100 words

(115 words)
“Hold on!” I urged, thinking if I gripped any tighter my hand would break into pieces. I struggled to grip Claire's sweaty hands. “I'll never let you go!” I cried triumphantly, using my last ounce of strength to pull Claire away from the jagged edge of the ravine. I thought the battle had been won, but I was wrong. After I pulled Claire up, her legs still dangled off the edge, and they caused the side of the gorge to give out. In a tumble of rocks and dust, I lost her.

“NO!” I shouted brokenly as I watched her go, her eyes wide in terror. “No...,” I whispered, grief stricken.

Traitor

Blood trickled down her lips as the man in the tux jabbed another punch at her lips. She was bound and tied to a stake as they added gas to the stack of logs that sat under her feet.
"You traitor! You filthy mole!" she screamed hysterically, gagging past the blood that seeped into her mouth.
"He trusted you! We all did!"
"Trust," he sneered, straightening his cuffs as he nodded at the men to stop adding the gas.
"Seems to get us all... Light it," he looked at the henchman besdie him. With a sharp hiss, he ran the match across the box and threw it at the pile.
"Good-bye Anna."


Cheater

I stared brokenly up at him, my eyes clouded with hurt, and disbelief. “How could you?” I whispered accusingly, my eyes searching his face for an answer. He looked back at me, and saw the pain burning in my eyes. His gaze flickered to his feet. “I-I...,” I knew he couldn't make an excuse this time. “Leave.” My words were cold and shaky. He stood there for another moment. “But-,” I interrupted, shouting now. “LEAVE.” He sulked away, and out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

I watched him drive away, and cradled my head in my hands, sobbing quietly.
(107 words)

Broken bones

"Don't stop! Believing! Hold on to that feeling!" we sang, smiling and laughing so hard our voices sounded horrible. But we didn't care. "Streetlights! People!" Suddenly, a car came speeding down the street, even though there was a red light.
The only sounds I heard was the sound of the collision - metal against metal. But no screams. We were both in shock.
I woke up in a hospital, and I couldn't feel my leg. Did I even have one anymore?
"This better be just a dream," I said, twitching but couldn't move my broken arm.

Sticks and stones

The sharp eyes of Medusa gazed upon the many statues in her yard, unaware of the feet running up the pavement that led to her house until the sound of splintering wood broke the silence on her back porch. The gray haired lady waded through the pink china plates, and cushiony sofas that made up her present home, and found herself face to face with a boy no older than twelve. She could tell, however, that he was a demigod simply by the stink of him. Cackling, she ripped off her sunglasses to reveal the eyes that had transformed so many to stone.
But the boy only smiled, his clouded eyes unmoving in their sockets. He lifted up his mirror, which had been hidden behind his back all this time. The Medusa let out an awful wail, but before she could turn away, she was stone. Still smiling, he knocked her head off it’s shoulders and placed it in his bag.
“You’ve lived too long, Medusa” He murmured, before repeating her favorite line “Time will turn us into statues eventually”
(180 words. Oopsie.)

I'm with you and you're with me and we are all together.

"I'm with you and you're with me and we are all together!" the hot male lead sang on television, dancing around and just looking smooth in general.

"Ugh," I decided, pressing strongly on the remote to change the channel. "This guy is disgusting!" My little sisters were entirely obsessed with him, but nope, not me. It was like Justin Bieber or Twilight or something - the moment that it started getting popular, no thanks. I suppose everything was all right, really, but not when it started getting idolized like that. "Hey, mom, what're we having for dinner?"
(Wow. XD I did horribly.)

Bombs

He charged across the street, carrying a large packet under one arm. “Dood, we got da’ bombs!” He cried in his badly annunciated, generally hobo-like voice.
“How many?” The other asked, turning his head from the meager fire that the two had developed this morning in some rich dude’s front-yard trash can.
“Do’s it matta’?” The original said. “Wih’ this many, uh coup’le o’ hoboes like us cou’d get rich!”
“Your right... Nothin’ matters ‘cause we’s got da’ bombs.” And with that, the two shrieked eagerly as the bomb-bearer chucked ‘em through the rich guy’s window to his money room.

Not the best write I've ever done, but it works.

Cold day in the sun

(Do I really have to do this, peeps? really?)

...Raising his hand to his eyebrows like a visor, he scanned the majestic view of the mountains beyond.
“What a beautiful day.” He said. Then, looking to the normally overcast gray sky, and seeing the sun, he amended the statement. “What a beautiful day in the sun-- for once.”
Beside him, his wife shivered in the cold breeze blown from the northerly range of mountains. “More like a cold day in the sun,” She said, wrapping her cloak closer around herself to preserve what little warmth was left to her.
“Yes,” The man said. “A cold day in the sun.”

(I did not have that plot planned, but I figured I had to do something to get this going again. As I read it, there is no rule on the front page that demands writing only to someone else's prompt, unless it's an unspoken instinct. But, c'mon guys, I know someone besides me has the ability to come up with a paragraph to my prompts.)

Love and Marriage

(Corniness. -.-)


She blinked up shyly at him through the length of her lashes. After four years of intimate whispers, passionate kisses and longing embraces, she still felt light pink blush creep up her cheeks while so close to him; his chocolate eyes swallowed her with pure love. Her heart raced with adrenaline, her soft skin rose into goose bumps, and tiny beads of sweat coated her palms. She tried to remain confident, but her lips still trembled as he pulled back the lacey veil concealing her face.

“I do,” he breezed, his voice velvety as he leaned in to kiss her.


Ominous fence.

Oh! Crap, hold on! Wrong prompt, lol! XD

- - - - - -

Art

shadowsowner888 wrote:"I'm with you and you're with me and we are all together!" the hot male lead sang on television, dancing around and just looking smooth in general.

"Ugh," I decided, pressing strongly on the remote to change the channel. "This guy is disgusting!" My little sisters were entirely obsessed with him, but nope, not me. It was like Justin Bieber or Twilight or something - the moment that it started getting popular, no thanks. I suppose everything was all right, really, but not when it started getting idolized like that. "Hey, mom, what're we having for dinner?"
(Wow. XD I did horribly.)

Bombs

That sadly sounds exactly like me... xD

"It's art!" my best friend screamed as she stared up at the Louis Vitton store in front of us.

I issued a soft chuckle and ran my fingers through my dark hair. I'd known Anna since we were in diapers but I would never understand her. I guess being a guy does that to you or something.

I met her excited blue eyes and tried to ignore the butterflies that ensued, "It's a bag?"

"Gosh Charlie!" she rolled her eyes and shoved me hard. "You will never understand fashion. We're here in France and all you can do it stare at architecture." It wasn't a whiny voice but more something exasperated.

"That is why we're here though, Anna. We are architect majors, aren't we?"


Fire

iGrievous wrote:He charged across the street, carrying a large packet under one arm. “Dood, we got da’ bombs!” He cried in his badly annunciated, generally hobo-like voice.
“How many?” The other asked, turning his head from the meager fire that the two had developed this morning in some rich dude’s front-yard trash can.
“Do’s it matta’?” The original said. “Wih’ this many, uh coup’le o’ hoboes like us cou’d get rich!”
“Your right... Nothin’ matters ‘cause we’s got da’ bombs.” And with that, the two shrieked eagerly as the bomb-bearer chucked ‘em through the rich guy’s window to his money room.

Not the best write I've ever done, but it works.

Cold day in the sun

I love hobos. :3 Claiming.

Taylor_Potter wrote:Fire

Smoke, black and heavy, flooded the room. She could hear the sound of beams collapsing in the room next door as the fire raced through every room in the house. Beads of sweat dripped off her nose as she realized that her room would be next. The fire inferno would burst through her bedroom wall and it would be all over. She wondered what it was like to be burned to death. Why wasn't she running away? Trying to save herself? Trying to get out? Before he set the house on fire, the arsonist had handcuffed her to her bedpost.

New word: Chapel

(Elmo, you're supposed to write 100 words. You only wrote 62.)

He took a deep breath and entered the chapel, his daughter trailing behind. "Daddy, why are you scared of church?" She asked in her sweetly sickening voice. He sat down and sighed as she took the seat next to him, her eyes traveling over his face to check for any signs of stress. “Well, when I was a little kid, like you,” He finally spoke, the words strangling him as he was about to scare his child. “Our priest would take the little kids into ‘classrooms’ and he would scare us very badly.” His eyes closed. “How?” She asked, and he didn’t know what to say.

Blue Scarf

Mrs. Twarry Matsuda wrote:(Elmo, you're supposed to write 100 words. You only wrote 62.)

He took a deep breath and entered the chapel, his daughter trailing behind. "Daddy, why are you scared of church?" She asked in her sweetly sickening voice. He sat down and sighed as she took the seat next to him, her eyes traveling over his face to check for any signs of stress. “Well, when I was a little kid, like you,” He finally spoke, the words strangling him as he was about to scare his child. “Our priest would take the little kids into ‘classrooms’ and he would scare us very badly.” His eyes closed. “How?” She asked, and he didn’t know what to say.

Blue Scarf

(Oh sorry! I didn't know it had to be exactly 100... I'll edit my post.

(It can be over, or exact. :3)

I slammed the door on my way out of the house. It just was so ridiculous! Why did they have to fight all the time? Was it really so hard to get along? My parents had been at each others necks for the past two months. They had gotten into so many screaming matches that I gave up trying to help. In the beginning I had tried talking to each individually, tried to get to the root of the problem, but they both shut me down.

I readjusted the blue scarf tied around my neck. If I really thought about it, the fighting seemed to start around the time my mom’s friend Laura had died from cancer. It had been a tough battle but in the end the cancer won. My mom is not normally one to show emotion in public, and only let one tear slip during Laura funeral. On the outside, she seemed fine by the next day, but I caught her sobbing into her pillow that night.


Hmm. I kinda like it. I wonder if I figured out a plot if I could make it into a whole story...




I loved her more than life itself