Have a writing prompt you want to share and see what kind of story others come up with from it? Feel like flexing your fingers and putting imagination to work with prompts from others?
Now is the chance! Share your prompts, share your stories!
Example prompt: Empty shoes in the cool evening sunlight.
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OK if I start? Ahem.
You sit on your throne, glancing out your window.
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Was bored, so I decided to make one.
[spoiler]The rocky shores of Calāvelas stood still as wave after wave of sea water crashed into it, completely unbothered by the constant barrage. I could have spent hours staring at that mighty stone, but I know where my attention is meant to belong. I turned away from the window beside me for a moment, glancing at the courtiers and officials gathered around me, before returning my gaze to the ocean. It was my third day as queen of CalāSaya, the Land of All Waves, given the title barely a day after my father legitimized me and named me heir.
I was lucky to have been born a noble bastard, at least I had been given the education of someone born to the higher classes. Few of my half siblings had such advantages. most were barely any more than children of whores and disgraced castle servants. Anyone else was dead, ātragic accidentsā reaching all of them before their heritage could be acknowledge. I was the only one lucky enough to make it to the kingās court, the only one to be given the kingās grace.
āLuckyā of course meant I was given the title of queen barely a day after being named his heir, thrusting me into a situation I was barely aware of, surrounded by men with hatred in their eyes and fatal sweetness in their words. I was a wrench thrown into the way of years of scheming for the throne, and as much as each man openly begged for my favor I knew not one would hesitate to place a knife in my back.
My eyes focused on the sea, my heart wishing I could take a boat and be far from this place. I knew, however, that such mercy would never be given to me. I was doomed to live the rest of my days on this throne, looking from a distance and begging for the chance to be there instead of here. It was my duty and my prison.[/spoiler]
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(shrug) Eh, why not? Someone continue this if you feel like it. You are a 16 year old girl named Elizabeth Ruthven with a 10 year old sister named Victoria. @Lys what do you think about this one?
I awaken slowly, my eyelids still heavy with sleep. I stretch myself still lying on the bed before groggily glancing around my room. Little specks of dust float around, reflecting in the light shafts caused by my somewhat tattered curtains. The morning sun cast a warm glow in everything around my room, even rundown as it is, though especially on the many books Iād stolen throughout my brief existence. Theyāre everywhere, on my busted up bookshelf, my half splintered desk, strewn about on the old and torn rug that sits on my bedroom floor. I feel something hard on my side and wince when it touches the bruise from yesterday. I reach down and realize that I ended up sleeping with the book I was reading yesterday night, after everything happened. I smile a bit despite myself and run my fingers gently across the bookās cover, the only thing of my motherās I still had after my father sold everything that was hers.
Sighing I get up and walk towards the cracked mirror that hangs on my wardrobe door to check the damage to my face. I brush aside the strands of blond hair clinging to my face and inspect it. My left eye is a bit swollen and darkened from the punch my father gave me but aside from that everything is in order. Satisfied that no permanent damage was done I comb my hair and get dressed before exiting my room. I check on my sister before heading downstairs. Mercifully sheās still sleeping, looking better than Iāve seen her in the 2 years since our mother died. I stroke her hair and adjust the blanket over her before going to the kitchen to prepare our breakfast.
Once there I spare a glance at our fatherās corpse where I left it yesterday, limp, thrown over the table with the knife I used to kill him still stuck in his eye. The smell of death nearly makes me retch as I step inside the kitchen and contemplate just how am I going to take him out without anyone noticing. Before I can think on the subject any further or get started on making breakfast a knock sounds on the front door and a gruff voice raises itself to my ears.
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@Ylva It is definitely an interesting start for the story, and I would continue reading it.
Although this is a case if someone was to pursue it, I would actually drop the very last line āOpen up, this is the police!ā (since this thread is a writing prompt)
You could have a cop there, but I would have them investigatingā¦say a noise complaint from a neighbor from the night before. Perhaps he notices the smell of the dad. Perhaps the cop then would back away, a bit unsettled by thisā¦and now the protagonist not only has to dispose of the father, but may have to do something about the cop (especially if they come back)
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So Iām a big fan of writing prompts and short stories and I figured Iād make a post where I give random prompts every once in a while. Feel free to give youāre own or share stories based on the prompt.
Prompt #1 āA villain that has fought the cities greatest hero for years learns that their enemy has been battling depression l.ā (Strange I know, but Iām curious to see what people write.)
The villain realizes that they themselves are Depression and must keep battling the hero, or die.
THE END 
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