Check out this second win for Amber Butler! View the original prompt on Facebook here.

They’d come so far. Her tired head rested on his lap. She had started fat, strong, covered in white hair that shimmered in the ceaseless sunlight. Whether the sun had faded with her, or her with the sun, no one knew.

What they did know was that she was going to die.

He watched as the heartbeat that had pulsed beneath her translucent skin for a millennia slowed, as its light evaporated like the water and the food and the sun, as breath left her lungs.

He hadn’t meant to cry, not for her. He had one job. In thirty generations of masters and apprentices he, and only he, had one single, coveted job.

Dear god in heaven, he didn’t want it.

He wept, shocked at his ill preparedness considering all his preparation, and eased her beautiful, lifeless head into the snow. The sun was almost dark. He began to count.

He had ninety seconds.

He stuck the knife in below her rib cage and yanked upward, tearing apart this majestic beast who had fed humanity with her heartbeat for a thousand years. He drew it out, faintly glowing, barely beating, and flung it far out to the hungry sea. The waves rose to swallow her sacrifice and the light was lost to the water.

Twelve.

Eleven.

Ten.

The ocean brightened as her heart began to beat for the earth, and the sun rose and shone warm, and the ice began to melt, and he knew that hundreds of miles away, wheat and corn and apples were shooting up to feed the few starving millions who remained.

He was glad. She would have been glad.

But he couldn’t go to see it. Not yet. He just sat down beside her, put her ancient, cold head in his lap, and cried.

This week’s winner is Amber Butler. Check out her winning story below.

The original photo and prompt can be seen here: LINK.

The liquid was warm, almost imperceptible. He forced his eyes open and nearly gasped at the blinding light. He shut them again and was plunged into darkness.

His lungs felt big and sharp as he kicked, hard, downward. His chest seared with every slowing heartbeat. He struggled to maintain consciousness as one last, fleeting picture swam in his mind: Sam.

Sam’s yellow curls bouncing. Sam hitting me in the arm for a stupid joke. Sam throwing a dirt clod at my bike. Sam lying face down. Sam, bleeding. Sam, dead.

His hand had found an empty place where there was no more concrete and he pulled himself down through the bottom of the water. He fell to solid ground, gasping, choking, coughing, and opened his eyes. The world was dim once again. He looked up and the black water floated above his head. The moonlight shimmered through it and cast a barely perceptible glow on the vast concrete slab.

In the corner was a shape. He knew it, even with half its head missing. He knew those curls, still clinging to the remaining pieces of skull. He knew that back, hunched, arms wrapped around knees, feet bare.

He stood up. He could no longer feel the pain in his chest. There was only one thing he could think:

Sam.

He walked and sat down next to the figure. He put his arm around him, and the boy turned. Even with the hole where his eye used to be, the eye the bullet had ripped out, Sam looked like Sam.

“Alex?” The boy’s voice was familiar, though odd and distant. “Is that you?”

Alex let his lips touch the boy’s cheek. “Yes,” he whispered.

“Can I go home now?”

“No,” Alex said. “But I can stay here.”

Check out last week’s Writing Prompt winner, David McIntyre! The original post and photo can be found here (LINK). Great job, David!

Here’s David’s story.

I felt the bullet snap past my ear and crashed down the embankment. I scrambled back to the culvert intent to crawl through and pulled a rotting pallet from the pipe.

“Won’t do you no good,” a man’s voice spoke. “I already tried.”

He sat up from the weeds and pushed his hood back to get a better look at me. Whatever color his clothes had been originally, they now matched his weathered skin.

“You got a name, old man?” I asked.

“You ain’t from around here,” he said.

“Just passing through.”

“Now that’s the truth,” he said. “If you was from around here, you’d know my name. This ain’t the kind of place you pass through, Son. It’s the kind you pass by.”

“Why is he shooting at us?”

“Cause he’s ignorant. He don’t know who you are.”

“Why’d he shoot at you?”

“Cause he’s ignorant, and he does.”

The man pulled a half-smoked cigarette from behind his ear and twisted its contents into a fresh paper, added some tobacco, and rolled a smoke. He then rolled another, and from the way he scraped the pouch, it was his last. He held it out to me.

“It’ll calm your nerves,” he said.

I don’t smoke but took it anyway to honor the gift. “Calm my nerves for what?”

He reached over is pack and passed me a Winchester .30-30. “You see the top of that Cherry tree from there? The one where my wife is buried?”

“I see it.”

“He’s under it.”

I edged forward to the road and slowly poked the rifle between the weeds. The man by the cherry tree jumped to his feet and aimed. We fired at the same time. The old man had stood to draw fire. I buried him with his wife.

Our latest Writing Prompt winner was Frank Messina! Frank has participated in our prompt challenges many times and it was cool to see him pull in a win this time around. Thanks for playing and congrats Frank! You can read his story below.

View the original photo prompt here. The prompt reads: “What’s this?” she chirped. I panicked when I saw her kneeling beside the hole in the ground. I knew exactly what it was and I didn’t want her anywhere near it!

Frank Messina’s winning entry:

What’s this?” she chirped. I panicked when I saw her kneeling beside the hole in the ground. I knew exactly what it was and I didn’t want her anywhere near it!”

I watched her from behind the tree. To this day, I am still not sure how she got passed me. She looked into the hole, but I knew she wouldn’t be able to see what was down there, it was just too deep. Ellie was always the curious one or should I say the nosy one. She always was snooping in my room at home and would always tell Mom and Dad whenever I did something wrong. I had to be careful with her, if she discovered my secret, it would all be over. I was careless once again, but out here I thought I was safe. I should have never left the cover off the hole.

So far she knew nothing, but then I heard it. Faint but clear. “Is someone there?” said a voice from inside the hole. Ellie almost fell back. She peered harder into the hole, holding her lantern as far down as she could. “Hello? Is someone down there? HELLO?” Dammit, I had to do something. A piece of nearby vine was my worst enemy. Ellie grabbed the vine and tied it to the lantern handle. She lowered the lantern into the hole. She would see the girls I had deposited there, or what was left of them. I had no choice, I leapt from my hiding spot and ran toward Ellie. Without slowing I pushed and heard her scream as she fell. I turned and reached the hole and fell to my knees. I peered inside, the lantern illuminating the hole. I saw my sister and my other victims. Three total now. One dead, one alive, one my sister. They looked up at me, and I smiled. “Sorry sis.” I placed the cover over the hole.

Our Writing Prompt contest from January 9th was one of our most popular prompts yet. The image was downright creepy and certainly caught a lot of attention and pulled in quite a few entries. In the end, we chose Lee Ryder as the winner! Read her story below.

View the original (and super creepy cool) photo prompt here. The prompt reads:
I looked up from my breakfast and saw them. With my heart drumming in my chest, I managed to say, “We’ve got company.”

Lee Ryder’s winning entry:

I looked up from my breakfast and saw them. With my heart drumming in my chest, I managed to say, “We’ve got company.” I told my wife to take the children to the secret room as I stood to meet our ‘visitors’ at the door. I knew why they were here.

I heard my wife let out a small yelp as three loud raps were heard at the door, shaking the whole house. I walked slowly to the door giving my wife time to secure the wall in place before opening the door.

Simeon Shackleroot, and Dartangnan Ravenwood were standing there dressed in their official Council’s clothing.

“Good morning,” I said. “What brings you to our neck of the woods?”

“You know why we’re here.” Simeon said snidely. “We’re here for the boy.”

“You mean Thomas?” I asked. “You’ve just missed him, he’s gone to school.”

“You’re lying.” Dartagnan said. “We already waited there. We’ve been watching him every day.”

“So you were going to take my son out from under my nose.” I spat. “So the Council has lowered himself to kidnapping?”

“We wouldn’t have to, if you would just follow the mandates.” Simeon retorted.

“What and sacrifice my only son to be a magical battery for the Chancellor? I think not. You’ll have to kill me first.” I shot back at them.

“This is how it has been done for thousands of years, the first born are sacrificed to t the council to grant them the protection they need from the outside world.” Dartagnan said angrily. “I had to give my daughter this year!”

“There are other means of protection.” I replied coldly. “Just as effective if not moreso. If the Chancellor wants my son he can stick it up his…..” I began. “You get my drift.”

“You could be brought up on charges.” Simeon threatened.

“Let them try, I’ll bring fifty other families with me and they’ll bring fifty more. The Chancellor is doing this to stay in power and rule our kind with fear. The time for change has come.” I threatened.

“You are looking for a war you cannot win.” Dartangan replied acidly. “You will destroy us all over a child.”

“Yes, I would kill a thousand men for my son. Any parent who says they wouldn’t, is lying.” I said stepping back into my house. “My doors are warded to prevent you from coming in without my invitation. So if you don’t mind my breakfast is getting cold.” I slammed the door in their faces and walked back into the kitchen trying to calm my shattered resolve. A war was coming, and I just became the commander in chief of the rebellion.

December 19th’s Writing Prompt was a neat one with a fun Sci-Fi twist, like many of the ones we’ve done. We saw some new faces jumping in and our winner from that week was a first-time participant, Andrea Tino! Great job, Andrea! (You can read her story below).

The original photo prompt is here. The prompt reads: “There it is,” he whispered, “the safest city on earth.” I took a step toward it and said, “Do you wanna knock or should I?”

Andrea Tino’s winning entry:

A mix of emotions flooded over me. Relief, exhaustion, and anxiety to name a few as I looked up at the city in the clouds. We had been traveling for weeks now, my brother and I, to reach the rumored last safe haven. I was exhausted, filthy and damn near starved to death.

After our parents were taken in the last Collection we had been going from one camp of survivors to the next, collecting pieces of rumors about this place. Now we were finally here and I wasn’t sure if we should go in. Something wasn’t right.

“Ethan, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Look, what could be worse than this. I mean look at us Janelle. We’re filthy, starving and so damn tired we can’t see straight. Go back if you want to but I made it this far. I’m going in.”

“No I’m serious. I’m getting a reall bad vibe from this place. If we turn and go back now we can go back to camp and be there before nightfall.”

“I love you Janelle.”

I watched as Ethan turned and walked to a group of guards, hands up, showing that he meant no harm. I crouched down in the thick grass and watched. Little did I know that the next time I saw Ethan, we’d be behind opposite ends of a gun.

This prompt from December 11th was one of the creepier ones we’ve done and the image inspired such neat stories! Our winner was Katy Walker! Read her story below.

View the original photo and prompt here. The prompt reads, “It was the spookiest scene I’d ever stumbled upon. I wondered three things: how long had they been here, who had put them here, and was it too late to turn back?”

Katy Walker’s winning entry:

When I was diagnosed with Cancer, I felt the breath rush out of me. I couldn’t breathe. Of course, it was the cancer in my lungs, but it felt like hearing the ‘C’ word automatically made them function at a lower level. As I grew weaker, the dreams began. I couldn’t remember them at first, but upon awakening each time I felt as if I was destined for something different than my now familiar hospital bed. One day, my family surrounded me, eyes moist. I was dying. I closed my eyes to block out their tears. Another dream began. I was walking down a black pebbled beach towards the sound of a harp. It was the spookiest scene I’d ever stumbled upon. I wondered three things: how long had they been here, who had put them here, and was it too late to turn back? But I couldn’t stop. And I didn’t want to. Two pale figures’ appearance echoed my condition with bald heads and too-thin bodies. But they were the most beautiful people I had ever seen. One conducted the other playing the harp and both smiled at me as I took a seat. I picked up the violin laying at my feet and began to play with a smile. In the back of my mind I heard my family…”She looks so happy. Goodbye.”

One of our very favorite features on Band of Dystopian is the Writing Prompt, and many of our members love it as well! We’re a bit behind on posting winners, so we’re going to get caught up over the next few days.

This prompt was back on December 5th and we actually ruled it as a tie! Here is the original photo and prompt. The intro to the prompt read, “I couldn’t believe my eyes. And worse, no one else reacted at all. They all still saw the beautiful brunette I saw moments ago.”

Caroline Gill’s winning entry:

“Edna!” I couldn’t believe my eyes. And worse, no one else reacted at all. They all still saw the beautiful brunette I saw moments ago. “Edna!” I whispered, raising my second eyebrow.

Flustered, she quickly adjusted the force field. “We don’t have time for sloppiness!” I grumped.”Target spotted. Ahead. By the side door.” Turning her compound eyes around the restaurant, Edna focused. Then she jumped across three tables.

Loudly, I stood up and yelled, “Drinks all around!” in the most jovial manner. Commotion surrounded the bar as everyone demanded refills. Swiping one cocktail off the corner, I slurped at the sugar water with the strange cherry taste. I preferred the honest scent of latrines. Lifting my glass high, I toasted the bar, the bar owner, the patrons and the American way of life. Everyone was jovial. Everyone was laughing.

In the backcorner, Edna and the scientist grappled. Her eyes saw everything. And she had strength on her side. But the scientist was clever, far more so. From his pocket, the crazed man drew pepper spray. Full in the face, he unloaded the poison directly at Edna’s eyes.

She was down. “What a waste,” I muttered. Shouting out “Should old acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind? Should old acquaintance be forgot, and old lang syne?”

Gathering all the tipsy people together, we proudly sang the chorus. I thanked the Gods we were hunting in Chicago. Quietly, I pushed my way to the back. Crept up on the asshole scientist and knocked him hard with my beer bottle on the back of his head. He went down. I stomped repeatedly on his neck. His brains started to stick to my boots. I guess I should have cared. He did create us.

But Edna and I, we had plans.

Author John Gregory Hancock’s winning entry: 

I couldn’t believe my eyes. And worse, no one else reacted at all. They all still saw the beautiful brunette I saw moments ago. But of course they would. It’s the way this thing works. The way it’s always worked. The way it’s always worked against me.

I’m not saying God hates me, though he very well might. I’m saying he is amused by the outrageous things that happen to me. He might even cause them directly.

At the very least, he is amused my suffering. This is my conclusion because my suffering keeps happening. If not him, then who?

So there I am, in the Electroclub that so hip no one can get in, unless they’re like me and work there, or they’re not like me and are somebody important. I work the lights. They’re in the floor and the walls, every square inch, and it requires constant maintenance. Everyone else was watching my light show in pulsing in patterns around the dance floor.

I was the only one looking directly at her when she shifted.

From a person to a thing. Alien, I think. Or maybe demonic. That would be about right. God sending a demon after me.

I waved at her, and she shyly waved back, apparently believing she still appeared human to me, like she did to everyone else.

“Hi,” she said, as if she were innocent.

“Got no time for demons,” I said. I looked up at the ceiling. “You hear me, God? I got no time!”

She started to look worried. She looked at me as if I were crazy. She was right to. God made me this crazy.

Luckily a silver knife will kill a demon. At the base of the neck.

As she died, with the techno music drowning out her words, I heard her say, “I’m your sister.”

December is here and we’re excited to bring back Writing Prompt this coming Friday! Last time we played, our winner was Kathy Pepper! You can view the original image and prompt here. Read on to see Kathy’s winning story. Congratulations Kathy!

The end came with a whimper and a sneeze. As I looked over the dead city I thought of my own luck. In those first days many fell ill. It started with a cough that would not stop, a sore throat, and an inferno-like fever. I was one of the first to become ill. I brought the virus into my home.

I lay in my bed while people around me surrendered and died quietly at home.

The day I woke up, the first thing I noticed was the smell. Fetid and decay, and it came from my bed. I looked at my side. My husband’s cold body lay there. I tried to stand. My legs shook. My head hurt. My heart ached. I stumbled into the bathroom. I tried the taps. Water came out and I tried my best to wash the stench off me.

I dressed quietly, unsure what had happened. I went downstairs. Nothing stirred. I opened the cupboard door. Fresh food had gone stale. I opened a can of peaches and ate the succulent fruit, the juice sweet and reviving.

I found a newspaper. The headlines shouted of the death of the world.

I left my home with a bag on my back. So now I stand alone. Looking at a dead army camp that had been set up in the football ground. I had hoped to find survivors like me. But no.

So I shall keep walking, hoping that I am not the only one left.

BOD group member Genesis Blue won our most recent writing prompt contest and we’ve posted her story below for your enjoyment!

To view the photo and original prompt, visit this post. 

“Yeah, this place looks safe…” With the way he said it, I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not, but it was definitely not safe. I turned around, surveying the walls. The place was built in colonial style, like many of the houses we’d seen here in Guatemala, all the rooms opening into a central courtyard. This building, though, housed the prisoners that had been collected over the past two weeks.

“Let’s find Grant and get out of here.” I moved toward the first door. We’d taken out the guards, but there would be more coming, I was certain.

“Wait up, we don’t know who’s in these cells,” Jake trotted to catch up. “We could be letting some really nasty felons out.”

“An enemy of the government is no enemy of mine,” I said, lifting the heavy latch and throwing the first door open.

Light streamed through the door, highlighting the huddled women against the back wall. A quick glance told me that Grant wasn’t here and I moved on, leaving them to trickle out the open door like frail leaves in a breeze.

The next room held men, none of them familiar. I heard shouts in the distance. The slain guards had been discovered. “Hurry!” I called to Jake and we ran to the next room. More women. It wasn’t until the fifth door that we finally found him.

“Mama!” His voice rang through the large room, packed with children. Grant hurled himself into my arms, burrowing his face in my neck. “I knew you’d find me, Mama.”

“Hey, kiddo,” Jake ruffled our son’s blond hair. “Hon, we have to get moving. There’s an army headed this way.”

I looked at the small, dirty faces staring at me from the dimness. “We can’t leave them.”