#Prompted: Nothing Makes Sense

As I try to get back into the habit of some creative fiction writing, I’ll be posting short snippets here of what I’ve written as a result of prompts (the first sentence) that I’ve either come up with myself or been given. Would love for you, reader, to also join in by sharing your short paragraph based on the prompt that I’ve used, in the comments below. Interpret however and don’t over-think it. It’s an exercise not an entry for the Nobel Prize for Literature. Although..

He entered the room and all of a sudden nothing made sense. Where was he?

Nothing seemed familiar to his eyes but to his touch, every curve, edge and fabric in the room felt as though an extension of his own fingers. His eyes raced across the room, from corner to corner, as he walked towards the bed. Despite being made, there were wrinkles in the blankets. He ran his hand across them, not trying to flatten them but remember if the wrinkles were his. The fabric, too, felt familiar but looked distant.

“Dad?”

He turned towards the door, slowly, and saw a young, stout woman with long dark hair thrown messily to one side. She smiled at him and walked towards him quietly with a patient pace. She touched his shoulder and then reached for his hand.

His eyes could not remember her, but his hand knew her touch.

16 thoughts on “#Prompted: Nothing Makes Sense

  1. He entered the room and all of a sudden nothing made sense. Where was he? Was he in a dream? There, in front of him was Jason Bourne.

    A second later, it clicked. He was staring at a movie poster. His girlfriend of several years ago had given him the poster, and he had not taken it down since. This was his own living room.

    He went through his morning routine: shower, quick drink, grab a couple breakfast bars. Yet his mind remained foggy and unsure of itself. He needed to get more sleep, but for some reason could not settle down in the evening. Might need to talk to a doctor about that..

  2. Prompts 9Assuming you are just looking for random sentences, although that seems it could produce a ton:

    It was a dark and stormy…o.k., actual prompts:

    This desert felt like no desert on earth.

    Io has the most volcanoes of anywhere we know.

    The salamader sensed something.

  3. He entered the room and she was there in the dark silence. He breathed and she was there in some unnameable mixture of scents: there was bread, her skin, and mango, her hair, and the savory remnants of their last meal, tomato, onion, meat. There was perfume, and the botanic lushness of her herbs growing on the window sill. He turned on the light and saw everything and nothing, teacups hanging from their hooks, the kettle on the stove, a red and white cloth folded neatly by the sink, the counters flat and empty. Everything the same as always. Except she was gone. He was waiting to see her, waiting to hear her, waiting to touch her. Each moment so ordinary, one after the next, like any other day of their lives, like any other second in their four decades of life together, so precious and so unremarkable, but alive. Now he would wait forever and nothing made sense.

  4. He entered the room and all of a sudden nothing made sense. The room was different, certainly more empty. His eyes were in deep surveying mode and his movements were careful and deliberate as he tried to process what he saw. Snapping out of his mini shock induced reverie, he began to analyse the possibilities. He wasn’t burgled, there is nothing of value here and the room had a conspicuously respectful neatness; he wasn’t informed of any redecorating, a fact that would have been drummed into his head days in advance; he was at his home without any clue or warning as to why his place has become unrecognisable.

    He then eagerly made his way to the desk spotting something from where he stood. He picked up what was a short note ending with, “Enjoy her”.

    Reader, she dumped him.

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