Writing Prompt

The spoon had been invented for the purpose of scooping things out of a storm drains. They were originally made with a magnet inside. Someone eventually bought one and they had never used it, because they never had dropped anything in a storm drain. One day this person had the idea of using it to eat ceral, then eventually decided to take out the magnet. That is how the spoon was invented.

“So you’ve built a reflective surface where you can see yourself, but I can’t see myself in it?” “Well we’ve got to trap a ghost in it first” “First?what do we do after that?” “After that we’ve got to let it possess one of us”. He pointed towards himself and began gathering a multitude of strange tools. “Then after it possesses me you have to exercise it and seal it back into the mirror, simple right?”. He turned back into my direction and smiled. “None of that sounds easy…why do you even want this?!” “Well I was invited to a ball where the queen is supposed to be and I have no idea what to where. This way I can see how I look and compare and contrast which outfit is the best.” “Why not have someone come and tell you which pair of clothes work best as you try them on?” “Igor, you’ve worked for me for some time now and I think you know no one has quite a sense of style like me.” “Dr. Is this … ethical?” “Well they are a dead soul of someone who has yet to pass into the afterlife so not really.Try not to think about it though.” Igor followed his master painfully thinking of all the ways this could possibly go wrong. Electrodes with sharp pincers protruded from their backpack as they walked to their mausoleum of choice. The stale air wreaked of despair. “Desecrating corpses isn’t something we usually do Dr.” “Well times change”.He laid out sticks of dynamite in front of him and sparked each one carefully before distancing himself. Detonating explosives was a routine part of their schemes ,but even as far as mad scientists go this was insane. The stone entrance blew open revealing more than simply a single tomb. Layers proceeded further and further down into the earth. “Did i mention we’re raiding the royal morgue? How fun!” As the staircase spiraled into dark corridors the two of them shuffled along. Neither of them speaking to each other. Anxiety made apparent the severity of their silly mission. Sconces lit bright and bold into the viewing area of the late kings grandfather. Very few people have entered this room let alone know it exists. The casual desecration of entering this building made clear their disregard for that. “Hugo give a cross from my backpack. You see it’s been blessed by the Vatican so we will definitely force the dead out of hiding.”Checking around each of them searched for their king in rotting armor. “Dr. ? If that’s been blessed it must be extremely potent” “The Vatican hardly measures the amount of blessings put into an item. They are too busy measuring the amount of cash we put in their pocket” Hugo made a very disgusted face as he motioned around to make light of their actions. “Actively robbing a grave isn’t exactly Saint like behavior Dr.” Victor laid the silver cross over the coffin of the long dead king. It lit up the room after rumbling and glowing with a dark viridian. The coffin began to shake violently but so did the others. The many graves flew off the walls and spectral figures circled around them. Víctor Frankenstein quickly pulled out a strange electric rifle embedded with a religious insignia. Igor brandished a sword glimmering and creating its own light. “Im only here for one of you. So if you don’t wanna go to the after life in a puddle the rest of you better get out of my way”.

Steve smashed his club down against the skull of the mammoth. He had single-handedly neutralised his target with use of javelins he had made from twisting sticks between two boulders. “Hey Steve.” Stan said, he was standing next to a tree almost oblivious to the glory and pride that Steve was feeling right now. “What Stan…” Steve puffed out. “This leaf is massive.” Stan replied holding a huge leaf like a trophy. Steve looked blankly at his friend, who contributed nothing to his kill. The kill that the village would assume they hunted together. “And?” Steve spoke with an underlying irritation toward his cave-hood friend. “What if we put this above our heads. It will stop the rain from wetting our hair. It would be like a home… on our heads.” Stan slowly lifted the large leaf and placed it on top of his head. “Don’t be ridiculous. The Cave is our home. The Cave gives us shelter. The Cave gives..” “Us life, ya-da ya-da.” Stan interrupted. “But this will be a portable home. One we can take out with us so that we don’t have to run all the way to The Cave.” Steve stared at his friend. The leaf balanced lopsided on his head. “Never in a million years will this be a good idea Stan.” He grabbed the leaf and gripped it in the center and pulled. He tried to rip it but it was actually quite sturdy. Frustratedly, the scrunched it into a ball and threw it on the floor next to the bleeding mammoth’s head. Stan looked hurt. He crossed his arms. “Now help me with this body, will you?” Steve attempted to rescue the awkward confrontation. Stan did not budge, he looked pointed his nose upwards.. After another awkward moment of silence, Steve picks up the crumpled leaf and unravels it. He places it on Stan’s head. Coincidentally, it fit snugly on his head. Stan smiled and then they began to gut the mammoth and take home their hunt… and the Stan’s portable home…

Thag the caveman was having a bad day. His mother was eaten by a bear and he had to find another cave after another cavemen beat him in a dance battle for it. The sun was hot on his shaggy haired head, and Thag paddled in the river, where leeches caught him and made him scream. He ran into a hot thing that caught on his furs and burned! “Hey! Me just invent that!” Another caveman scowled as Thag rolled around on the grass. Unfortunately this started a terrible fire though Thag somehow got away unscathed but nude. He stole clothes from another caves washing line but it was weird, White and stretchy… “HEY! That me invention! Get away from cotton!” The cave owner shouted. Poor Thag sat on a log on a hillside and began to cry. “Mum! Why you try to fight bear!” He bemoaned his loss. In frustration, he rocked back and forth on the log, which began to roll down the hill. Thag was on top of it, running desperately backwards in order to keep up with it. As Thag rushed down the hill, he had a crazy thought. If he chopped up the log… “THAG INVENT!” He shouted in joy. He decided to name it after his mother, Whensell. “THAG INVENT WHE-“ He hit a tree. “Lllll…..” he gasped on the floor. Other cavemen gathered around. “He say wheel?” “Wheel make things faster.” “Go Thag!” They cheered, lifting the poor caveman up in celebration.

There once was a man who lived on a pretty plot of land, Filled with lovely little gardens grown from a kind and loving hand. It had plush papery peonies that bloomed pink, red, and white, And fragrant violet wisteria that filled the air throughout the night. He grew carrots and peas, and apples and plums, And when he tends to his sheep he whistles and he hums. The man loved butterflies, moths, and even birds, Anything that soared in the sky beyond his landbound herds. He’d gaze at them for hours and wish he had their wings, So he could join them in the sky and see the joys that flying brings. On a day that seemed quite normal, though special as we’ll see, He strode out to his gardens to watch the soaring birds fly free. He saw orange winged butterflies and tiny yellowed bees, That danced in springtime pollen, their forms no larger than his peas. There were robins, and blue jays and hummingbirds galore, And something else quite odd he had never seen before. At first he thought it fake, his imagination gone wild, But when he looked much closer, he felt as giddy as a child. Before him in the sky was a small little being, As human as she looked, she was as tiny as a bean. She was dressed in vibrant petals and had pretty golden hair, And right upon her back were wings that left her hovering in the air. She parted ruby lips and spoke to him with glee, “Don’t just stand right there and stare, invite me in for tea”. The two became close friends, growing herbs and making art, They did everything together, like they shared one beating heart. They sipped on teas in the summer sun, and danced to nature’s humming, But when winter finally came, the days grew far more numbing. Fluffy clouds of snow covered everything in white, And the chilling cold came swiftly freezing everything at night. The man proposed, “Join me for tea? where its nice and warm inside”, But the fairy shook her pretty head and sighed as she replied, “This cold is far too much, and my wings will freeze like ice”, The man felt disappointed, and offered some advice, “I could build a roaring fire, to keep you toasty as you are”, She shook her head again “your fires far too large, my dear, and my tiny wings will likely char”. “Then I’ll make a smaller fire, one that’s fit just right like you” She smiled at him and said, “okay, show me the best that you can do”. The man made it his mission, that day and then the next, To make a smaller fire, but the task had left him vexed. He asked the birds for help, he asked the sheep and he asked the bees, He asked his barnyard animals and even the wild ones in the trees. The bees were kind to offer, “use our combs if you desire, we need not use them in this cold”, So the man took up their gifts and in the night began to mold. He started with a tiny pot, to fill with water piping, But the comb began to melt and that plan was not worth liking. At noon the sheep came next, to offer up their cotton, “To make her a blanket”, they said, so the cold can be forgotten. Honeycomb and cotton, a strange mix indeed, But one to keep on trying, with his plans he did proceed, He whittled the cotton fibers, so they made one thick piece of string, And fashioned all the beeswax into a strange columnar looking thing. With a mind filled with hope, he lit the string with flames from his fire, And watched in quiet wonder as his hope soared and soared much higher. Positioned on the thread was a burning orange flame, Though it was tinier than his, the heat was just the same. “I did it!” he cheered, “A tiny fire fit for fae”, “So you can come and visit and drink raspberry tea all day”. The two spent their days indoors, playing games and reading books, And the girl made pretty garlands, to hang up high on ceiling hooks. Though they longed for warmer weather so they could be outside once more, They still enjoyed the winter sat together on the floor, The man sat near his fire, that kept his body nice and toasty, And the girl sat near her candle that stood beside him very closely.

Mia was sitting in the chilly house. The air causing goosebumps to rise on her skinny hands. She also noticed the vile odor from dinner was left behind and lingering. The sun had gone down hours earlier and she couldn’t stop shivering. This gave her an idea, a thought of wonder to be exact. Of something that could solve both problems. Give light and a smell to cover. It was this day, that the Candle was born. She worked for months over the tedious process of molding the candles shape. And creating multiple scented varieties. It was said she died rich, with a well lit and wonderfully scented house

Once upon a time, there was a man named Vinnie. You wouldn’t find a better looking man than Vinnie in all of the kingdom. Everyday women would tell him how gorgeous he was, they’d bat their eyes and flirt and Vinnie would flirt back. Be that as it may, Vinnie had eyes for only one girl, but Elizabeth was not interested. She loathed Vinnie for his narcissism, she found his love for himself infuriating. One day, when Vinnie was bothering Elizabeth relentlessly, she decided he needed to be taught a lesson. When she turned to face Vinnie, she pretended to be horrified, “Vinnie! What has happened to your once so beautiful face? It has disfigured horribly, I almost can’t bear to look.” The reaction was instant, Vinnie was distraught. He asked “What do you mean? What is it has happened? Am I no longer beautiful?” Elizabeth shook her head “I am sorry Vinnie, your beauty has vanished.” And with that, Vinnie ran from the scene as fast as he could. He ran and ran and ran. Out of the village, away from the shocked faces of women who had seen his disfigurement as he ran. He ran to the river which bordered the village. He was scared of what he may see, he took a moment to catch his breath for he had been running a while. He shook himself, it was now or never. Slowly he leaned over to look at his reflection within the water. He almost laughed, he was perfect! Just as perfect as he always was! That foul woman had lied to him, how dare she? And suddenly he felt angry that he had been cheated like this. He wished there were a way for him to always look at his face, thus he may never fear that he is not handsome. With this thought, he ordered all of the finest inventors in the village to create an instrument in which he would see his reflection like the surface of water. Thus, the mirror was born, and Vinnie lived the rest of his life in happy vanity.

Sally played with blocks at her grandma’s house while her grandpa worked in the garage. She enjoyed putting pieces together and building objects. Grandpa’s collection of tools hung in the garage. One day he sawed some wood and the pieces fell on the floor. The pieces landed two inches apart. Sally and grandma went in the garage to ask grandpa to come to supper. Sally saw the wood pieces on the floor. Sally ran to the pieces and laid them beside each other so they fit together. “Look Grandpa. The wood fits together!” Grandpa looked and said,”Wow! This is a toy I can make!” “Oh, Grandpa that would be fun.” That’s how the first puzzle creation happened.

In days of old, when dragons still ruled the land with their insatiable hunger for gold, it was common for human kings, armed with an equal level of greed but an unfortunate lack of wings, scales, and fire breath, to send brave and foolish knights out on quests to slay the dragons and reclaim the stolen treasure. These knights went forth dressed in metal armor, assuming that the metal, which was difficult to melt, would allow them to withstand the dragon’s fire, an assumption that came from a lack of understanding in thermodynamics. The knight would realize their failure in logic as they were swiftly cooked to death within their own scalding armor. As a result, dragon hoards were commonly littered with armor-encased bones as well as the odd discarded sword and shield. It is a little-known fact, however, that dragons do not only collect their gold from human kings. Some dragons are prolific miners, tunneling deep beneath the earth to find treasures in their purest, most natural form. Others, those smaller, younger dragons born into regions where all the elder dragons have already sacked local castles for all they’re worth, realize that the only nearby source of treasure is the hoard of another dragon. Dragons are not in the habit of fighting each other, since a dragon’s scales are the only armor that is truly impenetrable to a dragon’s fire or claws, and so such a fight could go on until both combatants collapse from exhaustion. But there is little honor among dragons, and they are not above provoking each other. There came a time where Stagchomper, eldest green dragon of the tallest mountain in the middlemost kingdoms, caught a young purple dragon attempting to leave his cave with a heavy gold crown in her jaws. “Do you rob me, little thief?” Stagchomper rumbled, the cave floor trembling from his voice alone. “Oh, no, ancient one,” the young dragon mumbled around the treasure held between her teeth, “I merely intend to polish it for you, and return it swiftly.” “Set it down and leave,” said Stagchomper, and the young dragon, who had no notoriety and therefore no name, did as she was told, dropping the crown on the nearest pile of jewels and dashing from the cave with a twitch of her tail. Two days later, Stagchomper again saw the young purple dragon in his cave, this time digging through a pile of coins larger than her own body. “Do you rob me, little thief?” Stagchomper demanded, and the pile of coins scattered as the young dragon quickly backed out of it. “Oh, no, no, no, ancient one,” she said. “I have an interest in history, you see, and your collection of human currencies spans centuries! Might I stay and have a look?” “Leave,” said Stagchomper, “and do not return.” And the young dragon left. Three days later, an ear-splitting roar shook birds from their trees all across the tallest mountain in the middlemost kingdoms, for Stagchomper had found the young purple dragon once again, her arms covered in golden bracelets and necklaces and charms. “Does your brazenness know no bounds, little thief?” Stagchomper towered over the purple dragon. “You rob me!” The little dragon looked over her shoulder at the entrance to the cave. She looked up at Stagchomper. “Technically, none of this stuff has actually left the cave yet,” she said. “So, no, I do not rob you.” Stagchomper roared again, and in his rage, he picked up one of the mighty metal shields left behind by one of the many knights he had slain, and he threw it at the purple dragon! To his surprise, she stood up on her hind legs, caught the metal disc in her mouth, and then turned tail and fled the cave, golden bracelets jingling all the way, never to return. And that is how the game of frisbee was invented.

Once upon a time people struggled to work and carry goods around. They had managed to build carts but it took far too many men or animals or both to pull them. Dragging them through the ground was no laughing matter. More often than not the carts got stuck in mud or crashed against rocks. So many goods were lost or damaged because of these accidents. Little Anthony was only a ten year old boy who loved playing with his cane-made hoop, but he honestly wished he could help his people carry goods to sell in foreign villages and towns. He knew how important commerce was. His own father often got home exhausted and complaining how hard he and his fellows had worked only to drag the cart for just two kilometres. Then, unable to move it away from the rocks, they let the cart crash. “So much hard work for nothing. So much food wasted,” he complained at supper time, sighing and dipping his bread on the vegetable soup his devoted wife had prepared for the family. From his spot at the table, Anthony just stared as his mother patted his father on the shoulder. “Better days will come, we mustn’t lose hope,” she told her husband. The following day as usual, Anthony went play with his hoop. As usual too, he pulled it and watched it slide through the ground before he ran to fetch it. And again and again. Suddenly he stopped and groped the object. It slide so well. What if... he was just a boy, but yes, what if the villagers found a way to build wooden hoops - probably thicker than his - and adjusted them under the carts? Maybe it would be much easier to move them around? The boy ran to meet his father and his companions. He seriously believed his idea was great. “Papa, papa!” she shouted excitedly. “Not now, Anthony. Can’t you see we’re busy?” his father grumbled, wiping his sweat from his forehead. “I know, I know, but I’ve had an idea that might help if you all just listen to me.” The men stopped and took turns to look both at the boy and at each other. Was it just a silly boy’s idea? Should they dismiss him or listen to him? His father decided. “Very well, Anthony, tell us what your idea is, but be quick please. We can’t waste time.’ “Please look at my hoop.” Anthony said as he pulled it and saw it slide again through the ground. Then he looked at his father with a grin, excitement painting his cheeks scarlet. ‘What’s so special about your hoop?’ his father asked shrugging his shoulders. ‘Anthony, we have work to do. We can’t waste time with your hoop.’ ‘No, papa. You see how well it slides? Now imagine if we created a few hoops like mine and adjusted them to the carts. You could transport them much more easily.” The men stared at each other again in a buzz. That idea was actually really good for such a young boy. His father rubbed his chin pensively. His little boy was intelligent. “Well, well, my son. Who would have thought you would outsmart all of us, grown ups? That could work, indeed.” Anthony smiled again, triumphantly. “My men, let’s materialise this idea. Let’s build some hoops, surely thicker than my son’s, and see how they work under the carts.” He need not repeat the order, the men promptly obeyed. It took them a few days to build solid wooden hoops, strong enough to withstand the weight of the carts. The first couple of experiences weren’t successful. The hoops gave in to the weight of the carts and broke. However, they didn’t give up. Perhaps they needed four hoops under each cart, rather than just two, this would better support the weight. After another try, they finally managed to build the first cart with what now they called wheels. Anthony was so ecstatic he could hardly focus on anything else but the experience. The men were overjoyed too, it was indeed much easier to make the cars move on the ground. Moreover, they could now move them around the rocks and avoid crashing. What a brilliant idea the young boy had had. As the trips to sell goods resumed, sales increased and the village prospered. All thanks to a ten year old boy who loved playing with his hoop.