Ideas in Ink: Secondary Perspective

Ksi

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Ideas in Ink is a series of topics dedicated to practising writing by assigning writing exercises over a month, each on different aspects, themes or genres.

What you write is up to you - poetry, brainstorming, short stories, longer stories, lists of ideas... everything is welcome and you may be as serious or ridiculous as you wish.
 
You may also write about whatever you wish as long as it pertains to the subject/theme and prompt. This means that there will most likely be some over-PG-rated works. Because of this, I ask that you stick to the rules of posting.
 
Rules

 
RULE 01 - Posting
You have one post in the thread in which you add your prompts, using the handily coded list below.
 
Each prompt should be hidden in spoiler tags with the appropriate heading above them. When you have completed a prompt, bold the header.
If a piece is over a PG rating, it should be tagged with descriptor tags: Sex, Violence, Drugs, etc as well as approximate age tags - 13-15, 15-18, 18+. These must be in bold and next to the title of the piece.
Like so:
Prompt 07 {Sex, Drugs, Foul Language}{18+}
If you are told to change or add tags, do so or I will edit them myself.
I'll be linking each of your main posts to your name in the OP to make it easier to find them, so please follow this for posting prompt updates/additions.
 
RULE 02 - Necroposting
These threads can be brought back from the dead at any time. They're immune to age, so feel free to post the prompt updates your forgot to add at any time, even two years down the track.
RULE 03 - Feedback
Please be constructive when giving feedback. This means try to point out the things you liked in a written piece as well as the parts that need improving. Don't be a dick.
 
For example: "I liked your character, but I think you need to check out your spelling and grammar. Also, the theme is really good, but there needs to be a bit more reaction from the surprise twist. As it stands your character kinda just takes it as is and doesn't really react at all..."
To give feedback, add a post in this thread with the name or number of the prompt for which you are leaving the feedback as well as the name of the writer.
*RULE 04 - Word Limits
I don't want to be strict, but I do want to point out that using each prompt for only 3-6 lines is a bit wasteful. I don't want to instil a word limit as I feel that that would be limiting a person's scope.
 
However, the idea is to challenge yourself. You are your own competition. So please, don't just write a few lines for each and every prompt and consider it 'done'. At least aim to make it harder on yourself, if only to push your skills to grow.​
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Prompts:-
Secondary Perspective
The challenge this time around is to write from second person point of view. For those who don't know what that is, here are some nifty links. The simple version is that the point of view is from that of someone telling you, the reader, what you will do, putting you in place of the subject. It's considered an uncomfortable point of view to read and write as it comes off more instructive than telling, thus is not used often. One book that does use it and was quite famous for its' use was The Bride Stripped Bare.

01 - Changes
02 - Empty Cadence
03 - Kill the Kindest
04 - Showing Weakness
05 - Another of Those
06 - Struck by a Fleeting Moment
07 - Signets and Sympathy
08 - Psychosis
09 - Stealing You
10 - Breath the Lie
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Copy below code and post for easy set-up.

Prompt: Changes

Prompt: Empty Cadence

Prompt: Kill the Kindest

Prompt: Showing Weakness

Prompt: Another of Those

Prompt: Struck by a Fleeting Moment

Prompt: Signets and Sympathy

Prompt: Psychosis

Prompt: Stealing You

Prompt: Breath the Lie

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slimmmeiske2

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This is hard, also my first time using this perspective. I'm not even sure if what I wrote qualifies as secondary perspective, but I tried.

Prompt: Changes

Prompt: Empty CadencePrompt: Kill the Kindest

Prompt: Showing Weakness

[SIZE=11pt]Tonight, there’s something mesmerizing about you. The way you walk and talk to the others around you, seems different than before. It is like you have found a well of confidence somewhere deep inside you. As you walk over to the attractive ginger on the other side of the room, you pull up another bucket of confidence. Ginger doesn’t notice that though, having eyes only on their blond friend. Talking to a stranger, an attractive stranger at that, is something you rarely do, but tonight it just feels right. That’s why you are proud of yourself, when they stop talking and look at you. “Hi”, you say to the ginger and the blond. They greet you in return. On your back you feel other eyes staring at you, making you uncomfortable. You drop the bucket and spill everything. But Ginger and Blond are still waiting for you and stare at you, their faces unreadable. At a loss for words, you just smile and walk away. Away from their “Huh? What just happened?” and “That’s embarrassing.”. You realize that later tonight you will replay this scene over and over in your head, revaluing yourself.[/SIZE]
Prompt: Another of ThosePrompt: Struck by a Fleeting MomentPrompt: Signets and SympathyPrompt: Psychosis
“You’re almost there. On the other side of that wall you’re facing right now lies the master room. No doubt it has the key to escape this forsaken place. Go on and fast, before they find you. What are you waiting for? Blast a hole in that wall!

Oh dear, don’t look at it. I said, don’t look at it! By the grace of God, look away!

It’s too late now. It has noticed you. Listen to me, you only have one option now and that is to run. Run! Faster, faster! It’s catching up to you. According to the plans I have, you need to go to the left. What are you doing? I said left, not right! Oh well, just keep running in the wrong direction then. It’s not like I’ve been helpful to you while you’ve been here and saved your sorry ass countless of times, oh no.

Wait! I don’t hear it anymore. Turn around and see if it’s still there. Strange. I am sure you did not outrun it. Just keep moving, okay? You still need the key to get out of this place.

And finally, back where we were before. Now, the key should be on the nightstand next to the bed. Take it and you’re out of here. Great, let’s head back to the door now.

This must have been scary right. Running around in this dark place, seeing those strange things chase you and well, I guess it must be strange to hear me. But it will all be over soon. No more running through cellars, trying to escape whatever they are. Soon, you will have peace, eternal bliss.

I can see the final door. Now open it and leave! Huh, it was actually nice talking to you. I’ll almost miss you. Almost.

What’s wrong now? Why aren’t you gone yet? You have the key and there’s a locked door, surely even you know how to unlock a door. What’s that? There’s no keyhole on this door? Come now, don’t be stupid! There must be one, keep looking! What? Do you hear that? It’s back. Look, forget the door and just run! Idiot, you dropped the key! Now how are you ever going to escape from here?

What’s that you say? Oh, did I not tell you? Silly of me really, I should have mentioned it before. Well, it’s fairly simple. Maybe, you already know. The truth is I am you, and we, the both of us, are stuck inside your – or should I say our – sick mind.”
Prompt: Stealing YouPrompt: Breath the Lie
 

C-C-C-Cashmere (old)

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Prompt: Changes

You know it's a change when you feel it in the air. You sat across from the vinyl-spilled coaster living on the edge of your apartment, and your wife was sitting right there with her legs crossed, waiting for you. "So?" she quizzed. "I'm betting you've had enough of this Duke Ellington, for now.""Well, he's a muse, he's been my psychic for a while now, he always sees the future, so yes, I'm putting away him for now." You slid the records back into their cases, just making sure that they're fitting in nicely and they don't have that dust and oily fingerprints on them. You cleaned in a circular motion, in the direction of the grooves. Maybe they called them grooves because of the notion that music is groovy, or maybe you were just thinking that because you were an ignorant bastard who knew little about the origin of words and you loved every single sound of a vinyl but couldn't pin down the direct nomenclature that hobbyists had given them because you spent too much time around normal people like... your wife... and not screwing your records through the hole instead.

"You liked Duke. You loved Duke. I don't understand why you're doing this, just chucking them away like this. He's your life blood, your heritage that you pass down to the kids, and then... theirs to theirs and so on. I don't see how the James I know could do this. It's unspeakable," she said.

"Given the circumstances, I just thought that I'd give it up because my children come first."

"That's fair enough, I guess," she said. She smirked a little, cutting the tomato in half with the serated part of the butter knife. "But... you can love the Duke and the kids, they're not mutually exclusive." She spread the garlic margarine over the tomato and cheese, which covered the cracker, and then put it in her mouth. "It's not a marriage-breaking thing, I mean I'm not the one who loves the guy, but you love him, and that's why I'm concerned. Things like this don't happen out of the blue, and I knew this shrink once - I didn't visit him for me, it was for a friend, Josie (she works with me) - and he said - sorry, she said - that people who go through... alcohol-caused or drug-caused depression experience symptoms of giving up their lifelong hobbies."

You sighed. "I don't do drugs or alcohol, I never have, Nadia," you replied, "It's just that I have no time for the Duke anymore, and that's it. I don't feel any sort of bond to it anymore, it's not like I listen to these old things anymore, and vinyls have gone out of style. CDs, mp3s, they're way more convenient."

"You know that there's magic in vinyls still."

"Magic? You're talking about magic; I'm the idealist here. You're supposed to be the realist talking about how my dreams were no good and we lived together in a flat so we had to scale our dreams down for the kids."

"Hey! I never said to scale your dreams down, nonetheless your hobbies, it was just a thing that I was going through. Self-sacrifice and all that. I mean you gotta learn it as a parent, but we were over-counselled; this kid-raising thing does itself. If you're a good person, your kids turn out right, and we're always wanting to improve ourselves."

You put down the soft, lint free cloth and placed the record back in the case. Nadia sipped her coffee with a loud noise and choked a little. She laughed, and placed her cup down.

"OK, it's not the end of the world, I still love you."

Nadia looked at you as you continued to passionately scrub the records before selling them to the nearest shop and buying an icecream on the way back home.
Prompt: Empty Cadence
Prompt: Kill the Kindest
Prompt: Showing Weakness
Prompt: Another of Those
You had always loved sleepy Truro with its tame, tan trees. It was a place where you felt delighted.You were a friendly, down to earth, cocoa drinker with vast eyelashes and ginger lips. Your friends saw you as a barbecued, blue-eyed bear. Once, you had even helped a thirsty blind person cross the road. That's the sort of woman you were.

You walked over to the window and reflected on your pretty surroundings. The snow flurried like gyrating mice.

Then you saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Gregory Butterscotch. Gregory was a friendly vicar with tall eyelashes and curvaceous lips.

You gulped. You were not prepared for Gregory.

As you stepped outside and Gregory came closer, you could see the disgusted smile on his face.

"I am here because I want a phone number," Gregory bellowed, in a splendid tone. He slammed his fist against your chest, with the force of 5303 dogs. "I frigging love you, Michelle Hemingway."

You looked back, even more cross and still fingering the giant banana. "Gregory, I am your mother," you replied.

You looked at each other with unstable feelings, like two defiant, disturbed donkeys boating at a very vile engagement party, which had flute music playing in the background and two virtuous uncles laughing to the beat.

You regarded Gregory's tall eyelashes and curvaceous lips. You held out your hand. "Let's not fight," you whispered, gently.

"Hmph," pondered Gregory.

"Please?" you begged with puppy dog eyes.

Gregory looked barmy, his body blushing like a hushed, hot hat.

Then Gregory came inside for a nice mug of cocoa.

THE END
Prompt: Struck by a Fleeting Moment
"Oh wow," you say. You get slammed in the head by a moment.
Prompt: Signets and Sympathy
Prompt: Psychosis
Prompt: Stealing You
Prompt: Breathe the Lie
You breathe it in deep as you poison yourself with the beautiful night air. You're on the boat in Venice, down that little river where manifold pretty lights and decorations spoil the buildings. You're a fan of rustic settings, older women and a taste for cheap wine. You have a bottle next to you, in fact. You soak in that fresh air, and in an instant, it's gone.

You feel the room's light flicker on inside your eyelids. You awaken out of the visual synthesizer to the pale white room. It's by yourself. It's 2001-esque. The lights flicker above. The lady scientist with the immaculate combover and futuristic A-Style boots comes towards you and jabs a needle into your chest. You look at her, your eyes dilating.

"Settle," she says. "You want this." You fall back into the deep sleep of dreams.

You awaken to the rough feeling of sand beneath your feet, and the soily air which you breathe in. Slowly. She comes from the distance like a returning soldier. Her white gown shrivels in the wind. She pulls back her satin hair and sits down beside you, all of a sudden too close. The illusion can't be poked. It can't be poked open. You look at her face, and it's moist with sweat, she's breathing heavily. You feel the pumice stones beneath your feet and you rustle them as if you're feeling real stones. As if this is real air you're breathing. Running into the distance, you feel the sand beneath your feet, rushing behind you.

It's like that time when you two were together in that little apartment for two years. It seems like so long ago, and yet it's fresh to your senses. You were studying Law, and she was looking after baby. Jasmine was the baby's name, and you both loved her. You still do. The minute she walked, she took those first steps, you were so delighted. You breathed in the moment, crisp air that was too clean to be real. You smelled the faint smell of tar, just lacing the inhalation like a warm blanket of death over your child. You hold her closer, and wish that she had never entered your fantasy world. This was a world where everything you imagined became real.

So you imagine a space where you're breathing not oxygen at all, but just the vast nothingness of space. It can't tear you up like a black hole does a spaceship, because this isn't real space, it's just a figment of your imagination. You look at her, and she's just sitting on the moon right next to you. The moon is impossibly close to the Earth. You can feel her gravitation.

If you look into her eyes, and you try to see that spark. That little glint in her eye. You remember the time when you shared with her that you thought you saw her in a dream. But not just saw her image, or a replica of her, but the *real her* in a dream. She stared back at you in the dream as if she was lucid, and as if she was sleeping at the same time and having the same dream as you. You said hi, and she said hi back, and you both *kind-of* discussed about how you were both dreaming and how it was really weird you could communicate when you were dreaming and stuff.

But that stare wasn't there now. What you saw were glass eyes. More glassy than the doll in the doll store. They were faker than the air you breathed. "Take me out!" you called out. You began to cry. "Take me out! I don't want to be here!"

They can't hear you.

"Take me out! I don't want to be here!"

"Is there something wrong?" You look at her. She looks so worried. She looks exactly as she would if she was worried, but you know that it's not her that's worried, because it's not *essence* worried, it's not *substance* worried, it's just... *image* worried. Life isn't an image, life doesn't replicate your feelings and reflect them back to you through lenses like that, and it doesn't present you with clean facts like "she loves you" or "you have a beautiful relationship" or "look at your daughter walk! It's so beautiful!" It's more like, "I hate her smile, but it's nice in a way and she inflects it so that I can't resist just making me want to kill myself" kind of fear, and it's that fear that drives you to be a better man and improve yourself. Nowhere in this world are there those unspoken desires to do something you would never ever do, like stomp a man's head in just for the hell of it, or diarrhoea all over the newly-bought couch. There is no room for that in a replica world.

So you just sit. And you just try to grasp the replica world, and all its little pleasures that you can. And actually... it's kind of nice. If you just forget about how fake it all is, you can really sit here forever, you should try it sometime. You should really try it sometime. You look at the glass eyes of your recently deceased wife one last time, and maybe you see a flicker of longing. Maybe.

Then you wake up to scientists.
Edit: I really like Showing Weakness, slimmmm :) I like this line in particular: "You realize that later tonight you will replay this scene over and over in your head, revaluing yourself." Because I sooooo feel that ^_^
 
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Ksi

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Prompt: Changes

 

You've been standing in the rain for the past half hour as the world around you spins out of control. Your eyes are closed, your hands are spread out like large spiders, spasming now and then as you shake with the cold you don't really notice.

 

It's forever.

 

It's forever since you last saw her and she spent the last moment of that forever telling you that she loved another. Another... who wasn't you.

 

You only want to scream, to cry, to fall to the ground and demand the world swallow you whole but it's all you can do to stand there, helpless and sorrowful, as thoughts crash through your mind. You are empty, a void slowly slipping into the darkness, taking the memories and light of every interaction of the past seven years and tucking them away into the newly created abyss in your heart.

 

You stand, wishing someone - anyone - else was in your position instead, as the last thought ticks away and instinct takes over once more. Eyes open. A deep breath. A slow blink and then you step, forward, unerringly into the the mists of tomorrow, wondering just what other tragedies life has to offer.
 

 

 

Prompt: Empty Cadence


 

Prompt: Kill the Kindest


 

Prompt: Showing Weakness



Prompt: Another of Those



Prompt: Struck by a Fleeting Moment



Prompt: Signets and Sympathy



Prompt: Psychosis



Prompt: Stealing You



Prompt: Breath the Lie

 
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captainproton

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This is the first time i've attempted one of these III posts.

Prompt: Stealing You

<spoiler>Annabeth looks at you, the moonstruck madness in her purple gaze softening.  "Are you quite sure you want to see it all?" 

You lick your lips and nod once, not trusting your voice.  You need to know what happened.  You need to know who you are. 

Annabeth holds you with her gaze for a moment, then reaches out, chalk-white fingertips almost icy as she touches your forehead.  There's a pressure, it's too much, too much your head is going to explode what's going on i can't no i was wrong i can't--

It stops.  And all at once, you remember.  In a second, the last two decades of your life roll by you and you experience it all.  You do remember loving the rain, playing in it with your cousins at the family farm.  You remember each of their names, and how Leslie used to boss everyone around, deciding what you would play.  You remember growing up around people who loved you.  You remember when it changed, when you changed.  You remeber when the last of your instinctive childhood protections sloughed away and your true nature as a Changeling became apparent.  You remember the cycle of terror, exhileration and guilt you felt whenever you became an animal.  You remember how disappointed your family was when your grades plummeted and your behaviour changed.  You remember every horrible thing that was said before you ran off.  You remember wandering the streets as an animal, almost hoping the last of your humanity would go away.  You remember being found by Her, by Daphne of the Dove Court.  You remember how she took you in, cared for you, showed you so much kindness.  How she slipped a collar around your neck without you even noticing.  How she erased everything about you that made you who you were until you were another of her pretty little pets, a loyal lapdog.  You even remember everything that happened during those years, when you could olnly recall your name when She called for you, to give you a task or tell you what a Good Boy you were.  Everything she made you do.  You remember the storm.  The hurricane which wiped out the city, and Daphne's court with it.  You remember everything that led up to you being who you are now, finally a person again. 

You remember that Daphne's body was never found by the Wraiths. 

You aren't a Good Boy anymore.  You have yourself again.  Now, you need to find the one who stole you.  And you remember where to look.</spoiler>
 
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whitesphere

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I've never tried writing in this style before:

Prompt: Empty Cadence

 

 

Prompt: Kill the Kindest  {Violence}


You really don't know what you've done, do you?  For so many years, that boy brought you flowers.  He was there when you were sick.  He took care of your pets, so many times that your dog was never happier than when he was over.  Then, that one day.  You had just fallen over, the knife you used for bread had impaled itself in the ground.  You grabbed the knife and started pulling it.  It came out just as he was running over to help you.

 

You say he shouldn't have been standing there.  That he might have lived?  But you did it.  Accident or not, your hand was on the knife that went through his heart.  You'll never forgive yourself.



 

Prompt: Showing Weakness

You've never told anyone.  Your tears have fallen onto the floor, as you lay in the hospital bed.  You were questioned for many hours after he died.  You felt numb, and you waited for him to come over and console you.  But you've never felt more alone than you have that night.  Even when you knew it was an accident, you feel an emptiness inside, a sharp ache.  But your face shows so little of what goes on inside your heart.

Your family try to reassure you that it's going to be OK, but you hardly hear them.  You hear instead the beating of your heart, their voices fading into the distance.
Prompt: Another of Those


 

Prompt: Struck by a Fleeting Moment


 

Prompt: Signets and Sympathy


 

Prompt: Psychosis

You stand up, seeing the world blur and waver.  Your eyes blink, and the sun has shifted in the sky.  Then you shrug and mutter to yourself, answering the voices which scream for vengeance.   You feel the world shift so slightly, so you bend the other way, as you shuffle down the street.  You see faces of people turn away, others you see cross the street as you walk near them.

Again, you hear sirens in the distance, and hear vague shuffling sounds.  Then, several policeman tackle you, slamming you to the ground, slamming your wrist against the sidewalk until the bloody knife slips out of your hand.  You hear garbled speech, and glance at the policeman who is now saying "---name"  You mumble "Dan"  

You're then picked up and dragged into the police car.  You feel the cold seat and smell the blood, as you hear the siren again and feel the car start moving.

 

Prompt: Stealing You


 

Prompt: Breath the Lie


 
 
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tofuman

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Seems fun, I gave myself the 5 minute "What screwed up thoughts are in my head"  challenge :)

Prompt: Psychosis {Violence}

I once saw a rose, all torn up on your bed

"It's just a plant, it can't feel, it's okay," you said

I once saw a butterfly, all torn up on your bed

"They only live for 2 weeks, no harm done, it's okay," you said

I once saw a rat, all torn up on your bed

"Rats are pests, they bother people, it's okay," you said

I once saw a dog, all torn up on your bed

"It was at the end of it's lifespan anyway, it's okay," you said

I once saw Ol' Roger, all torn up on your bed

"He's homeless, no one will miss him, it's okay," you said

"You're my family, I don't hurt family. It's okay," you said

So why, O why, am I now strapped to your bed?
 
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