- Prompt: Write the opening line to a story based on the photo prompt above. (One sentence only.) You can be poignant, funny, witty, etc.; it is, after all, your story.
Email your submission to firstname.lastname@example.org with the subject line “Your Story #108.”
No attachments, please. Include your name and mailing address. Entries without a name or mailing address with be disqualified.
Unfortunately, we cannot respond to every entry we receive, due to volume. No confirmation emails will be sent out to confirm receipt of submission. But be assured all submissions received before entry deadline are considered carefully. Official Rules
Entry Deadline: CLOSED
Out of 400 entries, WD editors and readers chose the following 10 winners, which were published in the May/June 2021 issue of Writer’s Digest.
A penny in a wishing well wasn't enough this time, she thought, as she closed her eyes and tossed her lucky marble over the cliff.
The marble projected the foreign setting sky into the underworld so they would know it was time to sleep.
To a man, the world is vast; to an angel, a mere trinket.
The Earth, knowing its time was ending, put all of its beauty, wonder, and splendor within the sphere in hopes that someday it will encounter a species that will truly appreciate it.
—John C. Lacasse
No one has seen Nevermender since he vanished into the stormglass, but we haven't forgotten him, and on cloudy days, we peer into that strange sphere and wonder if today is the day he'll return.
The smallest planet in the galaxy fell to Earth, and no one noticed.
Bernie thought the crystal lensball from the late night infomercials was the perfect addition to his photography gear, until he gazed into the orb’s depths and saw the end of planet Earth.
Exiled for treason, Jamarti's heart quivered in rage for revenge, and some fear, as she cautiously peered out the translucent pod; for sure, it was a godforsaken planet.
I never realized that death would be this way: a long walk over rough ground, with occasional glimpses of a better world.
She’d begun to think of her life as a snow globe, a finite collection of people and things, perpetually shaken, never given a chance to rest.