Write a Prompt based on an Image

[Anonymous No.17168421]

>I wrote this short piece using this image as inspiration. I'm going to post a few more images that I think are pretty interesting that could inspire some other small stories.
>Critique and feedback are welcome, and feel free to post your own pictures as well.

Part 1 of 2

She first introduced herself to him as Sophia. On their first date Charlie noticed that although she was almost his height, she still had to stand on her toes to kiss him. Under the linen dress she often wore, her olive complexion spilled out and reflected the evening sun like gold. Long streams of auburn hair fell from her head in loose curls. It was getting thicker these days as it had stopped falling out in their shower about a month ago. She was not yet showing, but she was pregnant again. At least their doctor thought so.

Most days, Sophie also wore her hair up with a thin white ribbon tied in a bow, a bow which most days, Charlie would try to pull loose. What started as an occasional tease, developed into an elaborate game, the few unspoken rules established between them over many years. The game was always as follows: Charlie would see Sophie and approach her like a knight would lancing. He always tried to keep a natural yet brisk pace, appearing preoccupied and busy to throw her off. Only when she wasn’t looking would he reach out to pull the knot loose. But overtime, Sophie rarely neglected to keep a part of herself ready when Charlie approached this close. Sohpie’s role being to dodge his attempt with a movement as slight as possible, only shifting away at the last possible second. More times than not, Sophie won. On many occasions avoiding him with a laugh while she was hanging laundry by the river or playing with their son, Jack. One time, near the end, it was quiet and Sophie swayed on their porch swing by herself watching the leaves of grass curl back and forth against the wind like waves, Charlie had snuck up behind her. The image of Sophie turning to face him, already laughing, and the bow slipping through his fingers still fastened, would stick in his mind, forever.

[Anonymous No.17168426]

>>17168421
Part 2 of 2

Both Sophie and Charlie understood that he was only allowed one attempt. Successful or unsuccessful, this one chance determined who of the two would be the victor for the entire day. Charlie had sworn never again to lie to Sophie after she had taken him back, but oddly enough the couple never once uttered a word about their game to each other as Charlie was convinced that he would only upset Sophie by bringing up his large lead in points. Sophie never mentioned their game to Charlie either for exactly the same reason. However, it was in fact Sophie who had the actual lead in points, the detailed count she kept updated at the end of her daily entries in a small diary that she hid under her nightstand.

After the funeral, Charlie found the diary while he was moving some now unused furniture into his truck to give to Jack's wife. Until the end of his life, after brushing his teeth and taking the heart medicine in his weekly pill organizer, Charlie would lie in bed and open the diary. He would read pages and pages every night like scripture, stopping only after the rare entry in which he had emerged victorious that day. So rare, that it was usually early in the morning when Charlie finally finished his reading, carefully making sure not to lose his place with a brittle white ribbon, as a bookmark.

[Anonymous No.17168436]

Inspiration Pic 1/9

[Anonymous No.17168453]

Inspiration Pic 2/9

[Anonymous No.17168491]

Inspiration Pic 3/9

[Anonymous No.17168500]

Inspiration Pic 4/9

[Anonymous No.17168509]

Inspiration Pic 5/9

[Anonymous No.17168556]

Inspiration Pic 6/9

[Anonymous No.17168573]

>She first introduced herself to him as Sophia. On their first
Hold it right there... that’s a double “first.”

[Anonymous No.17168582]

>>17168573
Shit, let's just pretend that first first isn't there...

[Anonymous No.17168584]

Inspiration Pic 7/9

[Anonymous No.17168595]

Inspiration Pic 8/9

[Anonymous No.17168607]

Inspiration Pic 9/9

[Anonymous No.17168616]

>>17168421
>>17168426
>>17168436
>>17168453
>>17168491
>>17168500
>>17168509
>>17168556
>>17168573
>>17168582
>>17168584
>>17168595
>>17168607
Take your meds.

[Anonymous No.17168677]

>>17168595
>>17168421

Good thread OP; fuck the haters.

He was down but he sure as fuck wasn't out yet! The rest of them were busy kicking the shit out of Alex and his whining cries really stung. Geoff had his knife ready though and he levered himself up with a grunt.

The first of them only became aware of his sprinted approach with the blade jammed between his ribs. Geoff felt warmth on his chest and hand so he ripped it out and stabbed again.
One of them tried to tear him off their friend and Geoff gouged a cut across the palm of his hand, making the other man cry out in pain.

By this time, they were all shouting; either in pain, like Alex, who only now was pushing himself up from the ball he'd curled into; or in anger, like the big fucker from the country club with the slacks and nice shirt.

Geoff bared his teeth in a snarl, the gurgling sound of the guy underneath him sending a thrill of visceral joy through his veins. Alex coughed once, twice, then managed:

"Geoff, we've gotta *go!* They'll just get more.."

Geoff let the knife slide as the man across from him seemed to fade into the inky darkness around them, the glow from his cellphone prominent in the gloom. Geoff grimaced, managing to reply, "Yeah, sure Alex; let's get the fuck out of here."

Their footfalls were muffled by the grass, while overhead the stars wheeled in their insane paths, making Geoff feel like a child.

They'd gotten away.

[Anonymous No.17169214]

>>17168677
I like it, the imagery of violence and children are interesting, I think I would have like more of Alex's reaction to this scene.

Also I don't this sentence benefits from the two semi-colons, and I'm unclear of who the "big fucker" is, is it the guy Geoff stabbed, or one of his friends?
>By this time, they were all shouting; either in pain, like Alex, who only now was pushing himself up from the ball he'd curled into; or in anger, like the big fucker from the country club with the slacks and nice shirt.

I think it would be a nice to insert a sentence defining the big fucker's context within the scene. Something like this:

>Alex shouted in pain, only now pushing himself up from the ball he'd curled into. Ther was another shout, but this one came from the big fucker with the slacks and nice shirt. He was lumbering over from the country club and headed straight for them.

[Anonymous No.17169352]

>I wrote another one.

Part 1 of 3

Cat: Ha! I've caught you!

Mouse: Oh no! Please Cat, do not eat me, I do not want to die, please!

Cat: Mouse! You know I kid! Please stop shaking, I am glad I ran into you because I have to tell you about my newest novel! It came to me last night, clear as day!

Mouse: W-what a relief! And that is so wonderful Cat, I would love to hear about it.

Cat: Well, I'm sure you have heard a writer is always told to "write what you know", so I've started a new novel about a vagabond struggling to write the next great novel and the price of loneliness and intellect it takes to write it! It will be more real and true than anything I've ever written and... Oh my Mouse, are you okay? I can only see the whites of your eyes.

Mouse: I'm sorry Cat, I'm fine, I don't know what came over me.

Cat: In any case, what do you think of my idea? I am quite excited about it!

Mouse: Hm, I agree that writers should write what they know, that much is true. But that means experiences, memories, fears, emotions, feelings, and passions. But when a writer writes a book about a writer... it's trickier. I'm not sure how to feel about it, and I'm worried you're writing about the wrong things.

Cat: What do you mean by the wrong things?

Mouse: I don't know, is it not the writer's job to parse through all of their experiences? Purposefully tailoring what is "good" towards the context of their book? Discarding anything that other people cannot relate to, anything that is not true? The qualifications change depending on the author, but I think something true, and something relatable is always good.

Cat: But let's say if something is true and real, and that thing ends up being aspects of the writer's life as a writer. Then what about writing about being a writer is still wrong?

Mouse: At that point I think the writer starts to walk a precarious line between fiction and autobiography, and if the story is already about a writer, why not write as true as you can, and lean into it entirely? To write a fiction about a writer, when you yourself are a writer... it's almost as if you are forced to take all of these pure experiences and beautiful moments, and then force them to fit your fiction. This is not impossible, however it is a very hard thing to do and I think most people would get lost between what is true, and what is false. Between fantasy and memoir, delusions of grandeur and the sobering mundanity of their life.

Cat: I see, as if the writer is too scared to abandon themselves for pure fiction, and too afraid to lay themselves bare in a true biography. The novel about a writer is filled with apprehension and self-doubt!

[Anonymous No.17169362]

>>17169352
Part 2 of 3

Mouse: Yes, but often these books are from new authors like you said, and new meaning young, people who have not experienced many things, or had time to have their feelings ferment: regret into gratitude, anger into remorse, and tragedy into comedy. Authors looking ahead when to write they really need to be looking back. N-Not that I mean you by any means!

Cat: Ha of course Mouse! So, as general advice for the layman, you think a writer should write everything else in their life that isn't writing.

Mouse: Maybe. I think the problem with that, is that any good writer will spend a lot of their time writing, and less time experiencing life. For example, if I wanted to write a book about connecting with other people and my feelings of loneliness and isolation. While the reality is that writing the book requires sitting alone for long periods of time, the consequences being that the relationships with the ones closest to them, wither and die like unwatered plants. It... it just feels counter-intuitive to me, you know?

Cat: Perhaps you are too hard on yourself! Writing is how we writers have chosen to express ourselves, and who is to say that a writer cannot balance their relationships, family, friends, with a healthy and stable writing career? And even if they can't, perhaps they are writing a swan song to others who may also feel lost and alone? Or maybe more than all of that, the writer is just uttering a small and bleak cry for help in an uncaring world, full of other lonely lost souls?

Mouse: Yeah… if that's that case, if a writer has these feelings of loneliness, and isolation, and they really are crying out for help through their work, well, why has it not occurred to them that maybe a good place to start is to hold off on writing? To instead experience life more, connect with their friends, their real friends, not their neighbors I would like to clarify. To me, reading a novel hundreds and hundreds of pages long about being lonely is, I don’t kn-

Cat: But a true writer burns inside to write! Mouse, that is like telling a painter not to paint! You know Oscar Wilde once said that every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter. The sitter is merely the accident, the occasion. It is not he who is revealed by the painter; it is rather the painter who, on the colored canvas, reveals himself. In sum, every painting is a self-portrait. Could you not say that Oscar Wilde writing this very quote was not talking about painters, but rather himself as a writer? That every prose is an autobiography. I cannot help but to write, and anything I write that is true will be about myself.

[Anonymous No.17169369]

>>17169352
>>17169362
Part 3 of 3

Mouse: Wow Cat, that is a wonderful quote! Actually yes, I would agree with that. The fact that he is writing about a painter, it is a small enough abstraction that I guess you could write an entire book about a painter, filled entirely with your own true experiences about being a writer! It would be true, real. And taking your experiences as a writer and forcing them to fit more universally as a painter, would make those experiences in turn more universal towards anything creative: a musician, a sculptor, even a gardener. Just a small change like writing about a painter would justify fiction and forsake the question of autobiography!

Cat: Right? Ha, I guess you agree with me after all! It just took one small change. You know, I don't know why I didn't think of that, I should make my novel about a painter! The vagabond painter is such a more romantic image anyways, it will make the love triangle make so much more sense...

Mouse: Wait Cat! You can't just copy your inspiration.. and I still don’t think we entirely agree with you to be honest.

Cat: What do you mean? Why not?

Mouse: Well, I mean it's obvious that it's already been done! You just referenced it for me right now. You'd be stealing it!

Cat: Mouse my friend, good artists copy, but great artists steal!

Mouse: Cat, that's not what that quote means- God, I mean you are copying it!

Cat: Fine. Well, what if I made the main character a cat?

Mouse: ...What? I mean... I guess that could work, wait what does the cat do? I'm not following how you could show your experiences of being a writer as a cat.

Cat: Well, what if the cat is a writer?

Mouse: ... I think you're missing my point here.

Cat: No, no! It's my fault, I'm often misunderstood by the common man. It's just the curse of being a writer I guess. Anyways thanks for the chat, but I’ve got to run. I’ll see you for dinner tonight!

[Anonymous No.17170397]

>>17168421
>>17168491
Ah yes, the traditional blonde woman in a wheat field.
A true classic.