I write, delete, write, and on most days, delete again.
A Dragon's Theft
The unnamed forest, inhabited by many hidden creatures and creations, usually practiced silence. It was purposeful, as silence came with many advantages for predator and prey, but it was also not, as silence usually came over ones that felt they had no reason to be present. Today, though, as the sun’s rays tried to reach through the treetops, tried to lighten more of the forest than just the dark dim it usually held, something disrupted that silence. It wasn’t a noise that caused it. No, it was space being taken, occupied. Something entered and did not leave, which was louder than the soft, slow footsteps that entered.
31 Days of October Writing Prompts
October is right around the corner, and what better month to inspire creativity and story? For this year, I decided to create daily writing prompts for the month for inspiration to exercise the writing brain. To have fun with putting down whatever comes through the pen—or if a sudden urge comes along, a paintbrush.
She falls and pours
For however long it lasts and speaks—changing, slowing, and growing. Whispering with scent. It encloses the small part of the reality owned and, in a way, transforms or transports on solid foundation, stilling or shaking depending on what it’s made of.
Spaceships and Ice Cream
The mission was supposed to be simple. But things happened—unforeseen consequences spoken into existence. Now the Space Rangers just needed to get the spaceship out of the alien’s targeting system. There are buttons to press. Orders to yell. Dramatic balancing acts to display as the ship flies erratically through an uncharted location in space.
A Mage's Blood and Fire
Chapter One: The Scene of the Birth There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Not until a moment sometime between the night and dawn when they grew out of an elder prophet’s carcass. Before the sun rose, the unnamed Valley was only touched by wildlife and the sparse footprints of the locals who live in a town located past a waterfall that shouldn’t be there and in a cave that sings.
The Door's Locked
Knock. Knock. Knock. Cherry knew she would be called when she overheard a conversation at the local diner that a boy named Henry drowned. Now, eight days later, she stood in front of the site of the accident: a lake hidden between tall whispering trees, found on free days with a perfectly preserved old wooden dock. The lake contained decades of good memories; it washed over the area in a thick coat of paint, its hues adding and changing after every visitor. But that was its lie, and within that lie hid its true depths and the silence of the number of bodies it stored over its long life. Even Cherry couldn't help but imagine a day where she would watch the stillness, soaking her feet in the stained water.
Bound to Dirt
Lev hummed as the underworld bled into the realm of man. The ocean water was almost black. The sky, covered in a thick sheet of gray, wept softly for too long. And in the corners of his eyes, Lev believed to see loose souls drifting away, trying to find their way back to a place not for them anymore.
A ____ in the Oven
Leila stared at the white ceiling as her nightmare slipped into oblivion, with only its echoes lasting, echoes of a scream. She turned in her bed and grabbed her phone on the nightstand. 3:07 AM. Grunting, she put the phone down, closed her eyes, and took in a deep breath. But she paused before exhaling because of a strange scent that shouldn’t be present, especially in the middle of the night.
What Hunger Brought
The girl’s feet, covered in old leather scraps, were carved by the woods as she ran down the river’s edge, following red weaved streaks in the water. In the distance, a light flickered between dark moss-covered trees. Faint echoes of growling barks and taunting calls followed behind her. Above, grey clouds and fog hid the rising sun. And as she darted between the trees, the scent of fresh bread kissed every gasp as she clutched a loaf against her trembling chest.
A Reach for Immortality
Crushed smeared roses streaked the misty fire of the sky. The wind didn’t hold all the earth’s dust and ash as it did most days—maybe half, maybe a little more than half. And the temperature wasn’t at its highest point, just a good hundred and fifty-two, which was perfect for a long walk in the white protective environmental suit.