Images inspire me. They get me from Point A to Point B. They allow me to see the story before the story every touches paper. An image can be the perfect impetus for a deadlocked storyline.
Today I want you to be inspired. Let's use imagery to push our writing further. Let's dig deep and find the meaning behind the image, and use it as a writing prompt to inspire a new story.
PRACTICE
Your mission: for the next fifteen minutes tell us about the image in this writing prompt above. Digest the details and tell us the story.
Post your tale in the comments section below.
Happy writing!
Yeah, that’s how she felt. “When There is No Hope.” She looked at the album cover and remembered the first time she and Travis saw it, shoved behind an antique telephone at the consignment shop. They looked at each other then as if they shared a secret, mystery world.
Three years down the road and Aggie knew it was time to admit to herself just how wrong it had gone. She felt a tear slide down her nose and drip onto the beautiful unicorn. How precious it had been, once. She packed the album into her box and stood up, shaking the unwanted memories out of her head. Looking around the room that had once been the place where she and Travis could unwind and reconnect after a day away from each other, Aggie took in a breath and continued, humming the title track to herself as she worked
Nice! Thanks for sharing!
Love this: “..shoved behind an antique telephone at the consignment shop. They
looked at each other then as if they shared a secret, mystery world.”
It was a cold silent night. The only sound I hear is the beating of my heart and my heavy breaths. My cold hands hold tight to the handle as I gallop on my horse, only to yearn that they will be warmed in your coat in a moment’s time. You promise me you will be there ready to take me away. As I arrive at our promised destination, I recognize that silhouette figure of yours as if it was almost swallowed by the darkness. I run to you as fast as I can. You hold my hand tight and take me away as far as you can. As we are running away, I turn back only to find that my horse is now all alone, looking at our direction with expression which I can’t tell in the darkness. But I know that she will never see me again and I haven’t bade her a proper farewell, I just left her behind in the cold silent night.
I’ve always hated unicorns.
For one thing, they don’t exist. For another thing, they always seem to show up in velvet paintings in trailer homes, right there on the wall, next to the shellacked Elvis clock, above the ratty couch of a chainsmoker I knew from high school and ran into at a gas station and who invited me back home for lemonade. I don’t know why I always go.
As of today, I have new reasons to hate unicorns.
I was leaving home for work in the October mist this morning when a deer lunged at my car and clipped my left front fender hard enough to push me onto the berm, where a sharp piece of metal was waiting to bite into my tire. Ssssssssssssss … flat.
Cursing, I popped my trunk and jumped out to get my jack. It wasn’t there. Damn!
I fished my cell phone out of my suit jacket and called my wife. It went straight to voicemail:
It’s me. I have a flat tire, but my jack is not in my trunk. You must have taken it out for some reason. Bring it to me so I can get to work. I’m about two miles from home.
Curt and practical.
As I made the call, I leaned up against my car sideways, and when I stood up fully again, I noticed that there was a streak of grease and mud running from my armpit down to the tops of my shoes.
“Son of a …”
Before I could finish my expletive, the deer clattered back onto the road and stopped in front of my car. It stared me straight in the face, and I realized that this was no ordinary deer. In fact, it was not a deer at all, but a horse.
Only this horse had a horn in the middle of its forehead.
“You are a small man,” the unicorn said, “ungrateful for all the gifts that life has given you.”
I tried to run but was frozen, and the beast continued.
“I, too, have a gift. My magic horn allows me to seek out people, like you, who are profoundly unhappy with their situations, and to grant them relief.”
“But I’m happy … ,” I begin.
“It’s too late for that, I’m afraid. You have been blessed with a caring wife, a good job, and a strong support system, but it’s not the right ‘fit,’ as they say. Hold tight while I perform the adjustment.”
The unicorn swizzled its horn, and sparkles rained down on me until I was blinded. When I could see again, I was above the scene, looking down on the unicorn and steaming pile of bones.
“Enjoy your new world,” the monster called to me. “No need to thank me.”
Yeah, I hate unicorns.
That…is…hilarious.
Didn’t expect that a bit. Thanks for for the awesome take 🙂
And thanks for the prompt. You just never know where inspiration will take you.
Ha ha I laughed out loud. Good one!
lol! Too funny…
I LOVED this! Totally made my day! Thanks for sharing with us Adam!
funny…..thanks for the giggles….is it true that you are profoundly unhappy with your situation? how profound to be talking to a unicorn that doesn’t really exist at all….hope you new world does…..exist….
Mundy had a new picture. His walls were so crammed with stuff, it was usually hard for
her to tell if he’d added anything, or taken it away. Photos and sketches, postcards
and photocopies were piled layer upon layer like fossils shedding onto a prehistoric ocean floor. Windows were covered over and closet doors sealed shut. Entering the apartment, she sometimes had the urge to take a chisel and discover the real Mundy, the clean wall, the boy he was when he arrived in this place, under all the thickly jumbled years. He still didn’t add up. She couldn’t piece together the man from this place, and being around him, talking with him, didn’t help. It just gave her a feeling of
giddiness, a ringing in her inner ear that made her want to smack her head and
refocus on something clear. And now, Mundy had ripped away a space to accommodate
the poster, leaving tatters of paper and scotch tape on all four sides. She
toed a little closer. “Like it?” he said.
Hope is absurd.
Like a Unicorn. Who dares to stand a whimsy on the bleeding earth! A barren field littered by broken bodies and the tools of war. Why do you try to tell me about hope!
Every time I stand beside his bed, my very eyes tell me the same. His wife told me today that there will only be pain and humiliation. The battlefield in his body was no site of victory. It was a desolate field, his organs ripped apart by those warring factions, which even the most urgent diplomacy and interventions of his medical staff were unable to restrain.
He looked at me as I held his hand. Those huge bulbous eyes, stretching from his withered body – as though his whole body was striving through his eyes to stand erect on the hospital floor. They were his last stand – grasping at life, as he gasped for breath.
He look into me. He looked through me. He gazed out across the Elysium fields. His eyes misted over. His mouth whispered. My question was to be the last thing I would say to him.
He answered, “it’s … it’s a Unicorn!”
Willhi, you use simile well to draw comparison between a battlefield and a diseased body fighting for life.
This is very well written
Green. Come back.
The wind blows over the bones, weapons and the eroded soil.
Lifeless soil.
Lifeless place.
There was a time when the ground was full of green and the people walked freely among the lands. Till one man spoke his mind and the war began. No more green. No more people. No more.
Till this day, when the hope returns. There is something white above all this madness, there is something pure about this creature.
Maybe from this day, the green will back, the people, the freedom.
Very inspired, Teo! You say much with few words.
Thank you, Avril! I spent the 15 minutes searching the right words. Not writing much, but with the exact words I want it to express myself! Thanks for the feedback
Very inspiring Teo. Thanks for sharing with us!
I’m gladd you like it, Miriam! All the inspiration is coming from the picture. I love to do this kind of exercises and helps me a lot when I am stuck with something
I enjoy doing the same though I haven’t yet had time for this one.
“I don’t wanna be a unicorn. I wanna be a dragon.”
“You should have answered the questions differently then, retard.”
“Gimme it back, I want another go.”
“No. Unicorn. Go on outside for a trot about and spread some starlight glitter or some shit.”
“I’m not a fucking unicorn. I’m a dragon and I’m gonna burn your house to ashes then puff them in your stupid face.”
“Grow up.”
“You grow up, bitch. Grandmaaaaaa!”
“Yes, poppet?”
“Mum’s being mean again!”
“Kandice? Are you teasing Joel again? How many times do I have to tell you?! He’s been in trouble twice at school this week for using bad language and you’re encouraging him. You’re a bad influence. Now come downstairs and help me set the table for dinner… Joel needs to do his homework, so leave him be.”
“Tell-tale Tit, sneaky little snitch, shoulda had an abortion, or left you in a ditch.”
“Grandmaaaaaaaaaa!”
There were 5 minutes left till dinner’d be ready and Joel knew his mother wouldn’t go to lay the table, so his chances of getting another go on the computer were zilch. He tramped down the stairs, hitching at his saggy baggy jogging pants, wiping his nose on his forearm as he walked through the door. Seeing Grandma sweating over the pans caused a pang of something that could have been fury, but it was mixed with resentment and then some confusion had been sprinkled over the top.
“Tell your Mum the dinner’s ready, darling, please. And remind her to wash her hands. There’s my good boy.”
Reminds me of the teasing between me and my three brothers. Thanks for sharing!
Thanks for the prompt. I was aiming more towards presenting a disturbing dynamic than a ‘teasing’ scenario but maybe I was a little too subtle…
The unicorn’s certainly got everyone’s imagination working! 🙂
I’ve worked with enough troubled kids to know this situation is real. Very realistic depiction.
Thanks, Avril. Not entirely sure where it came from – possibly some old work angst stored in the dark recesses. Think this world could do with a few unicorns and magic sparkley dust.
You hint at an interesting family dynamic here, and I find myself wanting to fill in the backstory. I love the dark tones that flash through in places.
Thanks, Adam. Some of these prompts really work for me – this one was totally free, in that I started off with a rough plan, but it fell away after the first line and the nasty mother just came out of nowhere as I typed. Bonus is that I might even be able to use it.
Love it! The relationship between the family members is interesting. I would like to know the history there-or make it up. Great writing! 🙂
Thank you 🙂
Love it! Great characters and love the story!
Thank you
My grandmother told me living was hard after the war. For twenty years or more, the last surviving people roamed in tired, resigned little bands, constantly roving and scavenging scraps of plants and searching for precious, clean water. They had given up hope, and some were suggesting they “get it over with”.
It was around this time that reports of unicorn sightings began circulating through the camps. At first, it sounded like a few more broken people had lost their minds, and were ranting about hallucinations. But the stories became persistent, and so many witnesses were talking, that many started to believe there might be one or more unicorns living among the dejected leftovers of a previous civilization.
No one really noticed for awhile, that people who’d caught “unicorn fever” were slyly changing their habits. These were people who wanted to see a unicorn, but didn’t want to draw attention and ridicule to themselves. My great grandparents, who previously led the family on daily slow, sulking walks, looking for food, came up with a plan. Every morning, they were up and ready by daybreak, and were hustled through gathering and storing chores. The goal was to finish early, to have daylight time left, for hiding by water sources, waiting for unicorns.
Grandmother told us what it was like when they returned to their shelter. Their chores had been finished much earlier, and they were so excited about unicorn hunting, they couldn’t sleep. So they found activities that were fun and useful. They skinned animal carcasses to make clothes and blankets, picked seeds out of fruits and vegetables, and planted them outside, and caught wild birds to keep for eggs.
Although no one talked about it, other people were also acting like Grandmother’s family. Getting out early, looking for unicorns, thinking of extra things to do around camp. This went on for a long time, then gradually the unicorn rumors died down. When the unicorn talk stopped, the people seemed to have forgotten their sad, burdened life of earlier times. They continued growing and preparing wonderful foods, building very nice structures to live in, making the beautiful and fine clothing we wear today.
These days, most of the old ones from Grandmother’s day don’t remember much about the unicorn hunts, and some swear it never happened, I keep asking Grandmother what she thinks, if maybe there were unicorns in this area. And if there were, did she ever see one? She is a frustrating old lady, who never gives a straight answer. She will only say that sometimes what your eyes are looking at is too terrible to see, so they send a different picture to your brain.
Really unique take. Thanks for sharing, Avril!
I am Unicorn. I breathe in the spirit of the divine universe and breathe out the fire of righteousness. I am magisty. I am pure and strong of heart. I am a legend, yet I am truth. I am a message and a warning to humanity to seek within their hearts to find what is good. To find love for each other. To give up hate, before it’s too late, before they destroy everything with their fear and anger.
In solitude and over eons of time, I have ridden like the wind through the dimensions, searching for the one human with the purest heart to recognize me for what I am. To catch me, and tame me. To look into my calm eyes and the see redemption offered to the world, a sacrifice of love . Waiting for that one, that final piece of the puzzle, in order to complete my task. I have searched in vain, I have not found the one I seek.
I am Unicorn. I pause in my journey in a place of dereliction, to look around me at the sad remnants of a couple of those who have tried, in vain, to catch and subdue me for their own selfish reasons. The greedy man’s sword that was meant to pierce my heart lies cold and impotent at my forelegs. A cluster of arrows aimed at me by one with an angry soul lie harmlessly at my side. They have failed in their misplaced aspirations and have vanished into their own selfish desires. And everyday, the earth continues to grow more desolate and the collective human heart grows colder, certain to meet the same fate if things do not change.
I am Unicorn. I am pure and strong of heart. I am a legend, yet I am truth. I shall run like the wind from this place of barren sadness, and from all the other places like it. I shall cry my tears over the emptiness of man, yet I shall never give up until I find that one pure heart.
This is a moving piece of writing. I love the idea and concept! It’s quite sad and I think you have used the picture really well. Wow! 🙂
Thank you Wolf271:)
Beautifully written. A wonderful mixture of dispare and hope. Some unfortunate truth thrown in to give the writing of fiction a thoughtful bent. Thank you.
Thanks so much AnnM…
Vultures flocked towards the charred field. They couldn’t
resist carnage on such scale. They would feast after the wolves had taken their
fill.
They had followed a pack of wolves through the corpses
littering the once flourishing grasslands. It stretched as far as the eyes
could see. So did the death and destruction. The wars of man only meant
feasting for the carrion eaters. Despite there being enough food to feed wolves
and vultures alike, the wolves were best at finding the giants. It was
impossible for them to eat the whole thing; it was twelve feet of muscle and
bone. The wolves would abandon the humongous carcass after eating through the
muscle and feast on the organs. Why these vultures would do that has forever
remained a mystery, but they live for over a hundred years.
The pack below stopped. Piteous whining resonated on the
desolate plains, and the younger ones fled. The older males snarled and bared
their teeth. The vultures could smell the hope, too, and they looked for the
source.
It was easy to find; shining among the burned and blackened
wasteland, the unicorn meandered past the corpses, minding its own business. It
was one of the few creatures on the planet immune to death, and not just
because they were immortal. They showed no fear of it. Their presence warded
off the reaper when he came, bringing life to the dying. It was too late for
the corpses littering the field, though; once death had claimed a creature,
there is nothing to be done.
The rest of the pack turned and followed their younger
bretheren. The vultures followed suit; there would be no feast tonight.
This is a lovely piece of writing! It’s a great interpretation of the photo and is original. Enjoyed reading it 🙂
Thank you so much!
The white horse, in search of his master in a war between two great kingdoms. Everything was in pitch-black surrounded by dead air. The green leafs had turned into the colour of blood. Sea rise above its level in red, As for the young souls went up to the sky summoning thunders of night strike. For those who have survive flee with birds, screaming in pain searching for a new place. When it seems everything had lost hope. The white horse appear, his horn was sharper than the king’s sword. It do not harm, nor it is friendly. It kills, just like an arrow, it has target. Its eyes are full of sympathy to those who fought not to win, but for the children’s of the future, mothers of the innocent. For those who live just to make this world a better place.
I think this is great. The idea is quite simple but very effective! The description at the beginning really sets the scene. Great! 🙂
My practice..
Where should I go now and how can I find my way back to Zanijian without my rider?
The people of Zanijian would quickly understand that Al is dead and they’ll hand me over to somebody else. but would that person (most definitely Ety) know how to behave a unicorn, I don’t think so. Al was the only person I could ever get along with and after all he was the only person in Zanijian knowing unicornic language. No, going back there would be out of question but that would mean accepting to be forced to Ety’s unsophisticated hands for the rest of my dark life. I don’t have another 20 years to teach a next rider. Oh, Al..
Silence..
There’s no going back, I gotta take out that beast’s heart who killed Al.
This is a different interpretation of the photo. I like the idea and how you ended it.
Thank you so much. Glad that you liked it.
The poster did nothing to improve my mood. A miserable depiction of the future of the Earth and the only realistic one. Fingering my gas mask nervously I eyed the dark clouds gathering outside; they were the same as in the poster. The hustle and bustle in the corridor confirmed my suspicions of another attack.
Nobody knew anything about what was really going on out there. The last we had heard was that America had declared war on Russia before China cut all lines of communication. Forget World War 3, this was World War Z.
A boom that vibrated through my bones was all it took for the alarms to go off again. I had practiced this enough times that I could do it in my sleep. Puling my gas mask over my head, I joined the stream of people heading to the underground SafeRoom. There were rumours travelling around.
“It’s the Russians!”
“No, it’s America!”
“I heard that that was China’s last bomb!”
God only knew where the rumours came from. A glance out of the nearest window showed the dark clouds galloping towards us, gaining momentum as the force of the poisonous gas propelled them forwards. The world was going to become the poster: a barren wasteland devoid of light, a world without life, only this time without even a unicorn.
Just as I reached the trapdoor leading to the SafeRoom, a shrill shriek made me pause. I barely noticed the glass whispering as it shattered around me. Someone with sense shoved me to the ground and I covered my head with my arms. Dark smoke unfurled inside the building, tendrils curling around my body, probing for weak spots.
It was then that I realised with a sickening sense of dread that the trapdoor was shut. It was what we were all trained to do: if there is danger, close the door.
I knew there was not enough oxygen in my mask to last me the hours it would take for the smoke to clear; nor would my clothing protect me from the relentless prodding of the poisonous gas; this would be the end.
There really was no hope.
There was no hope.
I think this story is adequately as dark as the poster. I liked war Z concept.
Thank you!
Great piece and I especially love the sentence with the ‘glass whispering’.
Also ‘someone with sense’ says so much about the character in just the three words.
Thanks!
I really liked how you described the dark smoke “Dark smoke unfurled inside the building, tendrils curling around my body, probing for weak spots.” It makes me think the smoke is alive! Great writing right here!
Thank you!
Before she grew her wings, Pegasus was like any other horned beast. She ran fleetly from those who hunted her, and most of her kind escaped the arrows driven at them from the bow of the Hunter.
Actually, that’s not exactly true. Not true, you see, because Pegasus was never horned. See that spiral shooting out of her forehead? There was a day when the horn was never there. She was a magnificent white mare before fate overtook her. The Hunter’s arrow flew straight, and before she could raise her head from the pasture, the flint-tipped blade dug deep.
It didn’t kill her, though. That arrow stayed, embedded, as she ran from the grazing ground with blood speckling her snowy sides. As the days passed and the Hunter followed her trail, the blood stopped flowing, and the arrow became a part of her. Fall came, and she had grown accustomed to the lichen-speckled stick in her forhead.
No one saw her that winter. But one day, when the snow was just beginning to slip from the trees and into the rolling mountain brooks, the Hunter saw her. She was standing in the river with the sun glinting off the water, the rippling light washing over her sides, and there was his arrow- a part of the mystical beast. It had grown a part of her.
He was so taken by the sight of the white mare that he did not draw from his quiver. Pegasus saw him then, or perhaps smelled him with her dripping, velvet nose. She did not say a thing for a second; didn’t move. The Hunter tells us that he blinked then, and when he opened his eyes, the white beast was gone.
But still, he hunted Pegasus. Others joined the hunt when they heard of the beast’s miraculous horn, a shard of ivory worth more than gold. Swords and arrows fell around the white mare as the seasons passed, but none struck her. She had some magic in her from the beginning.
It was many years before the aging Hunter ever set eyes on Pegasus again. He had given up the hunt, left it to younger men. He was alone in the mountains, gathering wood, when he heard the soft thuds of heavy feet. The horned horse was standing not far away.
What he tells us happened then, you may find hard to believe. But if you’ve listened to my tale thus far, you might as well hear the end.
The Hunter raised his eyes to Pegasus. He held no bow, no quiver full of sharpened flint. She gazed at him, and he watched her. She might have said something, but he knew not what. The clouds rolled away at that moment, and lighted up the magical beast with the rolling storm clouds behind her. She turned, and the Hunter saw something move along her back. The white spread out along her sides, stretched and stretched, and then he blinked- she was gone. Pegasus had grown her wings.
This is brilliant! Very original. It’s very well written and a lovely tale. 🙂
Thank you! 🙂
What was the point in studying history? Did I really need to know about how the Earth was destroyed by the humans? Was I interested in how they wiped themselves out with their own stupidity? No. This was a total waste of time.
“The humans destroyed the Earth,” droned Brother John. “They polluted it and turned it into a war ground until the rivers ran red with blood and the earth was covered in a carpet of decaying bodies. This poster is an example of how some humans tried to save the Earth,”
Next to me, Kayli raised her hand.
“Brother,” she said, “What’s with the unicorn? We’re Elves, not unicorns so it can’t have been to represent us. Besides, everyone knows unicorns don’t exist!”
She actually cared? Whatever.
After drawing a cartoon on my e-paper to entertain myself, I looked up and caught Lina’s eye. She raised an eyebrow and mimed falling asleep. Smirking, I sent her and everyone else my drawing. The whole room vibrated as everyone recieved my message. There was a frantic scramble towards e-books and fits of laughter. Marco fist bumped me.
“Dude, that is awesome,” he said.
“Who, me? I didn’t do a thing,” I replied.
“Silence!” shouted the Brother, “What is going on?”
Lina put her hand up. Typical trouble maker.
“Brother John, you make a great unicorn, I’ve got to say!”
More gaffaws of laughter.
He snatched away her e-book, turning red. He saw the picture and turned purple.
“From tomato to betroot, we have a fruit salad coming our way,” muttered Marco.
“Who sent this?” asked Brother John, deadly quiet. He wasn’t going to find out. Marco and I had hacked into the security system years ago.
“This will result in a class detention,” he threatened. Even though they knew who it was, my classmates refused to rat on me.
“Very well, class dismissed,”
As I put away my things, my eye fell on the propoganda poster. The sky was a dark, rolling mass of clouds, the ground like burnt out charcoal. My great gran told me stories about those days when we Elves lived underground. She said the air was too thick to breathe and poisoned your skin. According to her, we only lived because the gods wanted us to remake the Earth.
Pah, we weren’t stupid humans. We would never destroy the Earth.
Very entertaining and ….at the end what a great coup de grace statement in regards to us very ego-based mortals! Great job
Thank you! 🙂
I love this. Is it linked to something you’re working on, or totally off the top of your head?
Thank you 🙂 it’s linked to a story I’m working on.
Look forward to reading more 🙂
It has been a generation since this land has seen a spring.
The deadland, they call it –
The valley of bones, the valley of blood
Where fear has left a stale taste that lingers on the air
And cries of agony are heard to echo across the years
The ground is barren.
Hard and red, bloated with the waters of life
It repels the rain.
Broken bones are left to mourn their thirst.
Teeth chatter in their cracked skulls
They choke on the dust of their neighbors
Death has overridden those distinctions made by life
Calcifying friend and foe as equals
Into a single organism – the skeleton of a war.
Every name, every face, every story
Every part has been consumed by the whole
To memorialize a bitter truth
Though none was there to learn it.
Innocence cannot comprehend its lesson.
She dances over bloody fields
And builds castles from the marrows of misfortune
The earth salivates at the remembered taste of life,
Trembles at her touch,
Weeps at her departure.
She does not know that death clings to her feet
And that in every footstep she leaves behind
Spring will come no more.
I’m waiting for my master. His sword is stuck in the ground but he is nowhere around. I look around at the remnants of war, broken arrows and splintered shields cover the wastelands. Carefully I place my hooves so that I don’t step on one of the many dead. Small stones are crumbling under my weight.
This place used to be a beautiful field of rich soil and green grass. I remember a fire, massive and hot. My master was leading me through the battlefield, guiding me through the flames and cutting foes with his majestic blade.
My memory is blurry. I cannot recall when and where we got separated. As I continue to search the fragile bones that used to be people, my hope remains. Not to find him lying among the rest but approaching in the distance as I raise my ever searching gaze. But he is never there.
I hear birds in the distance, cawing to each other in their migration to warmer lands. I look up to the clouded sky. The sun has not shown in many years. This place is desolate and I am alone, waiting for my masters call. I will never give up hope on seeing him again.
Here was once a lush green valley, bursting with life and beauty.
Now it is a barren wasteland with bones half-bearied in black ash.
I stood alone, facing the unicorn.
Blood smeared its sides and broken horn.
My knees were shaking, my hand let go of my sword.
And we were stupid enough to think that we could kill it.
Then it charged.
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