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Chatterbox: Inkwell
Take a bullet
Take a bullet and RUN WITH IT!!
Stretch it out as much as you can, turn it into a multi-chaptered story, write a poem about it, tell it from different perspectives, combine two different prompts into one, ANYTHING! Even if you have to squint to make the prompt make sense, DO IT! All in the name of creativity and inspiration!
Please just say which one(s) you're using, and donate a few bullets if you have the chance! :)
Here's the first few for reference:
> Stolen identity
> 'Weren't we supposed to be friends?'
> 'It's like the whole world has gone mad. What do we do now?'
> Molten rock churned, burbling and pretending to breath fire itself, under the watchful eye of the ______. Nothing had happened. Yet.
> A solemn toll struck into the grey mist. At first, it was just one, but soon the bells' tune had swelled to a chorus, riding the somber taste of the rain as if they were atop the black horses leading the funeral hearse.
> 'That was in your past life, though. Neither of you are the same people you were in that life, nor do you have the same relationship or circumstances. Why take that chance now? What if it ruins everything we have here, in this life?"
> The tattered red-bound book lie slanted on the flaky, green lopsided shelf. It's pages were torn and yellowed, with dog-ears and ancient markings -- scars left behind by dribbled and smeared ink -- perhaps even with a coffee spill or two. But that didn't matter to ________.
Good luck and happy writing! Ciao~
submitted by Jaybells, age Obscure, Lost in the Universe
(February 28, 2022 - 12:09 am)
(February 28, 2022 - 12:09 am)
Neverseen's prompt:
Nobody knew about the rope in my handbag, yet they soon would. It also felt like it was glowing or burning or something, that it showed easily through the thin purple fabric of my bag.
"Relax," said Liam, who was beside me, and did not have the hardship of carrying The Rope, or, for that matter, The Grappling Hook, because he wouldn't be allowed to carry a bag. Besides, he had to give a speech about the proper disposal of food waste. It was my job to sneak into the eco-lodge and take pictures of all the classified documents in the room. The only trouble with sneaking in was that a) I couldn't go through the auditorium because people would spot me and b) the eco-lodge was formed of pods in trees, and therefore I had to climb to the pods. They were part of a zipline course that spanned many miles, but the people who were running this operation for Liam and me had decided that it would be too hard to break into the zipline equipment shed and so therefore I had to throw the grappling hook over the ropes on the inter-pod bridge, climb the rope that was in my bag, and cross the bridge to the pod. The only easy thing about the operation was that the owner of the eco-lodge did not believe in locked doors.
"You don't have to carry the bag," I told Liam.
"Yes, but I have to give a speech in front of a bunch of strangers. Which would you rather do, Cora?" he asked.
"Break in, obviously," I said. I'm too much of an introvert to give a speech about getting rid of banana peels in front of a lot of people who I don't even know.
"Okay," said Liam. "Here we go." He opened the door to the auditorium and I walked around the side. People were all very happy for the eco-lodge faire; people who were in the business of stopping climate change or growing plants had set up tables outside and the speakers' auditorium, including Liam, was inside. It was an open mic; people were allowed to give speeches on any topic regarding climate change for any length. Liam was there because the person whose classified documents I was about to photograph really, really loved composting, and Liam was giving a twenty-minute speech that would easily occupy the person.
The pod, number 6, was hanging right above my head. I knew that because of the "Pod Six" that was painted on the pod bottom. I looked for the bridge leading between Pod Six and Pod Seven, or maybe Pod Six and Pod Five, and then threw the grappling hook.
It bit the wood of the bridge with its five hooks. Oh well--that was the reason I carried wood filler. I grabbed the rope that was attached to the hook and began to climb it. I was so paranoid I could barely move. Every rush of the wind was a footstep, every birdcall a line of speech. Eventually I got to the top, removed the grappling hook, and used the tube of wood filler to fill the thing in. Thankfully, the color matched, because another person from the group of people that ran our operation had tinted it perfectly. I grabbed the hook and the rope, stuffed them into my bag, and opened the door of the nearby Pod Six. I had aimed just below it. The round pod contained a curving desk, two armchairs, and a ladder to what I knew was a loft bed. On the desk were two pieces of paper. I took out the camera that our group of people had put in the bag and photographed them together, then the one on top. After that I removed the top one and photographed the bottom one, then carefully referenced the first photo in order to put the top one on right. I had just put the camera into my bag when someone opened the door.
"Well, well, well," said the person. "Coraline Duncairn. I was expecting you."
I turned around to see the person who owned the classified documents. The person known to me only as Cassowary.
The villain our group of spies had been hunting down for a very long time. My hands began to shake.
"Pleased to meet you" was all I said.
(March 30, 2023 - 8:34 pm)
part 2
"So," said Cassowary slowly. She picked up some duct tape from her desk and started ripping it loudly. "I hope you're well?"
Why are we proceeding this calmly?! I wanted to yell.Tape my hands together, throw me out the pod, and be done with it. This isn't a screaming tea party, for goodness's sake! "I am," I said, trying not to show how scared I was. "And are you?" Throwing people off was supposed to help.
For some reason, Cassowary used the blue duct tape to--she wasn't making a wallet, was she? Of all things?
"Never been better," said Cassowary.
"And since we're making small talk, why don't you tell me your name?" I chanced. No one actually knew Cassowary's identity, and if I could find that out, the head of the spy group would be pleased.
"I'm not a fool, Coraline," said Cassowary, who finished the wallet and stuck a couple of credit cards into it. "I'm not going to tell you any secrets." She was now jamming bills into the wallet, as well as a couple of coins.
"Then what are you going to do?" I asked.
"Oh, nothing," said Cassowary. "I'm going to leave and lock the pod with you inside it. It'll be about six hours at least."
"Why aren't you at the composting speech?" I asked. I could handle being left alone. Before, I'd been thrown out a window into the ocean.
"Because, Coraline, I have better things to do." Her phone rang and she picked it up. "Harper? Honestly, Harp. Yeah...what? An injury? Okay, we'd better discuss this." She looked at her watch. "Harp, I'm on a timescale," she said to the phone, then she turned to me. "Girl, I have some important stuff to do so I have to leave you alone, but not a move, okay?" She left the pod. An idea started to bloom: If I could persuade her to leave, with her phone still on, we could track it, couldn't we? But first I had to find out how she was leaving. Actually, scratch the first part--I'd just look at her stuff and figure it out.
(not the end)
(April 20, 2023 - 6:21 pm)
part 3
Considerately, Cassowary had left her computer on. I touched it and it opened. The Amtrak website was visible to the Capitol Corridor page, and there was a little document with the following words on it open beside the schedule:
Davis 09:10-Emeryville 10:33
Bus 10:35-SF 11:05
In addition, hadn't I seen her stuff a transit card into the hastily made wallet? The same one that I'd been carrying, in order to get here all the way from our idyllic little grape town in northern California. So I knew where she was going. She was going to San Francisco. I just had to meet her there soon--and, also, leave the pod despite her best efforts to keep me in it.
Cassowary entered the pod. "All right, kid," she said. "You'll stay here and you won't leave. Got it?" She turned around and locked the door without waiting for me to answer. Now I had to break out of the pod, which might actually be harder than breaking in.
The pod had a keyhole on the inside, but considering I didn't have a key, that was about as much use as giving me a flamingo with which to play croquet. There wasn't really anything I could use to pick the lock. I tried kicking the door; it rattled but didn't open. I wished that a door would fling itself open somehow, and present itself joyously to me.
I paced the pod restlessly. CASSOWARY!!! I wanted to scream. On the other hand, she hadn't done anything bad to me, so that was good. Strike that: she'd locked me in the pod, which wasn't the best thing anyone had done to me. Well, I might as well text Liam to wrap up his speech and come rescue me with the owner's master key and look on her computer in the meantime. The name for her Apple account was Rosa C. Wassy, which revealed itself to be an anagram of Cassowary, probably fake. All her other things had the same name. I discovered a butter knife's blade, partly hidden by papers, lying on the table, and remembered something I'd learned. I picked up the knife, and on the papers I saw the name Emmylou Fetch--Cassowary? I looked at it. It was a diary entry, signed by Emmylou Fetch. I got out my phone and looked her up online; there were no results for one who lived here in NorCal, as Cassowary did. Then I remembered her conversation. Perhaps the Harper she'd been talking to was her sister? I looked up Harper Fetch and crossed my fingers.
Harper was apparently a Silicon Valley software worker. Magnificent.
Cassowary's name was Emmylou Fetch, I knew where she was going, and I could get out of here. I was practically floating as I picked up the butter knife and inserted it in the crack of the door. With one sharp jab, I opened the lock, left the pod, and then relocked the door, stealing Cassowary's--Emmylou's--butter knife in the process (but she'd have much bigger problems once she came back from the city), and then, with the help of the grappling hook, came down from the walkway and headed back to the hall.
Liam was standing at the front doors of the main auditorium.
"All well?" he asked.
"I know where and who Cassowary is," I said. "No time to explain, we have to go to the Amtrak station."
(not the end)
(April 22, 2023 - 8:22 pm)
Part 4
"Coraline, you're crazy," said Liam.
"I'm not, William," I said. "She's in the city at the transit center and will have taken a bus from Emeryville. We need to get there now, and preferably faster than she does."
"Coraline Duncairn, I'm supposed to be in charge!!!!" said Liam annoyedly. I should mention that we're not the best of friends--we just had the best skill sets for this mission and the human resources director is blind to any sort of social relationship.
"But I know where she is!"
"Coraline, please don't get snippy with me," said Liam.
"You're being snippy with me, William Hawthorne," I said. "Call us an Uber and pray there's no traffic on the bridge."
"Coraline, please don't get snippy with me," said Liam. Liam will repeat himself forever until he gets what he wants--that's his foible. He's too relaxed around people to change tactics like I do.
"Okay then," I say. "Then we're heading back to the Amtrak station to go back to the city."
Liam may be a wizard with talking to people, but he is gullible. "We are," he says. "Like that wasn't the original plan anyway. Come on, Coraline, I'll call an Uber."
Five minutes later, we are in the back seat of the Uber, heading towards Davis's Amtrak station, while Emmylou Fetch heads somewhere in the same direction. It's still morning, enough that we might be able to be on Emmylou's train, and therefore on her bus. Then, I'll get lost in the San Francisco bus station and trail her. All I'll have to do is shake Liam, which will be easy, because he couldn't pull me out of a crowd if I died my hair rainbow. All right, maybe then he could. But an eleven-year-old girl who takes every possible pain not to stand out in a crowd--I never paint my nails or have a funny haircut, and try not to dress too old for my age--would give him a very hard time.
We reach the station, which is small and disappointing like most California train stations nowadays, and get out. Liam thanks the driver and I stand around. Also on the platform are hordes of commuters, and a very concerned-looking Emmylou Fetch. I try not to act like I notice her.
The train comes, we are assigned seats by a conductor, and the seats just happen to be right behind Cassowary's. Then we are speeding off towards San Francisco and its accompanying urban sprawl that has hemmed in an entire bay. Cassowary continues to act concerned, Liam looks out the window, and I look at her. Finally, after about two hours, we get off at Emeryville, and then are herded onto our bus, where I don't see Cassowary at all, but she must be there, because when we get off in the city, I hear her heels clicking towards the south-facing door.
I look around for Liam, who's making himself scarce for some reason. I follow the noise of the heels all the way out the southern door and onto a sidewalk where Cassowary talks to her phone. "Harper, I'm at the transit center. Pick me up, please, now" is all she says before hanging up. Then, I walk straight towards her. The sidewalk isn't busy, so she notices me.
"Coraline," she says. "I thought I locked you up."
"Emmylou Fetch," I say. "Why are you a plant thief?"
That's why we've been looking for her.
Because Cassowary stole all the plants from the garden of our secret organization.
Which is threatening if people aren't supposed to know where it is.
Which is threatening if the organization is on a remote farm in the Napa countryside.
Which is threatening if the organization contains a vineyard that is your family's business.
As is the case with me.
"Coraline, listen," says Emmylou. "Some things, we don't try to do."
"I'm not listening to things about why you didn't commit a crime when you did," I say.
"If you didn't listen," says Emmylou, "you would be no worse than a lot of people I can think of."
So I do listen.
And Emmylou Fetch tells me about her grandfather, who needs a stay in a hospital that medical insurance won't cover, and about her grandmother, who recently died and left them a stack of bills that needed paying, and about the desire to take things that arose within her, and about the value of hand-grown grapes and all the other things she took.
And so, instead of making her come with us, I tell her, "Please don't worry. We'll think of something." And I do.
(not the end, but almost)
(June 26, 2023 - 8:26 pm)
Part 5
(Also Called the Epilogue)
Two Months Later
In the end, it all worked itself out.
Emmylou Fetch came to do work replanting the organization's farm, and then she stayed, once it was back to how it had been before she plundered it, and worked some more for money, which paid the grandfather's hospital and the grandmother's everyday bills.
Liam, who's still a little angry at me for giving him the slip, was transferred to a team with some people who he prefers to spend time with.
And his replacement, a girl whose name is Lola Starke but who goes by Sparky, has proved to be infinitely more helpful to me.
I wrote down the entire escapade in Davis, and this is it, which I'm handing in to you, the director. I thought you'd probably want to know the details, especially because you were raving mad when I told you about the request that Cassowary come help with the farm. But, this is the epitomization, or whatever the word is, for the favorite quote that you hang above your desk: Take care of the big things, and let the little things take care of themselves. Even though you say that that's just a joke, and that the sign-maker switched the words around for fun, I think it's every bit as true as any of the fundamental truths you love to tell us.
From, Me
(whom you know to be Coraline Duncairn)
The End
(June 26, 2023 - 8:35 pm)
Tick, tick, tick.
A light sprinkle moistened the air and collected upon blades of grass. The music box was rewound, as if it were a clock being turned back -- movements firm and crisp.
Had anyone been there to witness the deed, they would have thought it a miracle.
~~~~
idk just a random prompt thingie that came to mind.
(April 30, 2023 - 10:34 pm)
"Thanks, that means a lot." She said, dark hair falling like curtains in her face. "As if you ever care about anyone."
"I do," I begged. "I care about you too,"
"Clearly not enough to save my life."
~~~~
Their arm was around me in that photograph, a smile on their face. Eyes gleaming, the chocolatey brown iris shining in the off-lighting of the picture. Yet, as I looked over the shot I had stared at so many times before, I saw something I had never seen before...
~~~~
"Why don't you want some change in your life, [Name]?" [Other Name] asked, a maniacal grin across his face. "Why don't you want a little, shall I say, Razzle Dazzle?"
~~~~
I felt the sickening crack in my chest, and the world started spinning round and round in circles. It felt like I was on a rollercoaster, yet I hadn't moved a step. My stomach was doing acrobatics. Finally, my eyes found the stregth to focus in on his face. There he was, his eyes stared at me, wide, shocked. My fuzzy mind was able to make out the sense of realization as it finally crossed over his face. "[Name]," He gasped breathlessly. "I didn't..."
"It's too late," I struggled to get the words out. I struggled to stand. I couldn't feel my feet anymore. My whole body was shuttering under the unbearable weight. "It's already started."
~~~~
LET's TOP THIS THREAD :)
(May 29, 2023 - 4:14 pm)
(May 29, 2023 - 4:15 pm)
But her castle was built on pillars of sand:
But her castle was built on pillars of sand,
Pillars that shouldn't have held.
Pillars that shouldn't have been able,
Couldn't have been able,
And yet...
But her castle was built on grains so fine
On grains of time
So fine
Of time
They aren't of this world.
From a distant shore
Is the only explanation.
But her castle was built on little things
On little wings,
Those little things,
And what of brick
And mud
And stone
If sand is not a one.
But her castle was built on pillars of sand
And of the sand were pillars.
And of the pillars was that castle of hers
That has lasted so very long.
Btw, that was kind of a nonsense poem, so that's why if it didn't rly make sense.
(June 25, 2023 - 4:52 pm)
I think it's beautiful!
It feels really whimsical and reminiscent of a fairytale for some reason.
(June 25, 2023 - 9:40 pm)
Thank you!
(June 26, 2023 - 12:11 am)