Each month in class we write a prompt paragraph of 100 words or less. A prompt paragraph is a suggested topic for the writer to take any direction they desire in 100 words or less. It is always interesting to see the many different creative ways these prompts evolve.
Laura Nicol
I was once a child with wind tangled hair and sun kissed cheeks. My brother and I built castles at the edge of the sea and Mother guarded us from danger. But she couldn't stop the tide from wrecking my castle and she couldn't stop time from stealing my childhood. Soon, sand eroded from under my toes as waves devoured the ramparts of my children's castles. Time flowed on and now I sit on the bench and watch my daughter standing over her children, ready to protect them, but unable to stop the deluge of Tide or Time.
Katie Yusuf
Gazing up through aqua-blue waves, I scan the coastline for my next treasure. Spying the two children, I know they will be a perfect addition to my human menagerie. The joy radiating from the girl as she builds her sandcastle alights her face and turns her cheeks as rosy as her suit. Behind her stands the most cherubic faced young boy I have ever seen—he embodies pure, unadulterated innocence. I’ll need to change him out of those hideous overalls, but I still must have them both. Rising from the water, I metamorphose to my human form and approach the naïfs.
John Mistur
The end of the world finally came but this doomsday family is still enjoying life. Daddy searches for glowing radioactive crabs for dinner while mama puts the final touches on a sandcastle she’s built with her son.
“Daddy, I see some shiny holes from razor clams,” the boy says.
“Okay, Logan. I’ll be right over so I can teach you how to catch those bastards, but we gotta be sneaky.”
They catch clams, teaching him the tricks of the trade. After the wonderful day at the beach, they gather the bountiful harvest, and head back to the underground bunker.
Jeff Broitman
Prosopagnosia is a neurological condition in which the brain cannot recognize faces in spite of having normal vision.
I know that this is a painting of my wife and our two adorable children, Leo and Kate. Wait—I’m so embarrassed. That’s not their names! Leo and Kate are the two attractive actors from that movie. The one about the boat. Of course I know the names of my children! What are you even implying? They’re Logan and McKayla. We wanted her name spelled uniquely. We dress them both in color-coordinated overalls! We were at the beach! I AM NOT SHOUTING!
Julie Levin
Thank goodness the kids were old enough to entertain themselves. Although not thrilled about the volume of sand that would ultimately end up on the mud room floor, it was worth the distraction for the afternoon. They seemed to have forgotten that I wasn’t walking around in my bathing suit, a rarity since I had always been a sunworshipper. Luckily, their sandcastle building obsession kept them engrossed enough to miss an almost peep show, courtesy of the wind gust at the water’s edge. What they failed to see would have instigated a story I wasn’t ready to tell.
Kathleen McKnight
Daydream
Invitations sailed swiftly within the breeze: Come celebrate, a golden castle has been created near the sea. Mystics leave hidden realms and gather at the transient site. Rarely comes a venue, so perfect for their needs. Laughter soon echoes within the sandstone walls as tales both tall and true are shared, and friendships become renewed.
My daydream ends, my time to leave is near. I watch the sea reclaim its golden halls and hear within its breeze, “Let us thank the creators of this ephemeral gift: the Watcher, the Builder, and the Dreamer; three young mortals playing by the sea.”
Michelle Pahl-Herzog
Hans, still in his blue lederhosen, matching his stormy-blue eyes, stands knee-deep in the sand by his siblings. Busy with their sandcastles, Claudia and Peter don’t notice their brother’s gaze stuck on the horizon. Tropical trees lurch to and fro and the childrens’ blonde hair flies wildly in the Argentine wind.
“Ich vermisse mein Vaterland,” Hans cries out to no one.
“Halt den Mund,” Claudia hisses, “It isn’t safe.” The two older children go back to playing, but Hans stares down at the sand. Too young in 1950 to comprehend the dangers of having Eichmann as his real last name.
Evelyn Panfili
I looked at this prompt picture over and over and must admit it did not speak to me at all. I could feel sand between my toes and taste it in the food in my picnic lunch. I felt my skin getting all sunburned and itchy by the second. Forget the palm trees too. Give me windswept rocky coast with huge crashing waves covered with white foam edging. And how about a storm blowing in with lightning flashing on the water in the distance. For me that kind of prompt would work way better.
Diane Baumgart
“Amy and Joey, it’s okay. All sandcastles crumble when the water rises on the beach.”
“Really?” Amy asks, pouting.
“Yes really. It’s the tide. It’s nobody’s fault, not mine, not yours. No one can make a sandcastle stay when the tide is up. Not even dad and mom.”
“But why?” Amy asks. “Why can’t it stay until tomorrow? It’s not fair. Now nobody will see my castle!”
I am about to respond when Joey chimes up. “I’m hungry,” he says.
Amy stands up, saying “Me too!” and off they run. So much for that, I think.
Thank you, Joey!
Wendy Lamson Collier
Tommy was so sad, why wasn’t Mommy here? Grandma was here, Patty was here, Daddy was in the house. But where was Mommy?
Patty was scooping the sand onto the rubber dinosaur. Grandma watched, then turned and asked, “Tommy?” She touched his shoulder gently.
Tommy did not even look at her, he just kept digging his toes with small kicks as tears rolled down his sun pinked cheeks. He shook his head and yelled, “No!” Then he turned and sped his little legs toward the beach house. His plaintive “Mommy, Mommy!” carried on the wind.
Ryan Fajardo
My future is invisible.
When I am an old woman bent over with that cold wind blowing up my back, will I be happy, or will I be satisfied to be sad?
I will choose my path.
There are more hardships to keep my bitterness stuck within my husk.
I can let go.
There will be days I am going to be able to look back remembering the joy. Sitting on the sand with the warm wind playing in my hair were just a moment.
Those days of my youth …
I was so confident the world was at my feet.
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