Featuring those who submitted to the previous writing prompt from Live-Love-Write, here are the participants for this week, listed in reverse order of submission, along with information on the newest prompt. Please remember to fave this journal to help support your work and the prompt!
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Last Week's Writing Prompt
Finish the story:
"The last man on Earth sat alone in a room. There was a knock on the door..."
The Last Man on EarthThe last man on Earth sat alone in a room
There was a knock on the door, disrupting his gloom
He sat up straighter and stared at the door
Was it his mind playing tricks on him once more?
How ridiculous those thoughts were to him
Yet all the while, he knew his chances were slim
Had fate delivered a friend to his welcome mat?
This friend must have stopped for a nice chat
The man imagined who this friend could be
With these thoughts in mind, he stood with glee
Crossing to the entrance, he reached for the knob
The man was ready to rejoice and sob
As he opened the door, time slowed down
Ever so slowly, he began to frown
Where was his lovely lady in a beautiful dress?
Where was the old geezer to play white during chess?
The culprit to the knocking made himself clear
Whistling across his lawn with a very wide sneer
The wind picked up debris to cause ill fated din
This is how the last man on Earth became alone again
Can you feel the love tonight?
The Last Man On EarthThe last man on Earth sat alone in a room. There was a knock on the door.
Ignoring it, the man remained in his chair, staring at the images on the screen before him. Several images from all over Earth were being beamed to his screen; desert areas, dried up river beds, fires burning out of control and, until the cameras were dislodged and smashed, he watched as huge waves smashed into chalk cliffs, breaking off pieces as large an average house.
The knock came again. Sighing, the man got up and opened the door, to find Captain Lucinda Harris saluting him.
“I’m sorry Professor, but we cannot wait any longer; the wildfires are getting too close. It’s time to go.” She glanced past him and viewed the screen sadly. Two more cameras winked out of existence as the wildfires consumed them. “Admiral Willard has authorised a final flyover before we join the main fleet, if you wish to do so.”
“Thank you, I would app
It was only a branch that scratched his door. The man realized that there were still things that hadnt fallen to Earth. He was certain that all these things would fall to Earth eventually, and at some point, the dust would settle. Then it did, so the world stopped for a moment.
The man stepped outside, and waited for the air on the planet to run out.
Then, the earth began spinning again. The rain came down and down poured where the man stood. Plants came out from the soil, and fish appeared in the water, seemingly from nowhere. The trees that were once dead came back to life. The sun rose and set, faster than hed ever seen it happen before.
Animals appeared in far higher quantities than the man had ever seen. Cars rusted away and all the buildings grew dingy as there was nobody to maintain them. The farms grew weeds and became large fields. The trees grew very large and started falling down, unable to support their own weight.
A day was now only a few minutes. Animals tried
The Last Man on EarthThe last man on Earth sat alone in a room. There was a knock on the door and his finger, curled around the shotgun trigger, twitched. Dag scrambled to his feet, his back still pressed against the wall with its faded peeling paper. The windows were boarded up so he could not look outside to see who wanted his attention. He gripped the barrell of the gun harder. Maybe he didn’t want to know.
The knocking came again, a series of rapid taps. He hunched his shoulders against it, as if by tucking his chin he could ward off whatever waited beyond the threshold.
“Go away, I ain’t opening it,” he shouted, spittle flying out past his cracked lips.
Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat. It came again and this time he edged around the kitchen doorframe into the hallway and aimed his twin barrels at the wooden door. Although the blood throbbed in Dag’s ears, a sound louder than the tapping, the gun did not shake in his hands.
The knocking continued, incessant.
StrandedThe last man on Earth sat alone in a room. There was a knock on the door…
Why should it matter that someone is at the door?
After all, it was probably just his imagination. He was amazed he still had a door, in fact, what with all the wind and snow and such. By all the laws of probability, it should have been blown clean off its hinges by now.
Ah well. Finding reality never was his strong point.
He stood up and left his breakfast on the table, letting it sit cold and limp in the endless winter breeze. Despite having been toasted several minutes before, it seemed icy to his touch, so he lost interest. The news, which had been constantly whispering through the radio for roughly 3 years, finally bored him to distraction. With a flick of the switch, he turned it off.
After a minute or two he turned it back on, simply to check whether it was still eternally repeating the same news story.
He turned it back off.
With a glance he noted his teacup, still warm, sitting
The Last Man On Earth The last man on Earth sat alone in a room. It was damp, cold and musty, and not the kind of room the last man on Earth would want to spend his last Earth days in. Still, he tolerated it. Tolerated it in the same way as Michelangelo had tolerated the Pope.
There was a knock on the door and the shuffle of feet as he opened it. Charles’ grandfather had always said that when Death knocked on your door, you had better well answer it. But of course, he had said that on his deathbed.
Charles stared Death for a moment, then chose to close the door. There was silence while Charles tried to decide what he had just seen. Then came another knock, then a ring; hollow, cold, fingerless.
“Oh, bugger off.” Charles sat down and turned back on the telly. A football match was on. The door opened on its own.
“So.” There came a voice; mouthless, frothy, haggard. “You know me . . .” Death talked slowly, like he was using up the
The last man on EarthThe last man on earth sat alone in a room.
There was a knock on the door.
How simple, how comforting. Knock, knock. It spread out across the tiny dingy room, and inside the mans heart. Knock, knock. How polite.
The man tries to get up, but sadly his soul won't let him. The voice that has been carved into himself experience after experience warns him, it's a trap.
Come now. He reasons with himself. I won't die or anything. My days of fighting are over.
And yet he can't get up. His legs are lead, heavy with memories and regrets, no repentance can wash that out of him.
The knocking begins to grow louder, more frantic. The man wonders who could be needing someone like him at this hour. Or needing him at all, perhaps.
He sits back in the rotting wooden chair and sighs. The sound of repetitious slamming made him feel more alive, a bit more human than he was supposed to be, and the man relishes the sweet emotions that came behind the sounds. It seemed like whoever was behind
This week's writing prompt, from July 22 to July 31, is:
Respond to the following theme: