April Prompt Challenge

At the beginning of March, I posted a prompt challenge for a complete scene instead of just a caption. Behold the prompt:

march-prompt

And the winner is Katherine H!

I carried the flag that day.

There were riots in the street, as there had always been. There were police everywhere, as there had always been. There were people hurt that day, as there had always been.

But this day was different, because today, I carried the flag.

I carried it proudly, my head held high, my chest puffed out, while my feet steadily beat the staccato notes I had dreamed about for years.

They followed behind, the true, the loyal the brave.

And we marched on.

The days would go on as they always had, but throughout the years to come I could look back on that day.

I carried the flag that day.

I carried the flag for freedom.

 

writing prompt

Picture source

 

You have 100-250 words to write a short story/scene that goes with this picture. You have until April 30th to submit your scene in the comments below. I’ll announce the winner in March.  Anyone can enter, but keep your entries clean. No swearing, no gore or sensuality. Have fun!

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22 thoughts on “April Prompt Challenge

  1. Pingback: The Karma Wall – Reena Saxena

  2. Pingback: April Prompt Challenge | pensitivity101

  3. Evan stared at the writing on the wall. Written in something he desperately hoped wasn’t blood, the words echoed the thoughts that constantly rattled around his mind.

    You could have saved her.

    You could have saved them.

    You could have saved him.

    But he was too late. He was always too late. And now his father was gone, just like everyone else. Just like his mother. Just like his adopted siblings, his stepmother, his half siblings, his best friend… Everyone was gone.

    And he was alone again.

    Alone.

    Again.

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  4. You could have saved him.

    I stared at the wall, paralyzed with horror, unable to tear my gaze from the message scrawled in blood.

    You could have saved him.

    Thick, frigid tendrils encircled my heart and my throat, growing ever tighter. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. I could only stare at the words, reading them over and over again.

    You could have saved him…You could have saved him…You could have saved him…

    But I didn’t, and now he was gone.

    My precious little brother.

    Gone.

    Anger swelled inside me, pushing against the bands that constricted my heart, blurrying my vision. But I had already read the message a hundred times, and it was seared into my memory forever.

    You could have saved him.

    I dashed my tears away and ran to the drawer. Withdrew a gun. Checked the chamber. There was only one bullet, and I knew just who it was for.

    I would find my brother’s murderer.

    And kill him.

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  5. You could have saved him.

    You have saved them.

    But now they were gone, all because of a horrible mistake that should have never happened. My mistake.

    Hot, tearing knives stabbed into my heart as I stared at the scrawl, unable to turn away. it was as if I were nothing but a statue, with a heart of stone. The only thing that defined me from a lump of marble was the searing feeling of guilt penetrating it’s way into my head, my heart.

    I would find them.

    I had to. They were all I had left, all that we had left. Without them, the rebellion would fall, and darkness would envelope the world. They were our last hope, our last chance.

    I remembered the last words Ethen had told me, before he had died.

    “Help them,” he had gasped. “Help them–overcome.” Closing his eyes, he had whispered, “Tell them, ‘We will overcome.'”

    We will overcome.

    I will overcome.

    And I will find them. I promise.

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  6. because apparently I’m physically incapable of writing anything other than humor…. especially late at night…. 😄
    anyway, here’s my thing. hopefully a bit of a different twist.


    You could have saved him.

    The letters appeared slowly crookedly on the wall, as though written by an invisible hand. Faster than usual. Almost accusatory.

    I dropped my bent dagger onto the table and spread my hands. “As always, Wally, the question is if I really should have saved him?”

    A second as the letters faded away, then new ones took their place.

    He’s your friend.

    “He’s a blasted idiot is what he is,” I muttered. “A horrible friend.”

    Still, the only one you’ve got.

    “Oh go pointing that out, why don’t you?”

    And you just let him go. Sacrificed him so you could go

    “You know, why am I taking friendship advice from a wall in the first place?” I spat. “You can just…”

    He’s still alive. Save him and you might have someone other than a wall who can stand the sound of your voice.

    I kicked at the table and stormed out of the room so I didn’t have to look at that infernal wall anymore, telling me how to live my life.

    One day I’d get that thing painted over.

    But right now I had something else to do. A friend to save.

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    • Eh italics didn’t work hold on…


      You could have saved him.

      The letters appeared slowly crookedly on the wall, as though written by an invisible hand. Faster than usual. Almost accusatory.

      I dropped my bent dagger onto the table and spread my hands. “As always, Wally, the question is if I really should have saved him?”

      A second as the letters faded away, then new ones took their place.

      He’s your friend.

      “He’s a blasted idiot is what he is,” I muttered. “A horrible friend.”

      Still, the only one you’ve got.

      “Oh go pointing that out, why don’t you?”

      And you just let him go. Sacrificed him so you could go

      “You know, why am I taking friendship advice from a wall in the first place?” I spat. “You can just…”

      He’s still alive. Save him and you might have someone other than a wall who can stand the sound of your voice.

      I kicked at the table and stormed out of the room so I didn’t have to look at that infernal wall anymore, telling me how to live my life.

      One day I’d get that thing painted over.

      But right now I had something else to do. A friend to save.

      Like

  7. You could have saved him.

    The words that had filled my head for years screamed back at me from the wall. I covered it with my hand and looked away, trying to keep it silent, trying to make the memories stop.

    You could have saved him.

    I turned my back on the wall and walked to the window. I stared over the houses of people who would never know the cost of betrayal.

    You could have saved him.

    Memories of his smile rushed back on me like a flock of doves–white doves. I remembered how he used to tell me that white doves were a symbol of victory. I remembered how he stood there the day we won the greatest victory of our lives. He stood there–and smiled.

    You could have saved him.

    And then on the day when I had the choice to stand and fight, he chose the battle. And I chose to flee.

    You could have saved him.
    You could have saved him.
    You could have saved him.

    “I know! I know! I know!”

    I sank to my knees at the window and rested my head on the sill.

    His face. His smile. His words.

    They were all dead now. And it was all my fault.

    I could have saved him. I let fear get in the way.

    I lost and was alone here with my memories, never able to let go of the past.

    But he–he had won for himself the white dove of victory.

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  8. He slammed the door shut, kicking the wall and slapping his hand against the wooden frame.
    Exhausted, he slumped against the bedpost, rubbing his fingers over his stinging palm.
    Then he noticed the writing.
    Crude letters were scrawled on the wall, spelling out a message that tore into him like claws.
    “You could have saved him.”
    He screamed.
    It sounded like an animal. A caged, wild animal, going mad with fury.
    His body shook uncontrollably and sobs burned in his throat.
    Why where they doing this, torturing him? First the coat, and now… he couldn’t take it. It wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t have done anything.
    He stumbled to the window, and fumbled with the latch. Sliding the pane up, he leaned out into the night.
    He screamed into the dead air that hung over the silent city, letting everything inside him rip out, all his anger, frustration, guilt, and hatred. It was an in-human sound.
    But if felt good.
    He screamed again and again, until his voice gave out. He stared out at the sky, feeling free for the first time in years.
    A single star winked to life above him, twinkling and dancing in the air. He reached his hand out, as if he could touch it.
    True freedom was like that star; bright and brilliant, but far, far away.
    But maybe someday, he would reach it.
    For now… he faced the writing again, defiantly, challenging it.
    He wasn’t going to let this beat him.

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  9. Is it all right if I wrote a very long (3 page) story for this prompt and then hacked it to bits (to make the word limit) when I saw there was a contest? In case it is, I’ll go ahead and post, if it isn’t, then you can delete my comment, I don’t mind. (By the way, Writefury, incase you read this, ya…Keaton might have been based off of Wofgang…Maybe… But hey, I researched amnesia! That was fun.)

    Keaton stared at the wall. It haunted him now even in his sleep. You could have saved him…. He rubbed his eyes and faced the opposite wall. You could have- “No.” Keaton rolled off his cot.

    “No” Keaton shouted. “I couldn’t I can’t save a person I don’t remember! I can’t! It doesn’t work that way. Maybe I could have then, but I can’t now.” He pounded his fist against the concrete wall and tried to smudge the black paint. Someone had put it there. Someone must have painted it on to taunt him.

    Keaton raged around the room, angry at the world. He had forgotten everything. Years ago, it seemed- “I think…” Years and years ago something happened, now all he remembered was his name.

    He didn’t much care about his family, Keaton guessed he didn’t exactly have one. That made most sense because the government had done a thorough search for him and come up with a birth certificate and an email address. Unfortunately, the names on the certificate didn’t match any in the system and the email address was wiped clean, everything permanently deleted.

    Keaton glanced at his rolled-up sleeves. Small scars scattered up and down, each with a story he couldn’t remember. He threw himself to the floor by the all and sobbed. “Why can’t I start over? I’ve tried!” He shuddered softly and returned to his cot. Someone had tried to eliminate his past… Why? Another day, another chance… He would learn why.

    Liked by 1 person

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