An Eighth Shot of Espresso: The Coffeehouse

 #vssfantasy prompt: ascetic The traveler staggered up the last few steps of the winding staircase. He fell to his knees, breathing heavily in the cold, thin air. The wind chilled him to the bone, despite his thick parka and the woolen scarf wrapped around his neck.  I'm here. I'm finally here. He waited until his head stopped spinning. Aside from the wind, there was no sound at all. No twitter of birds or buzz of bees or drip of water. Just the howl of the air and its icy teeth. Of course, only a madman would climb this high to get away from the world. A madman...or a genius, depending on one's point of view. Grey clouds encircled the peak of this mountain. Dark and impenetrable, a wall that sealed away this little piece of existence. His ears strained to hear any rumble of thunder and found none. Perhaps the lightning couldn't reach this high. Perhaps he had already gone mad. Perhaps his body lay upon the lower paths and it was his soul that arrived here. Could you di...

#horrorwritingprompt is #zoetic zoetic: pertaining to life, living The art of life: bringing it, shaping it, nurturing it. It took a gentle touch and a creative outlook. Anyone could bring a new being into this world; the mechanics weren't difficult, after all, but to be responsible for it was an entirely different matter. A zoetic calling, the healers, the mothers, the caretakers and the teachers.The training was rigorous, for this responsibility could not be taken lightly. She began with the nurseries and the creches, from the beginning of the journey. If one didn't have the patience for this stage, then how could one continue nurturing a life? Not everyone had the temperament or the inclination for this. She took her responsibility seriously. The elders showed her what to do, which words to say, how to handle whatever happens. They involved her in every situation, but they were there to hold her hand. Occasionally, death raised its dark head and snuffed a fragile existence, ...

 #vssfantasy word prompt: awakening After the long winter, the land revived itself for spring. The ice loosened its grip, melted and soaked the parched ground. Fresh water diluted the poisons in the rivers. The fish slowly left their deep caves and hidden coves. As the currents carried the healing to far shores, the earth responded in kind. The awakening involved a burst of new growth on the trees. Winds swept away the shriveled leaves and made room for the green. Seeds exploded in the air, to land in the cradle of brown soil. It took generation after generation, but the fruit regained its taste and color. The flowers burst from the ground and turned towards the sun.  Then the birds returned from distant lands. They made their nests in the boughs of the young trees. Now they found food aplenty for their chicks. The hierarchy re-established itself, predator and prey, survival of the fittest.The weak died out, the strong survived to see another day. Life returned and even flouri...

The #vssfantasy prompt word is "becoming." Moonlight bathed the nursery. A silver light diffused through the trees and touched every leaf within. My Guide guided me down the dirt path. My ears caught a hint of harp music, with a soft melody of pipes and flute.The sharp smell of fresh rain and spring dew tickled my nostrils. All of my senses told me I was outside, under the bright full moon. I saw no signage or any directional arrows, but before I knew it, the path ended at a wide, green meadow. "Where are we?" The Guide smiled. She tossed her head and her long lavender braid sparkled with glitter. "We are close, please follow me."  Before I could say a word, she was down the path. Her feet didn't even touch the ground; her white diaphanous robe shifted with the wind. I scrambled to catch up. Unfortunately for me, my Human capabilities were limited in the Fae realm, and I had to use my own two feet.  "I'm glad you responded to our Call. Some ar...

Horror writing prompt on Bluesky, courtesy of @pgpayt.blsky.social and @fhpowellwriter.bsky.social. The prompt is  the headless writer. Beware the headless writer. They sit at their computer and write a story that never ends.  I didn't believe the rumors. They were as bad as the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow. Washington Irving took a local legend, built upon it, and wrote a timeless classic. A chilling horror tale, for sure, but in the end, that was all it was. A fanciful story to tell the gullible when the autumn winds blow through dead trees and the campfire crackles on the leaves. The house seemed innocent enough. It stood empty, but it was hardly decrepit. It even had a fresh coat of white paint, with brand new blue tiles on the roof and the front door a deep shade of plum purple. The new grass seeds sprouted in the front lawn. A wooden fence marked the boundaries of the property. So far, so good. The realtor had told me that the charming exterior, excellent locatio...

A re-post from the original An Eighth Shot of Espresso Blog on Wordpress. Prompt: "Each garden is a grave." (Richard Howard) It was the strangest necropolis I'd ever seen, but oddly, the most beautiful. Each plot was different. A field of lilies of every color. Rows upon rows of black roses. Rolling green grass, each blade dancing in the wind. Still, another bursting with fruit and vegetables ready for the table. A team of gardeners and botanists kept it all in pristine condition. They kept the area free of rot and bugs, brought mulch and black soil to enrich the roots, and set up an irrigation system to nourish life in the midst of death. "This is the Green Cemetery, where life is reborn," my guide explained. "In a way, the dead live forever and their legacy lives on." "It makes sense," I said. "Life is a cycle." He nodded. We made our way on the path between the gravestones. Whole families slept under the earth, their physical bod...

A repost from the original An Eighth Shot of Espresso blog on Wordpress. Prompt: Write about a character who finds a family photograph in a crime scene. This item is one of the few clear pieces of evidence they're able to find-but what does it mean? What happened in the crime scene, and what does it have to do with the people in the photograph? Is this the breakthrough the character was looking for, or has the plot only thickened? (From 400 Story Seeds to Crush Writers Block by M. Kirin ) _____ A light smear of blood stained the photo. It gave a scarlet tinge to the black and white film, but I was still able to see every detail. Six people, three in the front and three in the back. Great-grandmother, grandmother and mother in the front, daughters in the back. All wore high-necked gowns with tight sleeves, their chestnut hair all coiffed to perfection. The youngest daughter in the middle of the back row was a full head shorter than the rest. Her eyes stared at the camera with a defi...

A repost from the original An Eighth Shot of Espresso on Wordpress. Prompt: Write about a bench that is always empty...except that, over time, it has become the subject of an urban legend. They say that whoever sits on that bench will suffer a horrible death within twenty four hours. Is there truth behind this legend? _____ "Don't sit there." "What?" It was the only bench on this side of the park, with a gorgeous view of the ocean. "Why? We've been walking for almost an hour. My feet hurt." "Anyone who sits there, dies. The damn thing is cursed." I frowned. "You can't be serious." "Take a closer look at it, but don't sit down." I huffed as I sat on the grass right next to it. The worn wood curled at the edges, its dark brown sheen worn by the wind and the rain, places smooth by decades of use. Rust ate away at the frame, splotches of red like blood on dull grey metal. Someone had traced intricate carvings on th...

This writing prompt response is from the early days of  my original "The Eighth Shot of Espresso" writing blog on Wordpress. I've reposted it here in the new prose blog.  _____ From The Write Brain Workbook by Bonnie Neubauer . Prompt is in bold.) Pick one of these anagrams of "Once Upon a Time" to add in the starter to make your story a lot more interesting! Start with "Once Upon a time, long before the..." Once upon a time, long before the Nine Moo Teacup opened, the building was a wizard's home. Rows upon rows of herbs lined the front yard and gave the walkway a pleasant scent. When you climbed the stairs and stepped onto the porch, tables and chairs beckoned you to sit and relax. The double doors led into the parlor. Bookshelves lined every wall, with tomes of all shapes and sizes and colors. The wooden floors gleamed in the sunlight. The wizard's experiments merrily bubbled in their flasks over the fire. All in all, a homey atmosphere for...

This writing prompt response is from the early days of  my original "The Eighth Shot of Espresso" writing blog on Wordpress. I've reposted it here in the new prose blog.  _____ (Writing Prompt will be in bold. From "A Creative Writer's Kit" by Judy Reeves ) Someone Rearranged the Furniture There was something off about the room, but he couldn't put his finger on it. It wasn't a tangible thing, just a general feeling of unease. It made no sense; he had been in this room before. He circled the room. Bed, chest of drawers, mirror on the wall, an old-fashioned copper tub in the corner behind a privacy screen. A hand-drawn sketch of a woman, stretched out on the bed in an inviting manner. A single window leading out to a small balcony over the street. A closet the size of a breadbox. A threadbare excuse for a carpet under his feet. No room for an assassin. No hidden wires leading to traps. No crumb of food to attract bugs or invite poison. All in all,...

This writing prompt response is from the early days of  my original "The Eighth Shot of Espresso" writing blog on Wordpress. I've reposted it here in the new prose blog.  _____ From The Write Brain Workbook by Bonnie Neubauer . Prompt is in bold.) You are a groundskeeper who talks to all of your plants. You believe talking to them is better than talking to friends about your problems. One tree, a juniper named June, is your favorite. Start with: Can you believe it? She called me again last night..." "Can you believe it? She called me again last night. At three in the morning. Three ! Who the hell is up at three in the morning?! Crying into her whiskey glass and moaning about her lot in life. Another date gone wrong. I swear, she either has to get new friends or she should delete that worthless dating app off her phone. "Seems that every guy she hooks up with is a loser. They spend the entire time droning about their work, their life, them, them, them. A...

The Apple Doesn't Fall Far From the Tree This writing prompt response is from the early days of  my original "The Eighth Shot of Espresso" writing blog on Wordpress. I've reposted it here in the new prose blog.  _____ Yes, he was a coward, but he wouldn't have put it that way. He always called it 'self preservation'. When he was young, his father flew into rages at the slightest thing. There was no ice in the freezer when he wanted iced tea. Bureaucracy never moved along at the speed he expected it. His father ranted and raved loudly. He and his mother ducked their heads and waited for the storm to pass. Don't rock the boat. Don't say anything to him; it would make it much worse. Don't make him turn his wrath on you. As an only child, he bore the brunt of it. As the only son, it fell to him to make his own destiny. He would never take out such selfish rage on those around him. So he put up with it in silence and fumed about it in private. Yet...

This writing prompt response is from the early days of  my original "The Eighth Shot of Espresso" writing blog on Wordpress. I've reposted it here in the new prose blog. This is done more in verse, but it tells a story. _____ Prompt from  “ 642 Things to Write About” by the San Francisco Writers’ Grotto ): The corpse you saw in the Undertaker's window She looked almost alive. Almost. The false flush of life in her sallow cheeks. Eyes closed in a timeless sleep. Dark hair set in curly waves across her shoulders and hands clasped serenely over her breast. She looked almost alive Almost. White satin and lace a black rose in the bodice. Delicate silk gloves to the elbow. Ivory stockings a garter on her thigh never thrown. She looked almost alive Almost. Long lashes against a colorless cheek. A trusting smile frozen in time. Never knowing the betrayal the lurked behind the eyes of her beloved. She looked almost alive Almost. If she could take another breath and feel lov...

 From: 400 Story Seeds to Crush Writer's Block by M. Kirin Write about a character as they look at their family sword. This character enjoys wealth and fame, though their family took those by force. What does this character think when they look at that sword, the same that cut the throats of anyone who stood against their family? Does this character regret being born into that bloodline--or have they grown too used to the feeling of blood on their hands? She went through her training routine every morning, without fail. The sword beckoned to her, called her name like the most intimate of lovers. She stood in front of the training dummy, assumed her solid stance.  Check your alignment, use your whole body. Power comes from harmony, from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. Ground yourself and you will not be defeated.  She imagined her foe as it crumpled under her steady onslaught. The weak should be culled; the strong should endure. That was the way it should b...

 From  400 Story Seeds to Crush Writers Block by M. Kirin Prompt: Write about a young character who needs a cane to walk and thus are gifted the cane of one of their late grandparents. What is the history of this cane? Is this the first time it's been passed down? How does this young character feel about the present?Do they find shame in such an antiquated item...or does it inspire them to go on, much like it inspired their ancestors? He turned it over in his hands. Smooth polished wood, set in a metal sheath that gleamed in the sunlight. He thought he could catch the faintest whiff of fragrance, perhaps teak or sandalwood. The curved handle was inlaid with gold with a copper pattern embedded within it.  "This was Grandpa's? I don't think I've ever seen him use it before." His grandmother nodded as she set the cup of tea before him. "This was his formal cane. He only used it for special occasions, like weddings, funerals, and outings to the theatre. You k...

 From 400 Story Seeds to Crush Writer's Block by M. Kirin (now out of print) Prompt # 221: The Notebook Write about a character who finds an abandoned notebook. What does this item look like? What exactly is written and drawn in it? What is this character's first reaction to what they find? And, above all, do the contents of the notebook touch their heart? ____ He held the notebook in his hands. A simple black cover with no identifying marks. The pages had been glued together on a single edge, but hours in the rain had dissolved the binding. Loose sheets threatened to spill from between the cardboard panels. An umbrella appeared over his head. "What do you have there, L.T.?" "Looks like an artist's sketchbook of some kind. It was lying on the bench over there. Seems like whomever it belongs just left it in the rain, Daisy." Daisy frowned as she peered at it. "If I was an artist, I'd freak out if I lost my favorite sketchbook." He nodded as...