog or through my social contacts on my Contact page (there’s a form to send me an email at the bottom of the page). Make sure you add a way for me to contact you and I’ll try to give you my thoughts on what you have to offer.
I will also (try to) participate to this prompt and (try to) give you my version of the inspiration I get from this sentence (if and when I have time). I’ll (try to) post it as soon as I can but it will be uploaded at the latest by next weekend, around the 27th or 28th of August so y’all have about one week to get to work and produce a masterpiece!
I really hope you’ll find this motivating and have fun trying it out!
All right, set your watches on me, grab your pens (or keyboards, as you prefer) and get ready… set… imagine!
My text for this prompt : Paint me like one of your french girls
.
Babe, oh babe, sing to me,
My dear, oh my dear please,
Your voice is so dreamy,
Use it, put me at ease,
For nightmares come tonight
And my sleep will be rough,
Full of tears, full of fright,
I have run long enough.
My body’s getting cold,
I feel the dark looming,
My dear, oh my dear hold
Hold my hand as you sing…
.
In the mood for some melancholy. Thank you Dodie.
.
Great kingdoms will rise from grass
And empires come to pass
Ere the age of man, at last,
Becomes part of this world’s past…
Many wars will shed their blood,
Many pains will try their love,
For until comes the great flood
I only watch from above.
.
.
As you take it away,
As you break it this day,
I vow, never again
Will I let in the pain!
Oh but darling, my heart
You didn’t break apart,
Broken, it could be healed,
But a hammer to wield
You decided, crushing
It into flying dust,
Now my wound is gushing,
And love has lost my trust…
.
.
The day’s almost over
And night is on its way,
I lie under cover
Of an old stone archway,
Melancholy has come,
I’m drowning in feeling
Of whom I have become
And whom I want to be,
I can hear them pealing,
Far over the abbey,
The bells in the distance…
Oh how they resonate,
With growing insistence
In my heart, fascinate
Me beyond any thought,
Past, present and future
Seem to have me all caught
In a pleasant rapture
As the sun’s setting down
Over this quiet town.
.
.
My heart is silent and cold,
Not a single beat echoing,
No warmth through my veins flowing,
As if made of iron or gold,
With skin of alabaster
And a pedestal for master,
I am a moving sculpture
Ever voiceless and oh so numb,
Circled by vicious vulture
Who see me defenseless and glum;
I cannot feel, cannot smile,
It has been like this for a while,
Though I’ve my reasons to live,
Which you may not all understand,
To keep going, to forgive,
Until, in time, comes my last stand.
.
.
In my purse, I have a thousand secrets,
Some are light, others incredibly dark,
And many a person, these things, covets,
Ready, to obtain them, a war to spark,
They have tried, oh they have tried, to stop me,
And take away what is my property,
But none can, not even an army,
Is that not right, my dear sweetie ?
.
.
Pedal to the metal,
Tires screech, I start off,
Giving birth to a cloud
Of thick and foul white smoke,
Bullets rain around me,
Shouting echoes loudly.
.
No time for it to settle
I’m gone, breaking the standoff;
I’m quite sure they don’t feel proud:
Outdone by a single bloke,
Entire private army…
Eyes closed, singlehandedly!
.
Now, no time for reckless mettle,
This is not completely over,
For I must still escape unbowed
Or my licence they might revoke…
The sky still remains dark, stormy,
But I let myself smirk proudly.
.
.
A young and fair lady had, once upon a time,
From a lad named Freddy and barely for a dime,
Bought a piece of candy promised to taste like lime,
She sought to feel dandy, committing that small crime,
Alone on the sandy beaches of Anaheim,
Oh she was not ready for it to taste like thyme…
.
A fun little poem. Fun. Yeah.
Tales of Ore 