500 Word Writing Challenge - This Week's Writing Prompt
Creative writing flash fiction fun. A reason to dust off the pen or pencil, open the notes on your phone and write.
Let me know if you would prefer these writing prompts on a weekend?
What To Do
100 - 500 word story
No heavy contemplation or plotting required. In fact, I insist. This can be a stream of consciousness, a short and snappy story, an idea that just had to be indulged.
Three Dice Writing Prompt
You can take it and run with it, or just read my story inspired by the prompt. No rules, you do you. No editing, just writing.
But if you wish to share it in my comments, please keep it PG, so no erotica, politics or extreme anything please.
This week’s dice / cubes…
Die/Dice showing 1/3/5
Torch
Lightning bolt
Here’s my take on this week’s throw.
It's Just A Game
As all true classic horror movies go, the lightning struck, the power went out and I ended up stumbling around an old house, alone, with a torch.
It would be funny if it wasn’t true. Who else would get such bad luck, again?
It said a lot about my whole year. Disease, death and even pestilence, the trio of joys that came calling, resulted in me moving house, into the old house with an ancient rat eaten wiring system and creaky floorboards.
Not everyone has the luxury of an inheritance, and not everyone would want it. I’m now faced with the responsibility of a sprawling estate with no ready cash, and a fading battery in my torch.
My phone battery lost all hope hours ago, and forget my solar charger, it hasn’t stopped raining in days. There are only so many old pans and buckets lying about.
I didn’t even own a bucket until last month, now I consider it the most useful and essential element of the legacy.
Who knew a discarded tin bucket covered in coal dust could look so beautiful?
I now hear it pinging like a rhythmic rain chime through the night. Once I got over the stress of attempting to hang an antique Syrian silk rug over a creaky bannister to dry, I realised I find the sound almost therapeutic.
Only one more room to navigate before I reach the cellar door.
I know where the fuse box is, it’s become a place of both refuge and mental stimulation. My torch flickers in agreement as I feel the rough weave of worn spots on the carpet beneath my toes.
Then a scream.
Mine.
What the actual…!
I freeze, the house whispers and echoes as a sensory backdrop to my pain.
I stop, tears prickling my eyes.
I drop to my knees, place my hand on the floor for balance. Curiosity and confusion battle for supremacy.
The pain subsides, and with a caution I only ever feel when my torch gives up completely, I reach out.
My fingers touch something. It rolls away from my grip. I shuffle towards it, find it again.
My eyes swiped dry on my sleeve, adjust to the light. A full moon emerges from black clouds for a moment but soon resigns its intention and plunges me into darkness again. Not in time. I see the cause of my pain.
My fingers reach out. Nothing. Then I feel it.
‘I found the missing Yahtzee dice!’
I hear the responding shriek of joy from the other room. Another torch spotlights my eyes, blinding me in a literal flash.
‘See. I told you it wasn’t lost forever.’
I buckle to my knees. Sob until arms wrap around me and hold me, as I mourn the previous owner of the house. The house I now call home.
Some things, some people, are lost, never to be found.
‘It’s OK honey. Next time I promise to let you win.’
I laugh then, until I cry, again.
Courtesy of me using Rory's Story Cubes
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