A reclusive writer is disturbed in the middle of the night by a stranger looking for help. They invite them into their home.
Does this stranger provide inspiration, danger, friendship, or something else entirely?
I had finally finished wiring the solar panels on the roof of my log cabin and my home was officially 100% self sustainable. I grew vegetables in the garden and fished in the nearby creek for protein. I occasionally ate my own feces just to keep my immune system on its toes. The sun set atop the hills to the east which defied science. I was proud of my work and I celebrated by putting my feet up o...
Stuart Townsend suffered from insomnia. Most nights he was lucky to get a few hours of sleep, but on this particular night he decided to try something new. Earlier in the day he read a long-winded article online on holistic remedies for disorders with unknown cures—insomnia happened to be listed at number four. In the article, Dr. Jeffrey Holland, a leading researcher on the affects of all things ...
Once upon a time, in a small town surrounded by thick forests, there lived a reclusive writer named Evelyn. Known for her dark and enthralling tales, Evelyn rarely ventured out of her secluded cabin, preferring the solace and silence to fuel her creativity. One stormy night, a stranger, soaked and disheveled, came knocking on her door, desperately seeking help.
Intrigued and curious, Evelyn cauti...
Colette sat at her writing desk dressed in soft pjs and sighed, putting her right hand over her face and dragging it down, then slamming her head on her desk. “What am I going to write about now? I’m all out of ideas!”
Her two collies, Ozzy and Coco, came up to her side by side. Coco nosed her head under Colette’s dragging left hand and made her pet her.
Colette lifted her head a...
I trusted him.
I brought him into my house.
These were the only things running through my head as Beau walked towards me, his face stony.
I was being backed against the window.
Breathe, I had to remember to breathe, breathe, breathe.
In, out, but the out was too shaky and I couldn’t think I couldn’t breathe and I couldn’t
I felt his warmth, the softness of h...
The convention was being held on the fourth and fifth floors. Beau told me that we entered on floor five, and then after speeches were made, we would go to floor four for drinks.
The entrance was empty, which struck me as odd.
Beau led me to an elevator. Inside, he pressed the button labeled ‘5’ and the doors closed, trapping us in the box.
My stomach dropped ...
The clock provides much ambiance as I stare at the laptop screen. The cursor blinks slowly, with the document plastered with little ideas.
I need a solid plot line. And fast.
Something mysterious, yet addictive to read.
Melissa wants the idea written down, and a sample drabble by this Monday.
It’s currently Friday night.
I’m not one to procrastinate, but no ideas appeared lately. I’ve looke...
Myra was running out of stories to tell as her creativity becomes an impossible orb that she can’t catch. Once, she renowned the image of an empty page because it was a portal to the world trapped inside her mind. Her fingers would swiftly move across her keyboard as word after word came out. Now, however, her fingers ache from writing words that went nowhere. The characters in her award-winning ...
I didn’t have anything to wear.
Beau said the attire for this evil-plan-disguised-as-rich-event was to be formal, and as neither of us had anything to wear, some shopping was to be done.
He easily rented a tuxedo in town and slipped into a public bathroom to put it on, since he was still wearing my blanket like a shawl.
After he came out, bow tie hanging around his neck, we hurried int...
Once upon a midnight dreary,
As I pondered weak and weary…..
I know indeed that’s Poe, but that’s how my story started…
It was 3 days ago, August 14, 1923. I sat at my desk racking my brain for an idea. Any idea. Something that I could make a story of. After all, my deadline was approaching rapidly and I hadn’t even 𝙗𝙚𝙜𝙪𝙣 to write my poem for the paper.
My mantle clock chimed the midni...
Similar writing prompts
Your protagonist is the assistant to a terrible personal investigator.
Write a story about a day in this person's job.
Your character is someone who strongly believes in fate and destiny. One day, someone says something that nags at them to reconsider.
You do not have to state what was said to them, but try to focus on your character's mindset and how they might be thinking.