Writing Prompt - Fictional Advertisement

This is the horrifying result of a writing prompt that I created for a sci-fi group on Facebook. What I created is what TV Tropes calls a "Dada Ad". Below is the prompt, followed by my entry.

"Your goal is to write an advertisement for a fictional product, and have at least one character react to the advertisement. Is the product generic and boring? Is it so over-the-top that nobody would buy it? Is it so over-the-top that EVERYONE would buy it? Is the ad so weird and non-indicative of the product it promotes that the character thinks it was made by people on drugs? Would your character be groaning with exasperation or drooling with desire?"


The camera panned across a vast, green field, set to the tune of a thunderous orchestra. At the same time, a flock of birds sang a happy song while traversing the clear blue sky above. A lone tree came into view, prompting the camera to abruptly zoom in on it. Without warning, the tree uprooted itself and began moving toward a herd of cows, using its roots like the tentacles of an octopus.

Two of the tree's branches reached down and began juggling three of the cows […]

Writing Prompt - The Elevator

I use "writing prompt" loosely for this one. This is a reply to a silly DeviantArt forum post. I spent too long on it. I overthought it. I made it more complicated than it needed to be...all for the sake of comedy.


Original post:

DoubleDanE: "Have you ever thought, as you entered an elevator, that surely some day it will stop in-between floors? That try as you may, you'd be stuck in there, until firefighters come, and save the day. So DA, what would you do if you were trapped in an elevator, with nothing but the clothes on your back- a brown paper bag with a sandwich in it- a bottle of water- some floss in your pocket- and a fifty year old Ronald McDonald on LSD as the only other passenger in that elevator?"

My response:

RieselUniverse: "Firstly, I would pinch a piece of bread from my sandwich and toss it against the wall. Since it's Italian bread with baked cheese atop, Ronald would be hopelessly attracted to it […]

Writing Prompt - Beauty

This is from another Facebook writing prompt. I was supposed to post a picture of a woman that I personally found most attractive, then describe her in first-person POV as though I was a character in a story. Here it is. Make of it what you will.


The cool coastal breeze failed to chill the escalating heat of the blood that raced through my veins. The pulse wasn't slowing anytime soon -- not with this beauty in my line of sight.

Where were the words to describe this tall woman? A tower of feminine elegance, her form shone with a radiance that made those near her seem as mere waves upon a sea being parted by her presence. Her stature was accentuated by curves […]

RTTH - Bar Blunder

Some random two-paragraph story I wrote as a forum post on DeviantArt. Poor Ramy. Canon? I dunno.


Ice cubes shifted in the glass of ale after it was set back down on the bar countertop, clattering a bit. Ramy casually wiped a small trail of ale from her mouth with a napkin before putting an elbow on the countertop and resting her cheek on her right hand. She wasn't exactly sure why she was still at the bar; her associate Runge had managed to run off their mafioso client with his drunken antics and now occupied the strobe-lit dance floor nearby, flailing his arms in a sad attempt to dance to the 200-beats-per-minute tune that was being blared at an almost ear-splitting volume by the DJ. There goes another notch on our bounty hunter reputation. THANKS, BUDDY.

She really should have just gone back to the base and taken a nap, leaving Runge behind in his drooling madness. Perhaps a shower would have been better; at least it would have helped to wash off the grimy coating of almost tangible shame she felt for his actions. However, she had taken pity on him and decided to wait a little while longer until he exhausted himself to the point of her being able to drag him back to the base and dump him into the laundry room again.

Roystonn Pruitt, 6/4/14

RTTH - Wrong Way

The demented product of yet another writing prompt. The idea was to describe a craggy-looking landscape with giant mushrooms in the form of a short short story. There had to be two characters, one of which was to say something stupid or witty and the other character was to react. As per logic, I used Runge and Ramy. This isn't canon, but it totally should be.


This wasn't a rest stop. In fact, this wasn't even a civilized area. The clusters of dark, quartz crystal-shaped boulders that stabbed their way up through the floor of the cliff-rimmed river basin ahead told quite the opposite story, and this was tame in comparison to the craggy and unforgiving landscape of Keyug Prime. The monumental silhouettes that stood erect in the clouded and hazy background were merely the demented older cousins of those boulders, killing the cheerful idea that a city was nearby.

So much for relief. The informant who had told the two adventurers that there was a nearby outpost with a convenience store was in for a merciless flogging; at least, that what they felt would have been appropriate for his deception. Jerk. […]

RTTH - Runge's Gaming Skillz

Writing prompt from Facebook: portray emotions WITHOUT dialogue. And lo, Runge's feelings as he delivers punishment to noobs in an online game. Level of canon: Yes.


It was a glorious feeling -- the feeling of the game controller vibrating with every unrelenting hit delivered by Runge's Level 95 Warmaster character. A determined volley of thumbs propagated his victorious campaign across the charred, cratered landscape.

The strikes of punishment were reverberant. The beleaguered and irate cries of untrained players cascaded through the headphones into Runge's auditory canals as he applied a merciless fiery bombardment of strikes from his ridiculously oversized sword. Their plaintive and profane calls for his real-life expiration ignited an exhilarating rush of adrenaline that sent his two hearts into a fevered sprint.

His grin crept further in its crooked extent. He could smell the fear of his virtual enemies -- enthralling. He could taste their tortured tears -- succulent. He could feel the vindictive hatred stabbing its way through the excited screen as their contemptuous insults cluttered the chat bar at the bottom of the game window. Many of his foes ragequit in gradual succession, their frantic and fractured voices cutting off mid-sentence.

Nothing else could compare to the sheer magnitude of how he relished in their infantile moaning. It fueled his desire to go further and continue to ignore the clock as night threatened to transition into morning. This was indeed the very essence of online gaming.

- Roystonn Pruitt, 9/15/13

RTTH - Lunchtime at Burger Entropy

I was challenged to portray emotion using only dialogue (Facebook writing prompt). This is the hilarious (and hereby canon) product of that challenge.


"Don't do it, Ramy."

"Why not, Runge? I just paid for this. It's just a burger. Stop cramping my style."

"There is no style in eating THAT. What on Riesel is that...white thing? And why does it smell so bad?"

"It's Swiss cheese. Popular on Earth. I dunno, it doesn't smell that bad. I wanted to try it."

"No. Do not. I don't trust it." […]

Random - The Plight of Clarence

This is the result of a writing prompt I came across in a sci-fi group on Facebook. The prompt was an image of a man standing atop a ridge overlooking a large, dark city. The city was sitting atop a tall mesa jutting up from the center of an active volcanic caldera. The entire landscape was barren black rock.


Surely this was the picture of a pristine morning for a planet like Kaitaxa. The birds were chirping a lovely tune, the sun was peeking over the lush and picturesque hill nearby, cute little rabbits came to inspect Clarence's boots with those wiggly noses of theirs, and SOMETHING WAS HORRIBLY WRONG.
Or was it horribly right? Clarence's contact on Sarjavum had told him that Modake's Pass was a lovely vacation spot on a warm planet with a few hot springs, but this was akin to comparing an industrial furnace to a snowcone. […]