Category: Writing Prompts

The Chair
January 21, 2013 Master Class,Writing Stephanie Ayers

Today I’m five. My grandfather says five is a lucky number, but I’m not sure I believe him. The first four were nothing special, just your run of the mill state mandated executions. In fact, the gurney in the room next door gets more business than I do, what with lethal injection considered “humane.” I

January 9, 2013 Master Class,Writing Stephanie Ayers

I write this sitting in the kitchen sink. It’s not what you think though. I’m not in a house or an apartment. I’m not in anything anyone would consider habitable. I’m sitting in one of those large metal sinks you’d find in a restaurant, used for cleaning dishes. There are three compartments and I am

Destiny Calling
December 10, 2012 Master Class,Writing Stephanie Ayers

The great revelations of my adult life began with the shouts of a lost soul in my neighborhood breakfast joint. It was my first day working at my very first job. I was eighteen, I’d just graduated, and the summer was mine. The girl came in shouting with tears making clean tracks down her panic-stricken

A Hard Bargain
November 6, 2012 Master Class,Writing Stephanie Ayers

The doctor was afraid. Father B. L. Zebub stood in the room, demanding the child. “Please, you must give her to me. Her father already gave me her soul. She is mine now.” The doctor resisted, even as he trembled. “I will not. I‘ve never met this child’s father. Why would I turn her over

A Future Told
October 31, 2012 Master Class,Writing Stephanie Ayers

I’ve watched through his eyes, I’ve listened through his ears, and I tell you he’s the one. I know you don’t believe me, but he’s going to get you down where the loss cuts worst. Right down to your very soul. Unless you get out now. You’ve seen through your crystal ball what your future

A Cry in the Night
October 25, 2012 Master Class,Writing Stephanie Ayers

This is the room of the wolfmother wallpaper. It’s peeling in corners, as old as the house around it. And like the house, the room and its secrets have been abandoned, its overgrown yard a trap for stray baseballs smacked from the vacant lot across the street. No one remembers who lived there anymore. The

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