This blog is for all who desire to create with words and images.
You are encouraged to participate in any way that is meaningful to you.

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All prompts beneath the photos are only suggestions.
You are free to use the photo to be inspired to write any way you desire.
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There is no deadline on posting,
you may offer your writing to any prompt anytime.
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Write and you are a writer.

Thursday, December 11, 2008

Page 100


photo by Kathryn
for more of Kathryn's photography visit -
http://www.pbase.com/katwilkens
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Suggested prompt...
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Grab a book (I know you have at least three close by) turn to page 100.
Pick one sentence there on that page and create something with it.
Use it as a basis for a poem, the start of a short story,
an essay on _____, get creative in any way you are moved.
Letting us know your book title and author as well would be nice.


________________________

Archaeological Study Bible - Gordon Conwell Theological Seminary...
"The precise nature of the "festering boils" has provided much speculation and two alternative explanations: (1) People and livestock were infected with virtually the same disease...(2) The terrible plague was anthrax in animals., later transmitted to people as malignant pustule (anthrax)."

May, 13th 2009
Three months into the nightmare, my son and I remain unaffected by the biological Armageddon unleashed just 100 miles to the south of us in the city. The rest of the family gone now.

June 17th, 2009
How ironic, we have survived the initial onslaught but have fallen victim to the roving gangs searching for uncontaminated food and drinking water. We let them take the remaining morsels from the shelter in exchange for our lives.

June 19th, 2009
With no communication since mid May, I have no idea how widespread the blanket of death has become. We emerged from the shelter today for the first time to survey the destruction. No structural damage to the town other than smashed doors to shops and the grocery store. Devoid of life, not just humans, no life. With no water, food or shelter now from the outside air, we will surely find ourselves longing for an end before the end comes.

June 21st, 2009
In the event you find this journal, know that Zach and I wish you Godspeed. The fact that you are reading this must mean that the human race has indeed survived. May you be spared by the out of control ideologies that destroyed these generations. My son and I leave this world in hopes that past history is the spark that ignites a change that allows your descendants to flourish in your brave new world. Continue my journal entries as your reminder of mistakes made and lessons learned.

Today is a new beginning:
Journal entry number 1:......

~ Dan Felstead



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16 comments:

miss ash said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
miss ash said...

I could tell, from the slight movement of his lips, Harry didn't know whether to laugh or not. The words that I said to him might be funny for other people but maybe, to him, it's full with sarcasm. I was too harsh. I know, i should say sorry right now. But I was stunned either. Hearing myself saying words like that to a friend. My friend.

"I'm sorry." Finally, I could let the words out of my mouth. "I should never say that."

But he still didn't say a word. Maybe he's mad. Very mad.

"Okay, I deserved this. Now, you can turn around and tell other people how bad am I. You can even make posters." So, I walked away. But suddenly, I felt some force pulled my hand. And it was Harry.

"I'm sorry," he said. Okay, what's going on? I'm the one who's guilty here!

"I deserve all those harsh words you said to me. I'm a bad friend." He smiled. Exactly, not what I expected. " I'm sorry and I forgive you for what you said earlier."

"But I'm the one who's wrong here," I said, trying to make it all right.

"Who cares? Like you said before, friends forgive each other and we are friends," he uttered. I smiled, thinking how foolish I am for forgetting my principle.

Later, we walked home together as friends. Best friends.

(visit my writing blog, starttowrite.blogspot.com )

SUBHADIP said...

One of the most innovative idea..thanks..I would really give it a try..thanks..

avr said...

"A Kiss Remembered" by Sandra Brown, Page 100-"She faced him with as much composure as she could." She was no longer that school girl, foolish enough to fall in love, justifying his indifference, going out of her way to please him. Nothing had worked, the day he said goodbye, he did not even think twice or remember any of the happy times. He was like ice, cold. But, now seeing him again, after all these years, she was still in love with him. She was at a loss for words, she prayed for strength; this time she would not let him get away before teaching him a lesson.

RCBonay said...

Unworthiness is a friend that says, “Your path is this way, not that way.”

The above sentence appears on page 100 of the book, “DO IT!” by Peter McWilliams. Here’s how I interpret it:

When you choose to pursue something that you believe will make you feel good you declare yourself to be worthy of that something. For example, you choose to lose a certain amount of weight in a certain amount of time so you go on a diet and an exercise plan and you start losing weight. You start looking good and feeling good about yourself – you feel worthy of your goal – you feel you’re worth it. Let’s say something happens and you stop exercising and you cheat on your diet and you re-gain a few pounds. Chances are you’ll start feeling guilty or bad about having strayed from the path you were on. You start to feel unworthy of the goal you were pursuing. You start beating yourself up. These bad feelings are actually good. They remind you to get back on track. They remind you to get back on that diet. They remind you to start exercising again. Sometimes that’s enough to put you back on your path, sometimes not. If you abandon your goal the bad feelings will eventually subside and you’ll find some other goal to pursue and as long as you pursue that goal you will feel good and worthy of that something. Be careful, however, when you abandon a goal. A worthy goal abandoned is likely to invite regret.

Dan Felstead said...

Archaeological Study Bible - Gordon Conwell Theological Seminary...
"The precise nature of the "festering boils" has provided much speculation and two alternative explanations: (1) People and livestock were infected with virtually the same disease...(2) The terrible plague was anthrax in animals., later transmitted to people as malignant pustule (anthrax)."

May, 13th 2009
Three months into the nightmare, my son and I remain unaffected by the biological Armageddon unleashed just 100 miles to the south of us in the city. The rest of the family gone now.

June 17th, 2009
How ironic, we have survived the initial onslaught but have fallen victim to the roving gangs searching for uncontaminated food and drinking water. We let them take the remaining morsels from the shelter in exchange for our lives.

June 19th, 2009
With no communication since mid May, I have no idea how widespread the blanket of death has become. We emerged from the shelter today for the first time to survey the destruction. No structural damage to the town other than smashed doors to shops and the grocery store. Devoid of life, not just humans, no life. With no water, food or shelter now from the outside air, we will surely find ourselves longing for an end before the end comes.

June 21st, 2009
In the event you find this journal, know that Zach and I wish you Godspeed. The fact that you are reading this must mean that the human race has indeed survived. May you be spared by the out of control ideologies that destroyed these generations. My son and I leave this world in hopes that past history is the spark that ignites a change that allows your descendants to flourish in your brave new world. Continue my journal entries as your reminder of mistakes made and lessons learned.

Today is a new beginning:
Journal entry number 1:......

Pienovski said...

Tuesdays with Morrie - Mitch Albom

´´I rang the bell and was greeted not by Connie but by Morrie´s wife, Charlotte, a beautiful grey haired woman who spoke in a lilting voice.´´

I think of my grandmother. That beautiful extraordinary woman. She is 65 years old now. I think of those grey locks and funny round glasses that many times hang on her nose. ´One day they will drop´, I always thought as a child.

I think of her laughter and the way the wrinkles of happiness make silent little statements: ´happiness, smiles and laughter has lived on this skin´.

I think of all the adversities she has had. And never did I hear her complain. Strong. Steadfast. And yes, sometimes stubborn. I adore her. I think of the experiences she has had and the wisdom she has gathered through the years. I am reminded time and time again of the beauty of her advice. When I listened, I prospered.

I feel a little sad. I remind myself how easy it is to forget to pay attention to the elderly. How easy to forget to listen. Forget to learn. Forget to love. Too many times, people are too busy to take care of their own fathers and mothers. They are sent away.

But what treasures they are. How beautiful are the grey hairs! Crowns of wisdom. Crowns deserved and earned through laughter, joy, but also pain and tears. Years of Learning. Years of Molding. Years of Giving. Years of loving.

I love my grandmother. She is very special. I will tell her that today. Maybe you will too.

Killerwit said...

Combat SF (Collection) edited by Gordon R. Dickson

p. 100 "There was, as always, too much to do."

Sisyphus

Get up. Let the dog out. Feed the dog. Let it out again. Shower. Towel off. Brush teeth. Put on underwear. Put on socks. Put on pants, belt, undershirt, shirt, tie, shoes. Put in contacts. Put toast in the toaster. Let dog back in and put in crate. Feed cats. Pick up keys, money, notes, smokes, lighter, and briefcase before dashing out the door. Inch through morning traffic. Clock in. Boot up computer and log on. Make a little headway in the stacked-high inbox. Take a lunch break. Smoke. Eat. Move bowels. Go to the gorcery store and pick up each item the wife requested. Stop and fill up gas tank. Clock back in from lunch just in time. Work another five hours. Clock out. Check cellphone. Listen to three messages and read three text. While driving, respond to text with more text and call back those who left messages. Have one short conversation and leave two messages on other people's cellphones. Get home and start cooking after letting the dog out. Clean up where she used the restroom in the crate. Take out the trash. Throw away the toast that's still sitting in the toaster slots. Change the cat litter box. Maybe write a few sentences on your story. Check personal email. Check MySpace. Check all your favorite websites for new content. Kiss your wife goodnight. Make a list of all the stuff you didn't get done today and add it to tomorrow's.

H said...

Mirrors - Gerri Nettick

Would I ever be loved?
Perhaps if I took a moment to listen to answers
Instead of asking the question
I would be loved forever.

Maryanne said...

Page 100 - Wizards First Rule, Terry Goodkind:

Already he was looking to the east, to the massive walls of the mountains, trying to think of solutions. . . .

Solutions that would bring him one step closer to finding the only person alive who could help him. "Lexion? What are we going to do?" Scanning the mountains one more time looking for a sign that would tell him he was making the right decision he turned to his companions "We go in". Nodding the group set out on the first league of their journey toward the magnificent Maidstone Pass home to the darkling they call the Chandras.

When you heard the stories the old ones told of the Chandras they were both frightening and magnificent. They told of a union that brought the demise of a man and a wrath that would forever remain in the minds of those who were still alive to tell it, a union that brought forth, through the sins of her parents, a child. A child inflicted with the marks of her heritage, but contained within held its own legacy. Power. For those who listened intently were always seduced by the accounts of her beauty. A beauty that rivalled even that of the Din-Mora, the monsters whose cruelty was only second to their hunger.

It is these stories that men from all over seek. They come in droves looking for the ones who tell the tales of the Halfling who commands the beasts of the Pass. It is greed and lust fuelled by the stories that drive them into the Pass to hunt her. And it is their screams that fill the air when they find her. Only death follows when you hunt that which does not want to be hunted. Only death follows when the world of men enters the domain of one whose very existence was condemned by their forefathers. Only death awaits those who enter with ill intent. For them there will be nothing else.

Prophecy foretold of the part the Chandras played, Lexion desperately hoped he had deciphered it correctly and it would allow them to live to see another sunrise. Or perhaps fate would be cruel and turn its hand. They would just have to wait and see. It was midday when the group reached the entrance to the Pass. Sheer walls of rock rose out of the ground seemingly to go on forever casting a cold shadow over everything. Looking at his companions who themselves were lost in their own thoughts; Lexion finally knew and understood what true fear was. Silently he prayed to whatever Gods were listening that they would make it out of Maidstone Pass alive. Turning away he took a deep breathe and lead his horse into the Pass.

Perched on an outcrop she stood watching as the group slowly made their way into her domain. Smiling to herself she licked her lips whispering “Soon my lovely soon”.

Hedgie said...

(from Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers by Mary Roach)

"There can be no lonelier state of being than that of being a corpse."

Ms. Roach's observation couldn't be more true. An unattended deceased body must feel intensely its newly-inflicted isolation from the rest of the human race. How could any caring person choose to force these feelings on a recently-deceased loved one? Well, now you don't have to. Moved by an enormous sense of compassion for the plight of the just croaked, we have just launched for those in your situation Corpse Companions, Inc. For a modest fee, one of our highly trained and licensed C. C.s will keep the material remains of your bucket-kicking loved one company during those times prior to its interment. Now you need not feel the massive guilt associated with abandoning that loved one's corpse for long periods during its final days above ground. Just call 1 - 800 - 555 - 5555 to speak to a compassionate representative to arrange for companionship for your corpse. (You may also e-mail us at corpsecompanionsinc@dead.com.) This is one of the most important decisions you can make. You won't regret it. Neither will we. We are Corpse Companions, Inc.

Cynthia S said...

Hilarious, Hedgie. I love it!!

Boing said...

I am at work, which limits the type of books I have around me so I picked up:
Field Guide to Snakes and Other Reptiles of Southern Africa by Bill Branch (Second Edition)

They have jewel-like, emerald-green eyes and a yellow throat.

I froze, eye to eye with the snake which was reputed to have drop-for-drop the most potent venom in the world, and smiled. Words could not describe the beauty of the moment to me. He stared back with those stunning eyes and I wondered: Was he feeling the same sense of amazement that I was? The joy that finally, decades, no, centuries of adversity were over and we could live at peace with each other. Knowing no fear, I reached my hand out slowly towards him. As I did so the years of training I had, which emphasized not only slow movements, but rejected the idea of ever attempting to do what I was, fought with the knowledge that all of that did not count anymore. My hand touched the branch he was resting on and I paused. He slithered forward, over my fingers, across my hand and onto my arm. Our eyes were still locked into one another’s and I had stopped breathing, the old training instinctively kicking in. He crawled up my arm and disappeared over my shoulder. I felt his continued movement and in a heartbeat or two saw his head come round my other shoulder, where he stopped. I moved my hand, incredibly slowly and gently, away from the tree and let it hang by my side again. Mr. Boomslang, as I had named him in my head, stayed where he was and almost seemed to snuggle down into my shoulder, getting comfortable for a nap. As I remembered where I was, the smile spread again across my face and I reached up to stroke his head. He nuzzled into it like a little kitten, a furless, scaly one, but the action was so similar I had to laugh. My laugh was echoed by someone else and I turned around to see who it was.

“He is beautiful. I love stroking him too, and he does respond just like a kitten. Come with me, there are still so many other amazing things for you to see.”

I reached out and took his hand, then, with another burst of laughter; Jesus showed me and my friend, Mr. Boomslang around Heaven.

Jen said...

This prompt is perfect, I just got a book in the mail: Secret Windows, Essays and Fiction on the Craft of Writing, by Stephen King.


"If Cullinan had elected to write a more conventional novel, it would stick out in non one's mind."

Ah, the conventional novel, the tired, the trite, the norm. Yet, as I sit with my notebook in front of me, pencil in hand, trite is all I can fill the pages with.
Has all the creativity been used up? Were there only a few great ideas and these have been presented over and over, and when you break the rules you risk looking like a fool?
I hope not, I have to believe that isn't true.
I yearn to fill my pages with the truth and beauty I see around me, yet I struggle with this simple task.

I doubt who I am, I doubt my abilities, I doubt my thoughts.

Since I am at a fresh start in my life, I have to have faith that this is normal, and I will break through it, I will do something spectacular and meaningful, if only to a small audience. I do not seek to be any of the great names associated with literature, I seek to be me.

Which leads me to the dark and scary question: Just who am I?

TesoriTrovati said...

Wow! This is a great prompt...and some very prolific writing too!

I went to my bookshelf and pulled "Midnight Champagne" by A. Manette Ansay
page 100
"Whenever Stanley swore, his mouth felt thick, the way it did on recitation days in his German class: Guten Tag. Wie geht's? But shit rolled off Lacey's tongue as easily, as elegantly, as the name of a fashionable wine."
----
Shit
he thought
this is all I need
She probably won't even look at me
after tonight
without seeing through me
I'm no one to her
not her type
the kind with the scruffy face and the smooth talk and
the cigarette dangling
Maybe it would have been better
if I had let her walk out the
door
and down to the lake
without foolishly chasing
but
she seemed so angry
and all alone
and wouldn't it be better
to be with someone
after you found out?

"Shit,"
she said.
What else was there to say?
And it sounded so good to her ear.
"Shit."
Who did he think he was?
And what exactly was that girl doing with her tongue down his throat?
Nice.
Oh.
Stanley is here.
Sweet Stanley.
Wouldn't hurt a fly, Stanley.
What am I doing?
Not exactly payback material,
Stanley,
but not bad either.

Great prompt. Great writing. So creative!

Erin
http://treasures-found.blogspot.com

Makita Jazzqueen said...

One of the coolest prompts I've seen, by the way.


'Matilda' by Roald Dahl, page 100.

"'But how did she know it was you?' Lavender asked."
She had been listening to me very attentively, carefully, in order to understand every single word I said, assimilating very accurately the story I was telling her.
'She didn't, Ben told her' I answered.
'Why?' She asked me.
'Well, because I had stolen his bike... That was just a kids fight, it got worse later...'
She had to choose between her big amount of questions the most harmless, given that she knew this was a dangerous topic to talk to me about, for I was still so susceptible about that.
'Is that why you and my husband don't talk to each other anymore?' she asked me, trying to sound calm but with evident interest.
'Well, that's what started it, but we could call it that way, if you want to' I answered, feeling a bit guilty.
'You know, your mum is very sad because of this, not beeing able to see you at the same time, for this stupid brother-sister fight...' she started, testing my mood.
'I know, she has told me so, but, what can I do? Everytime I try to talk to Ben he just turns around and walks away, he's so stubborn!' I couldn't believe I was telling this story to my sister-in-law, it just sounded too awkward.
'That's where I can help you, you know I'm the only person he truly listens to. I could talk to him, I could tell him you're sorry for whichever bad thing you've done to him, and that you agree to talk to him calmly and without trying to fight... Only if that's what you really are gonna do, do you understand?' she was still testing my answers and possible sudden mood shifts.
'Well, I agree, just don't let him know it wasn't my idea, it's just family pride...'
'As you wish, my dear friend.' And away she went, coming back two hours later with her husband, my brother Ben.
I smiled timidly at him when I saw him, he smiled back, widely. That way I knew everything was forgiven.