Creative Writing Prompts

Creative writing is like painting without needing art supplies. I can write just about everywhere and it is a great way for me to relieve my stress and I would like to share some interesting creative writing prompts that I found online. These prompts are only prompts that I thought interesting, they’re not original.

  • I woke up and everything was grey…
  • Describe a thunderstorm without using the sense of hearing.
  • Write about a funeral from the deceased man’s perspective.
  • Write about the moment you knew you would leave.
  • Write about a girl who added a charm to her key chain for every life she took.
  • Write about a world where people didn’t know what a sunset is.
  • Death was watching you outside the window when you were born… fascinated by life, death watched you every day. Death watched as you fell, Death watched you as you got bullied, and Death watched as you go kidnapped.
  • I sat up with a jolt. Where am I?!
  • Holograms surround me… water engulfs me… In this perfect world, I can scarcely breathe… Save me…
  • Earth is known as the quarantine planet by all other planets…
  • You got a deep cut for the first time. Instead of blood, you see red wires.
  • “Aren’t you going to do anything?” “I was paid to protect you from abuse, not you own stupidity”
  • You can taste lies…
  • Take your 5 favorite books. Take the setting from the first book. The antagonist from the second. The protagonist from the third. The genre from the forth, and the opening sentence from the fifth.
  • Write about the sound and color of loneliness.
  • Write about the feeling of happiness.
  • Write from the perspective of Death.
  • “I wish I could just forget…”
  • “Trust me” “You want to start a fire!” “Not the point…”
  • Where did this wall come from?
  • Has Paris always looked this way?

-Angela L.

Awakening

With this writing piece, I have attempted to give Cayde-6 (RIP), from the games Destiny and Destiny 2, a backstory. Hope you enjoy.


The dying sun slowly drags itself above the horizon, illuminating the slums with its dismal crimson glow. I know I should already be working, but my last job paid well, and I had allowed myself extra rest. A few revelers stumble around the alley, still holding champagne glasses from last night. Happy 2093, I sarcastically think, Another year of wars, chemical leaks, and poverty. 

I know that a select few in the aristocracy are quite wealthy and charitable, but like the sunlight, not much makes it to the lowest levels of the concrete labyrinth. Above, I hear the roar of a transport ship, taking a few lucky people off this wreck of a planet. I need to get working, or I’ll sleep on an empty stomach tonight. I stretch, stand, and make my way into the crowded streets, scanning the throngs for promising “benefactors”. After a few minutes, I spot a likely target.

He appears flustered and busy, not focusing on the hordes around him. His wallet is gone before he even turns around, and in five minutes, I’m having a nice hot breakfast by one of the countless food stands. I still have a few credits left, and I stow them in a hiding spot. I’m going to buy my ticket off this dump someday.

As the day drags on, I meet a few more “generous” commuters, and by the time the red sunlight fades, I’m full and as happy as a street urchin can be. I find my way back to my alley, and am just about to doze off under a tattered blanket when I hear a strange humming coming from behind a scrap pile.

Once I shovel the rusted metal and old parts away, I see a glint of steel-blue. I dig more frantically now, my hopes rising. As I pull away the last piece of rubble, I nearly shout with joy. Beneath the trash lies a small personal spacecraft. It must have accidentally been jettisoned from a transport. But is it functional?

I slip into the cockpit, press a few buttons, and the entire console lights up, bombarding me with beeps and whistles as the systems come online. I am jubilant, not daring to believe my success. This ship is hope, a star in a dark night. My name is Cayde, and I am free.

-Joshua M.

Silent

The silence woke her. It was all wrong, it was too quiet. Yet, the radio played in the background and there were people dancing everywhere. However, it seemed as if her brain muted the sounds and they seem to dim and eventually disappear. She was a lonely flower in the cracked, dry earth, while others were bright, warm flowers in a meadow. They were everything that she was not, and they ridiculed her, laughed at her, pointed at her. She didn’t really care. At least, she thought they didn’t bother her anymore.

She wondered what silence sounded like, as it was what woke her. As hard as she tried, her memory seemed to be muffled and covered up. She couldn’t remember what really woke her. Was it really the silence? Or was it more? At first she thought silence must sound white, lifeless, and dreary. Then she walked up to the attic. In this dusty, light-filled room, silence became something entirely different. It was placid and almost warm. It was still and it was almost beautiful. Unlike downstairs, in this attic, she no longer felt beleaguered by the dancing people and the wild party. All of a sudden, she opened her eyes and felt the lurid scene unfold in front of her. She was immediately ill and she sprinted down, turned on the Christmas music, and attempted to calm her illness. This illness defined her unlike anything else, and she let it because she lacked the courage to overpower it. It was due to this illness that she always faints and she always questioned the sounds of existence. She thought that she was insane. She had no friends and her parents are constantly fretting over her. However, what she doesn’t see was that what she has is not a mental illness. It is her own personality dying to shine through the mask that she has covered it up with. Inside, she was beautiful.

-Angela L.

Daybreak

He has a problem. A very very serious problem.

He cares. Perhaps a little too much. But no one could stop him from caring.

He is criticized and laughed at and people point their dirty, cynical fingers at him while wearing that cheshire smile.

That didn’t stop him from caring.

His friends tease him, warn him, laugh at him. Are they really his friends? Perhaps. Perhaps not.

Well, are they?

He is waiting, wide awake at the bottom of an endless ocean of dreams. He knows that his dream is merely fantasy and wishful thinking.

Yet he’s wide awake.

He hopes that his friends will one day understand the pain and the frustration of caring. He hopes, he yearns.

He often asks “Why do I care so much? Why can’t I accept things the way they are?”

Because he cares. Cares a bit too much… No harm in caring, they say. Be happy, they say. Be grateful as long as they are happy, they say.

Don’t you want to be happy, my boy? The accept it. Accept the pain. Learn to live with the callous; then, and only then, will you be truly happy.

He never believed them, his heart is like a drum beating the word “care”, his heart tells him to break that stereotype.

Or has he gone mad?

Is it a combination of both?

He is alone. Very very alone.

Then comes a girl.

Never has he dreamed of finding such happiness. But this girl, she is his light, his world, his heart.

With her, he could care, he’s free as a dove in the bright, warm sunlight.

His friends questioned him, their curious glances never escaped him.

“They talk”

“Let them talk, West.”

She set him free, she erased the heavy clouds and the suffocating weight. He’s happy. He’s free at last.

“Thank you”

 

-Angela L.

run.exe

A dim light engorged the workstation of a profile, emitting from a luke-warm bulb clasped onto the left side of the desk by sheer force alone. The careful clacking of the keyboard reverberated throughout the bare space, occasionally finding objects to rebound off back into the expanse. Scattered at the desk was a multitude of everyday items; pens, books, papers. The figure continued to manipulate the keys of the keyboard, each digit gliding across the surface of the accessory with calculated ease. If one listened closely, a faint murmur of a television permeated the surroundings, largely ignored by the single occupant of the room.

From a spectator’s view, the body positioned in the office chair could only barely be made out to be human of nature. But something was off about the way the being sat attentively, never wavering from the tip-tapping of the keyboard, the pixels of the screen it was seemingly engrossed by changing from black to white, stuck in a perpetuated loop of illumination followed by the extinguishing of all three primary colored bulbs, pristine white followed by a bleak darkness.

The keyboard had stopped emitting sound for a period of time now, and the television’s droning voices were no longer present. Only the light remained constant, the bulb emanating a cold warmth to the subject beneath it. The world seemingly stood still now that the only motion had ceased. The only light that had casted upon the desk abruptly vanished, leaving only the solemn glow of the monitor. A few clicks could be heard creeping from the workspace, but soon all returned back to silence. The screen shut off, darkness crept from the corners of the room and soon engulfed all that dared occupy it.

The empty blackness lingered for some time before a dim light engorged the workstation of the profile, sad rays of light casting themself upon the smooth figure below it. A clear plasticity could be identified in the robotic figure. Perhaps most striking though, was the lack of any human resemblance. It was simply a husk, mechanically typing into another machine, performing this minute task for an unknown amount of time. This repeats, the cycle continues on and on, dim light engorging followed by darkness creeping in, out of times’ domain. Never wavering, the man types his thoughts for the only entity that will ever experience them, an insentient machine.

-Shaun G.

A Bike Ride

I finally felt stable in my life; the first time in years, there weren’t different screams from different feelings yelling at each other and fighting over who would win, it was as the screams settled down, but now there was nothing, nothing shouting, nothing screaming, no fights from the different Inside Out characters, it was as a giant black hole pulled them inside its body. The black hole seemed to get bigger and bigger by the second absorbing all the thoughts I cherished and sucking them up until I couldn’t go back to them and all that remained was emptiness in my dull mind. The only thought remaining in my poisoned mind was: “Would I rather have different feelings fight over, causing me to feel too strong, or have no war and only have emptiness float through my mind?”. It’s like riding a bike through a flower field, until it begins to rain and the tires get caught in the mud and so then you fall, while your bike breaks.

When it would stop pouring, I would pick up my bike and try again, with a broken leg and a flat tire, but as soon I would do this, the clouds would flush down its water, as it were laughing at my failure. I would keep trying and trying, until everything in my body was snapped in half, and all that remaining was the bell on my bike. On the other fields, I would see kids riding the same bike, except none of them had rain being poured down and they kept peddling, until their bellies ached from laughing too hard, when would I have that? My belly would only ache from falling on it too much.

I soon realized that I couldn’t go further and would die from the aches and pain. At least my skull would be buried with the sunflowers I never had.

-Kimi M.

CT-7567

This is the story of CT-7567, also known as Captain Rex who was introduced to the Star Wars universe in the animated series, The Clone Wars. Monthly installments will be released. Hope you enjoy.                                                                                                   _____________________________________________________________________

CT-7567 was having a great dream before the datapad next to his bed woke him up. It flashed red and blared,

“CT-7567, prepare yourself for morning Physical Training.”

The young cadet rubbed his eyes, jumped out of bed, and shook his bunkmate awake.

“Come on, 2224! We’ve gotta go!”

CT-2224 slowly and methodically rolled off his bunk and dressed himself. Once 2224 was ready, the two clone youths jogged over to the training area. Their instructor, Bani, waited for them. The Duros was irritated.

“You’re late again! How many times do I have to tell you?”

He made the two clones run laps until they were sweaty and miserable. Cody, or CT-2224, grumbled under his breath as they stepped into the sonic refreshers. Rex, who was designated CT-7567, was equally displeased. He knew they had gotten there on time. The eternally irate Duros always found something wrong.

Their next assignment was their favorite: Battle training! As they hefted their mock blasters and blew holographic droids into oblivion, they joked and laughed. Battle training never failed to cheer them up. Rex especially loved using special tactics to destroy the fake droids, who always used the exact same formation and strategy. He had just attacked a huge wave when something hit him in the shoulder. He stumbled forward and whipped around. It was CT-6453. What a jerk. Rex always saw him around, bullying cadets and bothering teachers.

“Eat bantha dung, 43.”

Rex waved him off. Little did he know how important 6453 would turn out to be.

The last assignment of the day was worse than PT: Galactic history. Their teacher was a hardworking taskmaster. The Kaminoan, Lima Bri, gave them tons of work and papers, and she never graded easily. Rex was feeling good about a report he had written about the moons of Io, but when he got it back Bri had given him only 75%. Cody was disappointed as well. His paper had received a 73%. They left class and headed back to the barracks to grab some sleep.

-Joshua M.