What happens when we use chat-chosen YouTube videos and random passages from Fifty Shades of Grey as prompts?
Let’s find out!
During the last stream, we spun the Wheel of Prompt-icality twice, and the first time it landed on “YouTube prompts.”
Chat suggested a bunch of different videos, but in the end they voted on this one:
Here’s what we came up with for it:
My therapist told me to go back to the place the pain began. It was the only way I could finally be free of it. Fly away from it like Flutterbye.
I’d avoided the living room ever since I was six years old on that fated Christmas morning. What was supposed to have been Flutterbye the Fairy’s maiden voyage to spinning through the air had ended in her being burnt to a crisp.
All I could remember were the screams. My own, my parents’, and Flutterbye’s. She was calling out to me, and there was nothing I could do.
We never felt the warmth of the fireplace again.
Now, ten years and thousands of dollars of therapy later, I was ready. It was time to face that place of death — the cold, empty hearth that had remained unlit.
I needed to get over it. Any sort of fire ignited my anxiety. The gas flames on the stove, Mom’s Bic lighter when she smoked Virginia Slims. I needed to soothe the burn, and this time I came prepared.
With marshmallows.
My therapist recommended reprogramming my brain by associating something nice with fire. I’d come equipped with a stick and a pack of 50 white Jet-Puffed marshmallows. I was either going to overcome my fear, or die of a sugar overdose.
Anxiety gripped my heart and hands, my veins turning to concrete. I forced myself to rip open the bag, pluck out a pillowy marshmallow, and skewer it on the end of the stick.
Now came the hard part. Our fireplace was gas-controlled, turned on with a dial. The switch had been covered by a piece of duct-tape for a decade now. Time to rip off that band-aid.
Without daring to think about what I was doing, I peeled away the tape and clicked on the dial in one fast motion.
It was as if the fireplace had been waiting for this day. Instantly, it roared to life, crackling warmth into the room. And piercing my heart like a marshmallow on a stick.
I couldn’t breathe. But I could move my hands. Trembling, I thrust the stick into the flames, trying not to think about Flutterbye. Her screams. Her melting plastic. Her glitter that stained the fireplace walls.
Unable to take it any longer, I yanked the marshmallow out of the flames and switched off the fire, sitting there panting and sweating. I’d done it. The marshmallow was barely tinged brown and pink, but I’d—
Wait a minute. Pink?
Not daring to think about what that was from, I popped the marshmallow into my mouth, just wanting this to be over. Its sweetness overwhelmed by bile, with a hint of… spice?
It was like magic. As soon as I swallowed the marshmallow down, all fear melted away. And I felt something else inside me. Flutterbye, fluttering in my heart. Faster and faster!
Until my own fairy wings burst out of my back, and I skewered another marshmallow to continue the transformation.
After that, we spun the Wheel again, and this time it landed on random Fifty Shades of Grey passages.
We got five random sentences from the book, and chat voted on this one: I’ve entered a very dark, carnal place
Here’s what we came up with:
I’ve entered a very dark, carnal place. Libraries were always a place that I savored, moving from row to row, shelf to shelf, letting the tips of my fingers run along the books’ quivering spines. Their smells, a garden of blooming paper and leather, enough to enrapture me to take them home for the night.
Most often though, I preferred enjoying them in the moment. A quick dance, if you will. Pulling them from the shelf, the sound of cover-skin rubbing against cover-skin, then opening it up to see what delights were contained inside for my eyes only. Hopping from one to the next, hoping to find that special one who would make me really open my wallet… to take out my library card.
It’s not just up to me, though. You see, certain books play together better than others. You don’t want to mix an old, experienced book, one that’s felt the fingers of many before, with a fresh, young one that still doesn’t even have any dog-eared pages. Better to bring home five seasoned books for a night of fire and spice, and save the five youthful ones for a weekend of destroying something beautiful.
Taste. Most people forget about that most important sense when devouring a book. All it takes is a simple lick of the finger, pressed against its pages, sopping up its secrets like a little, private sponge. A flavor only for you, and for the book to taste you back.
So anyway, what I’m trying to say to you, children, is that yes, I will read you this book. This Clifford’s Day at the Park. It is a well-loved tome, and it is always hungry for more. But it is not satiated merely by your ears and eyes. It craves your intimate touch across its tender pages.
Do not just sit there with your crossed legs staring. Do not continue crying. Come up, come closer, breathe this book in with me together, dribble it in your tears and spit, and wipe your sticky fingers on its skin. Come, now, quickly!
Ah. Too late. I see the librarian is coming. Never forget, children! The library is a very dark, carnal place.
If you want to join us and help write a story by trolling in chat, or share your own writing for feedback, then we’d love to have you join us on Twitch.
And you missed the stream, you can still watch them on the YouTube channel or watch the full stream reruns.
Hope to see you next time, friend!
Featured image: Flickr/Mike Mozart