Morning Inspiration: Writing Prompt No. 61

grayscale photo of a woman holding a wine glass

This is your 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 day of writing, and discover the talented artist within.

This Morning’s Prompt

grayscale photo of a woman holding a wine glass

A knock on the bathroom door catches my attention…

Inheritance

“Emil was a wonderful husband and father,” Fiona says between sobs. She gazes out into the audience of seven mourners, one of them her son, Ryan.

And Rachel.

She opens the tissue in her hands, remembering she’d scribbled her eulogy notes on it in pencil, having waited to the last minute to think of something to say about her dearly departed, cheating, soon-to-be ex-husband.

Maybe it was good the divorce wasn’t finalized before he croaked.

After the funeral, she feels a cold hand on her shoulder.

“We both loved him,” Rachel says.

“Nice try. But you’re not getting a dime.”

© Nortina Simmons

Ghostly affair

When he decided to spy on his wife, the last thing he expected was to discover that she could talk to ghosts.

And that she’d been secretly seeing his father’s.

Over dinner, he asked her about her day.

“Oh, I did this or that.”

Later that night, his father stood at the foot of their bed, described to him what “this or that” meant.

“You can’t have sex with the dead,” he whispered.

“I beg to differ,” the translucent figure responded, making hip thrusts in the direction where his wife slept.

Even after death, that man continued to torment him.

—Nortina


Written for Fandango’s Story Starter. Click the link to read more stories inspired by the teaser “When he decided to spy on his wife, the last thing he expected was to discover that she…”

Death in Death Valley

I’m not imagining the man in black. He’s wearing a long coat and wide brim hat, entirely too hot for a walk in Death Valley.

When Brian tells me there’s nothing there, at risk of looking crazy, I approach the man that only I can see. His face is hidden in shadow.

He tells me his name is Death.

“Will you kill me, Mr. Death?”

He shakes his head. “I only deliver souls.”

“Then who?” But before he can answer, I feel Brians fingers around my neck.

The man lifts his hat, and I see the face of my dad.

© Nortina Simmons

Morning Inspiration: Writing Prompt No. 59

This is your 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 day of writing, and discover the talented artist within.

This Morning’s Prompt

He tells me his name is Death…

The Black Gatsbys

Reese removes her shades, sits them atop her head, and scans the one-acre plot of land she just bought after signing her book deal.

It’s not forty, and her mule is a six-foot painter with freeform locs, but she feels she’s finally arrived.

This is where we’ll build our dream house,” she tells Matthew.

There’ll be a library, an office where she’ll pen her next bestseller, an art gallery to display all of Matthew’s paintings, and they’ll host showings every weekend, inviting the public and art critics from across the country.

He slaps her ass, “We’ll be the Black Gatsbys.”

© Nortina Simmons

Morning Inspiration: Writing Prompt No. 58

This is your 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 day of writing, and discover the talented artist within.

This Morning’s Prompt

This is where we’ll build our dream house…

Patience

“Do you remember what happened?” the officer pressed.

It was their wedding anniversary. He’d worked late the night before and overslept. She spent the day seething while he lay in bed blissfully asleep.

The knife was already in his heart when the doorbell rang, the delivery boy apologizing profusely for being late.

“The flower food will bring them right back, promise,” he said, flapping the square packet.

When the police arrived, the vase the bouquet came in was shattered on the floor. The roses were as dead as he was.

The officer placed her in handcuffs. “Guess you should’ve waited.”

© Nortina Simmons