EXERCISE Random Word Inspiration 13

Discussion in 'INSPIRING MUSES' started by Kitti, Aug 12, 2016.

  1. Thoughts can be fickle things. Sometimes all it takes are a few words to spark an idea and those same words can have a different effect on everyone.


    What do these words inspire in you?
    Write whatever comes to mind, be it poem or prose. It doesn't even have to include the words if you don't feel like it!



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  2. (Well, I thought of a short story. If that's not ok, then delete it *shrugs*)

    Impure. Unclean. These were her first thoughts upon waking. She put a hand to her head with s soft groan then turned to her side as she worked her way to sitting up once more. She looked to the fire, it's bright embers testament to the end of the puppet, or at least it's physical form. Hopefully no one would ever try to read those words again. Her mind darted back, remembering how it had all started.

    First day of camp, she had been late and had been assigned the last cabin, alone and set apart from the others. At first she thought that would be alright, she wasn't a social butterfly anyway and liked the thought of reading as late into the night as she wanted. That was before she went inside and started putting her things away and found him. He looked like he had been thrown in the back of the closet and forgotten there by some kid before her. She shrugged, bringing him out and cleaning him up. He was some kind of marionette puppet and had a paper in the pocket that she pulled out and tried to read, though it seemed like a foreign language. The bell rang to call the campers to supper, so she ran off to join the others, leaving the puppet on a bed. That was when she heard the first stories about the cabin being haunted and campers dying inside.

    Sure the stories made her shiver, but then what good ghost story wouldn't? It was dark when she returned, going to her bed and laying back on it with a sigh. Sleep was hard to come by, even after she turned the lights out and put her books away. It wasn't surprising to hear what sounded like footsteps outside deep in the night, but she thought it was the other campers trying to scare her. She wasn't one to scare easy though and went to shine a light on them to make them stop, only there was no one there. She frowned and returned to her bed only to stop and look around warily when she saw the puppet on her bed where she had just been. Odd...she hadn't heard anyone come in. She checked the doors, still latched and no sign of anyone nearby. She turned and went back to get the puppet, only he was back on the other bed now. She frowned deeper then shrugged, figuring she had gone to the wrong bed because she was tired.

    The following days had more odd occurences of the puppet appearing then disappearing all over camp, but only when she was alone and she was blamed for everything the puppet did to ruin projects and eventually hurt others. She tried to explain how she was innocent but no one believed her since there was no one but her there when they investigated. Eventually she tried throwing the puppet away, in the locked closet where she had found him, in the lake, in the woods. Each time he would find his way back to her and the attacks would escalate. She tried taking the doll to the cleric, but he just thought she needed a sleeping pill and help he couldn't or wouldn't give.

    In the end it was the cold that gave her the idea of how to get rid of the puppet. A wood burning fireplace used to keep the cabin warm overnight was the perfect solution. Fire cleanses right? She had read that somewhere, right? She waited for the rest of the camp to go to sleep then took the puppet, wrapping it in it's own strings before it could do anything else then throwing it in and slamming the door shut. Something happened alright, she was thrown back by some force she didn't see to land on the floor and pass out. She came too close to morning, turning to her side then sitting up with a groan and rubbing her head. She looked to the embers in the stove then got up to pack her things. She was being sent home today because of all the bad behavior. She took her bags out then closed the stove door, making sure it latched before leaving the cabin and heading for her father's car. Unclean, impure, but gone now or so she thought.
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  3. "Tch, worthless." The man tossed the puppet aside, the puppet landing unceremoniously on the floor. With a groan, the living doll got up and tried to shuffle back to its master. "Away from me!" he bellowed, lashing out at his creation. It once more skidded across the floor with a whimper.

    "Am I...not good enough, master?" it asked, its joints creaking and groaning as it shakily stood up.

    "Far from it, you're too impure to be of any use," he answered, eyes fixated on the blueprint. The perfect doll, the one that will help him strike it rich. And what did he get? A puppet with too many mistakes weaved into it to be of any use.


    "Don't you get it?! You're useless! You won't help me strike it rich! You're too ugly for anything! Now go with the other dolls and stay there!"

    "...Yes master..." It shuffled its way to the toy box, feeling depressed and inadequate. It'll do anything to help its master, but he didn't know what would please him. It opened the toy box and heaved himself inside, closing the lid with a click.
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  4. Puppet

    She danced when he said to,
    And she bowed when he ordered,
    She did not groan or complain,
    Yet still, he hated her.

    She couldn't understand,
    Why he still glared,
    Why he called her impure,
    Or why he hated her.

    She tried to do what he asked,
    But nothing was ever good enough,
    Not for the man who had everything.
    Had he always hated her?

    Finally, she broke,
    And though it was dangerous,
    She cut her strings and ran away,
    From the man who hated her.
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  5. He cared the wooden puppet to the king's expressed specifications, as he always did. he was known for his delicate hand and artistic flair. Still, making this replica of the late queen seemed wrong somehow. What could the king possibly want with a life-sized puppet of his late queen. Many impure thoughts about that topic had crossed his mind, and none of them pleased him in any way.

    He'd been given a wig made of the queen's actual hair to use on the doll and every time he looked at it he groaned. Refusing the king's requests though was not something he was prepared to do, not over something like this. Luckily the king would never know of his private thoughts on the matter.

    After three weeks of laborious attention to detail, the puppet was finished and he was satisfied with the likeness in every way. He delivered it personally to the king, as he had been instructed and waited for his reaction.

    The king could not believe his eyes. It was as if his beloved Helene was back. He stood from his throne and moved to the puppet which was held erect by marionette strings and brace. He scrutinized every detail and then looked at the puppetmaster, "You have outdone yourself sir. I am quite pleased."

    "You are kind, your Highness. I am very glad to hear she pleases you."

    The king dismissed the guards and then looked at the puppetmaster. "You will pack up your shop and reside in the castle."

    The man looked confused. "Why would you wish me to live in the castle Highness? Surely this creation of mine is not worthy of such a reward."

    "Oh but she is," he replied, "And you will keep her alive for me by you skills as well."

    Then the intent became clear and the puppet maker finally had a reason to speak his mind. "But Sire. She is not alive, she is made of wood. She cannot replace our lost queen."

    The king turned and his face was red with anger, "You will do as I have ordered or you will forfeit your head."

    "As you wish Sire." he said with a bow to hide his sudden terror. From that day, til the king's last breath he lived with the King and moved the puppet as he was ordered trapped by his own creation.
  6. The alchemist hunched over the table
    and he worked from dust til dawn
    to bring to life what had only been fable,
    a thing alive he would spawn.

    But trial after trial, it kept turning out wrong,
    a puppet, a doll, a shell,
    whether because of impurities strong,
    or a procedural mistake - who could tell?

    He spent hours, days, weeks, even years
    inside of his personal enclave,
    slaving away to the point of tears,
    to gain the fame that he craved.

    For no man had ever created his kin
    without the aid of a mother.
    And to the alchemist, this was no sin
    to start from scratch another.

    But alas his homunculus
    remained inert on the table,
    and to think he spent his life on this,
    for it only to remain a fable.