Morning Inspiration: Writing Prompt No. 25

This is your Monday morning inspiration! Let your mind be inspired by today’s prompt and awaken your will to write. It doesn’t have to be a complete story. It doesn’t even have to be a complete thought. The challenge is simply to get those creative juices flowing, kickstart a new week of writing, and discover the talented artist within.

This Morning’s Prompt


My Inspired Story

Radiant queen,
I bow before you,
grovel at your feet.
I'm not worthy
to stand in your presence.

Time for Yours

Now it’s your turn! Use your inspiration from either the word or photo prompt (or both) and write whatever comes to mind! You can even continue my story if it inspires you! Drop it in the comments below or post on your own blog and link it back here. And most importantly, have fun!

Wrap-up of 2021

As we wave goodbye to 2021, I have one request of 2022:

Please be nice to us.

2020 was rough. 2021 literally started with a bang, and not in a good way.

(I’m still holding my breath for what chaos may erupt on Thursday…)

But I remain hopefully for 2022, despite all the doom and gloom, and I attribute that hope to how I ended my 2021…

Returning to writing!

I wish I could pinpoint the exact cause of my loss of inspiration over the last few years. Look, 2020 was a horrible year, for everybody, but truthfully, I started to fall off around mid-way through 2018, which is funny because 2018 was actually a good year for me. I’d just gotten a new job, moved to a new city, started a new relationship. I was feeling myself and finally feeling like a grown woman.

And maybe that’s why… I couldn’t think of any cursed love stories to write, because I was happy. I was in my Taylor Swift cycle.

Then, without revealing too much, 2019 came with a lot of hard decisions that, in hindsight, began a very long period of depression and then denial of said depression. By 2020, I was on the verge of a total meltdown. At some point, toward the end of 2021—when it started to sink in that 30 was quickly approaching and baby fever was coming down hard—I realized I needed to get my stuff together. Because no man would be happy with me if I wasn’t first happy with myself. So I turned to the one thing that’s always brought me peace and solace and picked up the pen again, metaphorically speaking of course.

In that last month and a half of 2021, I published 82 posts, garnered 1,446 views and 341 likes, and embarked on my most ambitious blogging challenge yet: 25 Twilight Zone-inspired stories in 25 hours, midnight to midnight, leading up to the New Year (technically 24, because one of the stories was a short film I reshared).

Though the stats aren’t close to the numbers I had three years ago, I’m hoping this upward trend is a positive sign of more to come for both myself and those of you who follow or choose to follow as the year progresses.

So let’s look at some of your favorite posts since the comeback:

  1. Parting Gift
  2. Get Lost with Me in the Twilight Zone
  3. Would You Like to Hear My Voice?
  4. Morning Inspiration: Writing Prompt No. 17
  5. Morning Inspiration: Writing Prompt No. 24
  6. Lost in the Twilight Zone Marathon | Ep 1 | Hell
  7. Realities of Long Distance
  8. Morning Inspiration: Writing Prompt No. 15
  9. Therapy Session
  10. Morning Inspiration: Writing Prompt No. 2

Going into 2022, I hope to bring you more 100-word stories, more poems (including Black Poetry Writing Month, which according to blog stats, continues to live on despite my absence), longer stories, a new serial story, THAT ONE BOOK(!), your favorite posts as podcast episodes (recently bought a microphone, so that’s cool 😉 ), and last but not least, your Morning Inspiration (but I’m switching that to weekly prompts on Mondays so I can be more consistent with posting).

So are you ready to have a brighter future in 2022? I know I am!

Honeymoon Road Trip

He bought a Confederate battle flag from the Civil War Museum gift shop at Fort Fisher, our first stop on a two-week cross-country road trip. Fourteen states by the end of it—all below the Mason-Dixon line.

He hung it in our RV’s living area window. As cars passed on the highway, looks of anger twisted into confusion.

Black girl, Brown guy. Didn’t make sense.

“It’s a symbol of Southern pride?” he said.

“For some.”

“We’ll make it our own.”

“Like the N word?”

That night he took it down, spread it across the bed, then lay between my legs.

It’s Day 2 of Bloganuary, and the question is: What is a road trip you would love to take?

Short answer? Coast to coast with the hubby, honeymooning in every state. 😉

The Girl in Booth Seven

“Ready to order, hon?”

“Cof—” She coughs into her fist. “Just water.”


“Cheesy grits. Can you cut up little sausages in it? Fried egg, medium. Oh…I probably can’t have it runny. Hard then. And can you put that in the grits too? Well, I guess I can do that.”

She turns and gazes out the window at the gray sky and wet asphalt of the diner parking lot.

I recognize that look. I had it at 17, as a runaway and seven weeks pregnant.

“I’ll put it all in the bowl. And decaf works.”

She smiles. “Thank you.”

Saw that a few blogging buddies are participating in Bloganuary. I’m not fully committed yet, but I liked today’s prompt: What advice would you give to your teenage self?

Lost in the Twilight Zone Marathon | Ep 25 | Temptation

I like to cook breakfast at New Year’s. It symbolizes the start of a new day. The breaking away from the nightmares that held me down in sleep.

The last two years have been a nightmare.

He invites himself in a quarter to midnight.

I have the sausage links resting on the stove. The pancake batter is mixed. The grits bubble and pop in the pot on the back burner. I scramble the eggs.

“So much food,” he says.

“I want to enter the new year full.”

“I know a better way,” he whispers seductively.

I taste the grits, add more salt, then throw the entire pot over my shoulder.

He howls and writhes on the floor in agony.

“Not this year, Satan.”

Happy New Year! Eat breakfast. Stomp on the devil (or that toxic ex). Start your New Year positive. I’ll see you soon!

Our final story comes courtesy of “The Howling Man.”

I really hope you enjoyed my Twilight Zone marathon! It’s truly been a pleasure to write. Please tell me which stories were your favorite. I have a few. And if you missed any, you can read them all right here!

Lost in the Twilight Zone Marathon | Ep 24 | I’ll Stop the World for You

“When was the last time you prayed?”

I hesitate. I don’t want to be judged for my real answer. But I also don’t want to lie in church.

“I never have time.” His frown immediately makes me regret it. But it’s true. I work eight to twelve hours a day. By the time I get home, I’m dead tired. I barely have enough energy to cook something. And once I’ve had dinner, it’s time for bed. Time to call it a night and do it all over again the next day.

“God says…”

Internally, I groan. I’m so sick of getting God’s word secondhand from “connected” people, even if it’s my pastor. For once, I’d like to hear God say it Himself.

“Daughter, I’ll stop the world for you.”


“That’s what He says.”

“But, but why did you change your voice?”

He tilts his head. “I didn’t.”

“You said it like, like—” The best way I can describe it is like thunder. Like a loud, sudden crack of thunder that comes right after that dreadful stillness that follows a bright flash of lightning.

“God is speaking to you. Listen.”

“But what does it mean?”

“No one can understand the mysteries of God.”

I go home unsatisfied. On the drive, I see the world still moves. Cars zoom by. Trucks honk their horns. When I put my key in my apartment door, I hear my neighbors fighting next door.

How will He stop it? Disable all machines and put us back in the dark ages? Get rid of all the people? The thought of being alone with Him frightens me. I’m really not great company. I’m terribly depressed most days.

When will He stop it? I wonder as I climb into bed and hear the hum of the highway through the window. Maybe there’s something I must do first.

I kick my feet over, get on my knees and clasp my hands in front of me.

This is where I always start and stop. Because I never know what to say, or how to say it. The prayer warriors make it seem so effortless in intercessory prayer. They sit in the sanctuary and on command are babbling in tongues. I can’t even start my own prayer because I’m distracted by them. Is it a true prayer? Is it in a language the someone somewhere understands? Does God move their lips like that? Or are they just making noise to sound holy.

I have to remind myself, there’s no one here to distract me now. That’s when I notice something else is different. It’s quiet. So quiet I can hear my own heart beating in my hears. Then the boom of thunder.

I quickly bow my head. “Father?”

While the original Twilight Zone series covered an array of topics ranging from science fiction, politics, social justice, to the downright creepy, one thing you were almost always guaranteed to get at the end of each episode was a moral. Similar to those fables we used to read in childhood. As we close out this year, let’s take a pause and reflect on what’s most important for us and take that into 2022.

Oh, and this story is a mashup of “Time Enough at Last” (next to “Willoughby,” one of my all-time favorites), “The Mind and the Matter,” and “A Kind of Stopwatch,” but it’s also something totally different and new.

Lost in the Twilight Zone Marathon | Ep 23 | One of Us Is an Alien

I’ve lived through 2020 and most of 2021—only hours left to go. I’ve seen it all. A global pandemic. Global apathy. The rise of the antichrist. The world stood still. Murder fucking hornets.

But I gotta admit, this one surprised me. Two disks reminiscent of the Seattle Space Needle, glowing brighter than the sun, light up the sky just before dawn.

Shortly after, the cops show.

“Mornin’, officers!” I wave them inside. “I’m assuming you’re not here for a room.”

“We’ve got reports of flying saucers. Did you happen to see?”

“Oh, couldn’t miss it! I was standing on my balcony. Flew right over my head!” I take a sip of my coffee. “Crazy things happening. Can’t help but wonder if this is the end.” The sizzle and pop of bacon comes from the kitchen. “Can I offer you gentlemen something? Guests will be coming down soon.”

“That’s actually what we’re here for. One of your guests.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“You see, those flying saucers landed right behind your little Bed and Breakfast here.”

“I didn’t—”

“And someone got out.”

“Well, I’ll be.” I gulp. “You mean to tell me one of my guests is an alien!”

Just then a stampede of feet descends the stairs. I do a roll call in my head. 11, 22, 33, 44, 55, 66. Six rooms in total—we have a thing for double numbers. The Mrs. says they’re lucky. I’ll hold my breath for 2022.

The occupants of each room offer bland greetings as they walk by on their way to the dining room. I scan each of their faces, all I recognize.

“Well?” one of the officers says.

“You sure you got the right Bed and Breakfast?”

The other, who seems to have a permanent grimace, says, “We really don’t know what we’re looking for.”

“A six-foot walking fly, I imagine. Ain’t that what aliens look like?” I guide them to the door, offer them a bite for the road so they don’t feel like the trip out here on New Year’s Eve was a total waste.

“If I see anything, I know who to call!”

When they’re gone, my wife peaks around the corner from the kitchen. “That was close!”

I nod and exhale. Then I ask, “Who did you bring in the other saucer?”

Inspired by the episode “Will the Real Martian Please Stand Up?” That’s just what we need, right? An alien invasion. Though, zombie apocalypse seems more likely…

Two more stories left to go!

Lost in the Twilight Zone Marathon | Ep 22 | Fortune Cookie

I hate Chinese food. It gives me the runs. I only order it for the fortune cookies. Every good decision I’ve ever made has come from these all-knowing crescents of fried dough.

It’s only fitting that I take Monica to Golden Dragon Restaurant for our first meal together as man and wife.

I tear into my cookie first as my bride pushes rice across the plate with her fork.

“You discover treasures where others see nothing unusual,” I read.

“I wonder what that is,” she says nonchalantly with all the food in her mouth stuffed in one cheek.

“Don’t you know, beautiful?” I pull her chin for a kiss, and she burbs into my mouth.

“Excuse me,” she mumbles.

“You could fart and I wouldn’t care.”

She rolls her eyes. “Please.”

“Here.” I take the second cookie from the napkin holder. “Open yours.”

“Isn’t it tradition to finish your meal before your read your fortune?”

I look down at the plate of food she’s been picking at for the last 30 minutes. The food is most likely cold now.

“I think we’re both done.” I make a mental note of one more thing we have in common.

She huffs and takes the packet, opens it slowly as I squirm in anticipation. She crumbles the cookie in her fist and pulls the ribbon of paper from the rubble.

“There’s still time to change your mind.”

I scratch my beard. “Hmm, that’s a new one.” I take the paper from between her two hands, which stay in place, as if someone has hit a pause button.

I flip the paper over for the lucky numbers on the back. “3, 2, 1.” A countdown.

I look up, and Monica is on her feet.

“Where are you going?”

She shoulders her purse. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this.”

“Do what?”

She only shakes her head and rushes out of the door.

In the napkin holder I see another cookie that wasn’t there before. My mind begs me to go after her, but my hand reaches for the cookie.

“A clingy lover drives a wedge.”

I remain in the booth and write the lesson down on the back of a napkin, along with its lucky number: 0.

3-2-1. Only three hours left, and three stories left to go. This one came in the “Nick of Time.”

Lost in the Twilight Zone Marathon | Ep 21 | A Mile in Her Shoes

It was no secret my mom was walking the streets when I was little. One of five men could have been my father. But the man who raised me was my uncle. And he held firm to the belief that it wasn’t her, but her clothes that led her astray.

Despite this conviction, he kept all her things when she passed.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he said after the funeral. “They’re in the attic. But be careful. Remember what I told you.”

“Because if I dress like her, I’ll be asking for it, too?” I said sarcastically.

“You joke about it now…”

It took me another five years before I made it up to that attic. Although I tease, I’m not exactly proud to be the daughter of a whore.

In the first box I open, I find a pair of hot pink go-go boots.

“Yep, if this doesn’t scream 70s street walker.”

I try them on, and they’re a perfect fit, but as soon as I stand, I drop through the floor, floating in midair underneath my own body.

“Thanks, doll,” I hear myself say, but it isn’t my voice. She speaks through the nose. She bends over, arching her back, and retrieves the matching tube dress from the box.

“Good god,” I mouth, but no sound escapes.

She puckers her lips and with an index finger, lightly paints them with compact balm, also pink. I cringe at the tackiness of it all. She’s a hot mess of pink cotton candy. And she’s me.

“Now,” I say, “let’s see what the men of this decade have to offer.”

She marches out, in possession of my body, while I stay in place, underneath the floorboards.

Dead Man’s Shoes,” dead woman’s go-go boots. Best to keep these locked up, lest you end up in Jordan Peele’s sunken place. You never know who you might let out…

Lost in the Twilight Zone Marathon | Ep 20 | A Devil in the House

Everyone knows the piano is haunted. So we don’t play it. It sits as decoration in our living room, where no one gathers.

“Maybe it’s time to sell it,” my husband suggests.

“It’s a family heirloom.”

“Didn’t it drive your dad insane?”

That’s what everyone says. A hunt for the devil, they called it. Truth is they never found him. They let my dad die believing he would grow horns and a tail with a spade-shaped end. But there wasn’t an evil bone in his body. True, he was a heckler, he teased my mom and me, until finally she got the last laugh. But deep down, my dad was a coward. And the devil…

I open the music book and thumb through the pages.

“What are you doing?”

“If we’re going to sell it, maybe one final play?”

“But what about it being haunted?” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“Nervous?” I insert a new roll of sheet music into the piano. As the chords of Mozart’s “Confutatis” play, I watch my husband’s neck roll, his ears narrow to a point, and his face flush red.

From “A Piano in the House” to a devil in the house. Be careful who you invite in. Warnings from the Twilight Zone!

And so we begin the final countdown, the last five hours of 2021, and we are not bringing the devil with us into the New Year.