Fiction

WRITING PROMPT: God Of Gamers

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clouds

Photo credit: Kevin Dooley

Writing prompt: One morning humanity wakes up to a message in the sky. “Sorry was AFK for a bit there” -God

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“How do you think it got there?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “Probably some skywriters with a good idea of a prank.”

“Skywriting? But it’s been there since this morning!”

I leave the stranger behind, because I don’t need more questions that I can understand myself. Why don’t you come up with your own explanations then? If I’d stayed there for another minute, I might’ve snapped at him. Thank God, heh, I had the presence of mind to leave. Who knows what else I’d have done. I’m just on edge, is all. But deep down, I know I’m fuckin’ terrified.

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FICTION: Festive Doom

/ Stuart Danker / 1 Comment
new-year-party

Photo credit: Rolands Lakis

Via Daily Prompt: Festive

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There’s a weird relationship between happy tunes and horror movies; the twinkling of a baby mobile, or tunes from a theme park. You don’t get the same chill from, say, dubstep or emo rock.

The advertisement jingles in supermarkets are right up the horror-movie aisle (heh). How could anybody be happy about a ten percent discount off a two-dollar item? My heart goes out to the staff every time I shop in a supermarket that repeats music and the month’s current offers.

Today, I find myself at the hypermarket deciding on a door gift for a new year’s party. Should I go for the wine, or the snacks? I visualise a wine snob at the party—and it’s a real possibility because I don’t know anyone there—frowning at my ten-dollar bottle of wine. But ten-dollar wine is classier than twenty-dollar bags of Lays, surely?

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WRITING PROMPT: A Birthday Wish

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Birthday Cake.jpg

Prompt: You are in your twenties. You wake up to find yourself in your eight-year-old body. You are in the time and at the place you were when you were 8, but with all the memories and mannerisms of your twenty-something self.

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The smell of bacon roused Jess. It’s a smell that took her back to her eighth birthday; the most memorable one of her life. Dad had said that she’d become a big girl, and Jess had to agree.

She was certain that it was that exact day, because underneath the salty tang of the bacon was a hint of whiskey, a combination that’s involuntarily etched in her mind like a badly-drawn tattoo.

Barbie dolls and My Little Pony colouring books were strewn about her room, remnants of love from her late mother.

Wait, mom’s still alive, isn’t she? Am I dreaming?

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WRITING PROMPT: Eye For An I

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drunk-person-on-bench

Prompt: You’ve accidentally killed the Devil. God makes you the new Devil to replace the one you killed.

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Amos had few regrets for taking to the bottle. He literally pissed my life away, but the haunting memories still remained. Sara and Janey. How I yearn for them. How old would Janey have been? How long has it been since I the accident?

Long enough, he concluded. He’d had enough of the cold, the hunger, the panhandling so that he could score another bottle to keep away the shakes. Tonight, he’d end it all—he was hopping back on the wagon. Going cold turkey. Committing suicide.

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WRITING PROMPT FICTION: Losing My Voice

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Whispers

FOREWORD: It’s time for another Reddit writing prompt: Your entire life, you’ve been followed by a voice only you can hear that constantly narrates everything you do and say. One day, the voice talks directly to you for the first time, and it has a warning for you.

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It was there for as long as I could remember, a woman narrating my daily life. When I was young, I used to think it came from one of my imaginary friends. Then I grew out of that phase and went along with my parents’ beliefs that I was just crazy.

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