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Posts Tagged ‘Writing Prompts’

The Monster Under the Bed — ZackyV14’s response

Friday, February 12th, 2010

For years I waited in the darkness, being nothing but a victim to frightened children and annoyed parents. I’m nothing to worry about, I don’t exist. How could they jump to such bold conclusion. I remember when those parents used to fear us, when they used to cry to those who cared for them. Decade after decade I succeeded in frightening those to young to know any better and keeping those who did no better awake. The darkness was my greatest ally, and only wreaked havoc with in it.

Tonight was different for use though. We had grown sick of being mocked and sick of being spoken against without consequence. What did we do that night? We proved our existance. I waited all through the night until I saw those small, familiar feet toddle into the room followed closely by the larger ones. They exchanged their goodnights and hugged before the parent left and shut the lights off, giving me control of the room.

I waited to hear to soft snoring the child before I extended my arms, silently pulling my gangly body from the space beneath the bed. I wrapped my hands around the child, the coldness of my flesh quickly bringing him awake.
He couldn’t scream, the shock of seeing my distorted face to much for the young boy. I wrenched the boy from the covers and held in the air, several feet above the ground. In the darkness of his room, I consumed the boy; as did millions of others around the Human World. That night we escaped our realm from under the bed and proved our form of life. What would those parents do? What does a world think when every child sleeping on a bed disappears in the same night?

Perhaps next time you speak to your children, you won’t dismiss us so quickly as lies.

I found a flower — ZackyV14’s response

Friday, February 5th, 2010

This was written by one of our new WritAnon members, ZackyV14.  Please let him know your thoughts by leaving a comment!

It had been three long years since the war and still I wandered alone through the empty wastelands of my home country. I hadn’t seen another person for months, passing the last society miles before. I didn’t know where I was and I certainly didn’t care. Days started blending together and soon I realized my current position and destination were meaningless. There was no way to tell where I was headed not that I had had anywhere in mind.

Items were scarce, the only things I carried were the plain necessities; water, canned food, bedding and weapons. I wasn’t a fighter before the war, I was a bank teller. We were probably the least prepared for World War III to come along. Relaxing in our booths, handling each client that came to our windows. Before I could even react the windows of First National exploded and I lost consciousness. Believe me, waking up in your workplace discovering the building has been leveled it not a comfortable feeling.

For three years I wandered the desolate country of what used to by the United States. In all that time I have only seen a few thousand people at the most. I’m probably three states away from where I used to live and I have no home. Each day is a struggle to survive, whether the dilemma I face is polluted water, spoiled food or rabid animals. Nothing in this new world is free, or so I thought.

I found a flower several days ago. It was yellow, sticking out brightly from the rubble it grew from. I hadn’t seen a healthy plant for months and months, but here one rested like a diamond in the rough. I was cautious when I approached it, not knowing if it was already someone’s property. When nothing made any move to stop me I moved quicker to the flower. When I bent down and touched it, the feeling was beyond strange. It felt like déjà vu, as if I had dreamed of the feeling and the smell before but was just experiencing it for the first time.

After a moment of touching it with my fingertips I pulled my knife from it’s sheath.

Slightly bending the plant to it’s side I pressed the blade to the long, green stem. A blast of wind came from nowhere, causing the flower to sway. I watched it for a moment before letting it go and putting my knife away. With a sigh I pulled my last water bottle from my pack and trickled about half of it onto the flower. The drops of liquid ran through the yellow petals and down the neck until it reached the ground.

After standing up and putting my water away, I gave the flower one last look before turning back to the barren, lifeless land that was once my home. I pulled the hood of my jacket up over my head, bracing for the sharp winds that were now so familiar to this land. Then I continued to walk.

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