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Bi-Weekly Story Prompts

April 6 – April 20, 2022 Writing Prompt “9 Choir of Angels” – no voting

Theme: 9 Choir of Angels

Using the image below, write a story using one angel from two of the three Triads.

Required Elements:

  • Two of the angels

Word Count: 1,500


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9 thoughts on “April 6 – April 20, 2022 Writing Prompt “9 Choir of Angels” – no voting

  • Wow! How exciting- it’s back! Thank you Carrie!
    • Carrie Zylka

      I think a 4-month hiatus to get my life straightened out is long enough 😉

  • I’m in. Now, to do research on the Hierarchy of Angels. As heavily as I was involved in religion in my younger days, I never really got into the Angel’s thing, not knowing anything about them except for movies and television dramas that are probably completely wrong in how they handle it.
  • Oh Wow great to have you back Carrie. I was wondering how to get to this so now I have 3000 words to write in a fairly decent format over the holidays. Being mindful it is pesach and at least two angels appear to administer plagues and other stuff at this time. Great…Prompting…..
  • Carrie Zylka

    I really enjoyed reading this Rumple, and it’s so indicative to so many and their faith these days, or even the belief in supernatural.

    I added the first two words as the title, just let me know if you want me to name it something else.
    Also – did you mean to have the formatting in there like that? I can remove the code snippets if you’d like.

  • Rumples- I enjoyed the sentimental memories you describe in your story. The wonders of a childhood outdoors spent enjoying nature in all its magnificence. I like how you dusted mention of glints of gold in the dirt- made me think of little glimpses of holiness. I thought your ending was… divine. 🙂
  • A little ditty for Rumple-fiddy.

    Touch of a Feather.
    By Ken Cartisano
    675 words.

    I always keep a small tumbler of water on the nightstand next to my bed so I can take a pill whenever I need one. I refill the glass every other day, sometimes the cat drinks out of it. I’m not that fussy.

    As I was getting ready for bed at three in the morning, I took a tiny blood-pressure pill, popped it into my mouth on the way to the dresser and picked up the glass of water to wash it down. I was holding the glass with just my thumb and middle finger, with my pinky extended. I raised the glass and as I tipped the water to my lips, I felt the slightest touch against my pinky finger. As if it had been brushed with a feather.

    I stopped in mid sip and set the glass back down on the nightstand. The only illumination was coming through the door from the hallway behind me, so I leaned to my right and cocked my head to the left. The glass and the nightstand were bathed in light revealing a fair-sized palmetto bug on the far side of the tumbler, just below the rim, its antennae facing upward.

    Beyond him, I couldn’t help but notice my wife, sleeping peacefully, in our bed, just inches away. I refocused on the bug. Other than one of his long undulating antennae, he was motionless. It was one of these that had brushed my finger while I was holding the glass.

    Down south, where I live, there’s a certain kind of critter known as a palmetto bug. They’re large, maroon, hideous cock-a-roaches with long antennae and barbed legs. Unlike their ordinary German counterparts, these roaches fly, badly. They open their carapace, and two sets of wings emerge and start fanning the air like an A-10 warthog. Once aloft, they quickly remember why they don’t normally fly, seek to correct their mistake, and land on the nearest object they can, which is invariably you.

    Aware of this insect’s ‘airborne’ reputation, I suppressed a shudder, picked up the glass with the same two fingers. Holding it away from my body, I spun 180 degrees with the grace of a Russian ballet dancer and slid out into the hallway. The bug was visible through the glass tumbler and looked to be two-and-a-half inches long from feeler to foot. The water may have magnified its image, but I was unaware of that at the time.

    I paused at the door to my left, the garage. This door posed no challenge to my bug transposition skills, but I wanted this monster all the way outside.

    I kept going, into the living room, took a right turn into the kitchen, past the table to the heavy sliding back door which I could now see was closed and locked. ‘Uh oh,’ I said to the bug, and began to fumble with the latch with my left hand. I thought I saw the bug move as I grasped the handle to the door and pulled. The door didn’t budge. The lock was not fully open. The bug twitched. I saw him with my peripheral vision. He looked nervous, his antennae were sticking out at odd angles, one barbed foot raised in anticipation. If he lifts his carapace, it’s all over. I swiped at the damned lock again. No go, wouldn’t budge. I had to push the door all the way closed, flip the fussy little latch back up again, and then yank the door with all my might. It opened. I put one foot outside and set the glass down on the cold concrete patio and retreated. Nothing happened. (A dud bug?) I waited a minute. Still no sign of him. I bent over and dared to move the glass, then lift it. No sign of that damned palmetto bug.

    When I got into bed my wife was just on the verge of sleep. “Everything all right?” She mumbled.

    “Everything’s fine,” I whispered. She went back to sleep. I turned out the light, and that’s when I felt the touch of a feather on my neck. And screamed.

  • Made me smile. With remarkably few words you set a scene, outlined interesting characters and drove a plot to a great conclusion. Loved it!

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