I’ve been flooded with writing prompts and ideas over the past few days. You wouldn’t believe just how swamped my brain has been, absolutely submerged under the deluge of all the ideas and spins I could take on different subject and present them to you.

Really, it’s been wave after wave after wave of non-stop ideas. It’s amazing.

Guessed the prompt yet?

Today, how about we all write 300 words on being ‘flooded’. Or in a flood. Or watching one happen. Any point of view, really.

I decided to go with this idea as a result of being flooded into my house today. Last night we got some 7- inches of rain, and most of the island is restricted to their homes, or cars, because of the weather.

I don’t mind, though. I’ve got three seasons of Psych to catch up on and another original novel idea demanding to be fleshed out.

This is one of the smaller prompts to have on record, not one of the big communal writing prompts. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do it, though. I’m working on my piece right now.

 Happy Writing!


5 responses to “Prompt!

  1. Here’s my little story! It’s closer to 400 then 300 words, I hope you don’t mind. Great prompt, keep it up!

    It’s muddy and freezing. Wave after icy wave washes over my head, pushing me under its turbulent surface. My mouth barely breaks the surface in time to take a gulping breath. Salt and oil and river mud seep onto my tongue. Flailing my arms, I struggle to remain afloat, the hysterical wind smacking against my face, stinging my eyes and numbing my nose. Debris floats past. A little further down the deluge of water a fire rips through a barely-afloat trailer, searing my face and arms as I’m thrust past. Here in Mississippi they try to teach you what to do in a hurricane, flood, earthquake or general disaster. For some reason, while I’m gasping for breath and loosing feeling in my limbs, I can’t quite recall the tips we were given. A moment later I tense. Two beady eyes peer at me from the log floating nearby. ‘Of course!’ I think with a sinking heart and clenching stomach, ‘the flood would have brought the swamps level with the city!’ Adrenaline floods my arms and legs, bringing invigorating warmth and energy with it. Glancing around, I see a short length of wire spinning in a mini-whirlpool. It’s my best chance. If the wire is still live, oh well, I’m as good as dead anyway with a ‘gator eying me up. I lunge. With a snap I can feel vibrating in the air, the deadly jaws lock shut centimeters from where my arm was. Cursing with what breath I had, I grabbed the wire and turned to face my predator. It advanced swiftly, no stalking anymore. Before he could reveal his teeth again I had the wire wrapped tightly around his snout and was holding it firmly. Without really thinking about it, I straddled the beast, keeping well out of range of his whiplash tail, and pulled to keep his nose-and his body-above water. The beat of a helicopter slowly came closer. They signaled me as I waved, then maneuvered into position. As a rescuer descended, I started laughing softly. Here I was, a fifteen year old girl, riding an alligator through the flood. The man who helped me into the harness looked startled, but I was soon rising to safety. I saw him release the animal just as he too, swung into the sky.

  2. Here’s my take!
    ‘I was floating, drifting on a subtle current that kept us moving along the arm of water filling the street. I think it was fitting, considering that’s how I felt: adrift, floaty, unconnected Nothing felt real any more. Much like my life was.
    Everything was ruined.
    I remember once, reading in a book that flood-waters were cold. The girl in it was like me, suddenly homeless, young, full of ideas and hopes and dreams, lost her cat, but suddenly she had nothing and in the book she said the waster was cold, like her insides, because that’s ow she felt.
    But the water wasn’t cold. It was kind of warm. Like your grandmother’s hand when she’s walking you to church but you don’t want her to touch you, warm like the sun on your face after a long day of stupid school, unpleasant, uncomfortable, clammy like sweat.
    It felt like sweat. Maybe someone had made the world very, very nervous and so it sweat so much it washed right through my town.
    i liked my town. It had people in it, nice people, not like the folks in New York who shoved and pushed and no one said good morning to you, even if you said it first. My mother said that’s why my dad moved there. He went to be with rude people like him.
    But it didn’t flood in New York. Did it even rain there? Dad never said. It almost never rained here, either, except the summer, when the heat came and all everyone ever wanted to do was lay down and sleep, preferably in air conditioning, but that made electricity high.
    no more electricity. The big grey box the utility men used to come poke around in was flooded too, it’s doors wide open in the stream when we passed it. Didn’t that mean the water should be full of electricity? Maybe we were all already dead.
    It felt like it.
    Didn’t matter. I’d still float.’

  3. Pingback: Crocodile Rider | NerdyTeenGirl·

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