The knight galloped for seven days and nights, never resting until he reached the tower.
“Beautiful princess, I’ve come to rescue you! Let down your hair.”
At once, flowing golden locks fell from the window at the top. He climbed until he reached the top. But it was not the hair of a princess he had climbed, but the beard of a man.
“What’s this! Where is the princess?”
The man shrugged. “No princess here. I’m Geoff.”
“Oh,” said the knight. “Hi, Geoff. Do you want to hang out?”
The crowd of “people” trapped behind a barbed wire fence looked like ants from my watchtower — they were ants. My head throbbed as I stared at them through the Remington’s scope; butterscotch ichor pumped through my licorice veins as my sweaty finger grazed the trigger; I swallowed a mouthful of sugar plum air. For too long, they’ve poisoned my mind and plagued my dreams. Finally, they’d pay for everything they’ve done to me and my family. My heart melted and turned to cookie dough with each yank of the trigger.
She did not understand the Song of Solomon. At all. Eyes like doves, okay, that's a compliment. Hair like a flock of goats? Really? So, coarse, gray, wiry, and shaggy. Sexy? It takes all kinds. Teeth like a flock of sheep--wel, at least they're described as freshly washed in perfect pairs. Lips like a crimson thread and pomegranate cheeks-- maybe he's beginning to understand compliments.
Nope. Neck like the tower of David. What does that mean? Thick? Unbending? She hoped her someday husband wouldn't take poetic inspiration from this guy.
When all was said and done it was the tower that still sat there smugly, issuing the necessary challenge, change or be changed.
The good vs evil smackdown had worked. The good guys effected efficient management practices that were inclusive and rewarding, creating an atmosphere of happiness .
The final straw occurred when smoke began rising from the chimneys of the tower indicating that someone had taken up residence once more.
The townspeople became infuriated and rushed to tear it brick by brick, leaving only park space indicating freedom for all.
He was a grand builder, retired, but pined for his glory days. He wanted a testimonial to his grandeur. He took inventory of his self-worth. He would celebrate the days of his glory; he would build a grand testimonial to his greatness! He engaged his drive and ambition, and he put his blood into his monument—a tower that shouted his importance. Up it went, inch by inch. But just as quickly as it arose in his self-appraised greatness, it collapsed just as quickly. It was the builder’s last erection.
On the edge of the city and the sea stood a tower with many rooms. In one room was a prince, the fifth of five. Many princes lived there. They all dreamed, of fame, of success, of power over the city streets. Every prince knew they must conquer the city or it would devour them. But this prince dreamed something different. He dreamed fire flying from hands, great worms with countless eyes that loved tattered maidens, slaves’ souls crawling from the sea seeking revenge. And the prince began to write.
Here's the beginning of a little story in honor of a tower!
THE TOWER OF MEMORIES
Dried leaves and twigs crunched beneath a pair of cured leather boots. Stalking from a thatch, Arlan beheld the object that mired his village in arcane mystery for generations, but none dared approach the abandoned tower jutting above the forest that legends claimed stood for the past several millennia. Undeterred by the old wives’ tales of horrors begotten by the structure, he moved forward, rustling the bramble as he made his way into a small clearing.
The scenery mutated as he made his advancement. Layer of moss covered a series of giant rocks like bundled squaws in the midst of winter, debris from the ancient mountain worn away by nature’s encroachment. Even the roots of trees sprawled along the ground as if seconds from nabbing the unsuspecting wanderer. Through cursory observation, Arlan wondered if any woodland nymphs or satyrs lived within these gnarled tumuli. He laughed off the thought, and continued onward.
The tower was in plain sight, rising above the palearctic floor, spearing the canopy of beeches, elms, and hazels. Arlan recalled stories of returning visitors whose perceptions had been altered, and they lost their groundings, descending into bouts of insanity that everything they knew had been irreversibly capsized. They soon became lamed of motivation, even movement, and ended up bedridden for years.
Arlan, despite the mounting evidence against his ambitions and audacity, remained true to his mission, determined to unravel the enigma within.
He stopped at the base of the tower. The forest around him sounded different, as if singing a siren song, casting a mellifluous spell to lure those who dared to enter. It could have been a trap. Maybe the legends held merit, and that his only recourse, had he an ounce of self-preservation, would have been to turn back, never to tread these paths for as long as he lived. But his stubbornness trumped what his neighbors would have ascribed to common sense. Stepping up to the vestibular entrance, he latched onto the handle and pulled.
A loud creek pierced the calm of the woods. Above, a flock of warblers fluttered away, disturbed by the sudden shrill that hadn’t been heard for hundreds of years. The soils underneath flattened with a scrape. The tufts of grass in the way crackled. Arlan gave one last shove, but his strength gave out. The door opened as far as he could force it.
The tower moaned. A gust of wind greeted him, buffeting his jacket and tussling his hair. Muttering an old prayer, he entered the black void. As soon as he past the threshold, the door behind him suddenly shut, the reverb rattling up into the seemingly endless shaft. He flinched, but composed himself, knowing things like that were bound to happen. He craned his head up. Rays of light penetrated the lancelet windows, illuminating a long spiral staircase ascending into an unknown place. Detritus stirred by the winds sifted through the pockets of light. They resembled a series of fireflies, or embers of a witch’s enchantment. However, he remained unphased, and made his way to the first step.
lol Reminds me of our move form California to Georgia. We stopped at a Waffle House in Louisiana and my kids thought the waitress was speaking a foreign language.
Haha - yeah, the idea for the story came to me through my job. I speak to hundreds of different people from around the world, and I remember how difficult the job was when I first started. I couldn't understand a single word anyone was saying to me, lol. I would be confused all day long. Luckily, the brain seems to adjust to accents, but wow, when I first started, I felt everyone was speaking a different language to me.
She watches from the tower window—children laughing, couples holding hands, old women feeding pigeons.
No one ever looks up.
Her room is small, the walls are blank. She presses her palm to the glass, fogging it with her breath. Down below, a girl drops her ice cream and cries, the mother stops to help.
Once there was a princess who lived in an ivory tower. Nobody had forced her to do so, she liked it there. There was a spiral staircase running all the way to the top floor, and the walls of the tower were completely lined with bookcases, filled to the brim with books of all kinds. The princess lived in a room at the top, spending her time reading and dreaming.
One day a handsome prince stopped beneath her tower. "Come play with me, fair princess, and you'll never have to labor among the books again." The princess cared more for her books than his looks, so she politely sent him packing.
The next day a wealthy merchant tried his luck: "Become my bride and you will have more gold and jewels than you can count." But she wasn't interested in untold riches, so he left, too.
Finally, a wandering teller of tales knocked upon her door. "Please marry me, literate lady, and I will tell you wondrous stories for the rest of your days!" The princess loved to hear new stories, so she welcomed the story teller into the tower. They fell in love and wed, and spent a long, happy marriage amongst the books. And when the babies were born, their father entertained them with tales of magic and wonder, sending them off to the Land of Nod to dream of imaginary quests and rambles.
Clark got in early that Tuesday. If only he’d come in at 9:30 like everyone else. They always said his job would kill him. But they meant in a cardiac ICU. He sat in the North building, the first hit. Tried to get any intel. Made frantic calls to loved ones. Is there a single word for don’t worry and goodbye? As he watched his structure’s sibling fall, he thought how odd it would be to refer to the Trade Center as a tower, singular. The misnomer wouldn’t last long.
Each morning, Monty ascends the balcony like a silent king returning to his tower. The old garden-chair pillow, sun-bleached and fur-worn, waits faithfully. From this perch, he watches bees flirt with lavender and wind ripple the grass like secrets being whispered. Once, other paws claimed this spot—he knows. Sometimes, he sniffs the air and pauses, as if memory has a scent. The tower holds them all, in fur and shadow. Monty curls into himself, tail wrapped like a vow. The world turns below. Above, he guards what only cats remember.
I’m obsessed with this lol 😂 🙌🏼🎉
Thanks Hayley :D
The knight galloped for seven days and nights, never resting until he reached the tower.
“Beautiful princess, I’ve come to rescue you! Let down your hair.”
At once, flowing golden locks fell from the window at the top. He climbed until he reached the top. But it was not the hair of a princess he had climbed, but the beard of a man.
“What’s this! Where is the princess?”
The man shrugged. “No princess here. I’m Geoff.”
“Oh,” said the knight. “Hi, Geoff. Do you want to hang out?”
“Sure.”
A sweet voice floated down from the top of the tower, singing the loveliest song you ever heard.
From the base of the tower, a deeper voice—kind and confident—called up.
The voices complimented rather than contrasted. She leaned over the balcony and their eyes met.
He would soon find out the tower's true purpose—to keep the world safe from her...
“Ants”
The crowd of “people” trapped behind a barbed wire fence looked like ants from my watchtower — they were ants. My head throbbed as I stared at them through the Remington’s scope; butterscotch ichor pumped through my licorice veins as my sweaty finger grazed the trigger; I swallowed a mouthful of sugar plum air. For too long, they’ve poisoned my mind and plagued my dreams. Finally, they’d pay for everything they’ve done to me and my family. My heart melted and turned to cookie dough with each yank of the trigger.
She did not understand the Song of Solomon. At all. Eyes like doves, okay, that's a compliment. Hair like a flock of goats? Really? So, coarse, gray, wiry, and shaggy. Sexy? It takes all kinds. Teeth like a flock of sheep--wel, at least they're described as freshly washed in perfect pairs. Lips like a crimson thread and pomegranate cheeks-- maybe he's beginning to understand compliments.
Nope. Neck like the tower of David. What does that mean? Thick? Unbending? She hoped her someday husband wouldn't take poetic inspiration from this guy.
PROMPT: TOWER
THE TOWER
It was a magnificent structure.
Tall, and sturdy.
An impressive tower, reaching towards the sky.
It seemed completely indestructible.
Until our youngest cousin wanted to join in, and pulled a piece out from the very bottom, which made the whole thing topple over.
And our game of Jenga was ruined… 😎
When all was said and done it was the tower that still sat there smugly, issuing the necessary challenge, change or be changed.
The good vs evil smackdown had worked. The good guys effected efficient management practices that were inclusive and rewarding, creating an atmosphere of happiness .
The final straw occurred when smoke began rising from the chimneys of the tower indicating that someone had taken up residence once more.
The townspeople became infuriated and rushed to tear it brick by brick, leaving only park space indicating freedom for all.
90-word story challenge—Prompt: “Tower”
He was a grand builder, retired, but pined for his glory days. He wanted a testimonial to his grandeur. He took inventory of his self-worth. He would celebrate the days of his glory; he would build a grand testimonial to his greatness! He engaged his drive and ambition, and he put his blood into his monument—a tower that shouted his importance. Up it went, inch by inch. But just as quickly as it arose in his self-appraised greatness, it collapsed just as quickly. It was the builder’s last erection.
90mg of Tower
On the edge of the city and the sea stood a tower with many rooms. In one room was a prince, the fifth of five. Many princes lived there. They all dreamed, of fame, of success, of power over the city streets. Every prince knew they must conquer the city or it would devour them. But this prince dreamed something different. He dreamed fire flying from hands, great worms with countless eyes that loved tattered maidens, slaves’ souls crawling from the sea seeking revenge. And the prince began to write.
Here's the beginning of a little story in honor of a tower!
THE TOWER OF MEMORIES
Dried leaves and twigs crunched beneath a pair of cured leather boots. Stalking from a thatch, Arlan beheld the object that mired his village in arcane mystery for generations, but none dared approach the abandoned tower jutting above the forest that legends claimed stood for the past several millennia. Undeterred by the old wives’ tales of horrors begotten by the structure, he moved forward, rustling the bramble as he made his way into a small clearing.
The scenery mutated as he made his advancement. Layer of moss covered a series of giant rocks like bundled squaws in the midst of winter, debris from the ancient mountain worn away by nature’s encroachment. Even the roots of trees sprawled along the ground as if seconds from nabbing the unsuspecting wanderer. Through cursory observation, Arlan wondered if any woodland nymphs or satyrs lived within these gnarled tumuli. He laughed off the thought, and continued onward.
The tower was in plain sight, rising above the palearctic floor, spearing the canopy of beeches, elms, and hazels. Arlan recalled stories of returning visitors whose perceptions had been altered, and they lost their groundings, descending into bouts of insanity that everything they knew had been irreversibly capsized. They soon became lamed of motivation, even movement, and ended up bedridden for years.
Arlan, despite the mounting evidence against his ambitions and audacity, remained true to his mission, determined to unravel the enigma within.
He stopped at the base of the tower. The forest around him sounded different, as if singing a siren song, casting a mellifluous spell to lure those who dared to enter. It could have been a trap. Maybe the legends held merit, and that his only recourse, had he an ounce of self-preservation, would have been to turn back, never to tread these paths for as long as he lived. But his stubbornness trumped what his neighbors would have ascribed to common sense. Stepping up to the vestibular entrance, he latched onto the handle and pulled.
A loud creek pierced the calm of the woods. Above, a flock of warblers fluttered away, disturbed by the sudden shrill that hadn’t been heard for hundreds of years. The soils underneath flattened with a scrape. The tufts of grass in the way crackled. Arlan gave one last shove, but his strength gave out. The door opened as far as he could force it.
The tower moaned. A gust of wind greeted him, buffeting his jacket and tussling his hair. Muttering an old prayer, he entered the black void. As soon as he past the threshold, the door behind him suddenly shut, the reverb rattling up into the seemingly endless shaft. He flinched, but composed himself, knowing things like that were bound to happen. He craned his head up. Rays of light penetrated the lancelet windows, illuminating a long spiral staircase ascending into an unknown place. Detritus stirred by the winds sifted through the pockets of light. They resembled a series of fireflies, or embers of a witch’s enchantment. However, he remained unphased, and made his way to the first step.
TO BE CONTINUED...
"Tower?" I repeated.
"Yeah, tower?" Replied the scruffy man.
"Tower? What the heck are you on about?" The exasperation beginning to creep into my voice.
"Tower! Tower! We needs t' tow'er ehway!"
I looked at the strange little man, my face a reflection of someone trying to decipher verbal hieroglyphics. Tower? Tow...ahh.
"Tow! You need to tow her away."
"That's wh't I'z said," he said. I think.
"But you said you could fix my car."
He said something else before he drove away, but I've no idea what it was.
lol Reminds me of our move form California to Georgia. We stopped at a Waffle House in Louisiana and my kids thought the waitress was speaking a foreign language.
Haha - yeah, the idea for the story came to me through my job. I speak to hundreds of different people from around the world, and I remember how difficult the job was when I first started. I couldn't understand a single word anyone was saying to me, lol. I would be confused all day long. Luckily, the brain seems to adjust to accents, but wow, when I first started, I felt everyone was speaking a different language to me.
90mg - Tower
___________________________________________________
She watches from the tower window—children laughing, couples holding hands, old women feeding pigeons.
No one ever looks up.
Her room is small, the walls are blank. She presses her palm to the glass, fogging it with her breath. Down below, a girl drops her ice cream and cries, the mother stops to help.
No one helps her.
The door is locked. Has always been locked.
She taps the glass, softly at first, then harder.
She screams.
No one hears.
The world moves on.
She stays locked away forever.
I'm not imprisoned in a tower
Only I have that power
I have a little situation
I'm going on vacation
Finally after a hard winter,
I feel like a winner
I'm off with the handsome
Prince who wants to come
And we will have a grand time
And feel so very fine
No hillbilly took his revenge
So we are free and ready to binge
See yall next week
Hope there's time to tweak
But wish you all the best
While I relax and get some rest
Thank you , Miguel !
Enjoy your break Theresa!
Enjoy your vacation , Miguel !
Greece will be great !
Thank you , Miguel !
Have a great time, Theresa
Thank you , Izzibella !
Have fun!
Thank you, Jeannine!
Overdose again... this is a fun prompt!
Once there was a princess who lived in an ivory tower. Nobody had forced her to do so, she liked it there. There was a spiral staircase running all the way to the top floor, and the walls of the tower were completely lined with bookcases, filled to the brim with books of all kinds. The princess lived in a room at the top, spending her time reading and dreaming.
One day a handsome prince stopped beneath her tower. "Come play with me, fair princess, and you'll never have to labor among the books again." The princess cared more for her books than his looks, so she politely sent him packing.
The next day a wealthy merchant tried his luck: "Become my bride and you will have more gold and jewels than you can count." But she wasn't interested in untold riches, so he left, too.
Finally, a wandering teller of tales knocked upon her door. "Please marry me, literate lady, and I will tell you wondrous stories for the rest of your days!" The princess loved to hear new stories, so she welcomed the story teller into the tower. They fell in love and wed, and spent a long, happy marriage amongst the books. And when the babies were born, their father entertained them with tales of magic and wonder, sending them off to the Land of Nod to dream of imaginary quests and rambles.
Hihi, you're starting to venture into the longer formats more and more I love that actually! Maybe it's time to start writing something bigger 🤔
Thank you. I think your Microdosing assignments might have hatched out a writing bug in my brain... 👽
Now, that's a happy ending. Books are awesome
That they are... and they all read happily after?
Clark got in early that Tuesday. If only he’d come in at 9:30 like everyone else. They always said his job would kill him. But they meant in a cardiac ICU. He sat in the North building, the first hit. Tried to get any intel. Made frantic calls to loved ones. Is there a single word for don’t worry and goodbye? As he watched his structure’s sibling fall, he thought how odd it would be to refer to the Trade Center as a tower, singular. The misnomer wouldn’t last long.
90mg of a Tower–A Monty Story
Each morning, Monty ascends the balcony like a silent king returning to his tower. The old garden-chair pillow, sun-bleached and fur-worn, waits faithfully. From this perch, he watches bees flirt with lavender and wind ripple the grass like secrets being whispered. Once, other paws claimed this spot—he knows. Sometimes, he sniffs the air and pauses, as if memory has a scent. The tower holds them all, in fur and shadow. Monty curls into himself, tail wrapped like a vow. The world turns below. Above, he guards what only cats remember.
"tail wrapped like a vow" Great line, and one only a cat could appreciated in its fullness.