Prompt: A sad male poet secretly does magical needlepoint
I’m actually surprised I’m allowed to tell my own story here. I thought for sure he would’ve stopped me. Can he not make it past the veil? Truly? It does make a sort of sense. If my art can’t make it, if nobody’s can, then the force that opposes it is similarly kept out. Do you keep anything else out here? Sadness? Pain? A poet can hope. Continue reading
Prompt: Write a story based on these three words: public, birthday, volcano
The crater of Maragol was the greatest gift a civilization could ask for. It was a volcano, full of danger to be sure, but the silent deity within was kind enough to keep its eruptions regular and predictable. The people living at its feet, between the ripe groves of the leaning trees, knew to get out of the way every four years or so, to spend a week at sea while its spewed liquid fire and expanded their island. Continue reading
Prompt: A famous assassin will be publicly executed, overshadowing the sale of three slaves. A hooded woman buys these slaves and tells them she will let them free if they rescue her brother from his imminent execution.
Nobody could accuse the Royal Regents of not using their space economically. They only held a small section of that country, but nothing in their grip had a chance of slipping out, at least not until that cloudy day when all the knots had been made for the gallows. Continue reading
Prompt: A random student becomes possessed by an ancient artifact; they have to fight themselves to banish the possessor.
It was conceited to think she was the first to find such a thing. There were twenty-two other students all scouring the same pit, all trying to earn the same grades by stepping delicately through the ruin and searching its crevices. It was one of the most exclusive archaeology programs in the country, so none of them were slouches. Continue reading
Prompt: A writer whose words create life in the real wold takes on a mentee.
Zachariah stared at the little window in the door, not removing his hands from the wood. He kept hissing at it, telling it to stop growing, but it wouldn’t. The strange plant crept up the glass inside the classroom, its leaved unfurling and bouncing. Once the room was full it would sneak under the door, spread its tendrils across the hall. Continue reading
Prompt: The cries could be heard across the moors. The villagers listened as they ate their dinner, content that it wasn’t them who had to suffer… (An image of a partly-flooded castle was also provided)
They were called to dinner a little early, as it was best if everyone was seated before the guests arrived. The Castle of Airholt was a truly old building, but it was as clean as the day it was built. The air was sharp, free of dust, as Lysinia clicked her way through a corridor in tiny fancy shoes. Continue reading
Prompt: The rat died…
The rat died. His companions didn’t know if they could call it murder. No one had forced them to scale the tower of Hickory Dickory. It was a private residence, and they’d received no invitation. Of course, Lord Dickory himself had turned everything around into private residence. He owned the farmland around the edge of their forest. He owned the creek, according to his own decrees and his muscle-bound toad enforcers. He owned the tower in which he lived: a grandfather clock from the days of the giant hairless men. Continue reading
Prompt: this image
There was a struggle for power in every level of Valor City just ten years ago. It was a complete collapse, with everyone, in every societal increment, upset over their standing. Politicians thought their jobs too dangerous. Those of the blue collar thought the politicians didn’t even do anything. Those of the white collar ran it all but were still dissatisfied. Continue reading
Prompt: Something with a moebius strip plot that reads differently a second time around.
The Gonda was a mighty warrior in the midst of his final journey. Up until now every journey had been a hunt. There was always a monster at the end, a clear goal. He could celebrate once the blood flowed. He could bring the trophy back and the rest of his tribe could make decorations out of it. As the decorations grew, so too did his fame. Continue reading
Prompt: A Minesweeper Fiction prequel for Trish. (This is a background story for one of the characters created in our live-streaming activities.)
Most of them thought of it as tourism. That was how far their society had advanced; they could now look back at the drudgery and frustration of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries as something cute, as an experience, like milking a cow or finding shark teeth on the beach. Continue reading
Blaine Arcade 