#SwiftFicFriday – Week 34 Prompt

#SwiftFicFriday – Week 34 Prompt

Welcome to the new and improved word sprint writing prompt series – #SwiftFicFriday!

After some feedback and more consideration, I’m updating the rules to give more people a chance to participate! Instead of 30 minutes or just an hour, I’m opening the prompt up to FOUR hours: 8:30PM-12:30AM on the east coast.

Other things to keep in mind:

– Include social media links/handles/anything you want to promote (Twitter, FB, etc) & word count in the comment with your submission.
– Submission must be between 150-300 words.
– All stories are property of the authors.
Winner will be determined via reader votes over the weekend.

Ready, set, write!

Prompt: Back to a picture prompt!

Fantasy art, Fantasy city, Fantasy landscape, Fantasy castle, Fantasy setting, Environment concept art - art by Kris Eggleston raypunk - fantasycastle #fantasycity #scififantasy #medievalfantasy #fantasyconceptar

Happy writing!

4 thoughts on “#SwiftFicFriday – Week 34 Prompt

  1. Love this picture! Definitely worked for a prompt for me. As soon as I saw it, the story hit me.

    The Bridge to Tarafel

    Her heart hammered at her ribs as she stared through the arches. The bridge appeared to allow passage across the canyon to paradise yet looks were deceiving.

    “Make your choice, girl. Cross, or forever turn your back on the glory that is Tarafel.” The old woman prodded her with a large knobby staff.

    “Must I make this choice today?” She could not tear her eyes away to ask her question directly to the old woman.

    “Twenty-two, are you not?”

    The younger woman nodded. “As of this moon.”
    “Then, yes.”

    The blue lights twisting and dancing in the archways that rose over the brick path pulled at her, refused to let her back away. Something gripped her soul and tugged her toward the bridge. She had known before she ever asked that she would choose today. And that she would cross the bridge. The question that remained—would she make it across?

    “What happened to the others who tried to cross?”

    The old woman snorted. “Who knows? The bridge has a mind of its own. Some say each arch is a doorway to another place and time. Perhaps the bridge sent the others away somewhere, but who believes in such things nowadays?”

    She thought she caught an odd sideways glance from the old woman, like the old woman dared her to voice her belief in just such things. She almost did, too, but years of teasing and torment taught her well not to give life and light to the wishes of her heart.

    “Perhaps the wind in the canyon took them instead.” The old woman turned her back to the younger. “The time for words is done, make your choice.”

    She nodded at the old woman’s words. With a breathy prayer, she stepped onto the bridge.

    A total of 295 words.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Glowing balls of dark light illuminated a cobbled bridgeway, surrounded only by a vast, empty void of blackness. Dense smoke, or maybe mist, cascaded around him as if it were being breathed in and out. Unknowing of what laid beyond and around him Death gripped his scythe tightly in full Reaper mode. The sharp rap it made each time it struck stone echoed across the void. He tried to peer through the void, detect any souls at all.


    Nothing but empty space and glowing balls of light above his head.

    Death stopped with a frustrated growl. “This can’t be right.”

    “You’re right. It can’t be.”

    The instantaneous reply sent him on high alert, whirling to face the voice, scythe posed to strike. A man stepped into the shadowed light with eyes as black as the void around them. “Who are you?” Death demanded.

    “Settle, Mortaem.” His voice slithered into an obnoxious sneer, straightening his suit jacket. “You couldn’t kill me with that scythe even if you tried.”

    Hollowed eyes studied him once over, refusing to lower his weapon. “How do you know my True name? Who are you?”

    “I know many things.” The man skirted around Death, calm as ever. Black eyes peered into the void as if watching. “I know you are seeking to acquire a body for your own volition. Just like I know you are looking for a necromancer of sorts because you think they can create you that real, physical body.”

    “You… You are a necromancer?” Death scoffed.

    “In so many words.” The man turned to face him, catching his gaze in a way Death knew to be impossible within the void of his own hood. Or so he thought. “Just like, in so many words, you are too.”


    294 #CampNaNo #Embermyst words

    Liked by 1 person

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