Writing Prompt Challenge!

[dragondust]

A small bird made of {insert inanimate material} appears in your room. Not sculpture, living, moving bird. You have no idea how it got there, and it doesn't seem to want to leave.
(like a small bird made of glass, gems, wood, etc}

That's a good prompt! I took some artistic licence, I hope that's okay.

Spoiler

Wooden Bird

Local news
eight o'clock
girl gone mad
there, that's me.

I'm not mad
wooden bird
it is real
can't you see?

Can't you hear
how it chirps
can't you hear
how it sings?

Can't you see
it bob its head
can't you see
it flap its wings?

It was there
don't know how
it is alive
but it is.

It eats food
(sawdust) and
letting it die
would be amiss.

It takes breaths
it's no toy
it lays eggs
made of wood.

Biology
I learned at school
says it lives
but it's no good.

I am mad
people say
wooden birds
don't make sense.

Trees do live
they are wood
tell me where's
the difference.

Let me out
I'm not mad
it's alive
I'm not mad!

Do believe
what I say
those who doubted
are now dead.

So much blood
that was wrong
but I had to!
Can't you see?

Local news
eight o'clock
girl gone mad
there, that's me.

New prompt: write about one day on the life of a migrating salmon.

[Sourikus]

(Is a short poem ok?)

Spoiler

A skip, a hop, a bound along.
A passing bear breaks into song.
The tuneful growl, the final say.
The salmon didn't live another day.
But she was fine, she sprang about,
Avoiding a bear's gift, a clout.
Merging into the water's grace,
She disappeared, without a trace.
The end.

Did I do this right?

Prompt:
Write about a lonely dragon looking for a friend.

[Sparktail]

Ooh. Not quite sure if I'm doing this right, but here.

Spoiler

She had no name. For two millennia, the lonely dragon wandered the earth and sky for her comrades, but no avail. Her golden scales turned to rust, and her blue eyes ebbed away to empty pools. Here was she, the dome of the night sky before her, trussed up with stars like diamonds. The land below her was vast. Deep canyons sliced through an arid plateau, as if some great serpent of long ago had carved them in with its tail before retreating into the angry storm clouds creeping over the horizon. The world was boundless, but she had no one to share it with. When she realized this, the dragon began to cry.

Her tears flowed through the valley and formed seas and rivers, and trees sprouted from her grief. Her bellows spiraled into the first winds. The first was of ice, and headed north. The second was angry, blowing away the clouds before turning south. The third whistled with grief, and crept east. But the last was happy, fluttering west as she sighed over warmer days, when she and her old companions would dance among the spring grasses.

Proud of her new creation, the dragon wished for beings that could fly, like her former companions. She plucked the trees of their leaves and the winds carried them south, and those leaves became the first birds. But she still was not happy.

"The birds are swift and free, but they don't have four legs like me."

For that, she decided, the dragon needed to shape them from the earth. She flew to the desert and began to shape four-legged animals from the sand. The first had long, snake-like necks, and wobbled free with tall, lanky legs before becoming the first giraffe. The second was of stockier build, and had long hair that flapped with the wind. It became the first horse. Rocks lumbering down from the mountains became bears before they sat down to rest. Branches that fell to earth twisted and stretched into snakes.

And so the dragon started to make the first animals, but while some came close, none of them resembled her old dragons. She grew old and frail before collapsing onto the sand and became the first mountain, her spines cloaked with the north wind's snow.

As she brushed closer and closer to her death, world was teeming with animals, but even after her death, the dragon produced the last of her creatures. It was still a blueprint. Naked, without antlers or hooves, or sharp fangs like wolves, but it emerged nonetheless from the caves that used to be her eyes. These became the first men, and while they were weak and unsuited to the rough terrain, they retained the dragon's wisdom, and ruled the earth centuries thereafter.

Prompt: Write about a world where penguins are the superior race instead of people.

[Sourikus]

Beautiful story!

Ok here goes nothing.

Spoiler

"No more global warming!" They say,
"Or we'll not live another day!"
"The fish are gone, and now we'll hunger,
For the start of our next winter."

"Fear not," the President announced,
"The tins of salmon are abound"
The audience then gave an ovation,
All of them a blue flightless avian.

Write about a magistream creature in a story.

[Sparktail]

Write about a magistream creature in a story.

hmm...

Spoiler

I'm supposed to be dead.

The young phoenix surveyed the ashes of her old self, the sharp scent of myrrh branches tickling her nostrils. Each time, it was the first thought that occurred to her. The gift of eternal life, the symbol of rebirth and the destruction of one's past impurities.

Was it worth it?

Her amber eyes flickered like a newly-lit candle, ever curious about her existence. The bird flit from magi to magi, century to century. Her names she molted with her gray, simmering feathers. She had many masters, many journeys. She learned the spoilers of the Book of Life long ago, retained memories of her mother, and her mother's mother's, and her mother's mother's mother's next egg's.

I've been here, done that.

Traveled the world in countless cages, and even without them, she knew that she'd always fly free. Escape her magi's lives with the flourish of one blinding tongue of flame.

I sit, with my wings clipped, while others live.

Mortals' lives were linear. They are born, grow, mate, then die. She herself did not mate, and could not love.

I can sorrow, but I cannot grieve. I can grow fond, but I cannot love.

She stood at the streambed, sand brushing up against her scaly talons. The water lapped at her toes, sapping her strength, and she felt alive for the first time. Her sighs sent a cloud of smoke snaking through the night air, and for once she hated it. Hated the fire that choked her mind with endless confusion. How can it manage to destroy everything she thought she loved, and leave everything she hates in its wake?

Fire cannot reach me underwater.

The phoenix took a breath before plunging into the stream, and the sky lightened as Dawn's rosy fingers wiped away the night as a single phoenix egg drifted down the stream.

Write about bridges. They can be literal or metaphorical.

[StarPainter]

Web it.
Break it.
It is beyond repair.
But day after day,
And night after night,
You will always be there

I try to lose you
I try to choose you
But you always disobey
But you always stay

Why do you connect to me?
Why do you choose to be?
Somebody, I can't beleive
Someone who may hold me sturdily
But I am afraid to try.

So, I'll hold on just in case.
Please, stay right in your place.
Please, always let me live,
Don't fall down,
Be my bridge.

Prompt:
Write about rolling down a hill.

[Sourikus]

Rolling down a hill:

Spoiler

Grass then sky then grass again,
Hoping it's not gonna rain.
Up and down the hill I go,
It's quite fun, do you not know?

Bridges:

Spoiler

Crouching over water,
Keeps it crystal clear.
Slelters it from sun and wind
Like my mother dear.

What-happens-beyond-the-edge-of-the-world:

Spoiler

Rose leaned over the edge of the vortex. Years of scientific research had all boiled down to this. Using an advanced technology involving study of the subatomic particles present in electrons, collected and analysed, it all came down to this. Using five nuclear-powered engines (which could be heard humming and whirring away) they had managed to open up a tiny hole in space, or in other words, a wormhole to deep space. She wiped the space dust from her helmet and peered into the blanket of distant stars. And it was beautiful.

I had read the instructions before this and was like "...whut. I was doing it wrong all the while" So I didn't write the prompt. Thanks Applemint.

[Foleo]

Comment:

Espthec, you're supposed to write the prompt of "Write about bridges. They can be literal or metaphorical."

Then, you'd (Espthec) give a prompt to ToriOlivia, whose prompt of "Write about rolling down a hill" was supposed to go to Sparktail.

The prompt goes to the person that posted before you, not the person that posted after you.

Here is a prompt for ToriOlivia, seeing as Espthec did not post a prompt:

@ToriOlivia: Write about a night spent under the stars.

The person who posts after me should post a prompt for Espthec, seeing as I did not post a story.

[Sparktail]

Feels kinda weird posting here without having a prompt... Guess that's what happens after I spend a couple days with no wifi.

Prompt for Espthec:
Write about what happens beyond the edge of the world.

[StarPainter]

My turn! Sorry about that confusion guys!

I lay awake
Staring above
What do I see?
I see what I love

Making shapes in the sky,
It's all I need to do,
Oh my black night,
All I need is you.

Prompt:
Write about boredom.