Writing Prompt #6

Today’s Writing Prompt is:

Tell the story of Dr. Knuckles and Billy Bean.

My Response to Last Week’s Prompt is:


How does it do that?
Dandelions might be
a heartier flower, but
it isn’t exactly a body
builder. Fragile green
stuff wasn’t meant to
suck its gut in to squish
through layers of cement.
This is probably one of
the few times that this
little yellow flower will
actually be seen as
hope instead of a weed.

Writing Prompt #5

Today’s Writing Prompt is:

My Response to Last Week’s Prompt:


Favorite shape?
I don’t have one.
Who has time for
shapes anymore?
I’ve never really
liked math anyways,
and I hated geometry.
But we need math
and shapes to live, right?
I know they’re
important in some way.
Why would we
study them otherwise?

I think I like
non-shapes best.
You know?
The ones that aren’t
quite perfectly perfect
like the rest of them.

Writing Prompt #4

Today’s Writing Prompt is:

your favorite shape

My Response to Last Week’s Prompt:


It’s vibrant pop of red
is so startling that, at least
at first, I’m so in awe
that I can’t identify what it is.
Once I do, what hope the little
bird brings..such vivacious life
in such a small thing
amidst the barren white
of cruel, crusty snow and ice.
Little male red birds and
female brown birds fighting
for warmth in a bush full
of tight red berries
bouncing into the snow as if
they were as startled as I was
by the birds’ sudden appearance.

Writing Prompt #3

Today’s writing prompt is:

My Response to Last Week’s Writing Prompt:

(I decided to incorporate this prompt into the short story that I’m currently working on, to make it a new scene in said project. And, I think I forgot to mention that these prompts don’t have any rules. Feel free to change words and pronouns and tenses and to even go off on a tangent that has nothing to do with the original prompt. The idea is to spark some writing.)

When Lily and Lara went back to the kitchen, Lily instantly sank back into her chair and downed the rest of her now lukewarm coffee. She tried imagining that it had liquor in it, but she still felt cold inside. “You gonna make some more coffee, Mom?”

“Why can’t you ┬ámake it?”

“I was just asking. You don’t have to be rude,” Lily said. She stood up and poured what was left of the coffee between hers and her mom’s cups before starting a new pot.

“Why do you do that?”

“What? I’m making coffee.”

“You always make it too dark,” Lara said.

“Then why didn’t you make it?”

“Don’t talk back to me.”

Lily slowly counted to 10 as she put her typical sixth scoop of coffee in the filter and snapped its holder into place above the pot. She started the old brewer and thought of the keurig she had at home. When she’d tried to buy one for her mom, Lara had refused; apparently she had some sort of attachment to the old pot.

“You know,” Lily said, “if you had someone to help you, maybe you wouldn’t be so mean towards everybody else all the time.”

“Your father helps me. And what do you mean–”

“Where is Dad, by the way?” Lily said.

“He went for groceries,” Lara said, moving to lean against the counter beside Lily. “We actually played rock, paper, scissors to see who’d get to get out of this house for a while.”

“She’s still painting.”

“Yeah. The doctors say it’s good for her.”

“That makes sense,” Lily said. She managed to pour herself a cup of coffee before it finished brewing, using the trick her mom had taught her where she traded her mom’s cup for the filling pot, winding up with two full cups instead of a mess.

They both put a good deal of creamer in the black stuff.

“It’s…thick,” Lara said.

“It’ll put hair on your chest.”

They both laughed, then stood in silence for a few moments, relishing the rare comfortable silence.


“Hmmm?” Lara looked at her over the brim of her cup.

“Don’t you think somebody trained at taking care of people would be able to do a better job?”

The silence that followed was much thicker than the coffee as Lara stared at her daughter and set down her cup.

Lily stared back, watching her mom process words that she suddenly realized she would see as cruelty, but it was too late to take them back. And, somehow, she didn’t believe or understand the raised hand until it made contact with her face. She helplessly watched her mug slip from her fingers, hit the floor, and shatter as Lily raised her hand to her now burning cheek.

The two women stared at each other in horror as Lily started to cry.