Very Cliché

Prompts: 3rd April 2011

Sun, 03 Apr 2011 20:48:58 GMT

Yes, it really has been a month and here are your prompts!

Prompt 1: Age

Prompt 2: "The woods are just trees."

Prompt 3: Paranormal

Prose (Dribble): Artificial Stars in the Homemade Night

Mon, 21 Mar 2011 22:57:02 GMT

Author: holymoley713
Title: Artificial Stars in the Homemade Night
Prompt: Star
Warnings/Rating: None [G]

Who needs the heavens when I have all these artificial stars beneath my feet? Such honest mortal hopes lie exposed while celestial dreams veil themselves. These nights spent lost in a mirrored sky. It may be a foolish heart which burns in the dark, but it shines all the same.

Prompts: 6th March 2011

Sun, 06 Mar 2011 20:46:40 GMT

SO I need to sort out a masterlist of submissions for the last few weeks worth of responses. Anyway, have some prompts.

Prompt 1: Star

Prompt 2: "Your greatest resource is your time."

Prompt 3: Historical. (Yes, really.)

Story: 'Secrets'

Sun, 06 Mar 2011 20:44:32 GMT

Author: Sauron
Title: Secrets
Warnings/Rating: None [G]
Prompt: Mystery

Sometimes I suspect that everyone in the world knows a secret, and I don't. That there is some sort of newsletter that goes around, and I don't have a subscription. That everyone else has passed through some rite of passage that has completely, totally escaped me. Even in the lesser moments of my cynicism, I know that I have not fully caught on to the way of the world. But sometimes, I wonder whether I am not actually a rakshasi in disguise.

'Rajeev ispice, Rajeev ispice' comes a shrill scream from behind me, followed by a series of loud thumps, as one of the children enthusiastically hits the wall. I wish they would not do that. The paint chips, and falls on the floor, and it is inevitably my duty to clean them. I am supposed to be watching them, but I am not in the mood. Contemplating the nature of secrets has given me a world weariness that does not often come upon me, but if by the ages of six and seven they cannot play in the safety of their own verandah, there is no point in coddling them any further. They will grow up to be the same spoilt brats that their elder brothers and sisters have become, and they will leave for their foreign countries, and I will be lucky if that the last I ever see of them.

There are four of them, behind me. Rajeev and Rajni are cousins. Their fathers are identical twins, and if you did not know better, it would be just as hard to tell their children apart. Born a week from each other, they harass each other as much as any actual siblings do. Naren is Rajeev's younger brother, a bit slow, certainly, but very sharp once he does catch on, and his rather serious eyes make him seem much older than either of the other two. The last is Lakshmi. That is all we ever call her. Her actual name is something far grander, her Madrasi mother's influence, we snigger behind her back. Poor girl, we say, trying rather unsuccessfully to hold back our mean-spirited laughter. Why her mother felt the need to call her something that no one else will, we do not understand. We only know that it makes her the runt of the litter.

Just as I was the runt of my litter. I will not see my siblings in a very long time, probably not until either Ammi or Abba dies. I do not plan on seeing their faces, jealous with the knowledge that I am in Bombay, while they rot in Lucknow. They do not need to know the jeering that I face, of being called a village girl, even though Lucknow is a fairly big town. They called me the runt, and I am now grander than any head dog that I know back home.

And yet, in my blackest moments, I suspect that it is because of this that I do not know it, that which everyone else knows, but refuses to tell me. Lakshmi will be told, her money, and her beauty, apparent even at this age, will ensure it. But no one will tell me, for I have nothing to give them in return.

*

Sometimes I suspect that everyone else I know has been keeping a secret from me. My twin, whom I have known since before I was born, my wife, who has kept more than one from me in the past, my elder daughter, who lives in New York and does God-knows-what, my younger daughter, who should really be too young to know any secrets, even the servants outside, who watch us all as we live our lives.

It is not as if I have not kept anything from them. I funded Shruti's entire undergraduation with bribes from Arcelor-Mittal. Sirisha's gold habit is only fed because of the offerings from the Reliance people. The land on which my not insignificant house stands was a gift from a man who was very happy that he got the tender for more than one of the many flyovers that dot the city. But to say this to anyone would be to condemn myself. I wonder at their stupidity. Surely they realise that a government post, however high, will never support a family, certainly not one with a penchant for holidays in exotic locations, and yet I know that one wrong word will kill any respect that my children have for me, and will destroy any left in my wife.

It is the same stupidity that makes Shruti ask me for more money every month than can possibly be spent on 'the expensive food here in America'. At least when I asked for money, I had the grace to pretend that it was my friends who kept borrowing it off me, not the environment in which I was placed. She has even picked up an accent, one that is rather fake, of the kind that some boys in college would affect even before they left India, in anticipation of their life there. Undoubtedly it did them a world of good. Whereas I was content to stay in Bombay, the city that raised me, that continues to take care of me.

I never wonder, what would have happened, if I had left my home. It was my home. It is my home. I shall never leave.

*

I know that people have been keeping secrets from me. Papa takes out the little ball chocolates from nowhere, and gives one to me only when he is happy with me. I think even Rajeev know where they are kept, I've seen him eat them even when Papa was nowhere to be found. He leaves the golden paper on the floor when he's finished.

When I grow up, I shall have my own factory, one that makes nothing but ball chocolates. And there shall be no more secrets.

*

I know all the secrets. The ones that are important, the ones that aren't important. Even how to tell the difference. In the end, they all come to me, and they bring their secrets with them. Some of them are scared, others are tired, there are even some fools who think they are being wise when they welcome me. I was created so that you would want to live longer, not so that you could wish for me. Even the ones who bring me on themselves are never happy to see me, in the end.

On the other hand, I hate mysteries. Being the starring character in most of them, I've been misrepresented to much of the public as violent, and sometimes even insane. I'd like to think I'm a peaceful sort, and quiet as well. I'm only doing my job.

And even that they're taking away from me. A thousand years ago, forty years would have been a good life. Now fifty, sixty, seventy years are normal. A thousand years from now, who knows? Maybe you'll become immortal. And where does that leave me? My bull needs to be walked every now and then, you know. This is why I hate mysteries. The future is a mystery, and even a god can't see the future.

*
You can only know a secret by that which it is not. Once you know a secret itself, it stops being a secret, doesn't it? And then it loses all its charm. A good mystery lasts forever, but once it gives up its secret, it ceases to be interesting anymore.

Poem: 'The Little Half-Girl'

Sat, 05 Mar 2011 23:19:02 GMT

Artist/Author: holymoley713
Title: The Little Half-Girl
Prompt: Romance
Warnings/Rating: Nothing more gruesome than your average fairytale, in fact rather mild by those standards.

The trail of glitter which she had spewed
laced with sea green sequins and hearts of blue
all led back to that place under the sky
where sweet heart realised fairytales lie.
It was no potion which tore her apart
like swords and daggers straight through her heart,
but the love of her dear charming prince
for which her new feet bled and she did wince
dancing upon those freshly sharpened blades
she endured unlike her fellow mermaids
who still played innocently in the sea.
From water to earth and through fire to be
broken open by those who lived above
her dreams, who left her weeping without love,
shattered shining foam, barely even there.
Perhaps at last she's a daughter of air.

Prompts: 13th January 2011

Mon, 14 Feb 2011 14:12:01 GMT

So these were meant to be posted yesterday but sick mod is sick. Anyway, your shiny prompts for this week are:

Prompt 1: Courage

Prompt 2: "Adventure is worthwhile."

Prompt 3: (Because I couldn't resist...) Romance

Last fortnight's prompts are still very much active because they were so unloved.

Prompt 4: Tuxedo

Prompt 5: "To be great is to be misunderstood."

Prompt 6: Mystery

Go wild. (:

Prompts: 30th January 2011

Sun, 30 Jan 2011 22:57:52 GMT

Hello Very_Cliché-ers. Hope you're all doing fine.

Your new prompts for this week are:

Prompt 1: Tuxedo

Prompt 2: "To be great is to be misunderstood."

Prompt 3: Mystery

Are you interested in joining? Don't know where to look? Try here.

Drawing: '"Laughter is the best medicine."'

Sun, 30 Jan 2011 21:58:57 GMT

Artist: tintachan
Title: Laughter is the best medicine.
Warnings/Ratings: None [G]
Prompt: "Laughter is the language of the soul."
A/N: There may or may not be an accompanying drabble to go with this. Either way, I'm sorry for the horrible randomness - my brain likes to be funny.

Song Lyrics/Poem: 'Drabble'

Sun, 30 Jan 2011 21:52:13 GMT

Author: A. N. O’Nymous
Prompt: Drabble
Warnings/Rating: Nothing - just a bit of fun, really [G]

Well,
Look at it there sure isn't it a marvel-
Open your gob and stare with the rabble;
For a couple o' bob my fine own self will
Sell to you this grand piece o' drabble.

Prompts: 16th January 2011

Sun, 16 Jan 2011 22:19:07 GMT

So, due to lack of submissions for the last two weeks, we have six prompts this week. (Just to give last week's prompts a fighting chance.)

Your new prompts for this week are:

Prompt 1: Fool

Prompt 2: "Laughter is the language of the soul."

Prompt 3: Drabble

And last week's prompts:

Prompt 4. 'Festival.'

Prompt 5. "Life is either a great adventure or nothing."

Prompt 6. Horror.

Are you interested in joining? Don't know where to look? Try here.

Welcome to Very Cliché

Mon, 03 Jan 2011 01:09:41 GMT

Hello everyone!
Welcome to Very Cliché, an online community to express creativity. On Sunday night (usually around 9PM GMT) three prompts are posted: a one word prompt, a quote and a theme-based prompt. You will have 2 weeks to respond to these prompts in any way you'd like. Responses don't have to be of an amazing quality or standard: the purpose of the community is to get people in touch with their muse. Responses don't even have to be finished by the two weeks. You can post fragments of stories, 5-minute-doodles or rough drafts of poems.

So how do you join the community and get posting?
If you haven't already got one, create a livejournal account. They're free! (No, really, they are!) Click the 'join the community' button at the top of the page. I will accept you into posting access ASAP.

If you don't want to post your own work or you wish to submit anonymously then send an e-mail with your submission to <b>annioshi@gmail.com</b>. Please include all work and information about the work in the body of the e-mail. If you're e-mailing a graphic then please include a link to the graphic in question.

In the subject box: {Please tell us the form of media. For example, if you'd written a poem, please jot that down in the subject box.}

Artist/Author: {Your name/LJ Username/Psuedonym/Etc.}
Title: {The title of the work (if possible.)}
Prompt: {The prompt which your work was submitted for.}
Warnings/Rating: {Anything people should be wary for when reading your work - adult concepts, etc. Ratings range from G (General) or U (Universal) to NC-17 (Not suitable for minors.)}

At this point, you should make an LJ-Cut to house your work. To do this use <lj-cut text="TITLE OF WORK"> Paste your work into this space </lj-cut>

All responses to prompts follow that format. (:

In the tags box under the post, add the tag that most fits your work.

Basic community tags are: poetry, prose, story, recordings, photography, drawing, painting, video.

If your submission doesn't fit any of the above tags, feel free to leave the space blank.

And, because I don't think it's been covered anywhere else:

Upload your picture to a photo-hosting website such as Flickr or Photobucket. From there, copy your image's URL. Under your LJ-Cut click the 'Insert Image' button.

If you have any problems or questions then feel free to e-mail me at annioshi@gmail.com. I hope you all have a wonderful new year and get submitting!

Very Cliché Mods.

Prompts: Sunday, January 2nd.

Sun, 02 Jan 2011 23:47:24 GMT

Dear creatively inclined visitors. After a month's silence, I am pleased to welcome you back to Very_Cliche for its first birthday!

I warmly welcome you with three prompts. Please feel free to go absolutely wild.

Prompt 1. 'Festival.'

Prompt 2. "Life is either a great adventure or nothing."

Prompt 3. Horror.

Responses:

Sun, 02 Jan 2011 23:11:03 GMT

Key:
Poetry:
Untitled - xtbk

Poem: 'Key'

Wed, 10 Nov 2010 03:10:53 GMT

Author:xtbk
Prompt: Key
Warnings/Rating: [U]

Maybe that we will never be
the same again.
I had a simple golden key
then we began.

Joe MacMahon
@nti-copyright

OMG PROMPTS

Sun, 07 Nov 2010 22:15:01 GMT

I was SURE I'd added these before I went to Belgium but apparently not. FAIL.

1) Key

and/or

2) 'Years teach us more than books.'

Prompts!!1!

Sun, 10 Oct 2010 21:26:46 GMT

Either:

1) Solitude

and/or

2) "The good teacher explains...The great teacher inspires."

and/or

3) Electric

and/or

4) "...like a sailor loves the open sea."

Responses

Sun, 10 Oct 2010 20:50:49 GMT

Form:
Poetry:
Untitled - Sauron [PG]

Poem: 'Form'

Sun, 10 Oct 2010 20:44:35 GMT

Author: Sauron
Prompt: Form
Warnings/Rating: [PG]

She took my life

And then my skin,

and wore it like a new Sunday frock

She ate my wife

and killed my kin

Put my children on the chopping block

She hid my soul

'Neath a merry spring

In the heart of a long dead star

In a begging bowl

Was my wedding ring

My skull, in an amber jar

My heart she sealed

In a diamond egg

In a temple to a long-dead god

A grassy field

Held my right leg

My left served as a lightning rod

I faced her down

Under the midnight sun

And won back my immortal form

I wore my crown

No task undone

Killed the demon of the Storm

Prompts! (for yesterday.)

Mon, 27 Sep 2010 21:31:48 GMT

1) Form

and/or

2) "Vision without action is a daydream."

and/or

3) Dance

and/or

4) "What we see depends mainly on what we look for."

Gogogogo. (:

OH MY GOODNESS. I AM SORRY FOR MY DISORGANISATION AND AFLKDSJFSD.

Mon, 27 Sep 2010 21:24:51 GMT

It won't happen again. No, really. I mean it this time.

ANYWAY, masterlist:

Ring:
Claddagh - amator_alatus [G]

Drawing: 'Claddagh'

Mon, 27 Sep 2010 21:19:29 GMT

Artist: amator_alatus
Title: Claddagh
Prompt: Ring
Warnings/Rating: G

Prompts (SET YESTERDAY. I DIDN'T FORGET, REALLY. >>)

Mon, 30 Aug 2010 00:09:37 GMT

PROMPTS!

1) Idea

and/or

2) "Fate is character."

and/or

3) Ring

Responses to prompts set [8th August 2010]

Mon, 30 Aug 2010 00:01:20 GMT

Mask:
Poetry:
Love is Like A Henchman Called Igor (A Midnight Ramble) - amator_alatus [PG]

"The farther I leave the past behind..."
Poetry/Art:
Untitled - holymoley713 [G]

Art + Poetry: "The farther behind I leave the past..."

Sun, 29 Aug 2010 23:57:51 GMT

Prompt: "The farther behind I leave the past..."
Artist: holymoley713
Rating/Warnings: None [G]

A dream of the past
locked away eternally
in the words you wrote.

Ask the artist 'afore using, kay? (:

Poem: "Love is Like a Henchman Called Igor (A Midnight Ramble)"

Sun, 29 Aug 2010 23:46:05 GMT

Title: Love is Like a Henchman Called Igor (A Midnight Ramble)
Author: amator_alatus
Rating/Warning: Ermm [PG]
Prompt: Mask

We tried on masks together
In the back of the theater
You were a vampire
I was your bride

And we lived together
On the top of the mountain
Caught the lightning in jars
And made our own creature

We raised it together
Poured ourselves into it
Give it our names
Watched it grow old

And we left together
You still had the fangs
I clutched the veil
And he followed us home.