WritingPrompts

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[WP] It is only once your pilgrimage is nearly over, once you are past the temple threshold and the hymns are in your ears that you realize that the priests before your god aren't in worship, but performing funeral rites.	8
[WP] You have a way with words. When you said that you were a handful as a child, you meant that you fit in your mother's palm. When you called someone a snake, they turned into a boa. Now, you've just told a friend that their performance would "knock 'em dead" and realized your mistake.	8
[WP] There's been a prophecy, old since as far back as anyone can remember, of an evil conquering the world and a hero rising up against it. You are that evil, an unnatural homunculus born of a witch and a king's mistakes. Except you don't much fancy the idea of conquering; you'd rather be a hero.	8
[WP] You give the Terms and Conditions a cursory look-over before ticking the "I accept" box and finishing your registration. Later that day, three men bust your door open and walk in. One smiles like a jackal and holds up a printed copy of what you've agreed to. "Fine print, baby." He chuckles.	8
[WP] The prophecy was wrong. The kingdom has fallen and evil grips the world, because the hero failed, but that doesn't mean they would just stop fighting.	7
[WP] It's sunset. You don't know how you lost track of time, but that doesn't matter right now. As you sprint home and slam your door shut, the last rays of light fade. An inhuman howl. The ground trembles as something heavy passes. "The church will protect you," it intones. "God will protect you."	7
[WP] December 24, 1984. In the west, the Germans exert control over Europe with twisted, occult abominations bought with the lives and suffering of prisoners of war. To the east, the Empire has engineered enhancements for her soldiers, meat framed by unfeeling steel. Still, the Red Army endures.	7
[WP] Scavenged offerings and half-remembered rites, one last desperate prayer from one last desperate believer. A god's heart once more begins to beat.	7
[WP] A legend inhabits your town, named Johnny Irons. Everyone tells tales of what he's done, things like wrangling twisters or outriding storms. Even if it's made up on the spot, if the tale is tall enough Johnny'll have done it and appear, with proof, to sort out where the tale got him wrong.	7
[WP] You make a deal with the Fae, the price being your firstborn child. Little do they know you’ve taken a vow of celibacy.	7

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