z

Young Writers Society


Make a Scene Based on Objects Given



User avatar
472 Reviews



Gender: Male
Points: 25
Reviews: 472
Mon Aug 24, 2015 6:16 am
Lightsong says...



Okay, so I'll make an example. Objects I give to myself are:

paper, scissors, eraser, rope, and doll

Here's the scene:

Using the scissors, we cut her hair, making it look messy and ugly. We laughed at the sight of her teary face. We forced her to stand on the chair. The rope was ready - it was hanged from the ceiling, tied to make a hole fit for a person's head. She put her head into it and we let go the chair. She started to gasp for air, her hands clutching her neck, before everything of her went motionless. We wrote something on a piece of paper, saying she had committed suicde, and put her beloved Barbie doll on it. We left.

So there it is! For those who want to use those objects , you are given freedom to do anything with it to make a single scene. Be creative! Also, rate the scene above on how interesting it is (your rating/10).

Objects for the person below:

origami, snow, mirror, ruler, and telephone
"Writing, though, belongs first to the writer, and then to the reader, to the world.

The subject is a catalyst, a character, but our responsibility is, has to be, to the work."

- David L. Ulin
  





User avatar
177 Reviews



Gender: Male
Points: 1093
Reviews: 177
Sun Aug 30, 2015 7:17 pm
View Likes
Chaser says...



8/10. Definitely intriguing. Psychopathic group murder is always pleasing. As for mine:

He stared at himself in the mirror, fingers groping at his bedraggled black hair. His eyes had a haunted gaze, a starved madness that seemed to seep through his veins.

His teeth clenched. The face he stared towards was a face he hated. It was the face of a monster. And the beast in the glass mimicked that baleful rage, its wrath nigh palpable. Was that a flicker of contempt in its eye?

Swearing bitterly, he seized a ruler from his nightstand, bringing its end down on the mirror. It cracked, shattering out as he stood there, panting before the carnage. In one of the shards, he could see a square sheet of paper, lying on the table behind him. The final piece.

Turning away from the mirror, biting back tears, he set to work. His fingers folded deftly along the paper, creasing it, bending it back, and giving it shape. He remembered every fold, every turn, every flip of the paper in his creation. A single tear wet the page as he continued, muttering incoherently.

Finally, he stood back, staring at the complete masterpiece on the tabletop. A paper crane. The thousandth paper crane.

He chuckled bitterly, scooping the crane up. He'd never wanted to believe the old superstition, but it was his final hope. A thousand paper cranes were good for one wish.

And he had decided long ago what that wish would be. Holding the papyrus bird in his hands, he made his wish. "I wish," he said, his voice cracking with emotion, "to be a better man."

It was a simple wish, far too simple a wish to be made upon a thousand paper cranes. But it was his.

Taking a deep breath, he tossed the crane back onto the tabletop and headed out of his apartment.

The snow was quiet, oppressive, and heartless as it flitted down from the sky. He trudged through the icebound streets, searching for one thing alone. His final wish welled up inside him, giving him an artificial warmth.

There. He saw it, the payphone at the corner of the street. His fingers rubbed over the coins in his pocket as he approached. What should I say? he wondered.

What could he say? At this point, there was no longer any reason to sugarcoat the truth. He had come too far to rely on his words alone. Slipping the coins into the slot, he dialed her number.

He held his breath in silence as the tone rang. Once. Twice. Thrice.

"Hello?" Her voice gently startled him, like an angel's aria. The man took a deep breath, and gave his simple response.

"I miss you."
----------

Objects for the next: Book, knife, clock, water, and candy.
The hardest part of writing science fiction is knowing actual science. The same applies for me and realistic fiction.
  





User avatar
472 Reviews



Gender: Male
Points: 25
Reviews: 472
Mon Sep 07, 2015 2:41 am
Lightsong says...



9/10 Very emotional. It's delivered well. Intriguing too.

The Joker has arrived for Christmas has come.
In his right hand he holds a candy,
and in his left hand he holds a knife.
This is not something you want to read in a book.

The clock is ticking, the children are running.
Screams haunt the surrounding, the terror continues.
The Joker enters and leaves each house, blood on his blade
until the rain visits - drops of water blend with tears.

---

Objects for the next: Heart, pink, movie, tear, hand.
"Writing, though, belongs first to the writer, and then to the reader, to the world.

The subject is a catalyst, a character, but our responsibility is, has to be, to the work."

- David L. Ulin
  





User avatar
558 Reviews



Gender: Female
Points: 1219
Reviews: 558
Sat Oct 03, 2015 10:23 pm
View Likes
erilea says...



8/10... really intriguing and frightening.

The girl smiles through her tears as she watches the rolling credits for the movie. Her heart feels wide enough to fill the sky, her hand over it as she sighs. Her pink dress spills over the side of her seat as others stare at her in surprise, but she doesn't notice them.

Objects: Pencil, paper, light, crayons
Was *wisegirl22*Artemis28*Lupa22*


focus on... enjoying happy moments
  





Random avatar


Gender: None specified
Points: 300
Reviews: 0
Fri Jul 29, 2016 3:12 pm
View Likes
zamy says...



8/10 - Short and sweet! I like it :)

Stephanie pushed her pencil aside and got her crayons. Everyone was drawing the elephant in blue. She thought that it would be useless if she did the same. Stephanie grabbed her light pink crayon and began scribbling.

"Why did you draw your elephant pink? Elephants are blue! And why did you colour outside the lines?" Thomas questioned. His eyebrows were furrowed, trying to make sense of it all. He was still puzzled. The others agreed with him. "Elephants are not pink!" Laughed Fiona.

"I don't care. I'm different. I really like pink!" Stephanie told them. She smiled brightly at her work. Somehow, pink looked much better on elephants. Fiona was jealous. She tried to draw on her blue elephant to make him pink.

"Well, I think it's ugly!" Thomas remarked harshly. He got up and crumpled up her paper in a tiny ball. He threw it in the bin. "Draw another one. This time do it blue, idiot!" Thomas snickered. Stephanie cried. She had spent the last fifteen minutes working on it.

She ran to the bin and searched through the rubbish. She got her paper and flattened it out. "GROSS! Stephanie touched the rubbish!"

"That's enough!" The teacher scolded him. "That was not nice at all. That was very bad, Thomas!" Thomas looked at the floor. "Say sorry!" The teacher said. "S-sorry." The teacher pointed at Stephanie. "Not to me, say sorry to her."

Thomas flushed red. "S-sorry Stephanie." Stephanie was still crying. The teacher comforted her and tried to smooth out her paper. "Look, it's still looks amazing!" The teacher said to her.

After the children were done drawing, the teacher hung them all on a string that went across the room. Every single one was blue, except for the creased paper of Stephanie's pink elephant.

Objects: towel, ice cream, starfish, cousin

Sent from my L500S using Tapatalk
  





User avatar
494 Reviews



Gender: Female
Points: 0
Reviews: 494
Tue Aug 02, 2016 2:56 am
Holysocks says...



9/10 I liked it! The only thing I thought was a bit off was the teacher's dialogue when she was talking to Thomas- I don't think a teacher would say "bad so-en-so" unless they were joking around or something. Otherwise it was cute and reminded me of something like that that happened to my dad when he was in art class- only it was the art teacher (can you believe it?) who was grabbing the drawing.

---

Sand flew out under my heels.

"It's coming for you!" my cousin Jason said.

The towel around my waist slipped off leaving me in just my bathing suit. Great. Now there'd be sand all through it. But at least now I could run faster. I sprinted along the shore, Jason not far behind.

Something cold and slimy hit me in the shoulder. I screamed, scraping the goop off of me. It was a decaying starfish that Jason had found in a clump of seaweed. I screamed again- but this time it wasn't out of fear, this time it was rage.

"I'm going to kill you!" I said to Jason.

"You wouldn't kill me." he said, "not after I bought you ice cream."

Objects: Box, needle, tree, fan
100% autistic
  








ah yes my boiling cheetohs
— tatteredbones