Judging by last week's Amortentia recipes, you butts are borderline OBSESSED with huffing the pages of any book you can get your hands on. Ergo, I somehow produce a novel novella-like fragrance (get it? "Novel" as in "new"? Is this funny yet? Should I try to work in another pun?) and you throw wads of cash-money at my head. IT'S FOOL-PROOF. Though not all of you opted to answer prompt #1, I was equally bewitched by love potions and tragedies-turned-miracle tales alike; it was a grand group of fiction last week! Here are the winners:
Sparklers' Choice (with 21 votes): charred_rose11! Her Amortentia recipe was paired with a "thought-provoking question" (thanks for the quote, imz97!)
I wonder...what does Amortentia smell like if nobody is around to smell it? It probably smells like the opposite of what a bogart looks like if nobody is around to see it.
I would smell maple, chocolate, and that smell that is particular to bookstores.
For Prompt 1: paradoxK3! This. Is. Hilarious.
I would smell vengeance, ruthlessness, and a cold indifference to the fate of humanity. In case anyone wonders, all three of those things smell not entirely unlike pie.
For Prompt 2: Wanderful-Turtles! I totally didn't see the ending coming—BRILLIANT!
“Don’t worry,” said my mom with a malicious grin. “When I kill you, it shouldn’t hurt too much.” She was standing over me, looking down at the curled-up figure that was my terrified body.
“You would kill your own daughter?” My vision went blurry, and salty tears stung my eyes. I couldn’t believe this. My mom and I had formed an alliance. I wasn’t the bad one here. We were supposed to team up against my dad and my brother. Now I see that it was all just a lie.
“Of course I would, sweetie. You’re the biggest threat standing in my way.” For someone who wanted me dead, her voice sounded sweet and sincere. Perhaps that’s how badly she wanted this. She wanted it sincerely, almost desperately.
“What do you mean, standing in your way?” I raised an eyebrow. “Standing in the way of what?”
“You’re standing in the way of my becoming queen!” she whined, and I backed away from the table at which I sat. I whimpered slightly in fear before looking across the table. My dad had a sad, sympathetic smile on his face, and my brother was biting his lip, as if he expected the worst.
“It’ll be okay, honey,” Dad whispered, patting my trembling hand.
“Please don’t get too upset about it, Sam,” groaned my brother. “You always get upset about death.”
“Yeah, well Mom is trying to kill ME! Not anyone else that she plays this despicable game with. I should have formed an alliance with one of you guys instead.” I felt the hot tears finally trickle down my cheeks, and I ducked my head.
“It’s too late now,” Dad and my brother murmured in unison; their eyes widened as they gaped at the space above my head. I felt the cool of a shadow looming above me, and I could only imagine that she was preparing me for my death.
“You shouldn’t feel a thing, Sammy. Besides, your father and brother are next.”
“Mom, don’t do this!”
“Sorry,” all three of my family members murmured as my mother made her way to the empty end of the table and reached across.
“NOOOO!!!” I cried as Mom flicked my “Sorry!” game piece off of the board. Immediately, I started throwing a tantrum. My arms flailed above my head as I wailed wordlessly into the carpeted floor.
I heard my brother sigh in annoyance, and Dad must have face-palmed or something, because I definitely heard a smacking sound from that general direction.
Mom rubbed my back in an attempt to calm me down for the millionth time. “Shh, sweetie, it’s okay. It’s just a game. No one died.”
“You sent all my game pieces back home, Mom! Now I have no chance of winning! I mean, what the barnacles!”
“Sam, this is why we don’t like playing with you,” growled my brother. “You always do this. You are way too melodramatic over a stupid board game.”
Congrats to all of you masterful sons-of-guns! Now hit me with your best shot for this week's prompt:
Write a story in the form of a diary entry. The only rules are that it must begin with the phrase"Dear Diary," and end with either "Today was the worst day ever" OR "Today was the best day ever."
HAVE AT IT, YOU DARK AND SINISTER SPARKLEBUTTS!
Related post: Writer Wars Archives