Writing Prompt Challenge Accepted #34

Posted in Posts, Writing Prompt by Rachael C Marek

Today marks the official completion of one of my goals for the year –

16 flash fiction pieces written based on writing prompts I’ve shared, bringing my total to 90.

A small victory, but satisfying nonetheless, and something to celebrate, as all completed goals deserve.

Here are July’s offerings:

Unlocked

All houses had their secrets. The older the house, the greater the number of secrets it held. Everyone had heard the whispers of what happened in my house, long before I was even born, but now, as I took on the mantle of mistress of this keep, it was time to learn what was behind every door, what secrets were being kept, what mysteries might be revealed.

I left the warmth of the upper floors to delve deep into the lower levels where I had been restricted from entering…until now. I took a final glance as I descended the rough hewn stairs to the fading golden, reassuring light, and made my way into what had always been described as a pit of hell.

Accommodation*

When Wyeth had suggested they spend a long “weekend” on an advanced planet, Sadie not only blushed at the thought of the two of them spending time alone together, but she also could never have imagined such a place as the towering neon cityscape that made up the entirety of the planet spread before her. She could see a great deal of it from above on the ship. As if it weren’t mind bending enough to know such a place existed, that is was also not the only one of its kind caused Sadie to rethink everything she had ever learned. Traveling with Wyeth, for even such a short time, had led her to see remarkable things. Earth was only a tiny planet in a tiny system and the humans that lived on that little blue dot were ignorant of what lay beyond their known universe.

As Sadie and Wyeth strode into what was considered mid-range accomodations, the clean shiny surfaces made Sadie fearful of touching anything. It was a hotel, rising hundreds of stories into the clouds, but to Sadie it was magic, a marvel, and another clue into the mystery that was Wyeth. The way he handled himself in any given situation, the things he knew, the things he said, the things he didn’t say – it all made her realize how little she truly knew of him and that she wanted to know everything.

*This was one of those times I sort of had an idea of what I was going to write, and then a story of its own making made itself known. I was tired, not fully paying attention, and the above is what happened…stream of consciousness at its best, I suppose.

Peephole

Hannah didn’t like to think of herself as a gossip, but she did admit that she enjoyed hearing about whatever scandalous topic had her circle’s full attention, so when the wealthy, handsome, single Lord Evan broke his journey at her family’s estate, she couldn’t seem to stop herself from eavesdropping to learn what she could of the man. There was very little to entertain a young lady outside of town.

Well, perhaps gossip wasn’t too disparaging a word.

It wasn’t just that he was rich and titled, he was attractive and alluring in a way that made Hannah want to draw nearer. He seemed to feel it too. He sought out her company, engaged her in conversation, and stirred her imagination with posssibility. She was certain he would speak to her father, and so later, when she spied on him through the keyhole in his door, hoping to ascertain how the conversation might have gone, given his demeanor, she found herself rooted to the floor with an eye full of his bare flesh. He didn’t look anything like the boys in her village who swam in the lake in the summer.

No, indeed.

She couldn’t move, her mind swirled, and then, as if sensing her presence, he turned to give her a complete view, and she noticed the smile upon his lips. “Well,” Hannah thought, “I do enjoy a challenge. I’ll have him begging for my hand before his sojourn ends.”

~ * ~

We’re over halfway through the year, how are your goals coming along?

If you’ve been inspired by any of the prompts I’ve shared, I’d love to see what you’ve created!

Happy Writing!

14Jun2025

Writing Prompt Challenge Accepted #33

Posted in Writing Prompt by Rachael C Marek

I am determined to make my writing prompt challenge goal, and as I have had little opportunity to sit and write anything since going back to work, I wanted to write as freely and without hinderance as I could with the time I had available. And so I just wrote. No idea of what it was going to become, no concern of word count, just a little story to break up the monotony of my day.

I present June’s flash fiction pieces.

Ghost Story

Every culture has their ghost stories. Often times they’re allegorical tales intended to frighten the children into behaving, or to give reason for the strange happenings in the land. But not every mystery has a reason, not every sighting has cause.

In our village, for as many years as anyone could remember, there was the tale of the Mist Woman or the Lady in Black. There was no memory of who she might have been, why she walked with her umbrella, or who or what she may have been looking for. She simply appeared, and no one could connect her sightings to events of good or ill, she just existed, randomly.

And that brought me a great sadness. She seemed to be stuck in limbo, and she didn’t have a history of threatening behavior or a desire for help, which made me wonder at what held her back from crossing over? Why did she remain?

One day I was “lucky” enough to cross her path. I was not afraid. Only curious. I hoped to be able to discern something in her nature that may be of use. There was no chill in the air, no disturbance, she simply manifested near me. We walked together for a while. There was no wind, but her dress moved about her as if she were caught in a breeze, or perhaps in water. I could not see her face, but I felt something, like gratitude. She suddenly stopped, turned toward me, made the slightest gesture of a head nod toward me, then disappeared.

I walked that path every day for the rest of my life waiting for her to join me again.

Dark Side

Morgan had a lot to be thankful for, but she was also a teenager who resented hiding her true nature. She was born a fairy and raised by humans, and while that sounded like the interesting premise to a story, her life was lived in fear that she would be discovered; that she would be taken by the Men in Black to be experimented on, never to be seen by her loved ones again.

She once had white hair and wings to match, but then she met someone who changed her perspective. Whose influence changed her in ways she could never have imagined. An unleashing of power long repressed by fear and responsibility.

She had felt the change happening, and feared it, as she had most things until her transformation was complete, and then she felt renewed, strong, unafraid. Her power had been dormant because, in part, she didn’t know who she truly was. It’s one thing to know you’re a mythical being, it’s another to discover what you’re capable of because you’re this mythical being.

She knew Lucien was not to be trusted, that he was not the ally she needed, there was another who already had her heart, but while he wanted to keep her safe, keeping her progress slow, Lucien was determined to set her free. But he had his own agenda, a grand scheme that gave her a different sense of fear.

~ * ~

I hope you’ll join me for a little free write, writing community! I look forward to reading your creations!

Happy Writing!

22May2025

Writing Prompt Challenge Accepted #32

Posted in Writing Prompt by Rachael C Marek

I will make my goals. I will make my goals. (Repeats mantra for the umpteenth time this month alone.)

Sticking to the planner has become a game changer for me. It’s kind of like gaming, keeping track of my “quests”, marking them off, or watching them carry over from month to month, has an effective, compulsory nature to it.

Writing at least two flash fictions a month will quickly get me to my goal of 90 completed fics for the year, and it’s something I’ve written in the planner so I actually make time to do it. This month’s offerings brings me to 85. Only five left to write and I’ll have them completed in probably the next two months. Yay! A completed goal well before the end of the year. (I’m also close on my book reading and movie watching.)

What is this strange sense of accomplishment I’m feeling..?

Unlikely

I hadn’t really expected to find it. It was both a fairy tale and a warning of what was possible.

Every mer creature was given the chance to discover the world above. There was much to learn, to see, to experience. It was a chance for each of us to decide how we could help our people. Could we bring back useful information? Would the humans above be a threat to our way of life? They were poisoning our water, killing our friends, destroying everything around them, but as we learned, they didn’t all do that. Some were trying to reverse years of damage, but even still, when my turn came to go to the surface, I was hesitant. I had heard a great deal, seen some of the results of their “curiosity”. I was properly prepared, calm, resigned to my task.

But I had found kindness. I had found passion. I had found someone so different and yet not.

I stayed too long.

With his help back to the sea, we said our farewells. He held me in his arms, so strong, doing his best to remain stoic. He and I looked toward the vast expanse before us, each seeing something different. He saw an unknown world, miles upon miles that would separate us. I saw home.

But my heart was conflicted.

Regret

So, yes, I was to blame for my current predicament. I had, because I had been put in the position as “leader”, made the decision to make Alistair king, and that made it my fault that he was now willing to put me aside, because while I was good enough to sacrifice my life for the “greater good”, I was not of a bloodline worthy to sit beside him on the throne.

Did he not love me anymore? Did he not think me worth fighting for?

And as he thought on it, a moment longer than I thought respectable, all I could think was, “In your hesitation, I found my answer.”

It wasn’t fair to have thrust so much upon him, to expect so much when most things were now out of his control, but his heart…that still belonged to him, and who he chose to give it to was still very much in his power. Maybe I still had it, but he had been swayed to think that he should have a “proper” wife, and he thought he was doing me a kindness…hmm…perhaps, I had a great many thoughts on the subject, but the foremost one was I knew he would come to regret his very first decision as king.

~ * ~

Hey, writing community! Feel like joining me in a little writing prompt challenge? I look forward to reading/seeing your creations!

Happy Writing!

17Apr2025

Writing Prompt Challenge Accepted #31

Posted in Writing Prompt by Rachael C Marek

Going back to work has really messed up my schedule. I want to say life, but that’s sounds rather dramatic, albeit somewhat true. In my planner, I’ve been setting a goal of writing two flash fictions a month, which you would think would be an easy task to complete, and yet, I couldn’t get them written in March.

So I set aside a day to write this week, a little bit of everything, and you can guess how that went. I was feeling…ambitious…also, a bit determined. I need to spend time doing the things I enjoy too. It can’t always be about the grind.

I present to you (March and) April’s flash fictions, in my pursuit to write at least 16 new pieces this year. I’m halfway there! ((thumbs up))

Enough

“We all have our reasons.” Those haunting words had come from an unlikely ally, one she knew she couldn’t trust, no matter his “reasons”.

The revolt had long been in the works, but it wasn’t until today that they took action.

It was necessary.

They were justified in rising up.

She just didn’t know how alone they’d find themselves once they finally did.

There had been a surprising division in the populace when offered the chance at freedom. So many were compliant, unwilling to take the risk. They turned their backs. They played dumb. They simply didn’t care what happened to those not so different from themselves. It could have been them, if they found themselves in a different box, but they considered themselves lucky for being “normal”.

How boring life would be if everyone fit that mold.

And so, as she stood before one who had long championed conformity, and everything else they stood against, she had to wonder what had brought them to this point? What did they consider the uncrossable line in the proverbial sand of their morality?

They couldn’t be trusted, but they could be exploited, and so it began.

Red Light District

The red light used to mean something different, or so I’m told. It was a way to communicate a service, rather discreetly, until it became more well-known. There were entire districts within cities named for the light that provided patrons with all manor of diversion, but now it meant something else.

Now, it was a means of refuge.

Hm. Now thinking about it, it was a refuge then too, just for a different means of escape.

Red lights were scarce, and you had to know someone who knew someone who knew someone that could lead you there because the vice grip of the police state wanted to keep everything, and everyone, within their grasp. They couldn’t allow any one to escape, because that kind of leak could cause their entire system to crumble, so the red light was like an urban legend.

Everyone “knew” someone who had been able to utilize the service, it was a more comforting thought as to why people went missing, but now here I was. The darkened hallway looked more like something out one of those pre-war horror movies people used to enjoy, not realizing one day we’d be living a daily nightmare. The slash of red that should have caused fear actually caused hope to swell. After nearly a year of searching, in a few moments, I could be out.

Last Ditch Effort

We weren’t exactly cornered, but we wouldn’t be able to outrun the horde either. We were all batttered and bleeding and didn’t have enough supplies to remedy ourselves for more fighting. I hated the Deep Roads. They were probably spectacular at the height of the Dwarven empire, but now they were a death trap. Not one building offered proper shelter, let alone a defensive position, and yes, while we had been able to travel deeper than anyone in an age and would come out the other side, if we were lucky enough, rather wealthy from the abandoned treasure, I wasn’t sure that was enough incentive.

There was a narrow pass over a long drop, which would slow up our pursuers for a moment, and maybe we could take out enough of them while they tried to cross, but it wasn’t the only route. We were at risk of being surrounded.

As we weighed our options, I looked up, as did my companions, and we all had the same idea. “If you’ll give me a minute…I think I can make this worse.”

Stray

She shouldn’t have come with him – hindsight was brilliant in times like these – but how could she not? It was another planet, another world, and she was going to be the first human to see it, to stand upon its ground and admire its beauty. He was going to gather resources for the journey, but she didn’t believe she would be a liability. Why would she? She was a tourist, basically. An extra pair of hands.

So, when the weather took a sharp, unexpected turn, and hail the size of VW Bugs started to fall from the sky, she was surprised to find him coming to her rescue, putting himself at risk, for her. He had barely acknowledged her presence since coming aboard, to some degree against her will, if she may say so, so why would she think he would care at all for her well-being, other than the implications of having a human aboard his ship?

And now he was injured, and she didn’t know what to do. It’s not as if he had a physiology she was familiar with, and being unconscious, didn’t lend to him telling her what she could do to help. What it did lend to was a quiet moment to reflect on the strange man who had become her rescuer. He was interesting to look at, dare she think, attractive, even among his own kind. He was helping her, even if she believed, begrudgingly, and she was indebted to him for saving her from a desperate situation, and now, no matter her ineptitude, she might have an opportunity to repay him.

~ * ~

Come join me in a challenge!

Happy Writing!

11Feb2025

Writing Prompt Challenge Accepted #30

Posted in Writing Prompt by Rachael C Marek

The planner is still working for me ((thumbs up)). I set some time aside to write three new flash fiction pieces, making 5 of 16. And it’s only February. I’m already so far ahead of last year.

Why did no one tell me of this before?! Sheesh. I feel like I should have figured this out sooner, and I’d be so much further along in all aspects of my life. This is one of those things that comes with age. Right?

Anyway, here are February’s offerings.

Humans

Humans were obsessed with space. They hadn’t even discovered the entirety of their own planet, and yet they were willing to traverse the vastness of dark space. They were silly creatures; prone to all manner of emotional outburts and frivolity. We had been among them for years, and they were none the wiser. We had done what we could to aid them in their advancement of basic “humanity” and science, but they were a stubborn bunch, only willing to coexist and rally around one another for the most inane of causes. They so rarely saw eye to eye.

We had finally had our fill, unwilling to continue to bear witness to their ever declining state and left them to their own devices one autumn evening in spectacular fashion. Or so we thought. We timed it with one of their own explorative device launches, but they never saw it. They never knew what we had tried to do for them, what we had done for them. It’s not even worth mentioning now. Perhaps we’ll see them again one day. Perhaps not. Only time will tell what they’ll make of themselves.

Fibonacci

Casi stood in the center of the church, a kalidescope of color raining down upon her from above. She looked up, overwhelmed by the beauty of the hundreds of stained glass panels spiraling in a Fibonacci pattern from the tallest dome of the structure. The colors told a story, one she wasn’t adept at interpreting, but she felt the impact nonetheless.

The colors were only truly present at high noon when the sun, at it’s zenith, reflected their purpose, so there was only a short time each day to spend in reflection. Casi was given an hour. Her special ability was being tested, albeit unfairly. She had only just come into her power, and discovering the intention of the ancient marvel was something she wasn’t prepared for. She wasn’t sure she ever would be. Whoever had designed the unique feature had been touched in their own way.

Dad

It’s hard to think of Death as anything other than what he is.

He’s the inescapable end.

The intangible.

The anti-thesis.

The great neutralizer.

The last measure for which almost all beings are desperate to avoid, and willing to barter and sacrifice any and all in an attempt at thwarting his purpose. It rarely works.

He’s also a father. My father. I call him Daddy when I’m feeling especially light-hearted, and although I’m mortal, he treats me like the rarest, most spectacular being to have ever existed. With so many afraid of him, unwilling to greet him, even those he considers his peers, I was an unexpected delight to his lonely existence.

You may wonder how it is a mortal child found herself in Death’s grasp without crossing over. It’s not that exciting a story, just luck, I suppose, that a sad deity took pity on an abandoned tot.

There was a time he was afraid to touch me, because each time he did, it stilled my heart, but eventually, it no longer had an effect, I became something else. And how could I not share my affection with him? Mortals crave contact, and he discovered it was something he needed as well. So while I may have been raised in a strange realm, with an unconvential parent, I thrive. I live. Something that might not have occurred should I have been left alone that winter’s night long ago.

~ * ~

I’d be delighted to read your creations, if you’d like to join me in the writing prompt challenge. Be sure to tag me or put a link in the comments, and I’ll share your work here, with your permission, of course.

Happy Writing!

26Jan2025

Writing Prompt Challenge Accepted #29

Posted in Writing Prompt by Rachael C Marek

One of my writing goals is to write 16 new flash fiction pieces. I think I may have made the same declaration last year as well, but I bought a planner this year to keep better track and make more manageable the goals I have for 2025. I usually make a big list, but breaking it down, month-to-month, seeing it in smaller, more digestible increments, has been vastly more beneficial…so far. Yay!

So I offer up the two flash fictions I wrote for January. I try to just free write, keep it short, around 200 words, and do little editing. This is just a way to get out of my stringent screenwriting mindset.

Spotlight

She stood in the wings, bathed in bright light from across the stage. She always felt a little nervous, right up until the moment her toes hit the floor. She hadn’t had time to finish prepping her shoes, they still felt a bit stiff, but they’d be broken in before the end of the first dance, and rendered practically useless by the end of the show. She continued to point her toes while bouncing lightly to keep warm and limber.

The music ebbed and flowed and she listened intently for her cue, while doing her best to ignore the jealous whispers of those who would never stand where she was. Not everyone could be a prima.

She was a rare breed. Years spent in lessons, ignoring nearly everything else, had earned her the opportunity of a lifetime, one that would end sooner than was reasonable, but while she was here, she would enjoy every moment.

Stained

The Emerald Graves was the kind of place where you could easily imagine magical things happened on a regular basis. The trees were a shade of green not seen anywhere else, the water was clearer than she’d ever seen, and as if to add to its mysterious nature, a light mist draped everything in a soft white blanket. When they arrived to the remote forest, the fabled land of the elves, a certain amount of reverence felt owed. It wasn’t called the Graves because someone was trying to be clever. If the histories were true, the land was one large graveyard.

Was that supposed to bring anyone any meaure of comfort? There was a strange silence present, and they felt like they were being watched. So, they limited their conversations, kept to the main road, and did their best to not disturb the flora and fauna. They made a small camp in a clearing of what remained of an ancient ruin and slept uneasily in the eerie quiet the forest offered in the waning hours of the night.

She was an elf. She found solace in being in a place her ancestors once called home. So little of their great empire remained, but every so often, there was a glimpse, a wisp, and the Emerald Graves was one such place. She gave her friends a sympathetic smile as they tried to ignore the shivers up their spines. They were unnerved, for a number of reasons, but this place, while romantic and beautiful, was also drenched in blood, and that was a stain that no matter how well hidden, left a mark.

~ * ~

I’d love if you’d join in the writing prompt challenge! I’ve posted 158 images and phrases for inspiration so far, so feel free to poke around and see if anything catches your eye.

Happy Writing!

2Feb2024

Writing Prompt Challenge Accepted #28

Posted in Posts, Writing Prompt by Rachael C Marek

I was left in a bit of an awed state when I discovered I hadn’t written any flash fictions, aka risen to the writing prompt challenge, since October of 2022. You read that correctly – 2022.

What?! How?!

Eesh.

That’s embarrassing.

Up until now, I’ve been sitting on an abysmal 68 flash fiction pieces based on the writing prompts I’ve shared…of which I’ve posted 158. That’s not a great ratio. One of my goals for January, because I was counting it as part of 2023 ;P was to complete 80. Twelve more quick stories in a month. Sure, I could do that.

I did not.

The month got a little weird. I’ve written 6.

Here’s what I’ve got so far: 69-74.

Fate

There was something to be said about this place. I could understand why so many of my compatriots had achieved such success. It was a playground. The mortals were more than ripe for the picking – their pains, their desires, their strange compulsions – they were an intersting, odd bunch. And they were so willing to offer up any price to obtain what they believed would bring them the ultimate happiness.

They were so often mistaken.

When I arrived on their plane, it was because I had felt something. A pull at the center of my being. I hadn’t felt it in at least half a dozen millenia. I could barely recall what it was, but I knew I had to seek it out. Follow the draw.

I stood on a rooftop in time to watch the setting sun put off its warm glow. High above the throng, I could reflect in the quiet, could sense the sway. My wings twitched with understanding. Vengeance was on the horizon. Lust and vengeance.

Adamant

*This is a snippet of the fan fiction I wrote when we first moved. It was the story that had made itself known at the inopportune moment, and this image spoke to the loneliness, the isolation, and the weight that a certain decision put upon them.

In the words of her infamous friend, “Well, sh*t.”

Hawke had never been one to just take it. Whatever “it” was. She wasn’t one to wallow, although Maker knew she had enough reasons to, so as she sat down hard upon the ground slick with the remains of the demon she had just spent what felt like hours defeating, knowing she had been left alone in the Fade, she took a moment and allowed herself to grieve for the predicament she now found herself in.

She had turned a side-eye towards the Inquisitor to ensure her path to freedom, for it was she, alone, who had the power to change things. Having only met her a couple of times before traipsing through the Fade with her, Hawke had formed a kinship with the woman the world both revered and feared. Hawke understood better than most how a reputation could proceed a person. Like her friend and distant family, the Warden and Hero, the Inquisitor, too, was the kind of woman people wanted to believe in and follow, and it was one of the reasons Hawke had offered to stay behind – to be of service to the Herald.

It was strange. Hawke had never considered herself the religious type. She blamed Sebastian’s influence.

The fight had been one of the hardest Hawke could recall enduring, in part because she had been alone. Once the spirit, or whatever it was, that resembled The Most Holy departed along with her new friends, Hawke had been on her own to face down a monstrosity the size of The Hanged Man. That may be a slight exaggeration, but only just.

The moment she sat down the physical strain of the fight, the waning adrenaline, and the thoughts of Fenris made themselves known. Doing her best to keep her tears in check, she choked back both a health and lyrium vial, felt their warmth spread through her body, and watched the light show in the distance. The Inquisitor had made it out and sealed the breach behind her.

It was official. Hawke was f*cked.

Sitting Duck

She hated feeling so useless. She was tired of being afaid. Since the day she and her sister had been abducted, she had been rendered powerless. Ineffectual. Helpless. She had to rely on others with whom she shared no common, well, anything. She could call them aliens, but she was, in fact, the alien, and she was on a steep learning curve. Not only was she a foreigner in a foreign galaxy, she was being hunted at every turn.

In order to give themselves more options of where to turn or hide, they had been able to piece together a makeshift enviro-suit. It offered her some protection from the strange elements, but it was cumbersome, and she often times felt claustrophobic.

As they tucked her into the confined space, she knew that they had stayed too long. They had gotten comfortable, and she hadn’t taken advantage the time and peace had offered her. She could have at least learned some fighting or defensive skills so she wouldn’t have to solely rely on the others for her protection, as she was doing now.

She could hear the fighting just beyond her barricade. It made her stomach tie in knots. If she couldn’t help those who were willing to defend her, what use was she going to be in saving her sister? She was tired of being afraid. She hated feeling so useless.

The Stage

Artemis had been in the facility for nearly a year when the simulations began. It started out like school. She had geography lessons, language arts, world politics, and P.E. Then introductions into bomb diffusal, martial arts, computer hacking, and weapons training. Finally, they tested her resiliance. Her powers. She had to be prepared for any eventuality that she might encounter in the field, and with her natural skill set, the challenges were designed specifically with them in mind. They weren’t traditional training tactics. Not what you might endur in the military or even black ops, because those were created for normal people. And she was not normal.

Neither were any of the others she’d crossed paths with on rare occasions. She had to prove she was loyal before they’d allow her to interact with the others. So as she hung suspended mid-air in restraints crafted to hold both sides of her in place, she had to wonder what they would consider a show of loyalty. She had allowed them to poke and prod her for months. Torture wasn’t a word they liked to use, because they considered themselves the good guys, doing work for the greater good. Preparation. That was their end goal for her training. So, she let them mold her into the weapon they desired, test her limits, and extend her reach because, as they so often liked to remind her, she was destined for great things…and what was a life without purpose?

Photo by Tobias Bju00f8rkli on Pexels.com

Tombstone

After nearly a year of strange dreams, Hannah decided something must be done about it. Bits and pieces of people and places flashed in both her sleeping and waking lives, and while it was driving her mad, she also felt it might be the universe trying to tell her something. She did some research, using the few details she had been able to make out, and pieced together some semblance of an idea of a location. She already knew it was somewhere in England, given the moments she had experienced in her dreams. What she didn’t know was exactly where on the isle.

Or when.

From the look of the people she “interacted” with, they were dressed in the Victorian era – cravats and top hats, high collars and bustles – the streets were cobblestone and the manors weren’t age weathered. Because of the time period, there weren’t any markers to designate a town or any places of interest, so trying to determine where to find the place plaguing Hannah’s life was difficult.

With effort, and friendly and helpful people, she found the remnants of a manor she believed to be the place she had seen a hundred times in her dreams. Not far from London, in a manor that had not survived the bombings during WWII, she was finally able to walk the familiar stone path that led through the jagged remains. A stillness settled over her upon reaching the center of the manor. Familiar wasn’t a strong enough word to describe the feeling of finding home.

That wasn’t what she found unsettling, it was finding her own name on one of the tombstones in the family cemetery.

Conqueror

They called her the Red Queen. They said her robes were dyed in the blood of her fallen enemies. She was to be feared and revered, and most kept a healthy distance from her in order to avoid her wrath should they fall in disfavor with her. She was said to be quick of temper. She could drive one to the very edge of madness with the wave of her hand, and a look, well, it was rumored that should she will it, you would not survive one of her glances.

There was so much heresay. So many stories told in order to keep the peace, the balance.

She was nothing like what they believed.

At least not anymore.

There had been a time when she had used her powers to squash uprisings and quell unrest, but that had been hundreds of years ago. She was quite different now, and she supposed maybe it was a good thing so many still feared her and felt her capable of such violence. It had allowed her realm to experience years of peace while remaining vigilant.

But like all things, this, too, was to come to an end.

She had felt the disturbance long before her advisors had warned her of the impending threat. There were those who wished to challenge her, to test her mettle and see for themselves whether she was still the rightful leader. As she stood at the center of her most faithful and fearsome warriors, she was reminded of the dozens of similar times she had stood before them in other lives. She was unlike any of them, and would prove to those who thought she was wrong, yet again.

~ * ~

I haven’t had anyone join me in the writing prompt challenge in some time. If you made any writing goals that may benefit from trying something new, it would be delightful to read your inspirations based on any of the prompts I’ve shared.

Happy Writing!

18Jan2023

Writing Prompt #155

Posted in Writing Prompt by Rachael C Marek

I’m currently reading The Martian by Andy Weir. I am also playing Fallout 4. I am fascinated by extreme situations and how people handle them. Why? No idea. And I’m not sure exactly what that says about me. Let’s not delve too deep.

Not too long ago, writing prompt #151 actually, I shared a similar image. It was a close up of a woman’s face within an astronaut-like helmet. The lighting was different, and the overall feel was more positive…or so it could be construed.

This image has a totally different feel, and I like it…for the story ideas it inspires.

I’ve had a number of ideas percolating for the rewrite of my sci-fi pilot, and I’m hoping the dry spell is over, so when I saw this interesting piece of imagery, it felt right that it become this week’s writing prompt. It has a cool, creepy vibe and encapsulates the isolation my poor protagonist is enduring, in addition to an impending threat – what could it be?!

What do you think? Feeling inspired?

I look forward to you joining me in this week’s writing prompt challenge!

Happy Writing!

30Nov2022

Writing Prompt #153

Posted in Writing Prompt by Rachael C Marek

I enjoy the unexpectedness that comes from searching for an idea/image and being sideswiped by something else entirely.

I had something else in my head for this week’s writing prompt, but then I found this. The simplicity, the contrast…I like it.

So how are you feeling? Inspired?

I still have a few flash fiction pieces to complete to make the new goal I set for myself, and I’d be delighted if you’d join me in this week’s writing prompt challenge.

Happy Writing!

27Oct2022

Writing Prompt Challenge Accepted #27

Posted in Writing Prompt by Rachael C Marek

I recently read an article in which agents, producers, and managers were asked what they were looking for in a new writer. One mentioned that they wouldn’t even consider a writer without at least 100 ideas, in addition to their 2-3 ready scripts. I found that number a bit disconcerting. I figured, well, I’ve shared some 150 writing prompts so far, perhaps I can build my “idea bank” from those…((sigh)). I guess such a statement was meant to scare off those unprepared. They won’t find me lacking.

Awakening

They thought themselves servants of the old gods. They had built their home in the remains of a fallen one as a way to preserve and watch over the sacred ashes. Every year, when the wind shifted and the air turned, they awaited the awakening. They offered sacrifices and held celebrations in the hopes the new god would be tempted. Would be pleased. There were tell tale signs, moments that would harken the coming, but it had been a dozen generations since the last, they had no way of knowing when the time would be right. This year felt different, mist rolled through the town, blanketing everything in a fine sheen so that the lanterns and the moon glowed with a strange, unsettling aura. Then there was the tremor and the sound of the great god shifting in his long slumber. It vibrated in your chest, it tingled up your spine, and in the distance its arms unfurled. The people stopped mid-action to witness the rising, a mixture of fear and wonder, for how could they ever know if their new god would be a benevolent god, or if today was to be their last day?

For the next image I had two ideas, similar enough, and yet each needing to be told.

Museum

Museums are strange places. I was told that once upon a time, they held relics of other worlds. They were places that held knowledge and history, and allowed visitors to travel to distant lands and connect with people long since gone. Or so they would have you believe. This exhibition wasn’t too different from the truth of what museums actually once were. Organizations that paid exorbitant amounts of money to acquire mostly stolen goods from lands plundered for their riches. This place didn’t feel like an art gallery, more like a zoo. The pieces were described as artist renderings of new species encountered on humanity’s exploration of the stars, but then why did they move? Why did I get the sense that their eyes followed me, pleading for aid? There were other stories I had heard of, ones where people protested animals being tested upon for human advancement, setting them free, and I had the feeling, looking upon the strange figure trapped in a box, that I was going to become one of those people.

~ * ~

When I was a little girl, my parents took me to an exhibit of an inventor, a scientist, a so-called visionary. I don’t recall the details with such clarity any more, but I do remember the feelings of awe and sadness as I took in the subject of each clear box. It was as if they were frozen in time. And there were so many of them. The boxes had to be stacked and platforms were built so that visitors could encircle the room to get a “good view” of all his creations. I remember hearing whispers. I remember the looks on some of their faces as they took in each form. It wasn’t a triumph, it was a freak show. They were said to be designed for a purpose, but whatever that may have been has long since been forgotten. I was drawn to a particular display, number 217. There was something about its form, its face, and when I saw the flicker of movement, I had to stifle the cry that wished to escape my lips. It was in that moment, when I felt small and powerless that I made a choice. It wasn’t long after that the exhibit was permanently closed. Two-ey, as he likes to be called, and I made sure of it. My age and size allowed me to be “unsuspecting”, and that shortsightedness, along with my new friend’s abilities, allowed us to wreak havoc.

Welcome

Earthlings were still a fairly primitive species. They still had yet to move beyond their own planet, but that didn’t make them any less fascinating. They had had visitors since the beginning, those that periodically checked in on their advancement, offering them a helping hand from time to time, others that wanted to discover why so many had been drawn to them in the first place. Eventually, Earth became a destination, a vacation getaway, a chance to observe the natives, and on ocassion, interact with them. The appearances became so regular that the Earthlings built their society around it. They created places for their visitors to land safely, and buildings that offered a more welcoming, hospitable environment depending on their visitors planet of origin. They fashioned places they called restaurants and pubs that did their best to serve food and drink they hoped their new friends would enjoy. Of course not all interactions were so pleasant, but that didn’t make them any less fascinating.

Epiphany

The rain came down in a torrent. Its sudden appearance and forcefulness caused those strolling about to flee and take cover. The pitter patter was like a song to my wounded soul, and it was nature’s perfect response to my grief. It was as if she were commiserating and understood that I needed the solitude. I walked for some time in the quiet. The mist clung to my skin so much so that I could not tell where my tears ran except when they first fell warm upon my cheek. I clung to my umbrella’s handle like a life line, suddenly realizing that the empty world before me was my new life. For a moment I was paralyzed. I stood in the archway, knuckles white, cheeks tear-stained, and took a shattering breath that left me light-headed. And then it dawned on me. The world before me was my new life. It brought a smile to my lips. It felt unnatural, given the circumstances. Then my foot took a step forward, almost of its own volition. My arms slackened and the umbrella fell to the wayside. I lifted my face up to the sky and let the rain wash me clean. And then, again, as if she understood, the clouds cleared and a ray of light shone down upon me. I could not help but laugh.

Red is for Passion

She still remembered the day she was given her red drape, the color that designated her station and responsibility, and her vow. It was a proud moment to achieve such status at so young an age. For years she did as she had been trained, serving as a handmaiden to the goddess and upholding her sacrifice, a vow of silence, until he arrived. They worked side by side in the temple, barely acknowledging one another, tending to their duties. Slowly, over the course of a year, he drew ever nearer. He was drawn to her silent devotion, her soulful eyes, her gentle touch. It was forbidden, and if they were discovered…The first time their hands brushed against one another, she pulled away, angry. The withering look she gave him from beneath her hood made his cheeks burn in shame, and yet a warmth spread through him. In time, the priestess partnered them together on a number of tasks that allowed them to spend more time together, more opportunities for a casual caress that eventually spoke volumes more of intimacy. One day, when they found themselves alone, he took her by the hand and led her further into the shadow of the forest where for the first time he could look upon her face fully and hear her break her vow.

~ * ~

I’d be delighted to read your creations, if you’ve been inspired by any of the Writing Prompts I’ve posted. And I’ll happily share them here as well.

Happy Writing!