Writing Prompt: Day 137

137.jpgDay 137 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Write about inanimate objects coming to life.

Erin: “Ewe,” I heard a little cry as I was blowing my nose. When it registered that I lived alone I felt a chill run down my spine.

“Who said that,” my breath was shaky.

“Me down here,” I lowered head to see my tissues little mouth and eyes.

“Ah,” I screamed throwing her down.

“First you’re trying to get me sick then you throw me to my death.”

“You can’t get sick, you’re just doing your job,” a scoff came from my soap dispenser.

That’s all I could remember from before I passed out on my bathroom floor.

Shannon: I woke up to the sound of something clunking to the floor. I lifted my upper half over the side of the bed to check if it was my phone. It was just the nesting doll on my dresser. Oddly it continued to roll around, and not in one motion. It seemed to be rocking back and forth until I saw it split open and the doll inside of it was moving now too.

I quickly grabbed my phone and flashed my screen on the dolls. They were looking at me. I blinked, locking my eyes shut, hoping the dream would go away. When I opened my eyes they were in a raising-the-bar line blinking back at me. “Please don’t scream,” the tallest women begged, “Sophia’s has sensitive hearing, and Amber scares easy. It will take me a long time to get them back inside.”

I listened, trying to remain calm, and sane. “Why do want them inside?” I was pretty sure having conversations with inanimate objects wasn’t sane, but I couldn’t help myself.

“They’re meant to stay inside. I only let them out at night.”

“That’s no way to live, doesn’t it get heavy always trapping them inside?”

She nodded, “But I’m responsible for them. Who will protect them if they’re not with me?”

“They’ll have to protect themselves, and they will. They’ll be okay. Give them a chance,” I encouraged.

Bring everything to life with your writing.

2 thoughts on “Writing Prompt: Day 137

  1. I woke in the middle of a deserted wasteland with shards of mirrored glass covering the surface like snow, reflecting the bizarre ruby sky with flames of brilliant russet and butter streaking across it. Everything around me was still and silent as the grave; an entire world of nothingness holding its breath. Not a single whisper of breeze or prickle of frost stirred.
    When something screeched, or called or cried out, behind me, I turned but saw nothing. It was as though a star were being chipped away from the inside, burning and breaking apart at the seams in a high-pitched noise that was deafening to behold. After a few moments of rapid spinning, attempting to catch whatever creature was making the horrid sound, there was still no sign of the culprit. I finally noticed a tiny track through the shards like an unseen finger were tracing some abstract symbol, perhaps mistaking the silvery slivers for sand or snow.
    Before my very eyes, the path grew wider and deeper, retracing itself over and over. It became apparent that the sound was, indeed, coming from that particular peculiarity under this strange sky. But as the dust continued to shift, the sound revealed itself as the shards stitching themselves back together, creating a whole, smooth surface; a mirror showed itself.

    I woke up on the warm cement floor of the dungeon with a sour, metal taste on my tongue and a shimmering mirror shard grasped in my hand. When I twisted, my fingers to gaze into the reflection, the strange and alien eyes of an elf stared back at me with deep concern in her petite features.


  2. Rick is typing on the computer, checking over all the programs and looking over code for the security systems. Finn is upside down on the couch in the other room, drawing random stuff on a notepad.
    Both are quiet, until Finn gets bored. He animates a butterfly, and it flies away. He watches it make random loops. “…I wonder how many different powers there are.”
    Rick doesn’t answer him.
    “Like,” Finn continues, “What if someone has the same power as me? Or… Maybe someone can do the same thing as me, but can make inanimate objects come to life, you know?”
    Rick sighs to himself, but doesn’t acknowledge his teammate.
    “I mean, how can there be a limit on what gifted people can do? There’s got to be a lot of us-”
    “Finn,” Rick says, his free fingers curling into each other, “I understand you are excited, but unless you want someone finding this place, I need to focus.” He turns back to the computer.
    Finn nods, watching the butterfly lose color and fade away, “Sure.”


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