Daily Prompt logo

Home

Drafts

Favourites

Plot Builder

Competitions

Prompts

Stories

Community

Daily Prompt logo

Home

Favourites

Plot Builder

Competitions

Prompts

Stories

B. A. Cottonmouth

B. A. Cottonmouth

I’m just a regular person tryin’ to get by. I don’t know anything about writing, all I do is imitate what I see. 😐.

28
Writings
2
Followers
1
Following
B. A. Cottonmouth

B. A. Cottonmouth

I’m just a regular person tryin’ to get by. I don’t know anything about writing, all I do is imitate what I see. 😐.

28
Writings
2
Followers
1
Following
Blue Ridge Mountains

B. A. Cottonmouth

1 min read

Gold-stained skies peak over the ridge, with lines of scarlet to break the pattern;


The Ridge itself is blue and deep— it stands firm, protecting all within, from all without,


The air is sweet; there is a mist that shrowds the day— the dew is newly formed, cradling leaves and plants alike....

Poetry

2
The Hunt

B. A. Cottonmouth

1 min read

It is a small compartment with blue walls, and an arched ceiling. The room is cold. A fan blows in the corner, droning on in the distance.

I lye on my bed. All is usual. But then, from the corner of my eye, I see a black speck on the wall. It moves.

There is a headboard on my bed, and in it there is a knife. I take the knife and dart after the spot. Drawing nigh, my suspicions are confirm...

1
1
Down by the Hunting Post

B. A. Cottonmouth

1 min read

It has been six years, to the day, since—

I place the thought away. It isn’t important, what today is.

I left my house, and sauntered into the woods encompassing it. I trekked aimlessly, pulling my golden hair into a pony-tail. It was late-winter, as of now, and the trees were gray and thin, with skeletal branches and fingers that reached— what they reached for I couldn’t know. The sky w...

“Survival,” Sure

B. A. Cottonmouth

1 min read

In this desolation we accrue,


From having left the heart we knew,


We left behind our sense of right,


And stumbled aimless to the fight;


Upon the field we were to fall,


And if we hadn’t lost it all,

We never would’ve lived...

Poetry

1
Ain’t no Sunlight

B. A. Cottonmouth

1 min read

There ain’t no music, since she’s left, there ain’t no spring; there ain’t no cheer;

There ain’t no glee, there ain’t no joy,

only her vacant dress of corduroy,

lying on the bed....

Poetry

Regret is a Dish Best Served Cold? I Guess? 🫡

B. A. Cottonmouth

2 min read

It did not take long to overpower her. She fell, it seemed, as quickly as feasible, and when she did the room was silent. The room was large, the walls were orange and the floors were wood. From the ceiling hung lanterns that were connected to one-another by rope, and the rope was intertwined with the support beams. Ends of rope occasionally hung loose from the rafters, frayed and torn. The air w...

Action

Mystery

Passionflower Eyes

B. A. Cottonmouth

1 min read

His hair hangs in golden spirals, his skin is yellow-tinged and pale. He wears a flannel shirt beneath a pair of overalls. His clothes flow loosely from his shoulders. His feet are clad with iron-toed boots and he wears a pair of sturdy work gloves. His jaw is angular, covered by a beard that’s not too long, but somewhat unkempt. He stands tall and his figure is dense. Around his shoulder he holds...

City of Dust

B. A. Cottonmouth

1 min read

People with colored hair play their instruments on the sidewalk. Neon lights pulse and radiate from the buildings around us, stacked like pillars, forming a wall where whatever is beyond cannot be seen. There is a sound of music; a bass, a guitar, drums, that are muffled by the chatter which surrounds the musicians; the musicians themselves are not great.

A cloud of smoke rises above the ...

1
Tiny

B. A. Cottonmouth

1 min read

Theresa’s church was a quiet church. Centered in a rural part of Appalachia, it was a traditional Catholic Church, and it stood high off on the mountain, away from the rest of that dilapidated, impoverished town. Theresa was acquainted with everyone, and she was friendly, too. But there was one person who’s company she enjoyed the most: an older, large man named Tiny.


On a cold winter day...

Schizoid 2x

B. A. Cottonmouth

1 min read

I am nothing, none, and no one;

What was left has come undone;


I feel no love, I feel no pain;

With a conscious cauterized,

there’s nothing to disdain.


Look inside, there’s nothing there;

There’s nothing left to love nor be appreciated; to hate nor be hated; every passion was castrated.


Though a process arduous,

I have become anonymous;

I am no one, and nothing....

Poetry

4
1