Daily Writing Prompts discussion
Daily Writing Prompts
>
11/9/25
Mod
Although so maybe we won’t be the same, I’ll do a ww1 or ww2 romance 💜
Mod
I call it For AlwaysIt took me 1 rewrite but I think it turned out ok…
The rain had been falling since morning — a soft, endless weeping that seemed to soak through everything. Even the sky felt the sorrow of tomorrow. I remember standing by the window, my forehead pressed against the cold glass, watching the droplets trickling down slowly. The world outside was all gray and mist — the kind of gray that blurs the line between sky and field, between sorrow and silence.He was leaving in the morning.
My love. My Matthew.
Even the sound of his name seemed too fragile to speak aloud that night, as though the air itself would break it apart.
He came to me at dusk, his uniform darkened by rain, the brass buttons dull in the fading light. He smiled — that same crooked boyish grin that had first looked at me two summers ago. But there was something different in his eyes now: a quiet knowing, a kind of distance that frightened me.
“You’ll catch your death standing out there,” I said, forcing a small laugh as I opened the door.
He stepped inside, dripping, the smell of wet wool and tobacco clinging to him. “I’ll take my chances,” he smiled.
I busied myself with the kettle, though my hands trembled. The sound of the water bubbling filled the room, a small, ordinary sound in a world that felt anything but ordinary.
“Sit,” I said softly. “You must be tired.”
He shook his head. “I don’t want to sit. I don’t want to rest. If I stop moving, I’ll start thinking.”
“About tomorrow?”
He looked at me then — really looked — and I saw the flicker of fear behind his brave smile. “About everything.”
The rain grew heavier, drumming against the roof like distant gunfire. No, I mustn’t think about that. I turned from the window, went to him, and reached for his hand. His fingers were cold and rough from the training camps, the trenches he had already seen once before.
“Promise me you’ll come back,” I whispered.
He didn’t answer. His silence was an answer in itself.
We ate little that night. The bread went untouched, the tea grew cold. We talked instead — of small things, of the orchard that would bloom come spring, of the way the river glowed gold in the late summer sun.
“I’ll wait for you,” I whispered.
“Just promise me you’ll live,” he murmured.
But then, as the clock in the hall struck ten, something inside me broke.
“Don’t go,” I said, my voice cracking. “Please, Matthew, don’t leave me. There must be some way—”
He stepped forward, his hands cupping my face, thumbs brushing away my tears. “You think I want to go?” he said fiercely. “You think I haven’t dreamed of staying here, with you, in this cottage, for the rest of my life?”
“Then stay,” I begged.
“I can’t. You know I can’t. They need men. And if I don’t go, someone else’s son will take my place. A boy, a child who should never see the horrors I’ve seen.”
The words hung between us like smoke. Outside, thunder rolled low and far away.
When he kissed me, it wasn’t gentle. It was desperate — the kind of kiss that says remember me, the kind that burns into your bones. We found our way upstairs without speaking, our bodies trembling, our hands greedy and uncertain, as though the night itself might dissolve at dawn.
Afterward, we lay tangled in the dim light, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear. I tried to memorize the sound, the rhythm, the warmth of him. I wanted to gather every piece of that night and press it between the pages of my mind so I could return to it when the world grew cold.
He fell asleep before me. I watched him, the rise and fall of his chest, the faint furrow in his brow that never quite left him since he had left the first time. I wanted to wake him, to tell him again that I loved him, that I’d wait forever if I had to. But I didn’t. I should’ve. I should have made him stay with me. But instead, I listened to the rain, to the clock, to the soft sound of him breathing.
Morning came too quickly.
He rose with the gray light, dressed in silence. I sat on the edge of the bed, his dog tags glinting faintly as he slipped them over his neck. When he turned to me, I saw the tear he tried to hide.
“Wait for me, my darling,” he said, a slight trembling in his usually strong voice.
“For always,” I answered.
And then he was gone.
The rain stopped that afternoon. The air smelled of earth and smoke, and the world felt hollow. His letters came for a time — worn envelopes, smudged with dirt and rain, words full of longing and hope.
But then, one day, they stopped.
Weeks later, a telegram arrived:
“Private Matthew Whitaker. Killed in action, Somme Front. June 1916.”
I remember the sound of the paper crumpling in my hand. I remember the kettle whistling on the stove. I remember the rain beginning again, soft and endless…
“Mrs. Whitaker?”
The nurse’s voice pulls me back. I blink, the room coming into focus — pale walls, the hum of fluorescent lights, the faint scent of antiseptic.
She’s standing by the window, smiling gently. “You were dreaming again,” she says.
I touch the locket at my neck — worn smooth after all these years. Inside is a small photograph: a young man in uniform, his smile frozen in time.
“It wasn’t a dream,” I whisper. “It was the last night I ever saw him.”
The nurse hesitates, then sits beside me. “He sounds like he loved you very much.”
I nod slowly, my eyes drifting to the rain streaking down the glass — soft and endless, just like that night.
“He did,” I say. “And sometimes, when it rains like this, I swear I can still feel him beside me. The sound of his heartbeat. The smell of his coat. The way he said my name, as if it belonged only to him.”
Outside, the sky darkens, and thunder murmurs in the distance.
I close my eyes. In the hush between raindrops, I hear him — faint, but certain — whispering against my ear:
“Wait for me.”
“For always…”
A bit nervous to see your reactions…I’ve never written romance before and I don’t know if it’s any good…
Mod
Mod
Mod
Once people began to notice their property was going missing, they decided that some protection was due.
I should be able to avoid trouble if I run to the house and climb the walls. This was one of those convenient houses with the uneven brick walls. If I climbed the exterior then I would be out of reach of any animals, and I would have an easy ticket to the upstairs window.
I slowly pushed the gate open, wincing as it creaked. Hopefully the wind would muffle it.
The second the gate was open wide enough that I could enter, I slipped through and made a beeline for the house, the sound of my running silenced by the overgrown grass. I reached it, hoisting myself up onto the uneven stone. After I was at least six feet off the ground I paused in my climbing, allowing myself thirty seconds to catch my breath.
I began to climb again, not stopping until I reached the nearest window. When I reached it, I peered inside.
It looked like it was a room belonging to a child. There were light pink curtains lining the windows, and a large canopied bed.
These people must be loaded, I thought with excitement. I had been avoiding this house for two years, because it was so close to my own, and I was too worried that I would get caught. But oh boy, was I missing out.
The family probably had deep ties. Very deep. This was 1936. Nobody was this rich. The Great Depression, as we called it, made sure of that. Probably home to some banker who profited from everyone else’s money.
I wondered what they had inside the house. I imagined everything was made of the most expensive of materials. I thought of the face my mother would make if she woke up to find a whole loaf of white bread on the porch.
This had been our little game for years. She could never know that I snuck out almost every week to bring home food for her. She had no idea that the mystery person who left food regularly at our porch was me. No, she’d never approve.
But we were one of the more unfortunate families. With eleven children, no father running the house, and a mother who couldn’t even make it out of bed some days, I was left to figure out how to provide for everyone. But nobody wanted the scrawny fifteen-year-old kid to do their chores. They could easily find other people to help them with that.
So I did this. It had worked out really well at first. But in a small town, word gets around. While nobody had suspected me, people did begin to be more alert. It wasn’t as easy as it used to be. But I had to do it nonetheless. I wouldn’t sit back and watch my younger siblings slowly starve to death.
I sucked in a quiet breath, and with its release, I lightly nudged the window, evaluating just how loose it was. Even with my slight push, it gave a little.
I grinned. Too easy. Much too easy.
Opening it the rest of the way, I slipped inside, closing it quietly, lest the draft wake anyone up.
Well, that was the idea, anyway. But ideas don’t always work out.
I turned around, ready to go explore the rest of the house, when I heard a startled cry. I jerked my head in the direction of the bed, straining my eyes to see through the dark.
“We have dogs!” A shrill voice squealed. Yep. Definitely a kid’s room.
I didn’t move, partly because I didn’t want to startle them into shouting again, partly because I had no idea what I would do even if I did move. I had not planned for this to happen.
“Hey,” I tried, putting as much calm into my voice as I could. “Uh, how you doin’?”
The child started crying, and my heart raced. Great. Might as well start calling for the sheriff.
“Who are you?” they said through the tears. “Please don’t hurt me.”
My heart lurched. I couldn’t tell if the child was a girl or boy, but it didn’t matter. Because all they saw was a scary person who just climbed through their window.
“Okay,” I said slowly. “How about we make a little deal? I’ll leave right now, and you promise to never tell anyone about this. Ever. Deal?”
The kid just wailed louder.
You know what? New plan. I needed to get out of there.
I had just turned and was opening the window when I heard an ominous clicking sound, followed by a gruff, raspy voice.
“And just where do you think you’re going, kid?”
I froze. After a couple of seconds, I worked up the nerve to turn around. Standing in the doorway was a huge man. And he was pointing a gun directly at me.
“What’s your name, kid?” he grunted.
I tried to keep my voice even, but it shook anyway. “Thomas,”
The man grunted again. “Ah, you’re Hilary’s kid. Well, son, we are gonna have ourselves a nice long talk.”
@ophelia @charis I love both the stories sm they are so well written. @ophelia I was literally on the verge of tears Abt matthew😭
@charisThat was amazing!!!
@readergirl
Thx. I might make it longer. All my other friends say they need more sooo…
Matthew may become Marlowe and Vivian may become Ophelia.
I just finished my story for this prompt, it’s called: “Black Snow”I can’t promise that everything is historically accurate, but I tried, hope u guys enjoy it😊
August 24, 79 ceThe morning sun shone down brightly as I navigated the packed market with my brother’s small hand clutched in mine.
I pulled him to the edge of the boisterous crowd flooding the streets, he’s too small to be here, he might get trampled.
I pulled him into my arms, resting his weight on my hip, and he clung to me tightly, too scared to do anything else.
I smiled, rubbing small circles on his back. “Shh, it’s alright fratum.” I whispered, striding towards the fruit stall. I smiled at the vendor picking two plump pomegranates and placing them in my satchel.
I gave the vendor two silver coins, he looked down at them, then looked at the small boy in my arms. His eyes softened and he pressed a third pomegranate in my hand.
“Thank you.” I bowed my head and my brother smiled and waved his hands.
“What’s his name?” Asked the vendor.
“Arrius.” My brother lifted his head at the sound of his name, his hands fisted in the cloth of my stola.
“And what is your name?”
“Atia.” I smiled, blowing a loose strand of hair from my face.
“It’s a beautiful name.” He grinned, the lines around his eyes deepening.
“Thank you.” I murmured. He nodded, his rosy cheeked face turned to Arrius.
“Are you his mother?” He asked kindly, a sad kind of knowing in his eyes.
“No,” I said tightly, my hold on my brother tightening slightly. “Our father died when he was two and our mother passed during childbirth.” It’s just been us for the past year, he doesn’t remember our parents.
“Atia!” Giggled Arrius, his small blonde head tilting to the side.
“Ah, I’m sorry.” The vendor stroked his beard and gave me another pomegranate.
“No, you’ve already given us enough.” I stammered, trying to give it back.
“Nonsense,” waved the vendor. “A growing boy needs nutrients, isn’t that right little one?” He slipped a gold coin in Arrius’s hand.
“Yes!” He squealed, kicking his feet.
I thanked the vendor again, slipping away before we were indebted to him beyond what I could repay. I passed by the bread vendor and the haggling old woman with a stall full of clothing I could never afford. The sun moved in the sky, it’s almost noon. My eyes caught on a dark cloud creeping across the sky from Mount Vesuvius just as Arrius’s small stomach rumbled and I made our way home.
***
I climbed the stairs of the modest insulae we shared with our neighbors, passing the small shop on the first floor and slipping into the one-room home we once shared with our parents.
I set Arrius down on the cool clay floor, letting him play with the small bits of discarded wool from my weaving as I set about slicing the pomegranates.
I grabbed the half eaten loaf of bread and two clay plates I made myself from the meager shelf on the wall and began to slice the bread as well.
I set a plate at Arrius’s feet and settled myself on my stool in front of my mother’s old loom. I set to work, weaving the day away as the sky darkened with more gray clouds.
“Atia,” cried Arrius, his little hands fisted in the cloth of our mother’s old dress that I wore.
“What is it?” I scooped him up, perching him on my lap.
“It’s snowing!”
“What?” I looked out the open window and was astonished to find small little flurries falling from the sky. “But it’s still summer.” I mumbled to myself. I stood with Arrius in my arms and crossed the small space to the window. I stuck my hand out and caught the snow in my palm. The sky was a dark shade of gray and the snow was….black.
Ash.
It’s ash. I looked at the sky once more and realized what I had mistaken for clouds was actually smoke.
Smoke from Mount Vesuvius.
And then I heard the deafening crack of the eruption. Hades rained down on the earth, his wrath a terrible vengeance.
Oh gods.
My ash stained hand came to my mouth and I fled down the stairs with a fussing Arrius in my arms.
I burst onto the street and am met with complete and utter chaos.
The once bustling market of the morning is now a stampeding mass of terror.
My eyes burn as the ash everyone and everything in gray, the suffocating smell of sulfur choking the breath from my lungs. I cover Arrius’s mouth and nose with the hem of my skirt.
“Don’t breathe in the ash.” I whisper to him, pressing his small form against my body as step into the panic stricken crowd of those trying to flee.
The cries of the doomed flood my ears as my body is pushed by those around me.
I spot the fruit vendor’s abandoned stall as my foot catches on a crack in the road and I crash to the ground. Scraping my knees and shielding Arrius from the grunt of the impact. I try to stand but am pushed back down, I cover Arrius’s body with my own, screaming as I am trampled, unable to escape the herd of those I once knew.
The air was hot, I couldn’t breathe.
Fighting past the pain in my body, I stood and ran through the crowd, pushing people down in my wake as I sought shelter in a nearby insulae.
I rushed up the stairs of the empty home, so similar to my own.
My lungs burned, whether from the ash in my throat or the exertion of my race through the streets and the abandoned insulae, I didn’t know.
I collapsed on the floor and Arrius began to cry, his tears streaking through his blackened face.
“Shh, it’s alright.” I coughed, pulling him close. I looked out the broken window through which ash and smoke was intruding at an alarming rate and saw with a sinking heart the people who had been fleeing becoming trapped and blocked at every exit as their bodies collapsed in fits of coughing.
Buildings collapsed and all I heard was the screaming.
Arrius’s tears never stopped falling, not as I pulled him under a table, holding him in my embrace, not as the ash blanketed us in its cold caress.
“Don’t cry,” I wheezed, my throat burning and raw, smothered in ash. “We’ll see mater and pater soon.” He looked at me, his round eyes bloodshot from more than just tears.
“It hurts.”
“I know.” I held him close, humming a melody I sung to him as he fell asleep every night.
I hummed and hummed.
Even as the melody was lost in my fits of coughing.
Even as his breathing slowed.
Even as his eyes closed.
Even as his body grew cold next to mine.
Even as the last dregs of light were blocked out by the ash burying my body.
Even as I couldn’t breathe.
My eyes closed, the humming ceased. His warmth was gone…and so was mine.
Trapped in a grave of black snow.
@OpheliaI read yours, amazing job.
(Mathew❤️🩹)
I really did not expect soo many people to love Matthew so much.
Several want me to continue the story further, or lengthen it.
@rowanIt was very well written! A bit sad at the end tho😥
Really?I wrote him as what I’d want as a companion
@OpheliaThanks!
And yeah, it was sad.
But it felt like the right ending.
@OpheliaYeah, at least I thought he was lovable- and very well written.
@rowanYeah for sure. Pompeii was devastating
I think Herculaneum was worse tho😥
@OpheliaYeah…probably.
But I was obsessed with Pompeii when I was little (watched documentary after documentary and read ab it a lot) so when I saw this prompt I knew I wanted to write something set during that time.
(Tho I did consider the Salem witch trials)
@OpheliaOfc!
And yes, u should def write more😊
I was going to do witch trials but then Amara said she was going to. So I decided to do something different to stand out. I can’t wait to see what she writes!
HmmmMaybe I’ll continue the story further. Or at least expand it.
Me either!(That’s why I decided against it too…plus I didn’t think anyone else would be doing Pompeii)
Is there a way I could have a spot in the share your stories section???I’m not a mod
Yeah, go for it.I’m not a mod either but that section is specifically for sharing your stories that you write on your own time.
Mod
Mod
Mod
Death is an odd thing, and now it is splayed before my innocent eyes.
I didn’t want this. Two sides going against one another in a crash of freedom and ownership.
Blood is dried in the twigs and leaves of the forest I stalk across. The trees’ branches hang low, as though they can sense the demise in the air. The sky is dark, smoke has risen across the sky in haste of a fire.
My head spins from blood loss. I’m skipping across twigs and deceased animals on the ground. I fall to the floor, resting my back against the tree trunk, a low sigh blows through my lips.
My mother.
Dead.
My sister.
Bam. Boom.
Just like that.
Strangers–dead.
Crack. They’re merciless.
Dead.
Snap.
Dead.
Too fast. Too cruel.
Thud.
And… gone.
I hate this–no, I despise this.
I rest my dirty scraggly hair against the bark in a moment of dread.
This is grief in itself. Sick, sick life. This life has been torn open just like my stolen heart.
My lover.
Fighting for his end. His own life.
My father.
Right beside him.
I crawl my fingers into my hair, pressing my fingers into my skull. My body is lean and small, curled around myself.
Boom.
A gun is shot.
Bam.
One is shot in response.
Screams erupt in pleading and another fire starts.
Bang.
Snap.
Dead.
Just like my heart. What is this life? Why must humans be so determined to strike death and grief upon those they despise? Rooting for their demise–their fall down.
A twig snaps behind me, just before I drift into a doze of sleep. I shoot back up into a sitting position and my head is now on a swivel.
I stand, reaching for my dagger in my boot. “Who’s there?”
I spin around to look for a tall figure. The being is wearing boots, leather trousers, and a long leather jacket. He’s holding a musket down by his side, and two daggers are tucked in at his waist.
I back up slowly, expecting the man to be in an opposed force.
“My lov-” he begins. He’s also wearing a hat that shadows a familiar strong jaw and high cheekbones.
“Who are you?” my voice shakes, but I try to level it.
“Tamsin, it’s me,” the man murmurs, his voice breathless. “My dear.” He walks closer to me.
“William?” a choke escapes my mouth. “Show me. Show me that you’re truly William.”
He removes his hat and walks closer. He encircles my waist, hugging me close in the way that I’ve never needed more than I do at this moment. I bury my face in his leather jacket and whisper his name over and over again. He kisses me, again and again. His lips are a familiar sort of sense that brings me back to the present. That makes me forget the war, for just a moment.
Boom.
Bam.
He’s not dead.
Mod
“Write a story based on a historical event”
I can’t wait to see what everyone writes! Be creative! It can be anything you can think up!