Posted in Creative WRiting, creative writing prompts, weekly writing prompts

Weekly Writing Prompt!

Writing Prompt

Hey all! Here we are, jumping back into an attempted proper blogging schedule. With that comes writing prompts, delivered to you fresh off of the… wherever I find them. In this case, it’s a huge list that my husband found for me! Without any delay, here is our writing prompt for the week!

I have seen this prompt a few times, and I really do love it! I would love to see your reply as well! I’ll try to have mine up some time over the weekend! If you end up doing the prompt, just link back to my blog! When I post my response, I’ll feature yours as well! Let’s all get creative, guys!

Until then, keep reading and writing!

Author Amanda McCormick

Twitter | Patreon | NaNo Page | Tumblr | Blog Masterpost | My Writing Group
Buy Me a Coffee at ko-fi.com

Posted in 31 day horror writing prompt, 31 days of prompts, Creative WRiting, creative writing prompts, daily writing prompts, halloween, halloween writing prompts, horror prompts, NaNoWriMo, writing prompts

31 Horror Prompts – Response #6

horror-prompts

Hey, guys! It’s time for the response to my Day Six Writing Prompt! This is yet again one of those instances in which… well… I might have accidentally made something very akin to the beginning of a novel here. There’s actually 2,000 more words to this, but I cut it so that you wouldn’t have an enormous wall of story to read, because I didn’t think that you’d appreciate it.

Honestly, though, I really enjoyed responding to this, and I can’t wait to see what you guys came up with. I hope that you enjoy what I’ve written!


Mr. Teeth and Claws

I didn’t know him by his face, but I knew him by his voice. It was rich and full of promise, and a snarl all at once. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, and I certainly couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I’d come back to my parent’s house because my Father had just died, and after the funeral, I’d trudged my way up the stairs and to my old room. My mother said that my bed was still there, the sheets fresh, the pillow new. I was moving back in, because she couldn’t take care of everything at the house, including my little brother, on her own.

I was moving back in because I was a terrible son if I didn’t help her – if I didn’t do something to make this a little bit easier on her. I’d lost my father, but she’d lost her husband, her best friend. She’d lost the man that was the most important person in her life…

And all that I could do was move back in and hope that I was capable of making things a little bit easier on her.

I wasn’t sure what I could do – but I would do whatever I could.

It was when I stepped into the room that the voice spilled out; the blackout curtains kept the soft streetlights from shining through my window. I’d installed them when I was sixteen because any light at all kept me awake.

“I thought you’d never come home, Corbin. It’s nice to see you again.”

My eyes widened, and for a moment I thought that my heart stopped in my chest. I couldn’t believe it. I hadn’t heard that voice since I was ten years old, and my father had told me that believing in the monster under your bed was foolish, and I was a big boy. I’d told him to go away, and after a few moments of arguing, he told me that he would.

For now.

But he’d promised me then that we’d see each other again.

I didn’t move to turn on the light. I closed the door behind me, and I felt my breath come in a soft, shaking gasp. “I’ve had a damn long day, I’m imagining this.”

I heard the sheets rustle – he wasn’t beneath my bed any longer, he was sitting on top of it. My eyes were adjusting to the darkness, and I could see the vagueness of a large figure, slender and lean, sitting on the head of my bed. “Really, Corbin? After everything that we’ve been through? After how kind I was, leaving you alone after that Father of yours demanded it? And you’re going to treat me like any other beggar on the streets like you don’t know me?” His voice was thick like honey and choking like smoke. It was in my head, wrapping around my thoughts, wrapping around everything that I was so that I took a step forward without realizing it.

“I don’t think so, Corbin.”

His voice was a low growl. A threat, a warning, and his displeasure made very known to me for the fact that I was trying to write him off as a hallucination of my very exhausted mind.

My hand moved to the light switch on the wall, and he tsked again. “I don’t think that’s necessary. Here,” there was a flicker of motion, and a light purple flame appeared. The thing on my bed was all blackness and shadow, but dancing amongst it I could see a very human face peering out at me. He had full lips and dark crimson eyes that flashed with wicked delight at the fact that I was looking at him with wide-eyed horror. I’d seen him under my bed before – a flicker of shadows and teeth and claws.

He was still all teeth and claws, but those teeth were concealed behind full lips and a curtain of dark hair that was the shadows that had always obscured him when I was younger.

“Who are you?” The words came hoarse from my throat, and I couldn’t believe that I was even talking to him. Still, there was nothing that I could do about it – he was real, and on my bed, and more tangible than anything that I’d ever thought possible.

“You used to call me Mr. Teeth and Claws. Or Shadow, don’t you remember?” He smiled again, leaning back on my bed so that I could see amongst the swirl of darkness that obscured his body a lean, muscled frame and an exposed chest. The darkness was like a cloak, and as he stretched back, still holding that purple flame in his hand like a flickering lantern, it shifted and moved so I could see more of his body.

“Those aren’t real names. You aren’t-”

“Don’t say that I’m not real again, Corbin. I won’t ask twice.” His voice was chilled, a snarl, and it froze me in my spot. My eyes widened, my heart beating so violently in my chest that I could hardly breathe around it.

“Okay…” I barely managed to get the words out, but he grinned viciously at me for it.

“That’s better. Now then, why don’t you come over here – we spent a lot of time on this bed, you and I…” His voice curled darkness, as though something had happened that hadn’t. I remember being terrified of his arms reaching out from under the bed, and I remember his dark voice telling me stories all night long about little boys being caught up in the shadows and never returning again. “And now that your Father is gone and his barrier has fallen to shambles, I’ve come back to claim what is mine.”

I’d started to step forward, lured by the warmth of his voice, the curling pleasure that cloaked the daggers… but as soon as he mentioned my father, I stopped.

“What do you mean, his barriers?”

The Shadow on my bed laughed richly, “Did you think that I left because you asked me to? Oh, Corbin, that’s rich. No… no, little boy, my little dreamer.” He raised one hand, and a pale finger that seemed elongated in relation to a normal digit crooked towards me. I felt a pull above my navel, almost as though he was calling me forward. “You belong to me, just as much as I belong to you.”

There was something so damning and final about his words, and I couldn’t help the frown that flitted across my face.

“What do you mean, his barriers?” I asked the question again, though this time, it was far fainter. I had a feeling that something had been going on – perhaps for quite some time, that I hadn’t been aware of at all. It was clear that this creatures reappearance in my life had something to do with my Father’s death… but my Dad had died from a construction accident at work… so surely, the thing on the bed hadn’t had anything to do with that?

“No, Corbin. I never had an influence on his life. Only yours – you and I, we are linked. I am the Nightmare, and you are my Dreamer. He just thought that he could keep you from me.” He smiled then, and it was all sharp teeth and wickedness. He crooked his finger again, and I stepped to the edge of the bed. That hand flew out, wrapped around my wrist.

It was cold.

It burned.

I didn’t understand the wash of sensation that tore through me – it was a mixture of terror and excitement, and it burned and nearly made me faint from the sensation of my heart thundering in my chest.

“S-stop. What are you doing?”

“What I was meant to do all along.” He pulled me closer to him, jerking my body forward until I fell on the bed beside him. I couldn’t ask more questions, though a thousand of them were flying through my mind. “You’re my shadow kissed Dreamer – you can see into our world…. you can see me. It’s your father’s fault, for being half Nightmare himself.”

I still couldn’t speak… and I still didn’t know what in the fuck he was talking about. My father wasn’t a nightmare. His dark hair and eyes had always been kind, and he’d always chased away the shadows–

“Because he didn’t want us to know about you. Do you know how special you are? How rare you are?” The Shadow leaned forward, and his tongue came out, long and smooth. He licked along my cheek, and the saliva left a cool line against my skin that burned just as much as his touch had. “You make a Nightmare strong, you let me walk in the physical world… and he can’t keep me at bay anymore. No, you’re mine, little Dreamer, and together, we’re going to have all of the pleasures of the world.”

He purred that word, deadly like a big cat. I wanted to jerk away from him, but I was frozen under his presence, under the weight of him holding me there on the bed that I’d seen him hiding under so often, heard his voice spilling from.

After the night when my Father had told me that the monster wasn’t real, I’d never seen him again… but I still heard him sometimes when I was trying to sleep – he’d tell me stories, he’d sing me lullabies… his voice was a curse and a gift all at once, because I’d never been alone.

But I’d left him behind as I’d grown, and I never thought that I’d see him again.

“You need to go – Shadows aren’t real.”

His grip on my wrist tightened, and the lick along my cheek turned into a sharp bite against my neck. I almost screamed out, but his free hand came up, covering my lips, stopping the noise from escaping my throat.

“Do you really want to do that? I’m not your little Brother’s Nightmare, but he’s still Shadow kissed. I could still visit him, instead. Your father isn’t here to protect either one of you.”

I thought of Jackson – of his innocent blue eyes and blonde hair… and I thought of this thing touching him, being near him. I instantly shook my head, my eyes shutting tight. Maybe I would wake up from all of this still, maybe it was just a dream.

“A nightmare, Corbin, I’m a Nightmare… and I’m glad to see that you’ve made the smart decision.” He knew before I’d even said it; he was in my head. He’d known when he threatened Jackson that I was going to do whatever I could to keep him away from him. My eyes opened wide, though, the words that he’d said trickling into the back of my mind. He answered again before I could even speak.

“That’s right, little Jackson has his own Nightmare, and she’ll be hungry for the taste of him just as much as I am for your taste.”

“I can’t le-”

“If you cooperate with me, I’ll make sure that she doesn’t touch him… I’ll make sure that no other Nightmare has a presence in this house, in your families life. I’ll keep your dear little Brother safe.” The aching tight grip on my wrist loosened, and he stroked along the side of my face. His voice was still honey, and it made me shiver. I was terrified – not for myself, but for the thought of Jackson having to go through something like this. My Father had clearly thought that keeping me safe from the monster beside me was important enough to seal him away… but I didn’t know how to do that, and he wasn’t here to do it for Jackson.

“I’ll do whatever you want if you promise that he won’t get hurt.”

Dark crimson eyes flared a bright red, and those full lips curved into a wicked grin that flashed sharp teeth that had drawn blood at my neck. “Perfect – with your blood, with your strength and your essence, I’ll be stronger than her. I’ll be stronger than any Nightmare who thinks they can pique their head and show their face here. This is my domain; no Dream or Nightmare will be known any longer.”

He turned to me then, and those crimson eyes were a swirl, cascading, drawing me in. I wanted to fall into that stare if only to escape from the reality of what was happening around me. I wanted to escape everything that was happening…


So, there we go. More than likely, Mr. Teeth and Claws will end up being a novel. I really can’t help myself. For some reason, I’m terrible at writing short stories.

Still, this is great practice for NaNoWriMo, and I completely encourage you guys to go ahead and do some writing prompts to get yourself revved up for the event!

Make sure if you end up doing any of my prompts that you tell me. I’m going to make a list of all of the responses at the end of the month, so we can have a big compilation of horror stories, for anyone who is really in the Halloween mood and wants to get their fix.

Until next time guys!!! Keep reading and writing, and keep being absolutely awesome!
Author Amanda McCormick

Twitter | Patreon | NaNo Page | Tumblr | Blog Masterpost | My Writing Group
Buy Me a Coffee at ko-fi.com

My Discord Group (click to join) is starting to rev up for NaNoWriMo! If you want some help with plotting and a group to stay steady with after, feel free to click and join!

Posted in 31 day horror writing prompt, Creative WRiting, creative writing prompts, daily writing prompts, halloween writing prompts, horror prompts, horror writing prompts, NaNoWriMo, october horror prompts, scary prompts, writing prompts

31 Horror Prompts – Response #4

horror-prompts

 

It’s that time again, guys! It’s that time for me to post my response to my writing prompt… and I have to say that this one is a big one. I had a lot of fun with this, and I wrote a bit more than I meant to. But, that’s one of my favorite things about writing prompts – you never know if it’s going to spill into something bigger than just a few hundred words. You never know if you’re going to make an actual story out of it!

So, the Day Four Writing Prompt was:

The words on the page were gone – instead, a trail of black ink led to your bedroom door…

And here is my response!


Cover

The book had been innocuous when Donovan found it at the store. The old shop was one of his favorite places to be; he’d often find himself there after work, browsing the shelves for hours. Sometimes, he’d go to the back of the store, where the spines were covered in dust, and there was no guarantee that you’d even be able to read the title that you were picking up until you gave it a thorough wipe down.

That was how he’d found the book. He’d been climbing ladders and searching the shelves for something truly interesting to take home – the work day had been long and dull, and he’d answered the same tech question fifty times. He’d gone to college for four years and gotten a job that paid well enough for him to have his own apartment in the city… but it wasn’t really fulfilling.

What was fulfilling was looking for a new book in the corner bookstore by his house – what was fulfilling was those moments when he found something worth buying.

It was when Donovan was half up the shelf on a ladder that he noticed it; the spine wasn’t covered in dust like the books surrounding it, as though someone had happened by it recently and found it just as interesting as he did. The black leather was bound with silver, with no trace of a title to give way to what the book was actually about.

Maybe it was the fact that it had no title – maybe it was the fact that it was clearly in better shape than all of the old books around it.

Whatever it was, it was almost like music was coming from the pages, and he couldn’t help himself – his fingers spilling forward to pull it from the shelf, and he was shocked to see that those digits were trembling.

Trembles or no, he snatched it from the bookcase and tucked it under his arm without looking at the cover.

It didn’t matter what it said. He took it straight to the front of the bookstore – when he realized that the clerk wasn’t at the register, he dug into his pocket and pulled out two crisp bills. A twenty – a fifty. Donovan didn’t care. He threw it onto the counter and half ran out of the store, shoving the book into his backpack as though too greedy and protective of it to let anyone else see it.

It was his. He’d purchased it. And now he was going to take it home.

~

With the book hidden away in his back, he thought that he’d forget about it. He knew that he had homework, that he needed to make himself dinner… that he had things that he needed to get done before he could take the time to read. And yet, even hidden away in his bag, he couldn’t help but to continue to flick his gaze to the canvas, as though he could see through it. As though he could see that black binding, and it was calling to him.

He only made it half way through making dinner, and he’d already burned himself twice before he took the pan off of the stove and threw it into the sink. He was walking to his backpack before he could stop himself, and flinging the latch open with wide eyes full of curiosity and wonder.

He hadn’t even seen the title of it.

He didn’t know what the book was about at all.

But he needed to see it.

The leather binding almost felt warm in the chill of his backpack when he wrapped his fingers around the edge of it, and a low hiss of pain poured from his chest as he pulled it forward. The paper had caught his finger and cut. He quickly pulled the book out and jerked his bleeding hand away from it – a spatter of blood fell onto the cover, and crimson stained the page where he’d cut himself. It didn’t matter though – his eyes weren’t for the stains on the pages.

His eyes were for the cover.

There wasn’t a title.

There was just an image.

The man’s face was etched deep into the leather, chiseled like a God and sinisterly beautiful – the only color on the black leather front were two red stones set where his eyes would be.

The book felt like it was vibrating in his hands, and that face seemed to be staring straight through his soul. Donovan’s digits were trembling yet again when he finally flipped back the cover, the weight of it heftier than he thought, almost as though it was resisting being opened. But once he did, his brows instantly knit together.

He couldn’t read the words.

It was some language that he’d never seen, and he’d studied languages while he was in college, between the countless computer and programming classes. He bit his lower lip for a moment, his eyes skimming the words – it wasn’t even anything that he’d heard of before, it didn’t look familiar.

None of it did, but his lips tried to form around the words anyway; they sounded foreign coming from his throat, read aloud with lips having to purse and tongue having to curl to bend around the pronunciation.

His hand came up as he read, and when he came to a name in bold, he stopped for a moment… the pad of his finger traced the word, and he spoke it aloud softly. “Bellan.”

Bellan.

It was the only thing in the book that made any sense – his hand came away from the page and he frowned. He’d smeared crimson across the name from his paper cut – he’d smeared the book red three times now.

“I’ll be back.” Donovan murmured the words softly and pushed himself away from the table. He was going to go and put a bandaid on his finger before he managed to ruin the book entirely with clumsy fingers.

Cool water stung at the cut on his finger, and he was surprised to see that his reflection was pale – it made his blue eyes seem all the bluer, and his dark hair that fell against his forehead and swept over his cheek even darker than usual. The bandage was easy enough to wrap around the cut, and a splash of cool water helped him to catch his breath, to calm down. There was no reason for him to be feeling this way. He’d just read a book…

It had been a strange day.

With a soft laugh he flipped the bathroom light off and went back to his living room – he was going to put the book up,and get his work done.

When he stepped into the room, though, he instantly realized that something was wrong. There was a spattering of black on the table, and when he half ran to the book… the pages were blank.

He frowned, flipping through the paper quickly… there was no ink – no words. It was empty like a journal. With a small noise of protest, he shut the book entirely.

The man on the cover was gone.

His heart was thundering in his chest, catching his breath and keeping it captive without him noticing. The book fell thick to the table, the enchantment and music that had been spilling from it gone. It no longer held his attention captive – what did was the spill of black ink that fell from the table, half smudged into a hand print… and then trailed those foreign words along the white of his carpet, before shifting into footprints…

And spilling into his bedroom.


So, I actually had to cut myself off with this response, because I realized something.

I’m making a small novel here – at least a decent sized short story. It kind of transformed from something other than a simple writing prompt. When I hit 1300 words, I realized that I needed to pull back. But I promise you, this isn’t the last that you’ll see of Donovan, or Bellan. They may end up making a surprise novel appearance!

Make sure if you end up doing any of my prompts that you tell me. I’m going to make a list of all of the responses at the end of the month, so we can have a big compilation of horror stories, for anyone who is really in the Halloween mood and wants to get their fix.

Until next time guys!!! Keep reading and writing, and keep being absolutely awesome!
Author Amanda McCormick

Twitter | Patreon | NaNo Page | Tumblr | Blog Masterpost | My Writing Group
Buy Me a Coffee at ko-fi.com

My Discord Group (click to join) is starting to rev up for NaNoWriMo! If you want some help with plotting and a group to stay steady with after, feel free to click and join!

Posted in 31 day horror writing prompt, Creative WRiting, creative writing prompts, daily word prompts, daily writing prompts, halloween writing prompts, horror prompts, horror writing prompts

31 Days of Horror Prompts for October (#4)

horror-prompts

Hey, guys! It’s time for prompt number four in my 31 Horror Prompts for October series! I’ve been really enjoying these, and I hope that you guys have, too. Honestly, this is a great way to get warmed up for NaNoWriMo, if you’re planning on participating. I’m super excited about it myself, and I’m actually going to try to slowly ramp up the length of my story responses so that I can get used to writing at length again every day.

So, without further delay, here is today’s prompt! It’s inspired a bit by my thoughts of NaNo, I have to admit!


The words on the page were gone – instead, a trail of black ink led to your bedroom door…


So! This can be as spooky as you’d like. I’m personally really excited to explore what I can do with this particular writing prompt, so I may end up getting started on it today instead of tomorrow like I usually do.

Make sure if you end up doing any of my prompts that you tell me. I’m going to make a list of all of the responses at the end of the month, so we can have a big compilation of horror stories, for anyone who is really in the Halloween mood and wants to get their fix.

Until next time guys!!! Keep reading and writing, and keep being absolutely awesome!
Author Amanda McCormick

Twitter | Patreon | NaNo Page | Tumblr | Blog Masterpost | My Writing Group
Buy Me a Coffee at ko-fi.com

My Discord Group (click to join) is starting to rev up for NaNoWriMo! If you want some help with plotting and a group to stay steady with after, feel free to click and join!

Posted in 31 day horror writing prompt, Creative WRiting, creative writing prompts, daily writing prompts, NaNoWriMo, writing prompt, writing prompts

31 Horror Prompts – Response #3

horror-prompts

Hey guys! Here’s the response for Day 3 of my 31 Horror Prompts for October. The Prompt today is a list of words. I always find these to be extremely fun – I’m giving you words… a small setting, and your mind is filling in the blanks.

Night, Terror, Blood, Knife, Shadow, Monster, Darkness, Moonlight, Scream, Killer

You have 10 words… and you only have to use five. But from five words, an entire story can take shape.

From five words, you could turn from a writer into a killer, much like I did in my response!


An Opera of Blood and Moonlight

I felt like a monster in the moonlight. The sensation of adrenaline was pouring through me, making my entire body quiver, and filling that void that always seemed to open up inside of me. It was something that I couldn’t escape, no matter how many times I told myself that I was done – it was something that I couldn’t control. That need was a living, breathing thing inside of me, that crept out through the darkness and reared its head. Its voice was cultured and refined, though it was truly a beast – it spoke of depravity, the things that it wanted me to do. It made its demands with tea and scones, and it smiled like a gentleman while it handed me a knife.

That need was a thing that lived somewhere deep inside of me. It had for as long as I could remember… though I couldn’t remember that far back. I’d woken up as a thirteen-year-old one day with no memories of who I’d been before. The doctors told me that I’d shown up one day, coming out of the woods covered in blood and thicker things. They hadn’t told me that only part of that blood had been mine.

I still wasn’t sure what had happened – I had no idea what kind of a child I’d been, or what horrors I’d seen during the night that had woken the beast inside of me.

I wasn’t sure if it had been born when I’d come out of the woods, or if it had been with me all along. I would ask it sometimes where it came from, and he would smile at me with charming lips full of sinister intent and shake his head slowly.

He wasn’t going to tell.

He was just going to tell me when it was time to move again.

And it was time. I could feel it tickle and prick along my skin as I stood over the young woman who trembled in terror beneath me. My face was a shadow in the deep hood that I wore, and I’d brought her so far into the darkness of the woods that no one could hear her scream. She’d been asleep, peaceful in her bed, dreaming little dreams of a world where she wasn’t about to die.

The monster in my head had told me that she was the one, and maybe… maybe he would be sated, if I took her for him.

The monster in my head told me that I had to be a killer one more time, or he’d never leave me alone.

It was his smile that spread my lips when she spoke, “Please, I’ll do anything. I won’t tell anyone, just don’t… please don’t!”

And it was his voice that spoke to her, leaning close enough that she could see the dark flash of my brown eyes. Soft, predatory, cultured and smooth. “There’s no point in begging. Though, I’d love to hear the symphony of your screams.”

And it was his laughter that spilled from my throat, joyous and greedy and gluttonous all at once when I swung the knife down and started to conduct the opera that he craved, written in blood and moonlight.


So, there we go! There’s my response for today, and I have to say that I really enjoyed it. I love getting to shape stories out of something as simple as a list of words! I would adore seeing what you guys did for it as well! Make sure if you end up doing any of my prompts that you tell me. I’m going to make a list of all of the responses at the end of the month, so we can have a big compilation of horror stories, for anyone who is really in the Halloween mood and wants to get their fix.

This is a great way to practice getting in daily words, since NaNoWriMo is coming up so very soon! Make sure to stay tuned to my blog if you’re doing NaNo, because I’m going to be posting tips and tricks for a successful NaNoWriMo every Tuesday and Thursday!

Until next time guys!!! Keep reading and writing, and keep being absolutely awesome!
Author Amanda McCormick

Twitter | Patreon | NaNo Page | Tumblr | Blog Masterpost | My Writing Group
Buy Me a Coffee at ko-fi.com

My Discord Group (click to join) is starting to rev up for NaNoWriMo! If you want some help with plotting and a group to stay steady with after, feel free to click and join!

Posted in Creative WRiting, creative writing prompts, weekly writing prompts, writing prompt, writing prompts

Weekly Writing Prompt Response: 8/21-8-27 (2016)

Writing Prompt Response

Hey everyone! I’m trying to get this out before I end up going off for the day – I have a few things to do, and I wanted to make sure that I had the proper time to finish my writing prompt! The thing with this is, I usually wait until Saturday to write it, because it gives me something that is a specific goal on Saturday.

My problem this week is that I didn’t even think about what I was going to do, or what I was going to write. So… I’m going into this a little blind, but I’m sure that it will somehow work itself out. It usually always does.


Blood of my Blood

There was blood spattered across the walls. This was the last place I thought I’d see her. The black pitch color that my sister had dyed her hair was starting to grow out – the crimson color of her locks was showing through.

It was the same color as mine.

I’d never known about Sadie when I left the settlement, or I would have brought her with me – I didn’t have any love lost for my parents, but she was innocent. She was just a child… and she was a child with our looks, with our charm.

The only problem was, my little sister didn’t have my confidence to back everything else up.

I’d heard about her when I went back to the settlement that I came from – little Sadie, who had refused to follow in my footsteps and bring prosperity to the town.

Little Sadie, who had run off at a tender age, because she was afraid of what people might do to her, how they might use her.

Little Sadie, who had joined the raiders, because she didn’t understand that when I’d left… I had a position and respect within the Gunners – and the Gunners were organized and militant.

The raiders were savages, and my sister had apparently learned that the hard way.

I heard about her next from an old lover – Pickman, who told me of a beautiful young raider with crimson locks, who he’d spared because she had my full lips and bone structure.

He didn’t tell me what he’d done while she’d stayed with him, and it was probably better that way. I didn’t know my sister, but I was already protective of her – I knew what depravity Pickman enjoyed; I’d helped him to acquire some of those tastes.

I left him at his gallery, and continued my search.

After a few tender nights spent with a group of raiders, I managed to extract the information that she’d left their group, and they hoped she was dead. She’d been a sweet piece of meat that they’d all enjoyed their time with – their callous words were their last. I don’t know where I left their tongues…

And then, there was talk of a young woman, trying to make her way through the Commonwealth with a sniper rifle and stealth armor. She was beautiful, but she was afraid. She was deadly, but her insecurity kept her from being as deadly as she could be.

And when all else failed, she’d pull out a blade and carve her way out of a bad situation.

My little sister – sweet little Sadie. And I thought I’d found her at last.

But when I did, it wasn’t what I expected.

There was blood on the walls, and she was curled up in the corner. It was a raider den, and her clothing was half torn off of her, her armor barely covering her skin. There were streaks of crimson all along her body, and her raider paint was half smeared from her face.

Her lip was split, her nose was bloody…

And I wasn’t sure if she was breathing.

I rushed forward silently, wary of what was going on around us – there were raider parts everywhere, as though some kind of explosion had happened. There was no sound, no moaning… just the slow drip of blood that let me know that whatever she’d done, she’d done a damn good job of it.

I didn’t know if she was seeking vengeance, or if they’d simply caught her again.

I didn’t know if she was alive, curled in the corner with tear stains streaked through the pitch and blood that covered her pretty face.

It was only when I stepped forward, close enough that I could finally see her small chest rising and falling that I let out a sigh of relief.

My little sister was alive, and she was curled around a goddamn fatman that had clearly devastated the room around her and nearly taken her life.

I knelt on the ground and studied her carefully – she was everything that I’d heard about. Beneath the paint, beneath the blood and the bruises, she was a more delicate version of myself – all full lips and a gorgeous face.

She was my sister – she was the only family that I had. And regardless of if she wanted it or not, I was going to take care of her from this moment onward.


 

So, there we go. It’s a little more of my Fallout characters. You’ve heard about Jack. His little half-sister Sadie is my other character. She’s a raider, and it’s been a lot of fun to develop her back story as I’ve been playing here. I’ll probably write a lot more about these two; I actually plan on giving Jack his own novel (outside of the Fallout world), which means that Sadie will be featured in it as well.

I’m not going to write much more on this, because I want to go ahead and get the blog posted. ❤ I hope you enjoyed the writing prompt, and remember! If you ever respond to the prompts, just link back to me, and I’ll feature you on my blog, just like I’m about to do now!

Other Responses:

Kayla Dore | Prowling Thunder

So, until next time, you guys! Keep reading and writing, and keep being amazing!
Author Amanda McCormick

Twitter | Patreon | NaNo Page | Tumblr | Blog Masterpost | My Writing Group
Buy Me a Coffee at ko-fi.com

Posted in Creative WRiting, creative writing prompts, weekly writing prompts, writing prompt

Weekly Writing Prompt Response: 7/10-7/16 (2016)

Writing Prompt

Hey there. It’s late in the day, just as I predicted, but we’re finally back from the city! I spent most of my day today in San Francisco as an early birthday celebration, and I’m running on less than two hours of sleep.

To say the least, I’m pretty exhausted. I honestly want nothing more than to go to bed and lay there until morning… but I’m not going to do that. I haven’t written my 1,000 words for the day, and I’m not about to break my streak when I’m this far into the year and writing every day like I am.

So. I shall carry onward! And it’s Saturday (a day of many typos, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve hit the backspace button), which means that it is time for me to answer my writing prompt. So. Breathe in – breathe out. And here we go.

The Prompt Said:

One day as you were cleaning you noticed air being sucked towards the base of wall near the cupboard. Perplexed you went closer to investigate. The air was going in, slightly yet in. You hold your breath and gingerly peel away at the wallpaper until a huge wrought iron door stands before you. Where does it lead? Did you imagine this? What happens next?


The Siren’s Door

I hate cleaning. It’s probably one of my least favorite things to do. I guess it’s because I always feel like I could be spending my time on something much more valuable, like daydreaming, or reading a book. Maybe there’s just a part of me that is secretly spiteful for the dust bunnies that live in the overly large house that I’m taking care of – I say taking care of with annoyance in my voice, because it wasn’t really my decision. My father died when I was eleven years old, and my step-mother has made sure to let me know that if I don’t do chores around the house, I won’t be staying in the house.

I wish that I could call her evil, I really do. It might make my story a bit more interesting – I wish that I could say that she took my room and threw away everything that reminded me of how much my father loved me… but she didn’t. She kept the pictures of us posing as a family hanging on the walls, and she made sure that I was comfortable in my room. There were nights, after he first died, that she let me come into the bedroom where my Father used to sleep with her, and we’d cry together until we fell asleep.

Clara isn’t evil – she’s just a very strict mother, and she believes in earning your keep. She’s also a busy woman, who works two full time jobs to make sure that we can keep the house that I grew up in; the house where she first met my Father, when she came here to help him with his financial planning. The house meant a lot to both of us, even though the big Victorian was more than we needed on our lonesome.

I didn’t even have step-sisters who were full of malice to spice up my story. All that I had was the large Victorian house, with its peeling wallpaper like a silent witness to the fact that we weren’t quite keeping up with its care…

And I was wiping the baseboards in the kitchen when I noticed it. A draft spilled through the air, sending tendrils of black hair swirling around my face and tickling my nose. I brushed the chin length strands behind my ear and continued wiping down the cupboards that had somehow accumulated enough dust that they warranted a cleaning. I’d just cleaned them the week before, so I was a little irked with the fact that they were so dirty again.

The draft spilled through the room again, swirling my hair and the infuriating dust. I spun quickly to look at the window… but it was closed. The air wasn’t on – the house was cool, because it was fall. We didn’t need to open the windows or turn on the heat or air just yet… and we both knew that it was better that way, because the house was expensive to regulate, temperature wise.

So, where was the draft coming from? I turned, brown eyes curious, and felt it again, rustling my hair and bringing my attention to the wall.

To the wall? It was almost like it was breathing at me, a gentle whisper, a cadence and promise that I would discover that the house had truly been alive all along, if I simply approached.

I couldn’t help it – curiosity was my vice. I stepped closer and knelt, my bare knees touching the floor as I lowered my head. I felt it this time, cooler, almost musky smelling… but it was coming from the baseboard, beneath peeling wallpaper. My fingers came out, perplexed, and I pulled at the flaking sheet, ripping it upwards with a small pulse of satisfaction pouring through me at the action.

What was strange, however, was the fact that there wasn’t wood behind the paper… but metal.

I wasn’t sure, but I thought it was iron. My hands made quick work of the rest of the wall covering, until I was slightly out of breath, and staring wide eyed at a giant door standing in front of me – wrought iron, and older than even the house had any rights… and it was nothing that I’d seen before.

More than that, it didn’t make sense, because not five feet to the other side of the door, our flat screen television was mounted on the wall. The door should have led to nowhere, but I could feel the breeze pulsing from beneath it, and the handle begged me to pull it open.

Transfixed, almost bespelled, I could do nothing but follow the compulsion that brought my hand forward and against the handle.

The metal was almost too hot to touch.

I opened the door, and that cool breeze instantly turned into a gust so strong that it nearly sucked me forward – I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I was standing on the solid wood floor in my kitchen…

But I wasn’t.

Because on the other side of the door, in complete contrast to the sun that shone outside, three moons spanned over a vast, black ocean… the wind whipped, spilling my hair forward, and the salt stung my nose, my eyes…

And in the distance, I could hear a voice singing – lulling, alluring… calling to me. I didn’t think about it – I didn’t think about anything but that voice. I just stepped through the door, and heard a resounding slam as it closed behind me.


Sorry if that was a little scattered ❤ I’m so tired, but I wanted to make sure that I got my words out!

So, if you’ve responded to this, let me know so that I can link you in the space below! I’d love to see what you come up with! I know that we all have so many worlds and stories waiting inside of us! Let one out! Remember, I post writing prompts every Sunday, and you have a chance to be featured in my response on the following Saturday! Just fill the prompt and link back to my blog, and you’ll be featured in the space below! (Updated at the end of the day.)

Responses to the Prompt:

 

Until next time, guys, keep reading and writing!

Author Amanda McCormick

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Posted in 1000 words a day, author amanda mccormick, Creative WRiting, creative writing prompts, daily word prompts, daily writing, daily writing challenge, daily writing count, daily writing prompts, funding, Promote Yourself, Shameless Promotion, Writer, writer advice, writer tips, writer tricks, Writing

Weekly Writing Update

 

2016-01-22

So, I’ve been keeping up extremely well with my writing for this week! And I finally took a little picture of my calendar as well!

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So. Here are the two methods that I use to keep myself on track and motivated! My desk calendar is – of course – on my desk! For the calendar, I can specifically write down which stories I work on, and where my words came from. It’s a bit of a mess, and I’m looking to keep it more organized for next month, but I’m still really happy with it.

As far as my words go, I’m already up past 58k, and quickly zooming towards 60,000. I’m just really pleased with how well my writing has been going. Even with some of the emotional issues that I’ve been having, it’s still really successful. Sometimes I end up getting my words at 2am when I can’t sleep…

But words are words are words!

I’ve also started posting my daily writing prompts, like I want to. The responses to those will go up either here, or on my patreon! So please, feel free to click a link to that at the bottom of this post! Also, I want to start featuring other forms of art on here, probably on Sunday or Monday? Poets, artists, photographers, sewing, etc. Anything that is an outlet for creativity. We are all one big community of people trying to get noticed – it starts by us helping one another! So if you have someone to recommend, or want to be featured yourself, let me know!!!!

 

Until next time, guys! Keep up the creativity!
Author Amanda McCormick

Twitter | Patreon | NaNo Page

Posted in 1000 words a day, Creative WRiting, creative writing prompts, daily word prompts, daily writing, daily writing challenge

Daily Writing Prompt 1/22/2016

Writing Prompts

So, I’m going to keep on with my list from yesterday for the daily writing prompts! Write some type of prose, short story, poem, whatever comes to mind using the following 10 words! I can’t wait to see what you come up with!

11. Memory
12. Insanity
13. Misfortune
14. Smile
15. Silence
16. Spit
17. Blood
18. Under
19. Gray
20. Fortitude

Later on today, I’ll also be posting and update blog on my writing and whatnot! I can’t wait to see you guys then!

Author Amanda McCormick

Twitter | Patreon | NaNo Page

Posted in 1000 words a day, Creative WRiting, creative writing prompts, daily word prompts, daily writing, daily writing challenge

Writing Prompt 1/20/2016

Writing Prompts

So, onward with the daily writing prompts! I like trying to keep them novel center if you have one! If you don’t, try to use this to  lay the foundation for future characters! It’s so important to develop who you’ll be writing, after all. Or well, in this case, you’re doing a little less developing and a little more…

Well, you’ll see.

For the prompt today… kill a character. Good, bad, hero, villain – in the end, they all die somehow.

I can’t wait to see what you come up with!

Author Amanda McCormick!

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