Writing Prompts

The girl next door…as most people referred to her. Walking down her picturesque street bordered by cookie cutter houses, she smiled and waved at her passing neighbors, very careful to show her perfectly aligned white teeth with every encounter. Adding skips to her timed steps, she radiated with cheerfulness and optimism, portraying the flawless image of innocence. The image she had maintained for all of her fifteen years of polished life. Her skirts never ruffled. There was never a hair astray her shiny, little head. Her personality was unwavering of sunshine, lots and lots of sunshine. And she was not only perfect looking but perfect acting. Straight A’s, big circle of close friends, loving two parent household. You name it she had it. The life everyone dreamed of.

But what everyone didn’t know was…after the long walks through the street, after wearing a smile that stretched her face, after forcing her sweet honey voice out of her croaked throat…she would run up to her bedroom, lock the door behind her, and begin her masterpiece with red paint. Because no one ever knew–or should know–about her secret blood stained toy under her bed, which shredded any image of innocence she tried so hard to build.

(Prompt: Innocent people…pfft everyone’s guilty of something)

——————————————————

I’m alone. In my room. As usual. Nothing’s really changed here. Sure, there were some ups and downs in school but nothing major. I’m not failing or anything. Although, sometimes I wonder if that would help. Failing, I mean. Maybe they’d pay more attention or say something to me at least. Al I get now are good mornings and good nights, if that. Everyone’s gone radio silence since you left. Is left the right word? Can I replace the word died with left? Anyway, I’m trying really hard not to let it consume me. The pain, the grief. And the voices. Oh, the voices. They won’t ever go away. Every time I try to turn off my brain and go to sleep, a new problem arises,  a new question that I try to ignore. When was the last time I ate? When was the last time someone asked if I was okay? When was the last time I saw you? Ah, that last question. It just brings my back to the beach day. Remember when you got rolled by the waves and sand was everywhere? Oh, you were miserable but laughing at the same time. So happy and light in those moments. I wish I could go back to that. Even if we did end up getting in trouble for trespassing that day. It was worth it. Just for that day with you. So, I guess that’s why I’m writing. To talk to someone. To talk to you. All so that I don’t feel alone.

(Prompt: Write for 5 minutes, starting with “I’m alone”)

Creative Writing: Labels

Prompt: If we were all forced to wear a warning label, what would yours say?

I took this prompt literally and made it into an excerpt of a story. So enjoy!


It felt a lot like that game where you have a headband with a word to describe you, but you can’t see it. You know, the one where everyone can see it but you, and if you try to look it’s cheating. Because of this unknown definition of yourself, other people get to judge you and think up their own thoughts before you even get the chance to say hello. Walking around, you can’t help but feel the eyes as they stare at the big block letters slapped across your forehead. Of course, reflections will only make the words disappear, disabling you from seeing them. And I know what you’re thinking…

Why can’t you just tell each other what they are? No, it doesn’t work like that either. For some reason, your body will not let you see or hear it until you’re ready to. It involves some self discovery of finding who you truly are, or some spiritual thing like that. I don’t know. Some achieve this very early in life, which is amazing considering how life messes with us, making us believe we’re one thing when we’re completely the opposite. Others, however, don’t realize until they’re well into their years, past any time that could help them decipher what it means.

Personally, I’ve never really had a problem not knowing what my Label was, except for today. I was simply minding my own business, doing some shopping that I have long since procrastinated, when it happened. Usually, I noticed a few glances, but none of them really lingered long. So I had come to this conclusion that my word was uninteresting and essentially boring. That I was uninteresting and essentially boring. But then, it was another girl, about my age with the word Lost scribbled across her face, who seemed to think I was something more.

First of all, with a word like Lost, I couldn’t help but feel sad. Most Labels I’d seen had said more positive and straightforward things than just Lost. This implied she may never find herself, and that to me is heartbreaking, since that’s everyone’s goal, of course. Other than that, it would’ve been pretty easy to forget about her if she hadn’t followed me around the whole store. Talk about lost. No matter how many times I had thought she left, she was always lurking around some corner, waiting for me to see her. And I always did, but I didn’t want to. The way she looked at me, studying my word; her eyes pierced through as if wanting to burn the letters off my skin or sear them further in. While the rest of her demeanor suggested she was harmless, I didn’t want to stay around her any longer. Ducking out of the building, I thought I had finally cleared her when I turned around to see those unforgiving eyes.

And all she said was “You too.”

-Sabrina C., 11th Grade

Writing Prompts

Prompt: A fair has come to town with a strange funhouse. Inside is a mirror that shows the viewer that last thing they will see before they die.

“Come on, Cam!” He shouted. “It’ll be fun.” I should’ve known he wanted to come here. The annual fair was his favorite place to go. I just didn’t think he’d drag me here on our 7 month anniversary.

“Why don’t I just wait out here while you go in?” I laughed, trying not to ruin his mood. I really didn’t want to spend ten minutes in a mirror maze that’ll leave me with a headache as soon as I come out.

He used his infamous puppy dog eyes on me. “Please…You know it’s no fun if I go alone.”

I sighed. I really didn’t want to be the kill of his excitement. I smiled and followed Jay through the doors, preparing myself for the vertigo. The space behind the door opened up into a hallway of mirrors with dark lighting and a door at the end. I started to walk towards it when I realized it was only a reflection of the original one, bouncing off the other mirrors. Other than that, there wasn’t much excitement in here. About to ask if we could go, I was interrupted by a sigh.

“Shoot. I think my hat fell off outside.”

I turned back to him and laughed. Relieved that I had an excuse to leave, I replied, “Let’s get it then.”

“No, you stay here and enjoy it. I’ll be right back.” Before I could answer, Jay was already out the door. I rolled my eyes and made my way to the exit. No way I was staying here by myself.

I reached for the handle on the door and was met with a hard surface. I tried again and the door handle wasn’t there. I looked up at the reflection I had thought was real. Unbelievable. I turned around and walked down the hallway, seeing my figure follow me with my peripheral vision. When I got to end, the door did the same thing. No handle. Just a reflection. I groaned in frustration. How did I get so turned around?

I looked at my surroundings, trying to find the way I had come in. All I could see was my own confused face staring back at me. It filled the room, ceiling to floor. Then suddenly the lights went out. Just great.

“Hello?” I called out. “There’s someone in here. Could you turn the lights back on please?”

The hallway immediately filled with light once again, but the reflections were gone. In fact all that was around me was the wood of the walls, except for the screen at the end of the hallway. Walking to it, a movie starting playing. It didn’t seem like a movie that I had seen before.

The screen went into focus and I saw the funhouse. The same one I was in with it’s wooden door, leading into this hallway. I saw the carousel across from it and even Jay walking towards the entrance just like before when he beckoned me inside.

What the hell was going on here?

The image flashed forward to night. Jay was driving his beat up truck on the freeway towards home. Our favorite band was playing on the radio, and we both sang along. We screamed the lyrics with the windows rolled down and the wind whipping my hair. I smiled at how happy we looked.

But then the camera zoomed in on the speedometer the pin moved from 70 to 75…85…100…

“Stop!” I screamed at the video. But we just kept on singing. As the car moved faster, our voices got louder, louder than the cars around us, louder than the revving engine, louder than the honk of the upcoming truck as we crashed into it.

“No!” Tears filled my eyes, and I pounded on the screen. I wanted out of this hallway. I threw myself at the wall and felt the jab as the doorknob poked my side. The door! I twisted it and was met with the sun and the carousel and most importantly Jay, who was waiting just outside the door. Alive.

I flung myself into his arms. “You’re okay!” I hugged him tight so he couldn’t move away. Thankfully, he wrapped his arms around me, reassuring me that he was real.

“Of course I’m okay.” He laughed. “What’re you so worried about?”

I looked up at him through the water in my eyes. “You died. I died.”

He wiped at my face to clear it. “What are you talking about, sweetie? Everything’s fine.” He smiled and I couldn’t help but smile back.

“How long was I in there?” I asked, hoping for an answer.

“Only a second. I was coming right back in when you came out.”

I noticed the hat on his head. “But that’s impossible.”

“Are you okay?” He asked, brushing the hair from my eyes.

I shook my head. “It was so real,” I whispered.

He kissed my head. “It’s okay now, Cam. The sun’s setting already. How about I just take you home?” I nodded and let him lead me to the fair’s exit. “And don’t worry, it’ll be faster if I take the freeway.” He winked.

Prompt: An extra hour occurs at midnight but only a handful of people can experience it. It is called the Dark Hour.

When the minute hand landed on the daunting 12, the chimes were cut short as the second hand stopped. Silence rang through the still house. No one was moving, no one was breathing, for time was frozen. It was a time when the unknown could venture undetected. Alone in the world, they could roam with no humans in their way. That is except for the chosen.

These few people were able to experience the extra hour given to them. Some viewed it as a blessing, others a curse. When the creatures came out for leisure, they didn’t take kindly to the ones who disturbed them. If someone was awake, they’d know.

So when Brian opened his eyes that night for his first Hour, he had no idea the things he would never be able to unsee. The abrupt stop of the clock awoke him, and his eyes snapped open to the chill of lifelessness. He could feel it in his bones; immediately he knew what it was.

Slowly, he shuffled his feet to the floor and was surprised at his silent steps when the floor didn’t creak. All there was was quiet. Nothing moved out of place. His discreet footsteps took him to the screen at back door where he expected to find the trees rustled by wind but there was none. Life was like a picture, a completely unmoving portrait.

Until the first monster ripped through the illusion and made its presence known with a roar.

-Sabrina C., 11th Grade

What If Harry Potter Was Friends With Draco Malfoy?!

Contains Spoilers!

If you didn’t know, I am a huge fan of the Harry Potter series. The books are so awesome and the magic is so exciting. In the first book, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, the first time Harry gets on the Hogwarts Express, he is befriended by a boy named Ronald Weasely. A boy named Draco Malfoy interferes, and tries to make Harry his friend instead. Harry, however, had none of Malfoy’s interests in mind, and became close friends with Ron. But what if Harry became Draco Malfoy’s friend instead?

On The Hogwarts Express:

Malfoy turned back to Harry. “You’ll find that some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.”

He held out his hand for Harry to shake, and Harry, looking back at Ron, shook it after a moment of hesitation.

Malfoy smirked. “So long, Weasley. It seems that you have this whole compartment to yourself, then. C’mon, Harry, let’s go.”

A growl ripped from Ron’s throat, sounding almost predatory. He leapt at Malfoy, but Harry shook him off.

“Stop it!” Harry said angrily. “Draco’s my friend, Ron! Cut it out!”

Letting out a long breath, Ron stepped back into the compartment, glaring at them. Malfoy glared back, then left the compartment, Harry following him.

“See what I meant?” drawled Draco. “The wrong sort of friend, Potter…the Weasleys are a poor wizarding family with too many kids they can afford…and they can’t even control their temper, look at how low they’ve sunk…”

Harry nodded absentmindedly. “True,” he muttered. “I suppose your family’s much better…”

Draco smiled. “Of course, Potter! My family is rolling in wizard’s gold…everyone knows that!” He smirked. “Of course, father tries to keep that quiet, but quite a few people know…”

“I totally get you, Malfoy,” Harry said grinning, turning to look at his new friend. “I think we’re going to have a lot of fun together this year…”

Yeah, I know, this probably would never ever happen, and Harry is a lot meaner here than he is in the books, but it was still fun to think about what would happen when two enemies were actually friends instead! If Harry was friends with Draco, and then Ron was their enemy…that would be odd, but I suppose I’m just too used to Ron and Harry being Draco’s enemy! The Harry Potter series would be really whacked up if Harry and Draco were friends, but it’s still something cool to think about!

-Katherine L.

Materials relating to the wizarding world of Harry Potter are available for checkout from the Mission Viejo Library. They can also be downloaded from Overdrive and Hoopla

Creative Writing: “I Awake”

 

I Awake

I awake
And the sea is beckoning.
I long to travel past the silent white wavebreak
Further and further and further until I reach the point in the distance that only I can see
Where the waves are relentless and tempting
And there are no hands to pull me out,
Only pressure to pull me under.

I awake
And the ocean is threatening.
As I stand on the bluff,
I think of nothing, Ithinkofeverything.
Black-indigo water churns below me, chanting in a language I learned long ago;
The darkness laps at my feet, teasing me with a sense of humor I’ll soon learn to appreciate.
I close my eyes,
Forget,
And before I know it
I’m swimming once again.

I awake
And the tide is calm.
During the day
A toddler plays beside me
Under an umbrella,
Safe from the sun’s harsh rays.
Under his breath he mumbles nonsense,
And I smile to no one
As he carefully buries his legs in the sand.

At night
I lay under the sky
Watching the clouds spin,
Listening to the waves break, chanting the lyrics to the song in my head,
Smelling the salty breeze as it whispers across the holes in my sweater,
Feeling your arms wrapped looselytightly around me
And knowing that no matter how rough the sea churns,
You will never let me drown.

-Danielle K.

Creative Writing: Adventures in Ilvermorny Part 2

This is part two of a short story about some kids that attend llvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (US version of Hogwarts). These characters are entirely made up by me, and my descriptions of Ilvermorny are no doubt very different from what J.K. Rowling’s are. Enjoy!

Cyrus shook her hand, “Well then Jane….?

“-Ingram, Jane Ingram”, Jane affirmed.

“Jane Ingram, are you a first year too?”, Cyrus questioned, “Because I’m stressed beyond belief.”

Jane nodded. “Yea, but I bet you have more of an idea of what’s about to happen. My mom’s a Muggle-born and so she thought it would be best if I was raised without magic until Ilvermorny, like her. Supposedly it will make me appreciate magic more, but I just feel like I’m ten steps behind everyone else.”

Cyrus waved a hand. “Nah there will be plenty of Muggle-borns who just found out about magic weeks ago. That’s not even the issue, its not like Eyla and I get our wands any sooner than everyone else. What’s nerve wracking is the sorting. Eyla is set to be a Wampus, but I’m not really sure where I’d fit”. Cyrus shrugged, looking a little embarrassed to have just shared this with a stranger.

Jane smiled sympathetically, “My mom says the carvings never lie. They know you better than you know yourself.” Jane’s smile slowly turned into a quizzical expression. “Wait did you say that Eyla is a first year too? She’s as tall as many of the 7th years!”, Jane exclaimed a little too loudly.

Eyla, in hearing her name, turned to face Jane again. “Yea, and that’s what’s going to get me to be the first female admitted onto the Quidditch team as a first year”, Eyla announced proudly. “Although, I do wish Ilvermorny had basketball, the one thing I will miss from living so close to muggle cities”, she stated mostly to herself, while sighing.

A smooth woman’s voice on the crackling intercom abruptly interjected the conversation.

“Ladies and gentlemen we are now boarding flight 934 from Miami to Massachusetts, repeat, we are now boarding flight 934 from Miami to Massachusetts”

 

Passion

There was a time in my life when I talked about books as though they were sustenance, as though they were essential to my survival. I devoured stories and inhaled pages. I vividly remember checking out four, five, six books at time and somehow finishing them all before the two weeks were up. Though that experience is shared with many people, a majority of adults fail to make time for reading.

I often wonder where that passion goes.

To most people, reading is thought of as a chore, or something for the forgotten bottom end of a to-do list. Reading is a fizzling New Year’s Resolution. Reading is a Barnes & Noble credit card but dusty shelves. When people talk about getting back into reading, it is as though they are starting a new project at work, as though they are radically changing their schedules.

New units of time have to be carved out of a schedule, clearly labeled “READ” in blocky black lettering. Books fill shopping bags, along with all the obviously necessary accessories to reading – fancy bookmarks and clip on lights and slogan-laden tote bags – because now, you are a Reader.

There is something lost in this frenzy. In this sort of Oprah’s Book Club, unbroken-spine kind of reading, books are a status symbol.

I find myself in this rut occasionally. Rearranging and rearranging the same shelves with an obsessiveness, buying War and Peace and Les Miserables because they’re the sort of books a pretentious academic like myself should have.

I miss that feeling that all library-bound children have. That feeling that there were an infinite amount of words in the world, and if I only read fast enough, flipped enough pages, then I would be able to drink them all in.

So many people have a desire to read; to become that excited kid again. We want to be the one who’s not only Heard of That, but Read It. We want to know authors and quotes and have worn paperbacks to pass on to friends and family. We want to feel that love and intensity that stories used to inspire.

I truly believe that feeling is still inside every adult today. Maybe it’s buried under stress and deadlines and distraction, but it’s there.

All we have to do is find the right book.

-Zoe K.