Prompted: Emergence

I’ve been wanting to say these next four words for a while-

With my writing group,


With my writing group, we’re due to have our first meetup of the year tomorrow. We’re all meant to bring a snippet of our writing, the means to write more, and there’ll be discussions about lots of things that aren’t writing, but also writing. It’s why we’re doing this, after all. One of the additional things that’s happening, is we have writing prompts with a 200 word target. They don’t know it yet, but it’ll be a fortnightly thing, and I have all the prompts worked out to take us through to the end of October. One of the others in the group has created events for flash-fiction between 1000-1500 words. We’ve also floated the idea of doing short stories in a group-created world, though we’ve not yet discussed what that might look like. That’s a potential discussion point for tomorrow.

But anyway, the prompts.

The way I approach writing prompts, is that you receive the prompt, and write whatever it makes you think of. If the prompt is Bicycle, it isn’t necessary for what you write to be about a bicycle, but you should be able to explain why you’ve done a partial coming-of-age story for a boy in a treehouse. The prompts aren’t intended to be amazing or suited to all types of writing, but it’s 200 words. It’s too short to build up what’s happening, but too long to roll a singular point around paragraphs past boring. Well, hopefully.

The first prompt for them (and myself) is Emergence.

The bit I wrote for it is below:

She noticed the gleaming rocky surface first, wet with the run-off from the abated storm. There was a wall there a step past the entrance, though it was one of thick wet air and not of solid rock. It didn’t look any warmer outside the cave, yet a single step was enough for the overcast sky to be uncovered for the lie that it was.

The first breath outside the cavern was moist, and it refused to pass from her mouth into her lungs. A second, harder breath was more compliant. It was moist air, both to taste and to step into. It pushed against her skin and seeped its humidity into her clothes, until they were heavy with dampness. The cold dry of the cave called to her, beckoning with the promise of relief, but it was not persuasive enough to distract her from her purpose.

She reached into her pocket and grabbed her fingers at the damp fold of paper inside. She unfolded it carefully, stopping whenever it was given to stubbornness, and denying it the chance to tear. She was lost, but she hoped that the map would take her where she wanted. Maybe even home.

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