Writing Prompts – Page 4 – Hugh's Views & News

Growing Older

Published on May 14, 2019Dec 29, 2025 by Hugh W. Roberts45 Comments

She sat, watching the world around her getting older, her included. It had been a rather tough day and she disliked what ageing did to her.

I may be wiser, she thought, but I feel like I’m on my last few breaths before I leave this world again. I don’t want to go, but know it is time to move on.

As she sat back to take in the last sight of the world she loved, a door behind her opened and slammed loudly.

“Move over, Saturday. The day of rest has arrived. See you in a week’s time.”

Written in response to the 99-word flash fiction challenge with the theme of ‘growing older’, hosted by Charli Mills at the Carrot Ranch.

Click here to join hundreds of other writers who have taken up the challenge.

Hot Dates

Published on May 9, 2019Dec 29, 2025 by Hugh W. Roberts72 Comments

Warning – adult content.

He was the perfect example of everything she’d been looking for. With the body of Adonis and the smile of Casanova, Mary Daniels knew she was in for a good time.

He had sat her down on the bed and allowed her to undo the buttons on the white dress shirt he wore. Something down below had stirred within her as she undid the fifth button and got a glimpse at what lay beneath the white shirt. Not yet, she had told herself, let the excitement build and take in every single second of the anticipation of what was to come.

When she had looked up into his dark eyes, as she undid the last visible button of his shirt, she had imaged that he was communicating with her telepathically. ‘Go on’, said his voice in her head, ‘pull up the remainder of my shirt so you can undo the final few buttons.’

As Mary Daniels pulled up his shirt and undid the last few buttons, the passion inside her had almost exploded. After watching him slowly removing the expensive, gold cufflinks that had held the shirt cuffs in place, she had stood up and gently pushed the shirt off his shoulders. Before her had stood absolute perfection.

Having pushed her back onto the bed, Mary had watched as the hunk undid the belt of his trousers. She had slowly licked her lips as his trousers dropped to the floor revealing a weapon of mass destruction behind a pair of black, Lonsdale boxer shorts. He really must have found her as attractive as she did him if he was going to use it on her.

Several minutes later as he picked up the $500 left on the bedside table of the hotel room, Mary Daniels was dead.

As he dressed, no emotions passed through his mechanical brain. His job was to now get the money back to his creator, change his appearance by shift-shaping, and await the next call to the ‘Hot Dates’ Escort Agency.

Who would he be next, and who would be his next victim?

Written in response to the May Speculative Fiction prompt hosted by D. Wallace Peach at Myths of the Mirror. Click here to join hundreds of other writers who have taken up the challenge.

The Porthole

Published on Mar 20, 2019Dec 29, 2025 by Hugh W. Roberts74 Comments

Everybody has a chance, but it does depend on where you are at the time it appears. I only say that because I am sure I have seen some of the faces here, before. Like, for example, your face.

Now, as we watch the young child take her chance to join us, I will do all I can to make sure she makes it in time, but I need your help too.

What I have created now looms in front of her. If this had been happening a few years ago, I would have had full control over how long the porthole on our spaceship would remain open. Now, however, my power over my creation seems to be weakening.

Even though I know life has been cruel to this child, you’re not so sure, are you?

From what I have witnessed, this child will be a credit to both of us. And, as our world is dying, we need all the souls we can get to build our army.

“Run, child, run,” I shout, as she nears the opening. But you remain silent. Why?

We need her to help save our world. Don’t you see that?

My heart drops when I see the porthole begin to close. I can hear my followers behind me screaming, yet you remain silent. I hope the child makes it through in time.

With a mighty leap, she makes it through before it closes.

“Daddy,” she whispers, as she wraps her arms around my waist. I could tell she now felt safe.

“Now go, child, go do all the bad things you really meant to do when you were on that world. No more being good and trying to make yourself acceptable because of what others told you. The world you have just left was too cruel to you.”

As she looks up at me and smiles, I know she will not fail me.

“Thank you, Father. I always wanted to meet the Devil and come to Hell.”

***

Written in response to the Monthly Speculative Fiction Writing Prompt, from Diana, at Myths of the Mirror. Click here for full details.

The Battle

Published on Feb 14, 2019Dec 29, 2025 by Hugh W. Roberts66 Comments

With the dead bodies of her two best friends close by, eleven-year-old Miranda carefully raised one of the window slats with her finger and peered out into the garden.

She watched as the massive creature, known as a Nellyphant, pushed its trunk against the tree house looking for its next meal. Although it was snowing, she could also make out the smaller creatures, known as Mickice, on the roof of the treehouse. They, too, had grown a liking for human flesh.

Miranda’s trap, of leaving her dolls in the treehouse, had worked. The creatures thought they had their next meal, but Miranda knew it wouldn’t be long before they worked out that they had been tricked.

While sliding her hand slowly between the window slats, the door behind Miranda creaked. She froze to the spot, terrified of what was coming into the room. However, she had her weapon ready in her other hand, so she knew she had a good chance of spinning around, taking aim, and killing with one shot whatever was coming through the door.

As she quietly counted down from five, she heard whatever it was, slowly approach her. The wheezing sound it made as it took short, sharp, intakes of breath, made the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

Just before her countdown ended, Miranda gripped her weapon firmly, span around, took aim, and faced what was behind her.

“Take this,” she yelled, as she fired her weapon at the biggest Nellyphant she’d seen.

Then the real world appeared.

“OK, young lady, that’s enough,” coughed Miranda’s Mother, while removing the PlayStation virtual reality headset from Miranda’s head. “You’re too young to be playing this violent videogame,” she voiced while holding the box of the game in front of Miranda’s face. “Go play with your dolls instead.”

As Miranda climbed the stairs in protest, her mother blew her nose before slipping on the virtual reality set. Maybe playing a video game would take her mind off the head cold she had.

***

Written in response to the Monthly Speculative Fiction Writing Prompt, from Diana, at Myths of the Mirror. Click here for full details.

The Riddle of Twelfth Night

Published on Jan 29, 2019Dec 29, 2025 by Hugh W. Roberts68 Comments

While trudging through the thick snow with her team, Judy Morrison’s mind was in overdrive. For years, she’d been trying to solve the puzzle of the thirteenth day of Christmas, something mankind had mistakenly taken for granted, and was now almost on the verge of solving the riddle.

Everybody thought that Christmas had twelve days, yet why did the twelfth night of Christmas fall on the thirteenth day?

Jonathan, Judy’s boyfriend, had given her twelve gifts: one on each day of the twelve days of Christmas. On the night he gave her gift number eleven, the night of January 4^th, Judy had visions that the team were being watched by a mysterious force. As the clock struck midnight, and the twelfth day of Christmas arrived, Judy woke screaming from a terrible nightmare.

“What’s wrong,” asked Jonathan, rubbing his eyes, as the cold winds battered their tent.

“We’re all going to die on the sixth day of January,” cried Judy.

“What? Don’t be silly. Go back to sleep. It was just a nightmare.”

Several minutes later, Judy found herself counting backwards to December 25^th, the first day of Christmas. It still didn’t add up why ‘Twelfth Night’ was on the night of the 6^th of January, still over a day away.

The following evening, Jonathan gave Judy the last of his gifts, an engagement ring. Tomorrow, they would celebrate with the rest of their group when they arrived at their final destination, the mysterious village of ‘Twelfth Night,’ alleged to only appeared on January 6th.

As they waited patiently for ‘Twelfth Night’ to appear, Judy Morrison finally solved the riddle. As she turned to Jonathan to reveal the secret of Twelfth Night, the hand of a mysterious force that had been watching them since the first day of Christmas, froze the group in time.

Its secret was safe again from mankind, a species which, one day, it would conquer.

***

Written in response to the Monthly Speculative Fiction Writing Prompt, from Diana, at Myths of the Mirror. Click here for full details.

Flutter – #writespiration

Published on Feb 7, 2017Dec 29, 2025 by Hugh W. Roberts67 Comments

Sacha Black challenges us to write a story, poem, prompt, or theme, using just 52 words (no more, no less). This week we have to include the following words –

Time, Juice, Stack, Pigeon

Look away now if you’re one of the faint-hearted. I bring you, Flutter.

Their time had come.
Poor things. The odds had been stacked against them. They had no chance, but revenge was sweet.
As the group of pigeons prepared to feast, the first sunset of this new world was spectacular.
Human juice would at last flow. The eyes were the first to be pecked.

Thank you to the great Alfred Hitchcock for getting me through this tough challenge. Yes, I know they are crows and not pigeons in the clip, but pigeons didn’t feature in the movie, The Bird.

Flash Fiction – Creature

Published on Oct 30, 2016Dec 29, 2025 by Hugh W. Roberts97 Comments

Take a very close look at this photo.

Can you see that dark creature? It’s staring back at you. See its eyes?

Don’t look away from it. Stare at the creature for at least five seconds, and you’ll see exactly what it is.

Here, take another look. Remember, look at it for at least five seconds.

Did you stare at it for at least five seconds?

Did it reveal what it was to you?

Did you notice how it moved slightly?

No? Then take a final look. Remember, stare at it for at least five seconds. If you do, you’ll see it move slightly and reveal its secret.

Did it work? No? Then I’m going to have to tell you.

You see, that creature is the creak of the door. That faint sound you hear in the middle of the night wakes you up and makes you freeze, unable to move. That feeling terrifies you even though you’re not sure you heard a noise.

That creature is the creak of the trees as you walk past them. It’s the faint sound of those footsteps behind you. It’s the one ring of the telephone that stops and makes you wonder if anybody is really calling you. The chill passes through your body when somebody walks over your grave. That creature is the whisper you think you heard when you were all alone.

That creature only sleeps on the night of Halloween. That’s the one night you can rest, knowing you’ll be safe…unless…you stared at the photo for more than five seconds.

Did I not mention that the photo is cursed and that nobody should stare at it for more than five seconds or have read this post? Now you’re cursed. You see, that creature is me. I’m right behind you right now! Whatever you do, don’t look behind you. In fact, never ever look behind you ever again. Never! You see, if you do, then…

I am the creature.

Written in response to Sue Vincent’s The Thursday Photo Prompt #writephoto – Over at The Daily Echo.

Photo credits to Sue Vincent.