/lit/ - Literature

[Anonymous No.435015]

so i have to write a 3 page essay for my creative writing class, and its due tomorrow, so as you might have guessed, im leaving it up to you all to determine what the story will be about, i will post a scan of the prompt below

[Anonymous No.435024]

Write a short story in which your character is put in motion. Either on foot or in a vehicle, in urgent search of something. What does he or she need? Why so urgently? Let us know in a flashback of no more than 3 sentences. Then add character. In dialogue let us know some important thing from the past. Then add an object, let the object trigger a memory, let the object tell us something we didn’t already know.

[Anonymous No.435020]

Drunk shits in the town well and everyone gets sick.

[Anonymous No.435031]

I hope that baby can clean up all the peanut butter because I'm sure as hell not doing it.

[Anonymous No.435030]

>>435024
this is the prompt

[Anonymous No.435033]

You have a main character who is skinny and ugly. He bakes the best motherfucking cake on the planet, and a girl is slightly interested in him. Then he gets his face beat in when he's mugged walking home.
The end of the story has him masturbating into the cake mix and giving it to the girl.
If you are worth anything as a writer, you will write that story.

[Anonymous No.435035]

>>435031
Yeah, seriously

fucking baby

[Anonymous No.435036]

>>435024

He's on his way home from work because he forgot his jar of peanut butter on the counter. He really hopes his boss doesn't find out he left for such a stupid reason.

[Anonymous No.435043]

I know it's probably been done, but I didn't see it and when I saw that baby in peanut butter I had the incredible desire to do some very minor editing in paint.

[Anonymous No.435048]

>>435036
i like this, I'LL TAKE IT!

[Anonymous No.435053]

>>435043
that doesnt really look like diarrhea at all tho

[Anonymous No.435054]

>>435053
AS SOMEONE INTIMATELY FAMILIAR WITH DIARRHEA,

[Anonymous No.435060]

>>435043
Now give him Japanese eyes and the illusion will be complete.

[Anonymous No.435061]

>>435054
It is my job.

[Anonymous No.435064]

Peanut butter baby who is torn between his love of peanut butter and the love of his parents who are going broke buying peanut butter. His attempts to find a substitute for peanut butter leads him into a toddler life of dirt and bugs abuse. Eventually the child dies of illness due to eating unhealthy objects. The true killer in this story? His love.

[Anonymous No.435068]

>>435031

I hope that baby can clean up all the peanut butter because I'm sure as hell not doing it.

[Anonymous No.435067]

>>435053
When I see it without the peanut butter jar in the picture, I don't even think about it being peanut butter.
Then you think "well, what could have possibly caused this? Lumpy tan paint? Maybe some sort of strange dark cheese? Perhaps poo-poo?", and the first thing that comes to mind is poo.

[Anonymous No.435065]

>>435033
He needs a connection with people, because he has no friends and his family is disappointed in him. They feel he has wasted his youth on learning to cook and he 1. wants to prove them wrong 2. wants to use it to meet someone.
The object is a saucepan his dad used to beat him when he started. The flashback is the beating. Again, the character is not gay, but the dad is so homophobic he hates the fact his son likes cooking.

[Anonymous No.435070]

>>435068
My cover is blown!

[Anonymous No.435072]

>>435064
This is too good to go to waste on a creative writing class.

[Anonymous No.435075]

Write a story about a delusional young suburban kid with dreams of anarchy and rebellion and all that gay shit. The kid tries to burn down his high school with molotovs but is horribly burned in the process when the gasoline sprays onto him.

Moral of the story: White people are crazy.

[Anonymous No.435093]

>>435075
This story has a distinct lack of peanut butter.

[Anonymous No.435098]

>>435064
this is great, but doesn't fit the prompt, also is it too late to say "pic unrelated"?

[Anonymous No.435100]

>>435075
How about a story of a schizophrenic kid who has one personalty that prefers a certain brand of peanut butter, and another personalty that only prefers another kind of peanut butter. He ends up killing his parents. the police found him laying on the floor, covered in jars upon jars of peanut butter.

[Anonymous No.435104]

>>435098
But peanut butter baby is set in motion for his desire for peanut butter and a better life.

[Anonymous No.435111]

>>435100

This story is absolutely ridiculous. Everyone knows there's only one good brand of peanut butter.

[Anonymous No.435122]

>>435111
>creamy
>not delicious, delicious organic peanut butter

[Anonymous No.435132]

>>435111
Dude, peanut butter is peanut butter, you corporate whore.

WAKE UP, SHEEPLE.

[Anonymous No.435135]

What's the prompt OP?

[Anonymous No.435138]

>>435132

You have quite obviously never tasted peanut butter ever in your life.

[Anonymous No.435146]

>>435138
I have had so much peanut butter that something something something.

[deleted No.435148]

>>435122

lol organic

Enjoy your exact same shit with 300% markup, faggot.

[Anonymous No.435159]

>>435135
the prompt is this
>>435024

[Anonymous No.435177]

>>435098
post me another picture, and I'll try to give you another idea that fits your prompt!

[Anonymous No.435192]

>>435177

[Anonymous No.435196]

>>435177
Do it.

[Anonymous No.435197]

>>435192
Shooped.

[Anonymous No.435202]

>>435159
Main character is a serial killer whom is rushing to mexico.

OR

Main Character is a man in some 3rd world country pronounced dead, he must struggle to leave his grave and crawl back to his village or w/e.

OR

Main character is being hunted for being a whistleblower at some large corporation.

[Anonymous No.435203]

>>435196
>>435192
oh lawd, I shall try now

[Anonymous No.435201]

>>435197
No.

[Anonymous No.435207]

Write about James Cameron's desperate journey to the Oscars, then subsequent suicide.

[Anonymous No.435211]

>>435203
I just read the prompt, damn that is convoluted. Not sure where to go with this...

[Anonymous No.435222]

>>435202
You used "whom" incorrectly, good sir.

[Anonymous No.435232]

>>435222
my bad nigga. I was going to go somewhere else with that first idea, but erased it and re-did it. I must have forgotten about the "whom".

[Anonymous No.435291]

>>435192
>>435196

Aerial dog awakes to find out he's a spirit, the light of the afterlife grows brighter and beckons for him to accept death. Scared of death he quickly scours the earth for his body so that he may return to the living. He only remembers a young little girl living in the ghetto with no friends besides himself. Determined to return to her he eventually manages to find his body. Sadly, his young master has not taken notice. She has given up on running away from the ghetto, and has instead become a wigger partying every day an doing drugs. You remember the reason for your death now, simple neglect. In the same way your master accepted her surroundings, you choose to do the same and move on to death.

[Anonymous No.435356]

bump

[Anonymous No.435541]

OP here
this is what i wrote:
The air is probably laden with mold spores but I suck in greedily as I jump through the disheveled hallway. It was so long ago, why can’t I remember my office number? 233 zooms by my left shoulder, no it was in the upper 300s I’m sure. I leap over a fallen filing cabinet and my foot goes straight threw the rotten floor, I was in freefall for a couple seconds, now I'm in the basement, well, shortcut I suppose. Office number 349 is at the end of the hall and a pile of warped boxes and paper documents rise up from the darkened corner like a ghetto disturbed lava lamp. I can freak out about whatever that was later, my window is going to close soon. Okay I was in 368. I sprint down the hall, its a lot darker, I trip on a metal bar and scratch my face on a wire sticking out of the wall, finally 368. The door is rusted shut, or something is blocking the entrance. I sink to the ground and find a small section of rebar, closing my eyes I smash the glass window to the door, turning the knob from the inside I open the door. I open the second drawer next to the computer consol, its empty, the first drawer, empty except a butter knife. I fall backwards into the swivel chair. It’s gone.
“How could I have let this happen!” I groan to myself “I was only a technician, how could I have known a little peanut butter could do something like this?”

[Anonymous No.435544]

My alarm had failed, and just after getting that promotion. I figured I could make myself a simple sandwich in my office. I jogged into the kitchen. Dioda was eating a bowl of cereal.
“Mommy, are you going to save us today?”
“Sure am sweetie, assuming I can get to work!”
The pantry was open. I grabbed a jar of smooth VelanoCo peanut butter, and a bag of bread and flew out the door. Despite my haste, I was still late for my last day of work.
Something is shuffling down he hallway, perhaps that spectral trash heap from earlier. I reach for the gun in my waistband. Hopefully I know how to use it. Up against the wall. I can’t see it, but its human. It’s using a key to open the office door.
“Aggie is that you?”
“Don’t you fucking move you fucking fuck!”
I’m in front of him with my gun drawn pointed at his head, I can’t see his face.
“Who the fuck are you!”
“You’re not Aggie.”
“No I’m not, I used to work here, did you eat a jar of peanut butter that was in here?”
He doesn’t seem threatening. I lean against a wall, but keep the gun in front of me.
“Are you the biosystem engineer coordinator? Aggie wants to talk to you if that is who you are”
“ All I want is a jar of peanut butter that is suppose to be in my office”
“This is not your office.” he started to walk towards me
“Hey!”
He is bleeding on the floor. I jump over him and close the door. I had shot him in the stomach. Hopefully there is enough of a sample on this knife to be of use. I don’t remember this fancy handle.
The man in my office is not dead.
“You’ve killed the whole world, what another man’s life to you! Dania Geiger!”

[Anonymous No.435546]

Well god damn it, maybe that guy wasn’t as deranged as I though he was. I turn around and look through the broken window.
“This is Aggie’s office Dania! She was the Biosystem lab assistant director, your old job.”
“Fine then, where is my office?”
“It doesn’t matter, this is the end”
“What’s my office fucking number!”
“436”
Turning and running now, I’m not tripping, I don’t have time for that, I’ll be infected and dead or worse in 2 minutes, the least I can do is try to make up for my hideous failure to humanity.
Number 436 to my left. I jump and swan dive threw the glass window. Huge gash down my stomach, ill live long enough. Second drawer, plastic valenoCo peanut butter jar. Perfect, now I have to get upstairs and put this on the helicopter lift. Open door stumble into the hall, fall down, get up. Okay, I'm running and I feel nothing at all, no pain, none at all. Okay there are some stairs. Go up the stairs. I can’t feel the fat and flesh on one side of the gash rub against the other side and slowly tear the gash wider. Second floor again, better light, almost outside, exit to the left. sloshy gory feeling is livable right? Very short term thinking right now, come on now.
Looking at the bright color scheme of the logo… it reminded me of a 1970s prom dress. I had peanut butter on my hands, and I opened the hatch to the clean room, I wasn’t going to be there long, I didn’t plan to touch anything, just to make sure everything was going the way it should, I’ll just take the risk and not wash my hands.
I’m outside side now, I can see him he can see me. I don’t have to run I can fall down, okay throw the jar to the helicopter pilot, then your down, you are finished.

[Anonymous No.436144]

>>435033
>>435065
>>435075

Combine these. The kid doesn't have a clue whether he's making a cake or a molotov cocktail. He's just in the kitchen making some shit up and the reader has about as much a clue as to what he's making as he does. Partially he thinks he's being romantic in cake-baking, partially he thinks he's being anarchic in suburban terrorism. The two ideas combine and entwine all over the fucking shop. Suddenly there are 'pogniant' sentiments as to love being destructive and terrorism coming through desire for something.
Conclude with him falling back and ejaculating high into the air, then everything blowing up. Or not. Leave ambiguity.

Also make continual references and allusions to obscure /lit/ loving texts. Never explain.

MAKE THAT STORY HAPPEN OR I WILL.