writing-prompt-challenge

Thanks for joining in with my very first Writing Prompt Challenge. The idea of the challenge is to flex those creative muscles in your brain and get some words down on the page. It is ten minutes of free writing, no editing, just letting those fingers run wild with your imagination. Who knows, it may just be the seed of an idea for your next story!

How it works.

  1. Open a new document, blog post, or wherever you intend to write.
  2. Set a timer for 10 minutes.
  3. Press ‘start’ and get writing!
  4. When the timer goes off you must stop writing (you may finish the sentence).
  5. Minor grammar and spelling fixes may be made, but no other editing permitted.
  6. Post your story in the comments section below, or alternatively post a link to where others can read your story.
  7. Read, comment, support others.

As we are all busy, the comments on this post will be open from 6am (AEDST) Thursday 9th March 2017, until 11:59pm that evening. After that the comments will be closed and the writing challenge complete.

This is the very first time I’m running this, so if it is successful (which I hope it is), I will run another one in the near future.

Good luck, and I can’t wait to read your efforts!

Your writing prompt is:

MEMORY

Here’s what I came up with in my ten minutes.

Her eyes fluttered as she began to open them, the harsh light causing her to squeeze them tight before trying again. As her eyes adjusted she could see the fluorescent light above, the buzz slowing creeping into her ears bringing her to full consciousness.

Glancing around she furrowed her brow. A blue curtain surrounded the bed, and tubes jutted out from her at all angles connecting to machines that let out rhythmic beeps. She reached her arm up to her head feeling the bandage that was wrapped around her skull. There was no pain, just a dull throb as if she was experiencing the hang over from hell. With a dry mouth she tried to swallow, a thousand razor blades stabbing at the back of her throat.

Why am I here?, she thought. She looked to the chair beside her bed. Pale green upholstery, scratched arms, empty. Her heart began pounding, the noise from the matching the increasing pace. She searched for the memory. The one that would tell her why she was here, what had happened, and where the hell Simon was. But all she could muster was a fuzzy snow-screen image like after station close. Slowly a picture blurred into focus. The lights from the dashboard, the muffled sound of Ed Sheeran. Laughter. But it faded as quickly as it came.

“Tara, you’re back with us,” A nurse dressed in a white uniform that clung to her ample hips a little too snugly smiled as she pulled back the curtain. She had kind eyes, short grey hair and well worn lines carved deep around her mouth.