PROMPT Random Word Inspiration 4

Discussion in 'INSPIRING MUSES' started by Kitti, Jun 3, 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!



  2. It begins with a spark. With an idea, an innocent thought conceived by the depths of the human mind. Then it grows, it becomes a flame, a fleshed out statement. At that moment, it is already too late, for the emergency has sprung, and the machinery set to work. Now the fire has been lit, and the inferno devours everything in its way.

    Yet, it is still innocent and pure. Just a different pureness.
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  3. My hands trembled as I lifted the graduated cylinder to eye level and fumbled with my pocket watch to check the time. I had to put it back down and take a deep breath before I could do anything more, the excitement and nervousness made my every movement jerking and brusque and I could not afford to make a mistake. I had come too far now and a careless accident might ruin everything. I held the pocket watch up once again and though my emotions made my hands unstable, I realized that I was running out of time.

    The silvery liquid in the container shimmered invitingly and swirls twisted lazily across the surface as the liquid settled. The flask that had just been removed from the burner and placed on a cooling pad nearby was, in contract, a concoction in the deep crimson color of blood. The red mixture's viscosity was akin to syrup and as I watched it, a bubble rose to the top and burst, leaving behind it a puff of white smoke. I had spent months gathering and distilling the ingredients to make these two radically different liquids. Before that had been research, gather and absorbing every resource available, from the conjecture of wizened alchemists to the tales told by old wives about witches in the woods. Seeing them now before me, fully realized, was almost enough unto itself to make me giddy. But this was not the best part, the best part was still yet to come.

    After another steadying breath, I took the cylinder in hand and marveled for a split second at how miraculous it was, weighing next to nothing. My left hand encircled the flask, though it was hardly needed with how dense and heavy it was. Slowly, I poured. The silver substance formed a well at first, separating itself completely from the red one. Then, all at once, red veins shot through the silver, breaking it apart and seemingly overwhelming it.
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  4. A scream and a gunshot pierced the air, traveling sharply and swiftly through the cold night like two rival swords. But there was no one around to hear it. There never was...they always made sure of that.

    Blood. Droplets bouncing off the snow. Signs of a struggle. Scuffed snow, footprints, heels dragged through the drifts. A lock of hair, caught on a twig.

    No one would find it. By morning, the wind would have completely wiped the evidence from existence. Any meandering animal walking by could take care of anything else.

    And as for the girl? The innocent bystander? She was taken alive. Never to be seen by her family again. She might not be alive for long. Not with what they had planned. And why? Why did they choose some random girl walking through the woods at night?

    Nothing but a whim and some small lie for their crime that they could use.

    The girl, body locked onto the pristine, hard white lab table, had awoken. She had a bloodied face. Melted snow, blood, and dirt patching her body and clothes. A hastily bandaged bullet wound on her left calf. A blindfold tied securely over her eyes.

    Her fingers twitched as if she was trying to hold something in her empty fist. A whimper, barely audible. She strained against the straps holding her against her will.

    A hiss sounded from across the room. She twisted her head in its direction. The blindfold slipped a little, allowing her to see from one eye. There was dim light, but she could make out a figure in front of some rather complicated looking equipment. She seemed to be in a one-room building...a rather large one.

    The figure turned around. Smiled a cruel smile. Took off the blindfold with little ceremony. "Well. This is certainly interesting. Didn't expect you to wake up so soon," he said with a smirk. "One of the only ones to be awake during the procedure. Your luck may be nonexistent."

    The girl shivered. "Who are you? What are you doing?" she said in a voice barely above a whisper, trembling in fear.

    "I have no obligation to answer the first question," the man replied. "But I'll tell you this. You don't have a choice in this matter. You are Subject 209 to me, and nothing more. I don't care about you. And one more thing. You should hope you don't end up like the Unstables. I'm distilling the final product now. Enjoy being yourself while you can."

    "U-Unstables?" quavered the girl, looking around the best she could. "Wh-wha...?" she was cut off when she turned her head, noticing for the first time the cages lining the wall. Hundreds of them. Most with humans- or what were once probably humans- crammed inside. Their ages ranged from toddlers to older people. Teenagers were the most frequent. She shuddered. One growled, light shining off his crazed eyes as the feathers bristling from his bald scalp shook. Many looked like hybrids of humans and animals. Mostly birds. Some looked normal...other than the crazed glint in their eyes and the sparks dashing off their skin. Oh, and all of them had what seemed to be collars locked around their necks, blinking lights dotting them.

    She shut her eyes against the sight and focused on not hyperventilating.

    The man was by her side soon enough, a medical needle in hand. It held an orange liquid, yellow streaks dotting the fiery color and veins of dark red pulsing through it with frequent violent surges. The man held her head down with a rough, strong hand. The needle slipped into a vein in her neck. She sucked in a breath and squeezed her eyes shut, knowing it was useless to fight. The liquid slowly, slowly eased out of the needle, her veins taking on a dark red color.

    As the needle was pulled from her skin, her eyes opened and a scream wrenched itself from her throat. Her eyes pulsed orange, yellow, red, flashed pure black in tandem with her veins. Then her vision was wrapped in darkness and she lay still.

    Feathers grew, orange and yellow wings sprouting from her back and unfurling so fast that the man barely had time to flip her onto her stomach. A long, flowing tail like that of a peacock's grew from her tailbone. Her veins pulsed red and black constantly.

    Once he was sure the process was over, the man lifted a pair of clippers and slowly cut the tips of her feathers, the delicate wingtips floating to the floor slowly and coming silently to rest. He lifted her limp head and snapped a thick black collar around her neck, tightening it with no gentleness, no mercy. The light flashed red a few times before glowing green.

    "Oh, little bird....I thought you'd be the weakest one," he whispered, a giddy smile lighting his face as he unlocked an empty cage. "Turns out you're the strongest...not bad for a bird in a cage."

    He lifted her in a bridal carry and deposidted her none too gently inside, locking the door securely and smiling at her prone form through the bars. "Welcome, Subject 209....welcome to Project Phoenix," he said in a low voice. And then, he was gone, not bothering to stay and see when his prized experiment woke.
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  5. He spared a brief moment, a very brief one for the crowds are getting violent, and wondered if he was hired because he looked lethal, or because he had a giant pet spider. He decided it was because of the spider.

    He had made a loose estimate that the king's people wouldn't be very happy with several things he announced at the public speech: First was doubling the taxes to feed an idiotic war sparked out of jealousy at how well those islanders did business. Second was food rationing. Last was the public execution of some former people's hero that stood up to the king. He wasn't paid to wonder if that hero did the right thing. He was paid, however, to know that publicly standing up to a king wasn't particularly wise nor smart.

    At the end of the speech, he could sense the hate in the crowd. Distilled into a fine, unstable powder that would blow the entire kingdom to pieces if one foot was placed wrong with too much force. There was no doubt this king would be overthrown within a few years. There would probably be a council of those elected by the people, and that would eventually degenerate into aristocracy and finally into autocracy. Living for a few thousands of years tends to give you that perspective.

    Not his place to law judgement, however. The king had bought him, his spider, and thousands of years of fighting Drow just as skilled as he was. Ironically enough he probably paid the man with the money that would have been needed to make the taxes less crippling. Such was the paranoia of the higher class if they felt threatened. Animals bite. People lash out. Nobility drown their problems in money. It's how the world worked.

    He realised, as the crowd had had enough and charged the king, that he was at the wrong side of history yet again. He pulled out his twin blades and whistled for R'varra hiding in a burrow she dug herself. That may be, but he'd rather die than break his glamorous reputation of always respecting the Deal. At least he didn't have to feed the old girl tonight.
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