Writing Prompts for the Mentally Deranged and Linguistically Addicted

FOUR

Syruppy.

She closed her eyes syruppy...ily.

...surreptitiously.

No, that's not the word he was looking for.

Leisurely?

No, that somehow implied wealth, purposeful serenity. He wanted to say sleepy, yet that was like she was disengaged from the situation, it also sounded cutesy. She was neither.

She knew what was going on, and at any moment she could rip his guts apart. If she was awakened. Like a tiger. Yet a tiger was majestic, surreal. She was... incomprehensible, an anomaly, a foreign existence.

He stared at the multi-faceted rivets of her doll-like magenta eyes. How they stared at him, seeing him, yet unconcerned, almost amused at his presence—yet no, not amused. Dammit.

He long could he stand here before she moved, or spoke, or... dang, has she even breathed?

His eyes dropped down to her chest then, red faced, he looked back up.

Get it over with, they said, you have to do it quick and then come right back. Plus, Lilian would be furious if she saw him ogling for so long. And rightfully so. But not really, because anyone who saw this would—

"Shit," he said to himself. Quickly digging into his pocket, he put down the beating heart in the dust of the carved triangle, watching as the crevices and walls around him began to shake violently. He tried not to retch.

Human.

A yelp wrenched from his throat as he jumped back, the vibrations of a thousand melding voices breathing in his head. His knees buckled as he looked up, up into the now scarlet rings that pulsed midst narrowed snake pupils.

You come for war.

"I—" he gulped. "I actually come for peace. But ya, we're in a war right now. Am I..." he tried to breath, but the panic seemed to shock through him, twitching his limbs, screaming to get out. "I thought... I thought I called Sora... Hagan said the heart—"

His voice clambered back in his throat as the coral lips turned black, tipping up.

Sora does not eat flesh, human. I do.

"Shit," he said, forcing a chuckle that sounded more like a squeak. "I'm sorry...so, um, who are you?"

The black lips parted in a horrendously large smile, a long, thin tongue whipping across the jagged spikes of teeth. The scarlet eyes widened, the pupils expanding in ecstasy.

And it did speak something, he swore it did, since it sent an earthquake of hisses through his head. But he never heard it.

Because he was already running.

Challenge: Make sure that, when you write, your narration is colored and guided by the thoughts of your character (if you are telling the story through their eyes). Don't confuse the reader by telling a story through a stereotypical football player's eyes, and then have the narration sound like a poet. You need to stay consistent.

So experiment with giving some spice to the narrator's voice today!