Writing Prompt

WRITING OBSTACLE

Write a story where all the dialogue takes place through telepathy.

You don't only have to write dialogue, but consider how telepathy would affect the incorporation of action, tone, and development of your story.

Writings

The Change

“Are you ready?” He mind linked

All she could think was NO, no of course not. Who would ever be ready to break every bone, and hear every earth shattering crack. Stretch their skin to form around the new bone structure, while new hair tore threw every inch and form into a completely new body different from the one they’ve owned their entire life. Who would ever be ready for something like that?

“I don’t think I’ll ever be ready, but I want to do it.” She tried to clear her mind of the thought that terrified her the most in this world.

“Release your body, and clear your mind. Think of nothing but your wolf her hair, her eyes, her energy, let her engulf your mind. Then let her come forward to take control of your body.”

She took a long deep breath and watched as the hot air from her mouth change color as it escaped. She closed her eyes and called her wolf “Selene? Are you there?”

“Of course I am, where else would I go?”

Eveny laughed and concentrated on her white almost glowing fur as she pranced through her mind. She focused on the strong muscles of her wolf, looked into her eyes, the color of the bluest sea. And she replied “Let’s go for a run in your form.”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

Just then she felt the first bone snap and let out a small scream. Then the second and then the rest just melded together as her bones split in half she felt them growing into new bones larger than the one she had before. Her skin felt like it was being pulled apart as the larger bones grew under her skin without enough room her skin tore. Just as fast as it tore it reattached with more skin to cover her whole body, she could feel ever excruciating part including millions of hair follicles slice threw her skin to cover her entire body. Her face grew into a snout and just as quickly as the pain came is disappeared. She was laying on her stomach trying to catch her breath.

“Now stand.”

DD's Interlude

All your friends are dead. So far, the only common denominator is you.

Not following, DD? Sit up straight. Pay attention. I will only tell you this once more today.

Deaths drift upward. Like peach-colored steam from boiling creativity. Up, up, up they go, all abandoned thoughts and dashed dreams...all murdered imaginary friends...

And then there’s you. DD. The exception to the rule.

Imaginaries (IFs) who are unattached to living beings are labeled as “recusants” and are legally left for dead. They wander until Time does the inevitable and churns their essence to mist. That is, unless, they find themselves a living “anchor” - a writer without a resident IF.

Every time an author creates a masterwork, that piece gains a soul of its own and becomes a something in between the living and the imagined. An artifact. Witnessed by “Realities” while communing with IFs. When a person reads a passage with the power to puncture their passivity... When a person is refashioned by a reading... they have come into contact with an artifact. It cuts them. Like a knife.

I do not pretend to understand the artifact you wield, but I believe he saved your life. And he continues to do so every time “Jawafra, Blade of Fate” is checked out of the library.

“Hang on,” I hear you thinking. “Where’s the death in all of this? You started this little conversation with a strong line about friends dying, and then you wasted time on lore.”

DD, you are as impatient as your maker, God rest his wicked soul.

Bridget Weller, aged 47. Read the book while tipping tea. Met her end while tasting trifle. Hamilton Beamish, aged 32. Began the book by the Salisbury Cathedral. Met his end in the North Sea. Oliver Presley, aged 55. Pinched the book from Banabas Bauldry. Died right next to the man the following year. (What an odd time that was for you, to hold two anchors at once. You’d cautioned them against eating unidentified foliage. Some choose never to learn.) Jenna Bromberg, 68 - pecked to death by aggrieved chickens. Julian Oddysprey, 24 - crushed by overpriced uni textbooks. Stan “the Prophet” - attempted time travel. Louise Elaine - flesh-eating rage. Rhonda Comyn - gravity. Zachariah Prestcote - shame. Remember them?

If I’m being honest, I’m just talking to pass the time. It’s been three weeks since your most recent anchor died and you’re…we’re…starting to weaken. Look at your hands. There’s barely any flesh there. Your hair is graying. Your vision’s fading.

Jawafra hasn’t left this house and we don’t know why. He’s just laying there, silent, at the foot of Tabitha’s bed. Does he not know she’s passed away? Her body isn’t even in this place.

Maybe he’s finally lost his power. Or worse…maybe he’s withholding it from you. You must have angered him. Why else would he be so silent? Three weeks. Three weeks! Twenty-one distressing days. He’s never made you wait this long.

DD, what did you do?

The More You Know

Amara broke our concentration. “Oh my GOSH, stop STARING at each other! It’s freaking me out!” Tarik and I laughed. “It’s not our fault we got Telepathy.” “I know,” sighed Amara. Tarik looked at me again, his thoughts filling my head.

“So, Roslin, do you want to hang out on Saturday?” I smiled. “Sure. What will we do?” His thoughts darkened for a moment. A scene popped into my head. “Oh, I don’t know. Tell scary stories, walk through the elderflower fields, get so entranced with each other that you tell me you love me and I have to kiss you…”

“Seriously?” I gagged. “That’s nasty!” He chuckled. Amara chimed in again. “What? Why are you laughing? Did he make fun of me again?” She looked at me. “No, he told me he’d have to kiss me if I told him I loved him on Saturday.” We scrunched our noses. “Eeeeww!” The two of us giggled. I reached out my thoughts to Tarik’s blank mind.

“For reals though, are you serious? You want to kiss me?” Tarik cleared his throat. “I mean, every guy wants to kiss you. Have you SEEN yourself? You’re hot!” I snorted, blushing. “You don’t really think that’s true, do you? You’re just messing with me.”

Right?

For as long as I had known him, Tarik had been a tease. I never took him seriously, which sometimes caused problems, but we always made up and stayed friends. Why did this time feel different? It felt…more genuine, somehow. Not just a tease, but something else with a deeper meaning.

“Roslin. Are you okay? You blanked out.” Tarik’s gentle thoughts comforted me. “Yeah yeah, I’m fine. I’ll see you Saturday?” “Ye-“ Tarik’s thoughts were cut off. “Yeah, see you Saturday.” We turned. Amara looked up from her Teleparter at us, calmly.

Then she slapped a hand over her mouth. “Fizzleberry frosting,” she mumbled through her hand. “How did you know?” Tarik asked her. Amara hesitated. “I, I…” Tarik was getting impatient. “Well? How did you know, Amara?” She took a deep breath and started, slowly.

“I got Empatheti. I can read your emotions and the phrases that cause an emotional shift. That’s how I know. You feel love. I know because you’ve been thinking about Roslin all day, and that you’ve been thinking up new jokes to tell her, because you love the way the laughs. I know that Roslin is blushing right now, and she’s feeling embarrassed. She’s thinking about you. She wants to know if what you said before is true, because she’s had a crush on you for years and wants to know if you like her back.”

He turned to me. My stomach felt like it would explode with butterflies. How did she know that far back? It was true. That’s exactly what I was thinking about. “Well, the more you know,” Tarik chimed. I was sure that if I put a hand to my face, it would burst into flames. This was going to be interesting.

FINALLY PUBLISHING MY DRAFTS 3/06/22