They're longer than one paragraph, I hope that still meets the expectations of the task. Who on earth will actually read these?!


1.
Write a scene showing a man and a woman arguing over the man's friendship with a former girlfriend. Do not mention the girlfriend, the man, the woman, or the argument.


It was getting closer to night by this time, anyway. The way they talked, the stupid gestures they used, made eye contact too exhausting. Maybe there would be a terrible snowstorm, or maybe there’d be a medical emergency in the family, and this could just become so much dust.

2.
Write a short scene set at a lake, with trees and shit. Throw some birds in there, too.


The lake water was cold and black. The rope still hung from the nearest tree, and the sound of crows was deafening.

3.
Choose your favorite historical figure and imagine if he/she had been led to greatness by the promptings of an invisible imp living behind his or her right ear. Write a story from the point of view of this creature. Where did it come from? What are its goals? Use research to make your story as accurate as possible.


Dammit all to ‘ell, James, ya make it all so bleedin’ ‘ard, is a wonder I git anythin’ dunnit all. Bloomsday shoulda bin in tha win’er, ya know, no ‘un needs a sweatin’ Molly. But I jus’ kint lissen to ‘at old ‘ictorian prose no more, James, yer puns should be fit t’ make th’old ladies weep. No ‘un feels whas goin’ on wit’ thur bodies in tha books no more. Make ‘em feel that, James, give ‘em innards.

4.
Write a story that ends with the following sentence: Debra brushed the sand from her blouse, took a last, wistful look at the now putrefying horse, and stepped into the hot-air balloon.


Debra and Hank had recently planned their wedding just outside of Las Vegas, Nevada. They wanted the wedding to be special, a holy union, and they knew Vegas had a reputation as nothing better than a cheap, sinful place, but it was their home and they both felt the only place for their life together as man and wife.
On the day of the wedding, Debra wore a beautiful white silk blouse and a long, flowing burgundy skirt. She loved Hank dearly, and so had let herself slip before the union. She could not lie, wearing a white dress before God. Hank’s blue suit made the couple a sight for sore eyes, and everyone believed their union would be blessed for years to come under the guidance of Heaven.
Only, the heavens had a different idea for the blissfully ignorant couple.
The pair had arranged a beautiful ceremony in the middle of the Nevada desert, their beloved playground. The guests were arranged in rows of white chairs, all eager to witness Hank and Debra’s first kiss as a legally bound couple. Debra was to ride through the sand, bareback on a gorgeous white stallion. She would dismount gracefully to the desert ground once reaching her waiting groom at the altar. After the ceremony, the two would be carried by hot air balloon to a tasteful Vegas honeymoon suite, where the guilt over their carnal love would finally melt away.
On this fateful day, two men whom Debra did not know appeared in the crowd of guests. Their grim faces set, Debra noticed them immediately as her horse drew nearer to the aisle. Hank saw her stop, look at the two men, and he grew worried once he saw her perplexed face. He had feared something like this might happen today, but he believed even those who did not rejoice in his union would leave him in peace while he made his love official. Yet, as he followed Debra’s curious gaze, he realized that the men to whom he owed the bulk of his gambling debt had decided to rain on his parade.
Hank jumped to action immediately. He knew of what these two men were capable, and he would stop at nothing to protect his blushing bride. “No, Debra!” he screamed, “Stay where you are! These men won’t hurt you today…”
Debra leapt from the horse, frightened and confused. As she did so, one of the strangers pulled a gun from his waistband and let loose a barrage of bullets. Debra ducked behind the beautiful animal, screaming.
“No, you bastards!” Hank shouted, reaching into a gun holster hidden by the jacket of his immaculate suit. He pulled two pistols out and released an angered and protective rage on to the two intruders. A bullet struck the man who had fired at Debra, an unholy man whose decision to turn to prayers came too late. Hank’s aim made sure that this man would no longer interrupt his day. The second intruder reached for his gun, but Hank was just too quick. The bullet struck the man in the chest, reversing his plans for destruction.
“Debra, are you alright?!” Hank yelled through the gunsmoke and swirling sand.
She emerged from behind the stallion, uninjured but crying over the death of the beautiful creature that had given its life to be her shield. “Yes, Hank,” she sobbed, “But how ever can we continue with our wedding now?! And the poor horse…”
“Yes, love, it’s sad about the animal, but it’s all taken care of now,” he said. “And darling… we can still have the wedding… because God is on our side and because you have my love.”
“Oh, Hank!” She fell into his arms to the applause of their stunned guests, all thrilled to see that this happy union would still occur on this eventful day. They walked down the aisle hand in hand, and the pastor made a lovely speech that made everyone forget about the horror of a few minutes before. The ceremony was lovely, everyone later agreed, and Hank and Debra shared a beautiful first kiss as husband and wife. They made their way to the waiting hot air balloon to the sound of laughter and clapping. Debra brushed the sand from her blouse, took a last, wistful look at the now putrefying horse, and stepped into the hot-air balloon.

5.
A wasp called the tarantula hawk reproduces by paralyzing tarantulas and laying its eggs into their bodies. When the larvae hatch, they devour the still living spider from the inside out. Isn't that fucked up? Write a short story about how fucked up that is.


That is so fucked up. I mean, I know I don’t want to go around having children in the usual ways, either. Adoption is so 1995, and giving birth?! Please, I think I would rather be a praying mantis and have to decapitate my bedfellows rather than pop one out. I mean, let’s think about it, the seahorse is the only species whose form of giving birth is both unusual and not absolutely fucking disgusting. The males carry the babies. Now, I’m not some scary man-hating feminist, but you have to admit, that is pretty fucking progressive, unusual, and not too disgusting. Well, no more disgusting than any other form of this supposed “miracle.” But laying your eggs in a living spider and making your young eat their motherfucking way out? I’d like to see what Freud would have to say about that.

6.
Imagine if your favorite character from 19th-century fiction had been born without thumbs. Then write a short story about them winning the lottery.


His fellow traveler turned to him and said, “Young Goodman Brown, there is but little you can do for us with your affliction. Our wickedness reaps the benefits of opposable appendages.”
Goodman Brown thought of those who had followed in this path before him and felt his defect the least of any worry. He thought of pretty little Faith, and the table which he would never be able to help her set for supper time. “My affliction,” Goodman Brown replied, “hurts me more in matters close to my heart.”
“Be that as it may,” his companion said, “You will lose much in the way of wickedness by your inability to complete certain tasks. With that, I give you this winning lottery ticket in the hopes that riches can corrupt you in ways that my own evil could only envy.”

7.
Write a story that begins with a man throwing handfuls of $100 bills from a speeding car, and ends with a young girl urinating into a tin bucket.


“Fuck, fuck, fuck, you motherfucking idiot cocksucker, oh GODDAMMIT, Tom, I thought you had this figured out!” Irene screamed and swore as she tried to keep the car in control, but the clouds of red ink were filling the place and had already soaked through the bags. “Why the fuck is there ink, Tom? What the fuck did you do?!”
Tom was crying, big loud choking sobs, as he hurled the marked money out the window in big wads of hundred dollar bills. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Fuck, they had promised him this one would be easy. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.
“I don’t know! I don’t know!” He yelled at Irene, spit flying at the dashboard and the ink making his face look as though he’d caught a couple of the bullets back there. “I don’t fucking know! You wanna go back and ask them? You fucking ask them! They told me this one was different, don’t you fucking get it? Shit!”
“Alright, okay,” Irene was trying to keep control of the car, but she could hardly keep control of herself at this point, and who knew which group was after them… the cops, or… “Fuck. Well fuck, Tom! Where are we gonna go? We can’t spend this shit, you see that, I know you can see through that ink all over your goddamn face, we can’t spend this shit, we got nowhere to go, and we’re covered in this red ink shit. Just… tell me what to do, Tom. Tell me where to go.”
“Baby, I don’t know. You wanna blame me? Well, come on! I know, I’m a fuck up, I know, you wanna leave me, I know, it’s all my motherfucking fault, well, you know what? What the fuck is so wrong with you that you get mixed up with me in the first place? Blame your own sweet ass. I’m covered in ink from this fucking money and I just lost every goddamn friend I had, different my motherfucking ass! Baby, I got screwed, goddammit! Be on my side!” Tom had stopped throwing money long enough to talk to Irene and now he sat there with fists full of the stuff, and he just pressed the wads to his eyes and started to sob even louder. How the fuck could this happen this time? Benny had promised and all and he didn’t see there was any way of going back. Fuck if he knew any way of going forward.
Irene just stepped harder down on the gas pedal, speeding out onto a road that led to the middle of nowhere. If you got noplace to go, she thought, better get there fast. Fucking money. Fucking ink. Just get there fast. She was only 17. Only 17 fucking years old. That good for nothing motherfucker. She was lost in anger when Tom punched the dashboard in rage, screaming, and she turned to him. Took her eyes off that road to nowhere and looked at Tom long enough to lose control of the car.
She woke up in the fucking tank, still covered in that red shit, and figured the cops must have been the ones on their tails. Some fucking tank. A mattress on the floor. No toilet, but it had a tin bucket in one corner. 17 goddamn years old she thought, covered in fucking money ink, noplace to go, in the motherfucking goddamn tank. She got to her feet, squatted over the bucket, and said under her breath, “And this is what I think of you, motherfucker.”

8.
A husband and wife are meeting in a restaurant to finalize the terms of their impending divorce. Write the scene from the point of view of a busboy snorting cocaine in the restroom.


Mmmm. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh god yes. Yes. Alright. Yes. Shit. Nice. Okay. All employees must wash their hands, well they don’t know what good these hands do with a little help, if you know what I mean, okay, man, these fucking floors are dirty, I’m not staying late, Ferguson can just fuck me in the ass. Don’t need his money, nohow. Heh, my old man, my old man, what a guy, you fuckin’ know? That is one hot lady for the older type, they know more anyhow, that motherfucker with her, what’s his problem anyhow, prolly she’s fucking the poolboy, ya know, well I could teach that poolboy a thing or two, you fucking Mrs. Robinson. Gotta get me a car like that one out there, Cyndi likes ‘em but fuck man she does what I say anyhow, wonder if the old man comes home tonight or what I wanted an empty house for Friday night but I guess I can get Gerry to cover me if I need, fuck, I need a vacation.

9.
Think of the most important secret your best friend has ever entrusted you with. Write a story in which you reveal it to everyone. Write it again from the point of view of your friend. Does she want to kill you? How does she imagine doing it? Would she use a gun, or something crueler and more savage, like a baseball bat with nails in it?


So we’re all at Spring Garden. We’ve got our coffee, well, you know I’m drinking Diet Coke with no ice, but you know. Some American fries are on their way and I’m hungry so I am a little absentminded. We start talking about boys. And then it happens. I’m so lost in my food fantasies that I forget to watch myself, and I let everyone know about the truth behind my best friend’s boyfriend.
So we’re all at Spring Garden. We all have coffee, except for Amanda, who has to have her Diet Coke with no ice because she is so goddamn anal retentive. God forbid a piece of ice ever accidentally work its way into her pop, she might die. She ordered American fries, of course, because she’s such a pig, I swear all she ever thinks about is eating. I know it was the only thing she was thinking about that night. We started talking about boys, or rather, Amanda started talking about it because they are all she ever thinks about, and I try to work a word in edgewise over all her griping when she lets loose. Her loose lips appear to be so in more than one way now, and she told everyone about it. The truth, the big secret, now they all know. You know Fargo? You know the part with the woodchipper? Well, she was my accomplice.

10.
Popular music is often a good source of writing inspiration. Rewrite Bob Dylan's "Visions of Johanna" as a play.


Characters
Johanna -Beautiful girl, seen only as ghost
Louise -Slightly less beautiful girl, about 24, naïve
Man -Sad face, late 20’s, distant
All-night girls -Promiscuous, less than pretty girls
Night watchman -Older gentleman, kind face

Scene 1 A bedroom. Man and Louise lie in bed together. Radio plays country music softly in the background. Radiator makes hissing noised. Lights play on the opposite wall.
Man: I don’t know what more we can do here.
Louise: Shhh, baby, just go back to sleep now. Just sleep, baby.
Man puts hand to forehead, sighs, and turns his back to Louise. She begins to cry softly. Scene ends.

Scene 2 Man stands watching over vacant lot. A group of girls stand around whispering.
Girl 1: He asked me if we could do it even though he didn’t have anything. The gravel back there’s not so rough, you know. He was okay. Not like Tommy.
Girl 2: I’d give anything to have your boys, you know. Man, oh man.
Night watchman enters the scene, flashing a light around. Limps.
Watchman: Hey, you girls! Get lost, already! It’s one a.m.!
Girls leave. Man lingers, shaking his head over the scene he just witnessed, remembering times like those of his own.
Man, to self: I used to have Johanna back there. Louise does what she can. She’s there. But these visions of Johanna… I’d love to have a farewell kiss, to stop missing the sound of her name, to get some sleep while lying next to Louise. Don’t know what to do but come to places like this.
Man sits. Hangs his head. Scene ends.

Scene 3 Museum. Man and Louise stroll through the gallery.
Louise: That one’s pretty. Sad, don’t you think?
Man: Yeah. Sure.
Louise: But there’s hope there, I think, you see the way she smiles? That must mean there’s hope. Louise squeezes man’s hand. Smiles wanly at him. Ain’t no use in smilin’ if you ain’t got hope.
Man: I think they’re hopeless.
He walks away. Louise stands looking at the painting for a moment, then turns and leaves. Scene ends.

Scene 4 Back in the bedroom. Louise packing. Man comes to doorway, watches for a second, then turns.
Louise: Ya can’t look at much, can ya man?
She leaves, suitcase in hand, crying a little. Man sits down on bed, covers his face with his hands.
Man, to empty room: Just please stop.
Scene ends.
The end.




11.
Write a short scene in which one character reduces another to uncontrollable sobs without touching him or speaking.


He walks toward her, limping slightly after the struggle. Finally, she is inert on the chair. Finally, he is in control. He grabs the knife from the floor. She thinks how she used that knife just yesterday to cut melon for their dinner, and she begins to sob uncontrollably.

12.
Your main character finds a box of scorched human hair. Whose is it? How did it get there?


…when he stubbed his toe on something. What now. He looked down and saw a strange glass box, obviously rather old. It was made of glass and metal and one of the small panes was broken. Through the broken pane (the others were too thick with age to still be transparent), he saw what looked to be hair. Human hair. He opened the box.
His initial reaction seemed to be correct. Only, this wasn’t just some old lady’s lock of love to a husband gone to war. No. This hair was singed… well, not just singed, but scorched, really. Only the tuft that had been visible through the broken pane was still recognizable as hair; the rest was molded together by the heat of the fire, making one plasticy mess.
He thought of the old tales of voodoo and wondered if someone had attempted to place a curse on the former owner of this fur. After the day he’d already had, such a thought made him sick to his stomach and he felt fearful and indignant at the same time. He preferred to believe that someone’s try at a romantic gesture had somehow simply gone wrong.
Pocketing the small box, Donny made it only about two steps before he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around to find a small boy staring up at him, a baseball hat perched on his head crookedly.
“That’s mine,” the boy said, pointing to Donny’s pocket. “I dropped it.”
Donny found it strange that such an old box with such peculiar contents could belong to this completely normal looking child. “Are you sure it’s yours?” Donny asked.
“Give it.” The boy was focused, intent, and still staring with wide eyes, still pointing at Donny’s pocket.
He removed the box and held it out in his palm, asking, “Now what’s a little boy like you doing playing with an old glass box like this?”
The boy made no reply, only snatched the box quickly, before Donny could respond, and ran off the same way he came.

13.
A man has a terrifying dream in which he is being sawn in half. He wakes to find himself in the Indian Ocean, naked and clinging to a door; a hotel keycard is clenched in his teeth. Write what happens next.


He tries the keycard on the slot in the door to which he is clinging. Somehow, the little light on the door flashes green and the door swings inward. Martin looks at it in amazement, then looks through the doorway and sees not the swirling water which has begun to rage all around him, but rather a plush lounge. He tumbles through the doorway and is greeted by two gorgeous, scantily clad women.
“Welcome, Martin!” they chirp at him, “We’ve been expecting you. Come, eat!” Together, the women lead Martin to an extravagant buffet table, covered in all of his favorite foods. The women load plates for him, then beckon him to relax in a chaise while they feed him bacon and cheesecake. They then snap their fingers at the wall which melts away to reveal a theatre sized plasma screen, on which is playing a national geographic special. A chimpanzee is wrestling with a boar. The boar opens his mouth to squeal in agony, and what comes out is a high BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ.
Martin rolls over to hit the snooze and begins to dream about running through the city of San Francisco, looking for the great log exchanger.