Photo Prompt

Each month, we post a photograph as a writing prompt. Post your 100-word story in the comments section, and we’ll choose one to feature in our next issue. To see examples, read photo stories we’ve published in the past.

Photo credit: French Landscape Hunter

1,149 Responses to “Photo Prompt”

  1. Teddy Kimathi says:

    *****EDITED VERSION

    A maiden gently held his right arm, only for his arm to coil away. “What’s the matter my Love, don’t you like me anymore?” she asked him. She couldn’t cry or shed a tear; her tears and emotion had been frozen by the seasons her forefathers had spent years creating in gigantic, still pots with chimneys. He was the only kind of himself who had remained in the frozen island. Summer still ran in his veins. Often spirit guides showed him the map to meet his own kind, under the frozen ocean. Time had stopped because of the biting cold.

  2. Teddy Kimathi says:

    A maiden gently held his right arm, only for his arm to coil away. “What’s the matter my Love, don’t you like me anymore?” she asked him. She couldn’t cry or shed a tear; her tears and emotion had been frozen by the seasons her forefathers had spent years creating in gigantic, still pots with chimneys. He was the only kind of himself who had remained in the frozen island. Summer still ran in his veins. Often spirit guides showed him the map to meet his own kind, under the frozen ocean. Time has stopped because of the biting cold.

  3. EePin says:

    Misha was cold. Even the heavy furs that wrapped around him were not enough to ward off the icy winds. The snow was relentless and he missed the warmth of home. Right now, his wife would be cooking beef stew and he could not wait until this was over and he could relax before a fire with his wife, enjoying that warm stew.

    All he had to do was survive until then.
    The bells rang across the wall and Misha gripped his spear tighter.

    The enemy were here.

  4. Dean Okamura says:

    Title: Nothing like Norway

    Going home to Norway. Even the coldest, foggiest, windiest day in Hermosa Beach, California, is nothing like Norway. This weather. So cold. Cannot wait to land. Meet loved ones. January is such a lovely time. Where else can the Arctic blue light be so pure? It is like an artist washes the landscape with a magic brush. The countryside vibrates with life. A California beach walk in shorts was nice. Much better to be back home. I cannot wait for even more magic tonight under the sky of Northern Lights. See a beautiful dance to the tune of the heavens.

  5. Scott Rothschild says:

    Leaving town
    It’s easier to leave in winter. I’ve often wondered what it would feel like to look in the rear view mirror at our little town where we raised our family. Our children’s photos hang in the high school. They’ll soon look out of place as the next wave moves in with their own photos. But it’s too cold here. Too many chances to slip and fall and break some bones. Schools, church, work — when you’re done you’re done. It’s time for the next generation to step up and work hard. And I promised to spread your ashes in warmer waters.

  6. Dan Slaten says:

    The phantom scent of watermelon candy often tickled Devin’s nose on frosty days like today. The streets where he grew up were haunted by more ghosts than he could count. He wondered briefly if coming back had been a mistake. The old neighborhood was practically a figment of his imagination at this point. What answers could be found here anyway? Devin stared inside the window of a chain coffee shop and saw not the aged face he now wore but the almost formless one of his youth. Eyes filled with endless hope stared back at tired eyes clouded by time.

  7. Jim Byrnes says:

    Beloved

    I’m standing on the mainland shore, entranced, looking across the water at the town. The fragile short-lived blue light of a midwinter day paints the horizon and stirs memories.

    I am warmed as I remember the countless number of times I tumbled end over end as I fell into the endless glacial blue of her eyes. She is gone now, but her memory and it’s emotionally attendant feelings often return unbidden, and I miss her more than words can say.

    The memories always bring nearly unbearable pain, but without them, I’m not sure that life would be worth living.

  8. Tarim says:

    East Poland

    Her love was waiting for me in those bullets. The recoils snap-shotting flash of orange brought into focus the still photo that was my life: Ash and I sitting on a poolside bench in Venice – our honeymoon – with her smile that could stop this war. I mean it. Give the Germans one look and they’d sweep their helmets to their hearts and mutter between sobs vergib mir. But that images fades. Then numbness. Like the numbness that precedes a fall: the body prepares, muscles tighten, and eyes dart for some unspoken miracle to arrive. But it doesn’t. It never does.

  9. Matthew Hefferin says:

    Stephanie smiled as we boarded the yacht I had chartered on New Years, a bottle of champagne chilling in the galley, a dozen red roses placed on her pillow. The engine accelerated, the yacht cruised along the coast. We snuggled for warmth while sipping champagne, gazing out the window, drinking in the winter scene. We regaled each other with stories about the homes high on the sea cliff – how the glow from their fireplace lit their windows, the boys, perhaps brothers, playing in the snow, bundled in their coats, a snapshot captured as in a snow globe, an unforgettable memory.

  10. maximilian lloyd says:

    Art

    The child painted when they did not have to move. They sat under a tarp in the dirt and bugs flew into the paint and left with little grey, white, and blue legs.
    “You are getting better. Realer.”
    “Where is this place?”
    “Norway.”
    “Norway looks very sad.”
    “We’re running out of paints.”
    They heard rustling in the brush that walled their campsite.
    “You’re going to have to leave it.”
    “It’s small enough.”
    “It’s too big.”
    The child left it.
    They rolled the tarp and threw on their bags.

    “Notice the brushstrokes. Examine the color choice. What is being said?”

  11. Katie Magoun says:

    Houses huddled together, leaning hard into the hill to ward off the bitter cold. A flash of empathy stirred her heart and caused the slightest lift in her perpetually downturned lips. From a distance, she found, it was almost beautiful.

    This was her secret. A regular trip on the mailboat to assuage the encompassing hatred she held for this miserable place. The boat captain ignored her, rarely glancing in her direction; he seemed to understand why she was here. Perhaps it was not her secret alone.

    A loud horn signaled come about; the boat would soon turn back to home.

  12. Laurel says:

    We see each other every day when I look out my window. They have become my friends; they are reliable. I want to know them more, the buildings and trees.
    I am not a coward; I am afraid.
    If I visit my familiar friends on the hill I won’t recognize them. Their familiarity skews with every mile closer. Chaos confuses my friends into strangers. I have known them for so long but they never knew me at all.

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