Prompt 29

Begin a free write with "Damn, he's tall!"

"Untitled" by Josh Rambeau

It is so strange how so much depends on our perspectives. Its been countless days since i've seen the light of the sun. And if it had been any other way it might not have lasted so long but in this particular instance my brain will not tell my arm to reach for the door and twist. I will waste away before I see the light of day again. I bask in the soft glow of a dim bulb that sits in the corner of wasteland. I smile though i know not why. Is it peace of mind? Is it the hope of something better? Or is it because it is just simply easier to smile while you're upside down? Or maybe it is simply because the height of this high is finally wearing off? Maybe tomorrow I'll be able to open the door.

"Untitled" by Will Lewis

I looked around as I stumbled through the front door. I wasn't exactly sure of what was outside... I mean, may not have even been all that scary. But, being the pale, writing type, I was much more inclined to explore the recesses of reality through my mind rather than through the actual recesses of reality.

The television had been left on and I wondered by who. And then I wondered as to why there was a television in my house along with a vidcon console, a pile of beef jerky, and an air freshener plugged into the wall. I do not watch television, I stay away from anything digital (or visual, for that matter), I'm a vegetarian, and I'm allergic to traces of chemicals in dryer sheets even. What was all this doing in my single bedroom, single resident home, and who the hell put it here?

Through the static of the television I could see some sort of forest scene, stagnant and motionless aside from the layer of white noise filtering over the image and the steadily moving humanoid figure centered on the screen. Looking down, I noticed that the vidcon console was also left on. At least, that's what I tend to assume when a red light is flashing on the top of an electronic box.

I heard a crash and realized that commotion was still brewing outside. I peered through the blinds to see twenty cyclists rush past the sidewalk out front, obscuring a large man who was walking directly towards my home. I panicked, closed the blinds, turned off the lights, and ran for the front door. As my hand clutched the knob, I was stricken by the oversized wooden plank and subsequently struck the back of my head on the wall. The large, bearded man trudged into my home wearing a large brown leather duster, sporting a wildly rough, unshaven, and untrimmed curly black mop on his face and head. I wouldn't have been able to describe much more due to the slow, but incredibly large strides he demonstrated right through the threshold of my house. Who the h

Prompt 28

Write about the front door.

Prompt 27

Write about leaving.

Prompt 26

Write about a wolf.

Prompt 25

Write about a freedom fight.

Prompt 24

Begin a free write with "I don't know where she is."

"A Solo at This Part of my Song is Like Profanity Directed at a Dying Veteran" by Matthew Zuniga

I play the floating
guitar when I do drugs
when Eddie Van Halen
is pumping through my
veins like the poppi of my
favorite plant –

hot naked twins holding
Les Pauls and surf guitars

bending the notes
pinching the notes

bending over
pinching themselves

to stay awake or
just not drift away.

A solo at this part of my song
is like profanity directed at a dying
veteran

when my foot is in the door already –

bombs away.

"Battle of the Bands" by Anonymous

"Plucked the slap bass right out of the air and swung it hard, hardlined that joker across the jaw with a two-four in the key of D minor! Recovered with a pipe organ facesplitter he did, throwin' sixteenth notes times five straight through my grand staff. Managed to pop down and use two to strike a harmony, but the rest cut me knee deep and I had to let out a little vox. He didn't like that one bit - no he didn't - he came back around again with Toccata in D Minor to match my slap D and he hit me free from where his double time had pinned me down (note that my tail coat still had room to sing). I slinked back up all legato and turned to staccato bash his mad pipes with some taps, and I succeed to please. Bellows turned to fire as he flipped up an accordion next, and we stepped it up to allegreto before long. A nice clean E major triad flew from his right hand and I ducked with a fretless melancholic riff. They fused to craft some kinda symphony, and I threw that slap bass right back to where it floated last. Caressed a synth and pulled the plug."

Prompt 23

Write about the floating guitar.

Prompt 22

Write about a drip on the windshield.

"Untitled" by Mitchell Sherman

Paper: simple presentation
Aesthetically undefined
White, thin, pregnant with potential

Scissors: aggressive, sharpened
The ultimate delineator
Poised, Thrust, Genesis, Creation

String: manila, knotty, entwining
Connection between all and many
Looped, fastened, ready to wear

Mask: an illusion incarnate
The imagination unbound
A new animal now stalks the jungle

Prompt 21

Write about a mask made of paper.

"Moonlight Sonata" by Will Lewis

And I slapped him across the face.

"What the fuck!?"

The moon was stunned. How dare anyone palm his craters in such a vigorous, unforeseen fashion. It was unforgivable.

"You did NOT just fucking do that. I'ma bring on some apocalypse if you don't goddamn apologize RIGHT now."

I stood there and stared that gasping hunk of stone right in his old tired eyes (which were a surprising amount of 'lit up,' I should say). He needed to know who was the fucking boss around here and I was going to show that sucker what was what. He was quivering with an intense aura about him, shitting his nonexistent moon shorts for all I cared. "Y'know what?" I thought. And then I slapped that fucker again.

"Goddamn!" The moon roared. "What the FUCK makes YOU think that YOU can slap ME - the MOON!"

I turned around and started walking away.

"Get 'cho ass back here!" He yelled into the back of a perfectly postured young genius. "I'm not through with you yet! Get back here or there'll be hell to pay!"

I knew he wasn't going to do anything. Apocalypse? Yeah right. He wouldn't even be able to work up the gravity to provide a romantic backdrop for me and my honey. Pfff, what a moon we have.

"I'm serious! Deeeeead serious! You can't do this to me! I'm da moon!"

As he said 'moon,' his voice cracked and trailed off into a sob. Bitch.

Prompt 20

Write about your confrontation with the moon.

Prompt 19

Write about an assortment of animals.

"Untitled" by Anonymous

Just how it happens in the comic books, The S slithered his way up to me, looking like horizontal lighting for the brief second that he traversed the ground. He stood eye to eye with me (from about a foot away, no less) after having been outside of the warehouse not a blink of an eye beforehand.

His eyes weren't slits, but his pupils were. It reminded me of looking down at a kitten, whose eyes - now that I think about it - were just as lifeless as this reptiles; it was the fur and the size of a kitten that gave it its playfulness. Apart those unmoving, lifeless eyes, The S had an intensity about his face. A slight snarl that looked as if it was out of any conscious control, nostrils that were obviously flaring, and a trembling of each individual scale, although I'm sure The S was an entity to never be taken as anything but one who has complete control of the situation. There seemed to be an unsettling element about him, but he must've been fully aware of that as well. How else would he have caught me red-handed in a perfectly planned homicide attempt?

He remained speechless as he raised his left hand slowly to meet my right, disarming me with a calmness only a stone could counter. I'm very glad that I knew what he was to do next, as I've heard those who fall prey to his preferred means of transport to the jail encounter experiences of hysteria and horror should they not expect what I did. He quickly unsheathed a fang from his mouth and planted it in my shoulder, wriggled free, and returned to his position of intense watchfulness. Without worry, I drifted off into unconsciousness, expecting a subtle, unseen journey to a prison hospital.

Prompt 19

Write about "the S."

Prompt 18

Begin a free write with "We weren't going for 'lush,' you know."