Wacky Writer's Wednesday Prompt 4

This week's WWW prompt was inspired by Selena Gomez's song, A Year Without Rain.  The lyrics are posted after the video.  Picture your MC in love with someone they can't live without.  What would they do if they disappeared, or went away for a long time?  You can also interpret the song how you like. Just remember that the response is due by Sunday at midnight! 

Here's the video:

The lyrics are:

Oooooh 
Can you feel me when I think about you? 
With every breath I take 
Every minute, no matter what I do 
My world is an empty place 

Like I've been wonderin the desert 
For a thousand days 
Don't know if it's a mirage 
But I always see your face, baby 

I'm missing you so much 
Can't help it, I'm in love 
A day without you is like a year without rain 
I need you by my side 
Don't know how I'll survive 
A day without you is like a year without rain 
Ohhohoh, Woooaaahh woaahh 

The stars are burning 
I hear your voice in my mind 
Can't you hear me calling 
My heart is yearning 
Like the ocean that's running dry 
Catch me I'm falling 

It's like the ground is crumbling underneath my feet 
(Won't you save me) 
There's gonna be a monsoon 
When you get back to me 
Ohhhh baby 

I'm missing you so much 

Can't help it, I'm in love 
A day without you is like a year without rain 
I need you by my side 
Don't know how I'll survive 
A day without you is like a year without rain 
Ohhohoh, Woooaaahh woaahh 

So let this drought come to an end 
And make this desert flower again 
I'm so glad you found me 
Stick around me 
Baby, baby, baby, oh 
It's a world of wonder with you in my life 
Still hurting baby 
Don't waste no more time 
And I need you here 
I can't explain 
But a day without you 
Is like a year without rain 
Ohhohoh 

I'm missing you so much 
Can't help it, I'm in love 
A day without you is like a year without rain 
I need you by my side 
Don't know how I'll survive 
A day without you is like a year without rain 
Ohhohoh, Woooaaahh woaahh 
Ooohh, Ooooooooouuhh

WWW prompt 3 posted for Amy Judd

Heat traveled through the chipped cup, and into her cold hands. Black limp hair hung around Viktoria’s face hiding her features. She lifted the cup to her cracked lips. Gulping down the scalding liquid, Viktoria didn’t stop until every drop was gone. 
Above her came the sound of gum popping. “Sugar, you want another cup of coffee?” 
Viktoria head slowly rose to look up at the woman in her 50’s. The woman’s hair was a lovely vibrate Easter egg. The girl nodded and pushed her mug towards the edge of the table. Steam rose up from the mug as the black brew sloshed against the sides. Dragging the cup in front of her, Viktoria hovered over the cup ignoring the waitress. Viktoria sucked the coffee into her mouth through her teeth, and winched as it burned her taste buds. The coffee was black, and bitter from being brewed too long. 
Gazes passed over Viktoria easily, never noting anything of circumstance. All around her was the signs of life. People talked among themselves while some of them devouring the food that came from behind the diner’s counter. The clock ticked down the hours, the minute hand finally making it 3:35 pm. A couple burst through the door, a woman with short spiky blonde hair and a man with short hair. The man was scarred from a severe chicken pocks. The woman was of medium build, with a happy-go lucky smile. The woman hung on the arm of the man. They laughed boisterously and wobbled on their feet as they dropped down into a booth. 
Viktoria’s eyes followed the waitress who walked to the couple’s table. “Can I get you kids anything?” 
The man’s arm wrapped around his companions jerked her up against him. “Heck yeah! We’re going to need coffee. I want steak cooked rare, and eggs. What do you want baby?”
The woman was laughing, and turned to kiss her companion’s cheek. “Coffee, with lots of sugar and cream. Oh, and a pancake stack.” The waitress nodded before walking off to give the order. The waitress returned placing cups in front of the couple, and pouring them a large helping of coffee. With a yellow smile, the waitress placed their food in front of them.
“Get you anything else, sugar?” 
Viktoria’s head lifted from her empty cup of coffee, her eyes focusing on the name tag pinned the woman’s pink uniform. “Betty Joe, thank you.” Reaching out, Viktoria brushed her hand over the top of the waitresses. “But, I have everything I need…”
Betty Joe’s eyebrow lifted in confusion, her mouth hanging open the words hanging on her tongue. 
A male voice shouted from the couples table, “HEY YOU! WAITRESS.”
Betty Joe turned away from Viktoria and stepped up to the table. “Can I help you sugar?”
“Yeah, what the heck is this shit?!” The man picked up his plate shoved it across the table at Betty Joe. “I thought I asked for rare. That ain’t rare. It’s freaking beef jerky. “ The man picked up the knife and stabbed his streak repeatedly. 
Betty Joe said apologetically, “I’m sorry! I’ll get the cook to make another one for you.” Betty Joe stepped backwards, her foot landing on a plastic cup. The glass slammed forward forward hitting the woman in the knee. Betty Joe fell backwards her head slamming against the counter behind her. Betty Joe crumpled to the floor lying in a heap on the ground while blood oozed from the fatal wound on the back of her head. Viktoria wiggled out from the bench, and slipped her hands into her pocket. People moved forward hurrying towards Betty Joe’s body. “Someone call 911!” Easily, Viktoria moved around the group stepping out of the diner.
Betty Joe stepped you beside Viktoria. Her hands twisted around and around. The sound of her shoes squeaking as she hurried to catch up to Viktoria. “I’m dead, aren’t I?” 
“Yes. You’re dead.”
Betty Joe stammering, “But…I…What are you?” 
Viktoria turned to face the waitress, “What do you see?” Grey silver eyes gazed at Betty Joe, who starred off at the horizon. 
A sigh of relief cascaded from Betty Joe’s lips, “It’s beautiful.” Betty Joe dropped her head looking down at herself. A transformation had taken place on the old woman. Her hair was long and cascaded down her back in a deep chestnut brown. Her wrinkles smoothed out, and the body that had been worn away by hardship and old age. “You’re an angel of death. Thank you. Thank you for taking me home.” Betty Joe took a step towards the image. “I’m….I’m going to sing now. I always wanted to sing.” Tears streamed down Betty Joe’s face, as she ran forward in her high heels towards the image of her heaven. 
Viktoria’s eyes moved over Betty Joe’s heaven. “No. I’m no angel.” Bright lights flashed in big letters the name, Elizabeth Josephine. Jazz music came from the old Hollywood dance club. Betty Joe didn’t look back, as she slipped into the building, and once she did the heaven faded. 
Viktoria shoved her hands deeper into her pocket, and stepped towards the road. She’d only stood there a few moments before a trucker pulled over. “Going my way?” Limp haired nodded up and down. Viktoria lifted herself up and slid into the cabin slamming the door shut. The onyx ring with its snake eating the stone reflected the light. Dark light cast a shadow on the bearded man sitting behind the wheel, illuminating the skeleton beneath the drivers face, and a clock counting down the minutes till his death.

Wacky Writer's Wednesday prompt #3

Ok, I am a little late today, but better late than never, right? Right! This weeks WWW prompt is:

If you or your character could have any super power, what would it be, and how would they use it?

I think this one is MUCH easier than last weeks, don't you agree?

Remember, each story is due by Sunday night at midnight, EST.

Gideon's Story- WWW Prompt #2 response for Erin Danzer

Posted for Erin Danzer
Title: Gideon's Story

“Gideon McAuliffe.”
Gideon was used to the disembodied female voice by now. He’d been hearing it
for weeks, so to hear it tonight was no surprise. His sleep was never interrupted, but the
dream always started the same. The voice said his name, he turned towards the door
and Rosemary Simon, the woman he loved, would be there. Tonight, he turned towards
the door and it wasn’t Rosemary who stood waiting for him. This woman had blond
locks down to her waist and wore a bright red dress with a black corset. Her pale skin
glowed in the moonlight and her blue eyes sparkled like the shiniest sapphire. He was
mesmerized and for the first time since Rosemary’s disappearance six months ago, he
forgot about her.
“Gideon McAuliffe, you have been chosen to end your current life as a mortal,”
the woman said as she floated into the room. Gideon just watched her enter his
bedroom, her morbid words bouncing off his frozen mind.
“What will I become?” he asked. The woman’s feet made no sound as she crossed
the room to sit on the edge of the bed where he lay. He rolled over to look up at her and
she reached out to stroke his cheek. A small smile played at her lips.
“Why, immortal, of course,” she whispered and his heart pounded in his chest.
“Immortal; like a vampire?” he questioned and her smile widened.
“Yes, exactly that. Isn’t that what you want; the one thing that will bring you
closer to your true love?”
He sat up so fast, he would have knocked the woman off the bed if she hadn't
had such great reflexes. She jumped to her feet and looked down at him, her long nails
skimming his cheek once again. This close, he could smell her: lilies and jasmine with
just a hint of decay.
“What do you know about Rosemary?” he blurted out. Rosemary had been his
life, his one reason for existing before she disappeared. And try as he might, no matter
how long he stayed out looking for it, it was like she fell off the face of the earth. To have
this strange woman tell him she knew Rosemary was like a dream come true; if she
knew his love, he could force her to take him to her.
“I know she hides. I know she’s scared and she needs a companion during these
endless, lonely nights,” the woman declared and returned to her place next to him on
the bed. Her hand cupped his cheek as Gideon stared up at her in disbelief.
“How is it you know where she is when I haven’t found her in the six months I’ve
been searching?”
“You don’t know where to look, but accept my gift of immortality and it will open
the doors you need to be reunited with your true love.” She leaned closer to him, her
fangs glinting in the moonlight. “Say yes, Gideon; say yes to finding your Rosemary,” she
whispered and his breath caught in his throat. This was what he wanted; it was what he
needed. He needed to find Rosemary. Being without her was not living; only when he
found her, could he truly be alive again.
“Yes,” he whispered and the woman smiled as she lowered her face to his neck.
His head tilted back as her fangs pierced his skin and his life force flowed into her
mouth.

Gideon woke with a start and was surprised to see the final rays of the setting sun
through the open window. He blinked several times and shook his head, trying to clear
his mind of the nightmare he’d just woken from. That woman, he silently swore; the one
who’d been haunting his dreams for weeks. She’d come to him again last night and while
he usually forgot what happened in them, this dream he remembered perfectly. His neck
hurt where her fangs had pierced it and he reached up to feel the phantom wound. He
drew his hand away and his eyes widened when he saw a trace of blood on his fingertips.
His heart pounded as he jumped from the bed and ran to the mirror across the room.
It couldn’t be; it had always been a dream. He couldn’t be a vampire! He looked in the
mirror and gasped at the mostly closed wound on his neck. A bite mark, two holes where
her fangs had changed his life.

WWW Prompt 2 - Mr. Swoon

It's often said that when we dream, we become boundless and our spirits soar to other worlds, other dimensions, other times. Our embodied energy can indeed, go anywhere. Often times sleeplessness can be incurable to a traveler of this sort. Where seeming peaceful sleep is anything but. The subject is always tired, drained, a relative walking zombie amongst the bustle of social or work environments. Their consciousness confused with reality and fiction (although, is it truly fiction?).

Isobel was burdened with such an affliction, carried forward into late twenties from childhood. The dreams from her life were more vibrant in memory then her actual. Memories of her family, of her friends, all back seat to the various dreams that she'd had; mostly violent. Blood, death, tribulations beyond typical mortal comprehension.

Nothing had ever worked, sleep-aides doing little to aid aside from the intensity and weirdness of it all. It was a part of life; something she'd long since surrendered to.

So it was no surprise the morning found her with half-lidded emerald eyes vacantly staring at the screen in front of her. Dark circles shadowed in stark contrast to pale skin. Even her lips seemed white and lifeless. Rivers of ginger hair cascaded down her back and along her shoulders although disheviled.

Her finger hovered over the mouse, mind lost.. lost ... lost in the dream before. Adversely, she could hardly remember most of her morning. Everything was some dull fog she was having a difficult time shaking from. There was a face, a face painted in the smoky recollection which refused to leave. Beautiful, although he was. Fit for a dreamscape, desperate in his beauty and plight.

The dream was soft and colorless. Oddly grayscale which was atypical of her usual vivid hues. Her role in this one was invisible, doomed to spectator much like watching a movie. The era was aged falling more into the roaring twenties. The subject of the dream, was a man. A beautiful man. As most of the participants, she'd never seen him before. Nor this place. The moon was a pale gray crescent obscured by various cloud coverings, and Mr. Swoon (as she was referring to him in her head now) was quite alone, walking along an empty city street in the early morning. Various flappers and dancers spilled out on occasion from different jazz clubs, quickly disappearing in their early generation vehicles. He, however, was just walking. It was like some dusty old black and white film, the viewer sensing that impending violence quickly approaching.

And it did, Mr. Swoon jerked in an alley and mugged for what little he'd had in his wallet. It was the Great Depression after all, everyone was desperate. She'd even rationalized this to herself upon awakening, sweat dampening her brow and heart racing.

His face was one that haunted her all day, what with the realism. The simplistic beauty of it. He'd have had blue eyes, she reasoned. Dark hair. She was in a mental debate upon this when a fellow employee approached, forcing a refocus on reality. Along. Single. Desk job. The only warmth she had that dull, neon glow of a computer screen as she pushed things around with a cursor.

The morning disappeared, and on her lunch break she snoozed in her car. She was startled awake by a large pigeon landing on her windshield, pecking at the glass. Again she'd dreamt of him even in that short amount of time. His scream. She imagined him calling to her this time.

The drive home almost resulted in a few accidents from her lack of attention. She didn't bother to cast even one apologetic glance or awkward wave. No, just home. Home where some food was consumed. Something in the microwave, the taste and contents unmentionable.

Isobel fell asleep to the droning sound of the television. Somehow it soothed her, lulled her into unconsciousness with fewer dreams. Mr. Swoon wouldn't be denied another visit. Not even by the background noise of a infomercial on the latest kitchen gadget by some overzealous host. He replayed his death, hands faux reaching for her before he died, blood gushing profusely from the knife wound between his ribs. A large black puddle in grayscale.

The next morning, the shower shook off most of her horror and she opted a walk to work instead. Five blocks away seemed manageable as the sun was rising. Her body protested but her mind utterly enjoyed the crisp fresh oxygen of twilight.

Through the maze of buildings, she caught something painfully familiar. Updated, but near identical to her dream. The edge of a building, a window, a street lamp all in the same location. Her breath caught and that humming bird heart slid to her throat.

Was this still the dream? Some new progression of it? The alley was coming into focus now, the dark depths interrupted by trash and dumpsters and....... a man. A man. A man was laying face down on the asphalt ahead of her, moaning in agony.

Her feet moved before her and somehow she knew what she'd find as she turned him over. It was him, of course it was him.

Police were called. Ambulance. He was rushed to St. Mary's Hospital and saved, of course. Saved. And not once did she leave, rotating between holding his hand to pacing in a waiting room. It was the next day in fact that his eyes fluttered open, the most amazing of cerulean. Blinking away the medical veil, he swallowed thick and turned to face her. His was a look of confusion, as much shock as he could display on morphine. "I've been dreaming about you.."

Owning & legalizing your pen name

So, I was asked "how do you go about with legalizing your pen name?"  I feel really bad for taking so long for responding to the question, but life has been busy this last week.  Anyway, I had the chance to speak to a few authors that I knew who used pen names, and I was told this; there is really no way to legalize or copy write your pen name.  I was however, told that you should google the name that you want to use, and make sure that no one else is using it.  The last thing you want is to take someone else's name, and have a whole big legal issue on your hands!  Once you are absolutely certain that the name you want is available, then go ahead, make it yours!  Start plastering it everywhere. Make a website with your pen name, a facebook page, blog, twitter....etc.

Just make sure you google the name first and make sure that it's available!

Wacky Writer's Wednesday Prompt #2

Sorry this is a little late in the day guys.  Life seems to have escaped me!  This one was inspired and suggested by Ira.  I kind of like the idea; it's original and unique. Are you ready? here it goes:

You wake up one night after having one of those deep, thought provoking dreams.  Only, instead of forgetting about it, this dream changes your life.  What is this dream, and how does it change your life?

There you go! That's your prompt for this week. It's due by SUNDAY night instead of Saturday.  Remember the minimum word count is 500 words and the max is 1,500!

Ready...set....WRITE!

Remember, for those of you who have posting rights, please make sure to post your story with the subject WWW Prompt 2 + the title of your story if you have one.  If you don't have posting privleges, e-mail me at authoradvice@gmail.com with the subject WWW Prompt #2