Write a Mystery or suspense story with this plot line:
“A killer is on the loose, having broken into the home of a wealthy woman and left her for dead. He absconded with a few items, then left the initials, ‘M.A.’”
To mix things up a bit, create a sleuth who is not such a good guy/gal, and a villain who has some amiable traits. Maybe your detective is a womanizer or is mean to her Mother, and your criminal stoops down to pet puppies.
Also, remember that setting is a vital aspect of mystery. Root your reader in that chilly Autumn night in New England, or in the sultry late afternoon of Mississippi. Perhaps the murder occurred at Christmastime, amidst bright colored lights and the aroma of freshly baked cookies. In all cases, use your five (or six!) senses to make this time and place feel real.
(I really felt like this was way too much to work with. Besides being a genre I don’t usually write (or to be honest, read) this really felt like it was someone else’s story. I tend to come up with more unique stories/ideas if I only have a couple of words to deal with. This is probably because that’s exactly what all my writing practices in high school started with: two (typically unrelated) words. That’s it. Two words. I decided that it’s a good thing I didn’t have time to write yesterday because the Day 6 prompt plus a challenge from my mother, had this story rumbling around in my head for a couple days.)
Write a story set in an abandoned location. It could be a foreclosed house, a closed-down theme park, a ghost town, or anything else. Think about the location’s past and its story, and use those ideas to fuel your plot.
Rumblings of a Rock
The water soothed him as it rippled continuously over him. So kind in its touch he didn’t even notice the tiny particles of himself that it carried away. It was cool and crisp and kept his bed nice and soft.
It was heavenly.
And then there was disruption. The mud sucked at him as he was lifted away by warm, rough hands to clatter and chip in a pile of his brethren. While slightly curious, he was more perturbed and grumbled as he was jostled about, the sky and trees above him changing rapidly.
When they slathered him in mud, he was relieved, thinking that he was in some way home again. But then the mud hardened and held him for what felt like forever.
Life flickered around him.
Rain pelted his face, soft warmth from torchlight warmed his backside, arrows flew and nicked away small chunks, and the wind and rain raged against him to restore his smooth complexion.
Once, a bright and terrible spot during the eons of his existence, he felt the agonizing effect of a searing hot blaze as he cracked, becoming less of himself. It is strange to be forever beside a part of oneself that is no longer a part of oneself.
The peace that descended immediately after was welcome. No more noise and bustle. No more shouting, angry, roaring waves of life lashing against him. He became lost in the rhythm of rain, snow, sun, and life. The forest reached toward him, embraced him, sheltered him.
Life crept along around him, tiny tendrils of bright green, newborn strength found purchase in the mud, now dry and crumbling. It thickened and pulsed and he felt it loosen the hold of his prison.
One day, a significant day, someone intruded on his peace. Two of them. They laughed and tromped loudly through the remnant of the place that held him. He felt the vines flex and pull back at their approach. They were oblivious to their impact.
They were right by him now. The girl’s hair brushed him. The boy’s hand pressed against him. He heard their soft murmurs and sighs, and he groaned as the boy pushed harder against him. He almost didn’t hear her gasp as he tumbled and fell, hitting the ground with a thud. The fall broke away his dead bit and he almost missed its silent presence. Almost.
There wasn’t much time for missing as he rolled down the gentle slope, often hopping as he was launched off of an outcropping. His momentum slowed as the hill leveled near the valley and he tumbled with a crack and a splash into the stream.
It wasn’t his river, but it would do. The water soothed him as it rippled continuously over him and the silt began to settle into an embrace. Softly, they began the long, slow task of smoothing his rough edges and chips away.