Today’s prompt: “Toto, if we’re not in Kansas anymore, where are we?”
Non-Euclidean architecture? Check. Mud, ooze, and limestone ruins? Check. Figure of dread Cthulhu standing before you? Check.
Looks like you’re in R’lyeh.
Today’s prompt: “The art of love”
You might be familiar with the five love languages: acts of service, quality time, words of affirmation, gifts, and physical touch. Does a shrine count as a gift? That seems like the most obvious category, but I think you could make an argument for act of service if there was a lot of effort put into building the shrine, or, as in this instance where there’s an altar in the midst of the shrine, keeping it full of human sacrifices. Anyway, the guy who killed you clearly loves Cthulhu, and has mastered that particular art of love. And, given all the pictures of His Tentacledness pasted all over the altar, the art of decoupage.
Today’s prompt: “What you ate for breakfast”
You didn’t think you’d eaten the eggs of an alien species for breakfast, and certainly didn’t think you’d swallowed them whole. But the rapidly-growing 14-legged giant arthropod-things bursting through your colon now say otherwise.
Today’s prompt: “You can keep only one memory from your entire life. What will it be?”
The sorceress waits for your reply. “What if I don’t choose?” you ask.
“Then I’ll pick one at random from the ones that are flitting through your head right now. Either way, you only get one. You may as well pick a special one.”
Making fart noises with your brother. Okay, sorry. Gone. That camping trip with your friends where you drank whiskey from a flask and stared at the stars. Gone. And now the hard part. The birth of your daughter? The birth of your son? Your wedding day?
“Meeting Drew,” you say.
You see a cute stranger across the kitchen at a friend’s crowded house party. They make eye contact with you and smile over their Solo cup. You wander over to introduce yourself. Their hand is warm as they say, “I’m Drew.” For the rest of the evening, you talk about so many things. Your fields of study. Your favorite movies. Claymation. Weird recipes from the 1960s. Lawn darts. There was an easiness to the chemistry between you. It was a night tinged with promise.
Everything else melts away. You no longer remember all the intervening years – the long-distance relationship, building a life together, raising two kids. Nor any other aspect of your life – siblings, parents, your career. It’s just you and Drew in that kitchen that one night.
It was a good memory to pick, but the next couple days are confusing. Someone from your workplace calls when you don’t show up, and you pretend to be sick, not wanting to explain that you don’t remember where the office is, let alone what you do there. You start to dread getting texts or seeing looks of recognition from people since you have no idea who they are or how you know them.
And when that tentacly man shows up, you don’t remember who he is, or that you need to run.
Today’s prompt: “Write for 10 minutes about what is running through a husband-to-be’s head while his wife-to-be is walking down the aisle to where he stands.” [I think however you identify on the gender spectrum, we’re going to have you as the one waiting for your bride.]
“I’m so nervous,” you think.
“I still haven’t seen her dress. I wonder what it’s going to look like. She’s going to be gorgeous, obviously. No worries there. It’s just, I’m standing here, about to pledge the rest of my life with this woman I love, and it’s funny that there’s this built-in part of the ceremony that she has to keep secret from me. Traditions, so weird.
“It’s weird that we still go with the veil tradition. I mean, not everybody does, obviously, but she wanted to do it, so, you know, whatever makes her happy. Why did the veil thing get started, though? I feel like there was some Bible story or something about someone wanting to get married to one daughter, but then he lifts up the veil and it’s her sister, and then he has to marry both of them or something? And like work an extra however many years for the other daughter? Ugh the Old Testament is so messed up.
“Man now I’ve got Billy Idol running through my head. ‘It’s a nice day for a white wedding. It’s a nice day to start again!’ And then how does it go in the bridge? ‘There is nothing fair in this world. There is nothing safe in this world….’
“Ugh stop being so morbid. This is exciting! This is the first day of life married to the woman you love!
“Oh, that’s the music! Here she comes. Wow, that dress, though. Just wow. She looks so great, so beautiful, she’s so–
“What’s that coming out from under her veil?
“Is that a tentacle?”
Today’s prompt: “You’re confined for three months due to a serious illness. What do you miss, and what’s the first thing you’ll do when they let you outside?”
You know what you want to do when you go outside. You want to stretch your legs. You want to go for a walk in the park and breathe deeply the smell of the evergreens. You want to play tug-of-war with your dog. It’s going to be so nice to hang out with your kids – even helping them with their math homework sounds pretty good right now. And, of course, a proper steak and a glass of red wine.
None of those things are going to happen. You’ve just gone through phase one of the disease. Phase two involves an eruption of pustules all over your skin, an inability to keep food down, and a shutdown of your endocrine system. Phase three involves an irregular heartbeat, intermittent kidney failure, and eyeball rot. Phase four involves ingrown toenails, a post-nasal drip, and death.
Today’s prompt: “Describe a trip to an amusement park, focusing on the colors, sounds, smells, and tastes of the day.”
Vaporous cotton candy melts into your tongue, followed by the warm cinnamon-sugar of churros. Pastel carousel horses blur past your vision. As you pass the roller coasters, your senses are overwhelmed by the scent of sun-warmed vomit and the delighted screams of fair-goers as they charge down the tracks.
Of course, you had to go on the haunted ride. The one with all the creepy clown heads and the caution tape and the fake cottony spiderwebs and the soundtrack of creaky doors and echoing footsteps. But something went wrong during the ride, and when the knock-off mechanical Freddy Krueger jumped out at you, his clawed hand impaled your chest. Now the only thing you can sense is the coppery taste of your own blood in your mouth and the raspy sound of your dying breath.