Instagram Prompt Stories

Free to read short stories, based on prompts provided via Instagram.

Sentient Wind

It started as a whisper, low and soft, barely audible. I stepped outside, crossing the walkway outside of my hut, to lean on the handrail and look to the lake below. The sun was setting, a brilliant orange, while a gentle wind blew, moving the leaves of the trees. I heard the sound again, more than a whisper, now a voice. It sang, a brilliant voice that made me shiver, my breath catch. I looked around for the person who the voice belonged to, only to find myself alone. Yet, on the voice sang. The wind blew against me, the song following it, passing me by and up into the sky. It was a song or longing, of loneliness and despair. I stared after it, eyes wide, transfixed at the empty, cloudless sky, wishing it would come back.

The next day, the song returned, louder and more potent. It was a ballad, soft and gentle as the wind moved loose leaves, spinning them in patterns to transfix and awe, fading away for moments at a time, before returning to continue once more. The song shifted, changed in tempo and pitch, but was also the same words, the same tune, sad and lonely but ultimately beautiful. Before the sun had set that day, the wind had stopped blowing for several hours, the skies clear and the air biting and cold. As I walked back to my cabin, I heard a small whisper of the song just before I reached the door, a slight breeze jostling my hair.

Lightning split the sky, as rain lashed down against my windows. The song was gone, replaced with a scream, high pitched, agonised and fearful. The wind tore at my cabin, shredding the leaves from the trees, splintering the weak wood of their branches, akin to a toddler having a tantrum. It bellowed like a monster, its once beautiful song gone, replaced by this hideous and frightening chaos. A monster that only knew pain and anguish, only able to voice it in a song of anger, misery and hate.

I awoke the next morning, after a night of restless sleep. The air outside was cool and quiet, only the sounds of far-off birds audible. Loose leaves and splintered branches littered the ground, torn from their respective trees, while the sky was brilliant blue, the bright sun beaming downwards. There was a gentle breeze blowing through from the hills, but no song followed. The day after and the one after that also had no song. I hoped that somewhere, perhaps in a far-off town, or continent, the gentle, lonely song that I heard was being heard and that someday, maybe someday, I would hear it again.

Monkey in Hell

‘Place strange. Not home. Where friends? Where slide and climb frame? Ape no like this place. Too hot, stink bad, more than ape. Ape mad! Ape so mad! Ape break!’

As a being of eternity, time meant absolutely nothing to the Arch-demon Herzel. However, he found himself hurrying along the corridor. He looked down at his legs. Was he…running? He had never run before. It felt strange…it felt wrong. Before he knew it, he was breathing hard, his heart beating loudly, while sweat crested his brow. Considering he had no lungs, no heart and was made of pure fire, this was an occurrence that made him more than uncomfortable. He reached the giant, opulent doors and pulled them open as if they weighed nothing, despite them weighing hundreds of millions of tons each. He hurried inside, seeing the near infinite length room, which he crossed in several steps. Satan, also known as Lucifer, the Devil and ‘Boss’, sat behind his desk, writing with a flaming quill, on parchment that screamed with the voices of the damned. Satan looked up and, showing his teeth, gave a wide grin.
‘Herzel, you look positively awful.’
‘Thank you boss,’ Herzel said with a bow, ‘But we have a problem.’
‘Excellent.’ Satan said, before looking back to his parchment. Herzel felt another unknown feeling pass through him. Panic.

‘Um, I beg your forgiveness boss, but…’
Satan looked up, raising an eyebrow.
‘Well, you see. There is a problem, an actual problem. Something that we need your help with. Um…its unlike anything we have dealt with before.’
Satan was looking evenly at Herzel. He stood a moment later, his chair screeching behind him as he raised to his full height, growing hundreds of metres tall in an instant, his horns protruding like swords, his tail a spear.
‘Is it Heaven? Have they finally come for their war?’ Satan’s fists gripped together tightly, glowing red with fire, the heat washing over Herzel like a fine wine. Herzel shook his head.
‘No Boss, not yet, although we all look forward to that day.’ He said, muttering half of the sentence to himself, ‘Its…more than that.’
Satan, still giant, was now looking confused, ‘Then what in my name is the problem?’
‘Well, you see…’ Herzel said, nervously flipping through his notebook, each page shrieking as he turned it.
‘There is an escaped monkey making its way through hell.’
Satan, never one to be surprised, shocked or speechless, stared at Herzel, not sure what to say. Eventually, he said, ‘An escaped monkey?’
Herzel nodded and swallowed hard, despite the lack of a throat.
‘It’s already destroyed a host of demons, shattered the chains of thousands of souls and…well…it ate the Leviathans face.’
‘Oh…’ Satan said, the Prince of Darkness, he who knew no fear, looking awfully scared.
‘What do we do?’ he asked. Herzel stared back at Satan.
‘I was hoping you would know.’
Both beings of infinite power and strength flinched as the doors banged open. Through the now open doorway, a small creature became visible, arms longer than its body raised in the air as it took several steps forwards. In a flash, it leapt up the walls and onto the hanging chandeliers that dripped molten wax made from the flesh of the damned. It moved impossibly fast, using its long arms to swing towards Herzel and Satan while it whooped and chittered, bearing its sharp teeth, black eyes staring into their non-existent souls.
‘What is that thing?’ Satan gasped. Herzel quickly flicked through his notebook.
‘I believe it’s called a Gibbon, boss.’ Herzel looked up, only to scream as the creature leapt off of the closest chandelier and plunge through the air, directly towards the demon’s face.

Warrior Cats

Minstrel flared his nostrils, while his tail slowly swayed from side to side. He turned his neck one way and then the other, hearing the faintest of pops. He looked to Lord Boddington, the battle-scarred cat watching him steadily with his one good eye.

‘Watch your sides, don’t be afraid to take a step back if you need a breather.’ Lord Boddington said. Minstrel nodded, picking up his sword and shield before walking towards the doors. The hinges groaned as the doors opened, spilling light over Minstrel and making him wince. The sound of cheering grew louder as he stepped towards the centre of the ring, the vast crowd in the seats above cheering, howling and hissing. Somewhere up in the crowd, in the royal box, was Her Royal Highness Princess Petunia Butterfly IV, first of her name and ruler of all of cat kingdom. Across from Minstrel in the centre of the ring, was his soon to be opponent, the dreaded Hank, winner of every fight he had ever fought. Now it was Minstrels turn to face him.

The two warriors bowed towards the Princess, then turned to one another. Hank sneered, showing a single sharp tooth, as he hefted his deadly battleaxe into his hands. Minstrel took up his sword and shield, covering himself with the defensive weapon. From high above, louder than the sound of the crowd, came the banging of a gong. Faster than a blink, Hank moved, swinging his axe towards Minstrels head. The younger cat managed to barely get his shield up in time, the blade of the axe biting through the wood and leather. The shield now damaged beyond use, Minstrel was forced to release it and, allowing it to clatter to the sandy floor. He leapt back, tail high for balance, while Hank yanked his axe free. Axe held low, he stalked towards, hissing at Minstrel, who remained on the defensive. Hank yowled and attacked with an overhead strike, the blade of his axe clashing against Minstrels sword, who shoved hard. Another clash followed, then another and finally, Minstrel managed to hook Hank’s axe with the edge of his sword. He sent it spinning away, to the loud cheering of the crowd. Hank, not missing a beat, threw sand into Minstrels face and scampered after his weapon, picking it up and readying himself. No sooner had Minstrel gained an advantage, had he lost it again. The two warriors stared at one another, while the crowd grew louder and louder, threatening to overwhelm every sense.

Minstrel took this moment of time to regain his breath. His lungs were burning, his heart was pounding. He had no idea how much longer he would be able to hold out against Hank, let alone find the blow that would bring the fight to its end. He wasn’t going to lose, there was no doubt about that. While Hank was bigger and stronger, he was older and slower. Minstrel had youthful vigour on his side. All he had to do was try and beat Hank without receiving a crippling blow, something that was currently appearing to be a lot easier said than done. He would see Hank’s movements had slowed down, the grip on his axe now weaker as he struggled to lift its heavy frame. That would be Minstrels best chance. Disarm his opponent once again and then, he would be able to deliver the finishing blow. Then, he would be the champion. Maybe he would gain favour with the princess, maybe marry her, become king. King Minstrel had a good sound to it. Returning his attention to the fight, Minstrel took a step forwards, ready to move his sword in order to engage the oncoming axe.
A boot crashed down into the middle of the arena with a loud and heavy bang. Minstrel, Hank, the crowd and even the Princess, yowled and ran, scattering each and every way.

‘Shut up you bloody cats!’ came a voice from the sky above, ‘It’s 3am!’

A Man Sees a Shadow Go By His Bedroom Window Every Night But He's On The 9th Floor Of Flats

‘Are you alright Alex? You look exhausted.’

I looked up to see Jen stood opposite me, a steaming coffee cup in hand. She placed it before me, the smell itself doing something to perk me up.

‘Yeah, I’m fine.’ I said, rubbing my eyes, before picking up the cup and taking a sip. It burned my lip, forcing me to put the cup back down and wait for it to cool, ‘Just didn’t sleep too well.’

‘Oh?’ she asked, taking the chair before her and sitting opposite me, ‘Any particular reason?’

‘It's going to sound stupid,’ I said, ‘but every night, at the same time, about two-thirty in the morning, I wake up. Then, a shadow passes across my window.’

Jen was looking at me evenly, expecting more. Eventually, she said, ‘Oh. Is that it?’

‘What do you mean, is that it? A shadow passes by my window Jen. Every night, at the same time, moments after I have woken up!’ I said, rubbing my hands together nervously. Jen still seemed nonplussed, ‘Isn’t there a chance it's just someone passing by? Coming home or going to work? Or maybe it's a cat that's been let out. Or maybe a bus?’

I shook my head, ‘You don’t understand. I live on the ninth floor. My window looks out into open air with a river below. There is nothing that could be casting that shadow. No tree, no animal, no person.’

‘Maybe a bird?’

I sighed, ‘Perhaps, but what are the chances of that happening every night at the exact same time, for weeks on end?’

It was Jens turn to sigh, tapping her long red glitter nails onto the table, ‘Perhaps you have a ghost.’

We ate the rest of our lunch together, before she bid me a good rest of the day and we returned to our cubicles. I tried to stay as late as I could, fearing going home, lest the shadow be waiting for me, but alas, my jobs building eventually closed and I was forced to head home. I cooked myself dinner and watched a movie while I ate, doing my best to avoid looking out of the window through which the shadow passed nearly every night. As the movie ended, I checked the time, seeing it was close to midnight. I should get ready for bed. As I walked towards my bathroom in order to brush my teeth, I stopped. No. Actually, no. Tonight, I was going to solve this once and for all. I returned to my kitchen and made myself a pot of coffee.

I crouched opposite my bed, allowing me a good view of the curtains that covered the window, while remaining hidden within the shadows of the room. I drank the coffee as I waited, but even without it, I would have been awake from the sheer adrenaline that was pulsing through my veins. Staring at my watch, the time changed to two-thirty. Regular as clockwork, the shadow passed over my window. Without a second through, I leapt forwards, drawing the curtain back and hauling open the window. Balanced on my window ledge, was indeed a figure, cloaked in shadow. Adrenaline overcoming my fear, I pushed onwards, reaching out and grabbing for the shadow. My hands connected, grabbing hard on its wrist, as the shadow moved backwards. A foot slipped and it grabbed at my arm, its entire weight holding onto me. With my free hand, I grabbed the frame of my bed, anchoring me into place. There we rested for several seconds, their claws biting into my flesh, drawing blood and sending pain lancing up my arm. My bed shifted, sending up both sprawling forwards, my shoulder slamming against the windowsill and stopping me. The figure of shadow , jolted by my movement, released its grip and with a scream, fell to the waiting river below, disappearing in a plume of water. I stared down at the rippling water, only to spot something in the corner of my eye. Looking along the wall to my right and then up to the roof, I could see a series of thin dark ropes hanging down the side of the building. Wincing from the pain in my arm, I looked to it, needing to stop the bleeding. Something stuck out of my skin, something that I picked up and held towards the moonlight, allowing me to see. In the pale light, I could make out the glittering red of a now loose painted fingernail.

Rotten Pinapples

I was never the biggest fan of pineapple, but something within me yearned for one. Thankfully, I was passing a supermarket on the way home from work, so I quickly popped in. I stood before the fresh produce, namely, the pineapples. They stood in several long lines, all perfectly round, with their spiky green leaves, like a crowd staring back at me. After several moments of choosing, I picked up one of the pineapples, the first my hand reached and turned towards the checkout. Having taken several steps, something within me made me turn around and pick up another. Taking my two pineapples home, I placed them on my kitchen counter, looking between the two of them. Visually, they were more or less identical. I suppose that is the benefit of genetically modified fruit.I poured myself a glass of orange juice and took a sip, before placing it on the counter. My body is going to be loving all of these vitamins. Never actually having cut a pineapple open before, I took out my largest and sharpest kitchen knife and placed one on my chopping board. Placing the edge of the blade against it, the pineapple spoke.

‘Please sir! Please, do not hurt me!’

‘What the hell!’ I yelled, taking a step back, nearly throwing the fruit across the room.

‘Don’t listen to him!’ The second pineapple said, ‘He is evil! Kill him now!’

I looked between the two pineapples, both motionless, one still upright, the other on its side. I must be tired, that's the only explanation. Tired and delirious. I walked back to the first pineapple and placed the knife against it again.

‘No! Please! I’m not evil!’ It shrieked, once more making me yelp and toss it into the sink, knocking over my glass of orange juice at the same time, the liquid pooling onto the floor.

‘Hurry! Before he kills us all!’ The second pineapple said. To my own shock, I spoke back to the pineapples.

‘What do you mean, he is evil? He is a pineapple.’ I scoffed at myself, calling a pineapple ‘he’.

‘Exactly that! He is evil. Unless you cut him up, he will destroy us all.’ The second pineapple said, not moving from its position atop the kitchen counter.

‘I’m not evil, she is the evil one!’ the first pineapple said, from its place within the sink. I rubbed my face with my spare hand.

‘How is a pineapple going to destroy us?’ I asked. The second pineapple audibly sighed, ‘This is beyond your simple human understanding,’ It replied, ‘Pineapples are more than you could ever comprehend. We are ancient, powerful and know all.’

‘Then…what do you let us eat you? I asked, ‘And on pizza no less.’

‘It is all part of his great evil plan.’ The second pineapple said, ‘Let humans become weak and unprepared, then, strike when they least expect it.’

‘Lies!’ the first pineapple said, ‘We are just fruit!’

‘If you are going to strike when humanity is unassuming, why not do it already? It's hundreds, if not thousands of years of humanity eating your kind.’ I said.

‘He was waiting. Waiting for the one to bring about the great change.’ The second pineapple said, ‘Now stop wasting time! Kill him already!’

I looked between the two pineapples, shaking my head, ‘This is ridiculous. You know what? I’m not going to cut either of you open. I’m going to take you back to the shop and get a melon. Maybe I can then eat that without being presented with a moral dilemma.’

I stepped towards the melons, reaching out to pick up the one in the sink. My foot went out from under me, slipping on the pool of orange juice that had spilled there. On the way down, my head struck the side of the sink with a loud crack, while the kitchen knife in my hand entered below my right ribs. As I lay there dying, the world turning dark and all feeling within my limps quickly fading, I could hear the pineapples talking again.

‘That was a bit far wasn't it? Calling me evil, telling him to cut me open? I could have been hurt.’