Impromptu Probative Challenge #1

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Melon, Mar 14, 2015.

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  1. Hello everyone! I am starting a new series of challenges called the "Impromptu Probative Challenge"
    In these challenges I will give you a short prompt; a topic I will give to you to write about.
    However, I want to give things a unique twist.
    You will have a standard plot, but I will give you things you must include in your short story.
    I will give you odd and quirky things that must be used in the story.
    It enables you to be creative and really use your noggin. ^__^ is your first prompt.

    The Prison Escape
    ~~~~~ ~~~~~
    You are escaping from a prison. The person that is helping you escape is an intoxicated, aspiring
    poet. Who, when drunk, speaks in poem form. You must also include the word idiosyncratic
    in your story. Your story must include all of these things. Other than that, you can write whatever.
    Have fun!

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  2. I tried to run as the alarms around me blared, flashing vicious red that invaded my eyes and mind in the most unpleasant of ways, but the drunkard I had drug along with me as my escape partner was a mess and truly deadweight slowing me down. His steps were those as ragged and uncoordinated as one could expect from someone intoxicated to such a degree, but even beyond this was the method of speech this intoxication inspired from the apparently aspiring poet.

    Every word and sentence came out like that of a poem being read out loud, and it both awed and irritated me that such a drunk mind could speak with that level of quick creativity. It was idiosyncratic really, something I had never heard from a person before and was indeed unique to him. I couldn't think of it long as I heard guard's footsteps though, and with a grumble I grasped their hand to drag them behind me, well aware our escape was both an eternity and mere yards away...


    I'm terrible with dialog please forgive me >~>
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  3. “Sirens wail and bullets sail, and death awaits us if we fail…” This odd sentence was followed by an oddly bubbling laugh which was only stunted by a grotesque belch that cut the whole rhyming moment off much too soon. Or was it cut off too late? More lazy laughter followed, but with one sharp tug it was cut off again with a jolt. The smell of alcohol cut through the air and roughly infiltrated my nostrils, but I ignored it along with the mumbled verses being recited at my back. How on Earth did this guy get so intoxicated in a prison without getting caught? Where did he hide his stash? Why didn’t I have such a magnificent hiding spot with wonderful, mind-numbing things in it as well? No time, no time, just run. Those words, however frustrating they were to hear, were not incorrect. We had gotten far enough that attempts as a peaceful capture were already off the table and now bullets were whizzing past my head in such close proximity that I was certain I would be hit in no time. The man stumbling with confusing grace behind me was none other than the least widely-known, alcoholic, idiosyncratic rhyme-weaver of the century. For such a drunkard, he was surprisingly adept at things such as prison escape. “If they catch us, we’ll be doomed…” The poet started. “And we both will be locked up as loons…” I finished for him while rolling my eyes – my body’s sarcastic way of coping with my fear of that very thing happening. Manic giggling ensued, not mine, but his, and I struck out a foot to make him stop. It struck his shin and had the desired effect until after only a brief moment it was followed by pained yowling. I struck out again with a hand this time to smack him across the back of his head. “Shut up, you dimwit! They’ll catch us!” My shouts were mere whispers in the dark, but seemed to echo just as much as his howls. It was then that I head a creaking sound in the distance and the faint glint of a faraway light reflecting off of metal. However, this metal was not the massive grate I was looking for, but instead the metal of a tightly holstered gun. Without a second thought, I stopped dead in my tracks, a hand shooting out to grab the bumbling idiot at my side. He jerked to a stop, tripping over my firmly planted foot and stumbling to a wobbly standstill. My heart thundered in my chest, my cheeks heating instantly from the sudden fear that overwhelmed me. Then I heard it. “Tommy! Glad you could make it to the great escape! Your arrival and aid is sure to seal our fate!” The intoxicated poet wandered forward and gave the suited guard a slap on the back and they both started forward with grins on their faces. All I could do was trail on behind them with a pout on my mug while uttering my annoyance in spiteful words under my own breath. “Just because it rhymes doesn’t make it poetry… Dimwit…”
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