Thursday, November 10, 2016

Daily Ten-Minute Writing Prompt

The rules are simple. Set your timer for ten minutes. Begin to write and include the prompt somewhere in your mini story. The word he or she can be changed to reflect whatever gender you want to use. Optional: Share your writing prompt in the comment section. Write everyday.
Today's prompt is:

The flame floated across the melted wax.




Blindness was just the beginning. 
It was only when the virus progressed to Stage 2 that the true horror emerged. Ordinary people were being turned into mindless predators, and it didn't take Mason long to figure out their prey of choice. 

He thought he'd had nothing left to lose, but now he is all that stands between a young girl and a gruesome fate, and he's sworn to protect her with his very life. They'll have to be smart, they'll have to be strong, and they'll have to be every bit as ruthless as the swarm, but even as Mason and Mackenzie battle their way from one horror to the next in a desperate flight through a world gone mad, they both know that their time is running out.

The virus isn't done yet. Stage 3 is coming, and things are about to get a whole lot worse.


About the Author:
Ken was born in Saskatchewan, but has called Vancouver home for most of his life. He was raised on a steady diet of science fiction and disaster movies, so it seems right that his first published novel be about the zombie apocalypse. In his spare time, Ken tries to paint like Bob Ross and play poker like Doyle Brunson, but results suggest that he might have got it all backwards.

Tweet Ken @PennilessScribe

Website: www.kenstark.ca




2 comments:

  1. Writing prompt: The flame floated across the melted wax.


    It had to stop. There were too many monsters in this world, and too few people willing to do anything about it. I'm no hero, but even I knew when it was time to finally step up. I knew that I was the only one who could do something about this particular monster, and the more I considered the notion, the more convinced I became that I could do it. I could actually do it. In fact, I had to do it. So many young women were dead already, and the monster still hungered.

    So I made my arrangements. A quiet dinner to make it feel like just another night. A bottle of overproof rum to steady my nerves. A tiny white pill dropped into a glass to dull the senses. And once I was ready, a casual bump against a table leg to send the bottle skittering across the floor, spilling the rum in a wide puddle. Then, when I was certain that the dissolved pill was truly taking hold, another bump to knock a tall, elegant beeswax candle to the floor. I watched as the flame floated across the melting wax and touched the edge of the puddle, then the room erupted into fire and my eyelids fluttered closed.

    Soon enough, I felt flames crawl up my pant leg, and I let them come. The pill was working, so there was little pain. Even as the flames crept higher, I knew that I had no right to a painless death after all the suffering I've caused, but it was the only way I could do it. After all, the monster had to die, and like I said, I'm no hero.

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