Morgan Delaney

Dark, strange and fantastic fiction

Writing Prompts

Marked

by

Two girls standing in water
Photo by Whoisbenjamin on Unsplash

Hi all,

sorry for missing a few weeks. I’ve been refurbishing and updating the site and it’s been a lot more complicated than I was expecting.

How complicated was it?

Oh. Em. About as complicated as …your mother?

Hey!

Sorry, you caught me off guard. I didn’t see you there.

Hmph.

Anyway. Here’s some lovely writing prompt fiction. This one didn’t even require much editing.

I’ve tagged it as ‘fantasy’ for the benefit of my international audience.

Irish readers will know better.

Enjoy!

The statue moved in the mornings.

Ella had seen it. She slept badly, often getting up while it was still dark.

Norah had never seen it move. She slept well.

But everyone knew the statue moved.

Busloads of tourists prayed to it. Tanned Italians. Pale Poles. They unfolded wheelchairs, lifted out those who needed help. After twitching their collars up they would go up the narrow gravel path between the lake and the mountain to the statue of Saint Mary. Some would do it barefoot or on their knees.

Ella said it never moved for them because that wasn’t the way: you had to go through the water. So you were clean when you stood in front of her.

Norah heard the tap on the window. It was dark outside. Her room had cooled overnight and it was hard to even think about getting up. It sounded again, louder. Ella. Who else? 6 am according to the pale glow of her alarm clock.

Ella, her eyes dark with shadows, wearing trousers. She almost always wore skirts, unless she was covering up bruises. Norah opened the window.

“Come on,” said Ella. Her teeth were chattering. “She’s moving again.”

Norah started to pull on tights. Took them off. Leggings and jeans and two pairs of socks. If they were going through the lake then tights were a bad idea.

She climbed out the window. “We have to get back before 8,” she said.

Ella grabbed her hand, pulling. Norah had to jog to keep up. There was a thick mist and Norah’s hair stuck to her face. At the lake they pulled off their shoes and socks and stepped into the water. The first step was so cold it burned but Ella was still pulling at Norah’s arm. She had to keep going to avoid falling over, the cold deadening her feet against the stones on the lake bed.

The grotto was invisible under the mist.

They got closer. Norah could see the statue. The blue-robed Mary was moving towards them, walking towards them. Running towards them.

Her mouth was open. “Go back!” she said. “Go back!”

Ella kept pulling Norah onward.

Behind the statue was emptiness. It carried the statue. As Norah reached it she was swallowed up.

The prompts were the above picture and the random word ‘marked’ for a title.

My usual writing prompt rules apply (only changes to typos and punctuations as well as deleting is allowed). Otherwise I would definitely change ‘…up they would go up the narrow…’ to ‘…up they would ascend the narrow…’ Tidier and avoids the repetition of ‘up’ in the sentence.

And ‘under the mist’ should be ‘behind the mist.’

On the other hand I was able to change

‘Ella was outside. Her eyes were dark with shadows. She was wearing trousers.’

to

‘Ella, her eyes dark with shadows, wearing trousers.’

Good call?

Slow

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Dog with orange eyes
Photo by 𝗔𝗹𝗲𝘅 𝘙𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘳 on Unsplash

Happy New Year everyone!

Let’s celebrate with some writing prompt fiction. This one was inspired by the above photo and the random word “slow” for the title. No changes except to typos and punctuation and deleting stuff. Enjoy!

“We need to go,” she said.

Benji wagged his tail from the basket.

Normally he ran to the door. There was a park with birds, rabbits and picnic leftovers. Today he just grinned with his tongue falling out one side of his mouth.

“I’m late,” she said. “If we don’t go now then we’re not going.”

Benji rose, ambled down the hall. She had her boots and jacket on, a roll of little plastic bags in her pocket. Benji let her hook the leash around his neck.

Her phone rang. Her boss wondering where she was, wondering if the report was finished. Wondering if he’d made a mistake asking her back. She had everything ready, just needed to get the dog to do his business and then she’d jump in the bus. Be there in no time.

“Come on, Benji!” All month he’d been lively and full of beans. This morning he would barely move. She looked at him. His head was low but he was looking up at her with his orange eyes. A sly look, from that angle.

He probably just sensed something was different, he didn’t like change. Didn’t like it when she’d left to move out on her own.

“This is a good place, Benji.” They were in the park, off to one side of the entrance. He often did his business here. She waited, scrolling through her phone.

Emails from work. Lots of them. They didn’t think she was up to the job. There was an undercurrent in all of them

…if you get a chance

… not sure it’s something you’re across…

happy with your decision but…

Benji was grinning at her.

She let the leash drop, started running. Sometimes she could trick him into moving a bit quicker. “Look!” she said. “Look, look, look!”

Benji turned, walking back out of the park.

“Benji!” She grabbed his leash. She pulled and he looked at her, Once. She apologised immediately

They walked the rest of the way in silence. Their flat was on the ground floor. Dark, she rented it for the bit of garden it had. She’d thought it would be perfect for Benji. Give him a chance to run around, be outside by himself when she was working. He hadn’t used it.

Inside the flat he went straight to his bed and lay down.

“No poo, Benji?”

No.

She hesitated at the door.

“Will you be okay? I’ll just be gone for a few hours.”

He rolled over and snorted.

No.

She squeezed her keys in her hand until it went numb. “I could stay here with you?”

No.

She went out to the garden, sat on the green plastic chair with its corroded ashtray. Slowly the tears came.

Is that Benji saying no?

Well, what do you think?

Reductive Surgery

by

Black and white line silhouette
Image: Reductive Surgery by Morgan Delaney

Hi all,

another piece of writing prompt fiction. As befits the topic I had to make a lot of cuts to get this one looking good. The prompts are given below the piece (but can you find where I’ve hidden them in the piece?).

Enjoy!

Pretty comes later.

They come for help but they’re looking in the wrong place.

Beauty is only skin deep, they say.

I nod and tell them what I’m, going to do.

I hate the phrase plastic surgery though it suits the people who come to me. Fake. Disposable. Pathetic. Until I turn them into art.

I give them a number and tell them how much it will hurt and they call.

I tell them it can go wrong and they call.

You can make me pretty, they say.

No. Pretty comes later. First we find your soul. And they think I mean that beauty is only skin deep.

It’s not. Beauty goes all the way through to the bones. Skin covers up beauty. Skin is the enemy.

Fashion comes and goes in waves, art lasts forever. When preserved.

I have them all, beautiful bones, matte organs, spiderwebs of combed tissue.

You’ll be famous. I tell them. You’ll be a work of art.

Will I be pretty?

First we find the message only you can give to the world.

Will I be pretty?

First I take you apart, then I put you back together.

You won’t survive.

Pretty comes later.

The prompts were

number
lace
cover
waves
pat

Puncture

by

Trees at the roadside, dawn
Photo by Branimir Balogović on Unsplash

Hi all,

here’s another piece of writing prompt fiction for you. I’m going to start tagging the genre so the archives are easier to navigate.This one is “Horror”.

You know the rules by now: 20 minutes, no editing apart from changing typos and punctuation and deleting.

Enjoy!

Rain taps on the roof. The headlights pick out a hedge, the trunk of a tree. The light is too yellow, the contrast off.

The car is half on the road, the hedgerow impaled between the bonnet and the tree. The windshield wipers squeak across the glass. The car is warm inside but there’s a draft. From the driver’s side window, which is cracked, a triangle missing. The engine hisses and the bonnet pops as it cools.

There are three people in the car. The driver, the person beside the driver and the person in the back. They wear seat belts. One is breathing jaggedly, lungs avoiding broken ribs.

Look around, blink, look again and the scene comes into focus. It doesn’t make sense. The dark, the yellow lights, the noise of rain, the weird angle of the car. Then: the pub; the drinks; the offer to drive the two girls home.
The sudden movement as the car crested the small hill.
The weightlessness as the car aimed itself at the ditch beside the road.

His neck was sore.
Please, God, not broken.
The girls. Maura beside him, Siobhán in the back. He called, his voice drowsy with shock. He couldn’t see her, couldn’t turn his head, couldn’t get the seat belt off.
“Hey!”
Did she move?
“Hey!” Movement behind him. “Siobhán?”
He could hear breathing. Thank God, they had their seat belts on. And it was only a little bump. Just ran off the road trying to avoid a… what was it?
A flash of white before the car had lifted off the road. Singing. Keening.

Maybe they’d hit… whatever. Or a fox in heat.
Behind him. Keening.

In the mirror. The banshee on Siobhán’s lap. She rocked and wept as she sang.
Life, coming out of Siobhán’s mouth. The old woman sucked it in.
And Siobhán started to sing.


And Maura started to sing.


And the old woman, dressed in white, her tangled hair muddy with blood crawled across the dead girl.


And he was singing, too.

Second chance

by

Candles in a row of glass bottles
Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

Hi all,

another piece of 20 minute writing fiction for you. The prompts are below the piece. Enjoy!

The jar cracked before Mel could pull it out of the saucepan.
“Shit!” She dropped it onto the messy counter. Blew on her fingers as she checked the cupboard. Two more jars. “Shit!”
Bryan was slapping the plastic table of his high chair, his head lolling as he followed the movement of his arms. He squealed, looked in her direction and smacked the table again.
Hungry!
She poured cold water into the saucepan, ignored her phone. She couldn’t afford to mess up another jar.


“Ya, yaya, yayayaya!” said Bryan.
Don’t look at it, Mommy, he was saying, look at me drumming.
Bang, bang, bang. He paused and the excitement drained out of his face like warmth into a black hole.
Hungry. That’s all.
The jar. She checked with her finger.
Scooped, tasted.
Disgusting.
Perfect.
His head wobbled as she went to him. Staring like he had no idea who she was.
It’s me, Bryan. You know?Here. Every day. Me. me.
“Here, you go, Bry! Yummy!” She put on her friendly voice but his face crinkled and he started to cry. He didn’t like her.
She breathed, rested her forehead on her left hand, feeling the pressure on her skull.
The stink of sweet carrot and chicken in her nostrils.
Bryan getting louder and louder, his nose dripping snot into his mouth. So when the phone vibrated it was natural to pick it up.
Get away for a moment.


He’d swiped back! She could contact him, take it further.
Why not? Next time would be better.


The jar was cold when they finished chatting. She got off the couch. Confused. Holding a small jar of crap.
There was noise in the kitchen. But she didn’t want to think about that.
Something she didn’t want to think about?
She had to get ready.
Big date. The start of a new life.

I think I might have overdone it with the exclamation marks and italics, etc. but…I think it works. Let me know what you think.

The prompts were:

hole
friendly
jar
disgusting
finger

Hot Air

by

Yellow flowers. No, I don't know what they are.
Photo by Sergey Shmidt on Unsplash

Hi all,

another piece of writing prompt fiction for you. This one is slightly different. I took a random plot generated by https://www.plot-generator.org.uk/story-ideas/https://www.plot-generator.org.uk/story-ideas/ and gave myself 20 minutes to fill out a Save The Cat style beat sheet.

I think I got everything, let me know what you think.

You can find the original randomly generated plot prompt below the piece. But first, sit back and enjoy a story that probably won’t be coming to Disney Plus any time soon.

Reis is the fastest fairy in Turkey. And the smallest. His metabolism means he can’t eat much nectar without farting – an unforgivable insult among fairies. He prefers eating petals anyway. Weird!

In the opening scene he is excited about the upcoming school Sports Day and zips around performing stunts. At snack time he mumbles that he is full already and needs to practice more loop-the-loops. He flies into the forest to watch his friends laugh and play while he chews on a petal. Hasim, the school bully arrives. His friends laugh at Hasim’s jokes about “pipsqueak” Reis.

Reis has to get inventive about why he doesn’t eat so much. At school he pretends he has forgotten homework and has to miss lunch so people can’t see how little he eats. At home he dumps his nectar into the beak of Alekzummder, his pet hummingbird. During his big date with Selma he is so smitten that he actually eats nectar. Luckily Alekzummder is on hand to help cover up the ensuing commotion!

On Sports Day Reis slows down to give his friends a sporting chance. His coach is furious and says, “I see what you’re doing, Reis. You won’t get away with it forever.”

The nectar crop fails. Reis is as quick as ever but the others need the nectar for energy. Even Hasim is so slow that Reis dares to answer back to the bully. He is shocked when Hasim almost manages to catch him afterwards.

Reis feels bad about his friends suffering while he is okay. But as a “pipsqueak”, what can he do? When he sees Hasim speeding home when he thinks no-one is watching, he decides to follow him.

Hasim has found a field where the flowers are not affected and there is plenty of nectar. He is gorging himself. Reis tries some to make sure that it really is nectar, then stuffs his pockets and satchel to take it back to the others. He plans to dump it outside the school as he is still embarrassed about not needing nectar himself.

Hasim discovers nectar is missing and has no difficulty following Reis, who is farting from the nectar he tested. Hasim gets close enough to taunt Reis and a high-speed chase ensues. When Reis takes a shortcut through a tree trunk that Hasim is too big to fit through he thinks he has gotten away.

But Hasim has not given up. He catches up while Reis is waiting in the treeline for a chance to drop off the nectar, unseen. Hasim tells Reis there is a mistake, they shouldn’t be enemies. The two of them are very similar: they do not eat like the other fairies. Reis farts and rather than being offended Hasim promises to keep it a secret in return for Reis keeping his secret.

Reis is ashamed at the unintended insult and is even grateful to Hasim for promising not to mention it. He follows Hasim back to the field to return the nectar he “stole”.

On the way Hasim tells Reis that his friends think he is a “pipsqueak” anyway. Reis recognises the moment he witnessed and realises that his friends were being manipulated: like he is being manipulated now. He determines to bring the nectar to his friends after all.

He throws some nectar and Hasim dives after it. Reis is off, faster than ever. But Hasim is fast too, supercharged by years of nectar, despite his lazy attitude. To prevent his secret stash being discovered Hasim gives it everything he has and he might even be faster than Reis! But Reis is the better navigator and manages to burst into the clearing where his friends are barely alive. Reis tosses the nectar into the air and it floats down into their open mouths. Success!

The final image is Reis flying around his friends as they head off for a snack. The fairies eat their nectar, while Reis proudly munches on a petal. They finish and all of them fly straight up into the air afterwards: propelled by farts and giggles.

The prompt was: “The hero is a fairy from Turkey who is destined to save the world. The nemesis is a fairy who eats too much. The hero gets the upper hand using brains and brilliance.”