Flash Fiction Prompt #4


Prompt: Restraint

It’s my own fault, I guess. I have a habit of bottling up my feelings, so one small thing can set me off–just from built up anger.

It may not be true, but I think I better stay silent. I better remain calm and not show any emotions.

Because let me tell you, I’m pissed the fuck off.

The stranger on the bus is yelling at the driver, causing him distress. If the stranger makes the driver lose concentration, then heaven forbid, the driver accidentally runs through a red light or runs off the road.

What is the asshole, sitting in front of me, thinking?

That’s the problem–I don’t think any thought process is going through his brain. The stringy gray hair asshole is probably drunk. Bipolar. Or just an entitled asshole.

Around ten minutes ago, I had turned up my iPod to tune everything out, but the guy’s screaming surpasses my Wale verse.

I look out of the window. Why won’t the driver take an exit and pull over? He needs to kick this guy off the bus. Why continue arguing with him? I just don’t get it.

A mile later–only fifteen minutes away from my Walmart stop–the bus stops in the middle of the busy intersection!

The driver stands and turns toward us. Pointing his finger at the asshole in front of me, he says, “Get off the bus! I’m tired of hearing your disrespect.”

“Are you crazy? I’m not getting off. Drive the damn bus!” He rises from his seat and rushes to the front of the bus.

Still no one intervenes. Not even me. I close my eyes and sigh. This can’t be happening right now…

I open my eyes and gasp. A mac truck is heading right our way! It slams into the bus, forcing us forward. I land on top of a young woman and her small boy. We’re squished between the seat and the bumper of the truck.

I say a little prayer before I take my final breath.


If anyone would like to join me and local author MT Decker in the 42 A Day Flash Fiction Challenge, then please let me know.

Keep smiling,

Yawatta Hosby

Flash Fiction Prompt #3


Prompt: Shiny

“What are you talking about?” Kendra asked, setting the dish cloth on the sink.

If her roommate Danielle asked her one more time to wipe the stove when it was already shiny, Kendra would scream.

Absolutely scream!

In a calm voice, Danielle pointed at the left end burner and said, “See right there. There’s a spot.”

Kendra screamed.

Danielle covered her ears.

She didn’t even try to stop Kendra. She didn’t even show any emotions. She simply continued to cover her ears.

After a short while, Kendra stopped screaming, satisfied that she got on Danielle’s nerves.

Danielle put her hands in her pockets, twirling her right foot. “So…that spot. Please clean it.”

Kendra hated everything about obsessive compulsive disorder, including her roommate.


If anyone would like to join me and local author MT Decker in the 42 A Day Flash Fiction Challenge, please let me know.

Keep smiling,

Yawatta Hosby

Creative Writing Prompt #7

FRI. 8/17/12

Base a story off a song lyric or

an entire song…

Kayla looked out the window and waved to her husband. He smiled, driving off. She sighed. He’d be gone for a business trip, a total of seven days alone. She didn’t trust herself. Her husband deserved better.

Grayson, who was the love of her life, moved back into town a few months ago. She thought he was the one until  he disappeared one night. Turned out, he enlisted in the Marines without telling her, his family, or friends. No word, no letters. Two years later, he came back, more quiet, more broody.

She had tried to say hello, but he pretended like he hadn’t seen her. Out of embarrassment and heartache, Kayla decided to leave Grayson alone until he was ready to talk. She needed closure even if he didn’t.

She scanned the driveway, looking for her newspaper. She walked outside to retrieve it, but a light blue envelope caught her eye. It was tucked under the middle flower pot.

Kayla bent down and picked it up. Unmarked. She sat on the rocking chair, letting the curiosity get the best of her.

Was it for her? For her husband? Who was it from? She took a deep breath. What if it was from Grayson? He was always better at expressing his feelings with the written word instead of speaking out loud.

Dear Kayla,

I’m sorry for hurting you. It’s the last thing I ever wanted to do. I was messed up after my mom died, and I couldn’t get out of self-destructive mode. You deserved better than that.

I’ve worked through my issues in therapy, but I fear I’m too late. I would love to talk to you in person, but I understand why that can’t be. You’re happily married, and I can’t be the jerk who messes up your life twice. No matter how much I’m still in love with you. No matter how much I miss you.

Just know, even though I don’t speak to you, even though I’ve been avoiding you, I think about you every second of the day. I wish I could rewind the night I left, but unfortunately I can’t.

I love you Kayla. I love you enough to let you go, as long as I know you’re happy.



Kayla’s tears smudged the blue ink into little puddles.

If only…



****My song was based off the song Ne-Yo feat. Mary J. Blige Do You. If anyone would like to try this creative writing prompt and share it, email me at Author.Yawatta.Hosby(AT)aol(DOT)com.

Keep smiling,

Yawatta Hosby

Creative Writing Prompt #6

TUES. 6/26/12

A celebrity wants to enjoy his or her

time with family, but a fan is bothering

him or her because won’t stop nagging…

Sequoia strolled down Paparazzi Central to meet up with her sister Seneca. Seneca was finished her photo shoot and wanted to hang out before she left for LAX airport.

Sequoia texted: Almost there. Let’s eat at Luigi’s around the corner.

Diego crossed the street, camera in his hands. “If it isn’t the lovely Sequoia Pondelik.”

“If it isn’t the handsome Diego. When are we going on our date again?” She smiled, winking.

Even though the device covered half of his face, his cheeks showed a deep shade of red. “I get off at 6.”

Sequoia laughed. “A paparazzi’s work is never done.”

She slowed her pace so Diego could keep up; he walked backwards in front of her. She loved appearing on TMZ; it made her feel worthy. As long as she flirted and had a good relationship with paparazzi, they would give her good press.

The public hated her at the moment. No longer America’s sweetheart, she planned to win the hearts back of her fans and possibly gain new ones.

“Trust me, I’d make time for you…so talked to Perry lately?”

Sequoia lowered her gaze to the sidewalk, slipping her hands into her pockets. It was time to put on an Oscar worthy performance. “No, he’s away filming for a new movie.” She frowned. “He didn’t take Echo, but he won’t tell me where my doggie is. I want to see him to make sure he’s okay. To let him know mommy still loves him.”

“That’s cold. I’d never do that to you, Sequoia.”

“Thanks Diego. Then again, I didn’t break your heart,” she whispered. She put a strand of hair behind her ear.

“We all make mistakes. You’ve apologized. That’s all that matters. If he still wants to be a dick about it, then that’s on him.” Diego maneuvered to avoid stepping on a big rock. “Good thing you two never had children since he’s being so vindictive.”

She let him continue being worked up on her behalf. Inside, she smiled because her plan was working. On the outside, she had to fake vulnerability to continue getting sympathy, deserved or not.

“Hopefully, everything will work out soon. We have one more movie to film together, then I’ll be out of his life forever. Well, except for Echo’s visitation.” She knew damn well that she had already been let go of the trilogy, but she wasn’t allowed to speak about it. That whole confidential agreement.

Did Sequoia regret cheating on Perry? She honestly didn’t know anymore. It felt right being with Plaid at the time. Now, it felt right being alone to reflect on things, to reflect on life.

Sequoia was twenty-three, and ever since junior high, she was the girl in the arm’s of a boyfriend. Now, she enjoyed her freedom of being single. Neither guys took that news well, but they’d have to get over it. America too.

“I heard through the grapevine that the studio chose Perry over you.”

Damn TMZ was good. She still couldn’t blow her cover though, no matter how much she wanted to.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m sorry, Sequoia, but I heard you were let go for scheduling conflicts.” Diego frowned. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”

“Who’s your source?”

“I’m not allowed to say.”

“Thanks for giving me a heads up, unless I’m being Punk’d right now.”

“I wish that was the case.”

Sequoia sighed, forcing back tears. That would work on the teeny-boppers. They loved their drama. Her bottom lip quivered.

“Sequoia, please don’t cry.” Diego didn’t set the camera down, but he angled it sideways, so he could step closer. He held her hand, squeezing it.

She smiled weakly.

“Do you have anyone you could talk to?”

“I’m heading to meet up with my sister now. Diego, thank you, but I’ll be fine.”

Why did he lower the lens? Hello, this needed to be filmed. Screw privacy. Show the world her waterworks. It’d be fun playing the sweet, innocent actress against the meanie, bully studio.

Game on bitches.



If anyone would like to try this writing prompt, email me at Author.Yawatta.Hosby(AT)aol(DOT)com. Once I wrote it, I realized it didn’t even meet the criteria. Oh well, it was close enough; besides, the key was getting used to creating scenes again. For the past month or so, I’ve only been editing–hardly any rewrites.

Keep smiling,

Yawatta Hosby

Creative Writing Prompt #3

6/8/12 Prompt

Start a story with: Once when

no one was looking…

**This story is dark. Not meant for everyone.**

Once when no one was looking, someone poured sugar in Naima’s gas tank. During the pouring rain with no umbrella, she made the three block journey to her friend’s house.

Knock. Knock.

Kolo opened the door. He grinned, grabbing her by the hand to come in. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry. My car won’t start, and I didn’t have any other place to go.” Her teeth gritted together rapidly like an instrument solo. Naima’s body shook violently from the shock–her wet clothes stuck to her like cold cement.

“You know you’re always welcome here.” Kolo escorted his friend to his bedroom. He pulled out a white t-shirt, black hoodie, and grey sweatpants out of his dresser, and then handed the clothing to Naima. “Wear this until your clothes dry.”

She nodded, scanning the room. It felt awkward being in such an intimate, personal space after what happened last week. Out of nowhere, he had kissed her. He couldn’t use the excuse of being drunk because she hadn’t tasted alcohol on his breath. If circumstances were different, then maybe she’d give him a chance. But, it had felt wrong. Kolo was best friend’s with her ex Desmond.

She wasn’t interested in being “the girl” traded between friends.

He looked Naima up and down as though lost in a trance. She coughed. Why wouldn’t Kolo leave, so she could change?

Kolo met her gaze, his eyes full of lust. “Sorry. I’ll give you privacy.”

“Can I use your phone to call a tow truck? I would use my cell, but it got wet.”

“No worries, I got you.” He smiled, leaving the room without closing the door. Naima sighed and did the task herself.

She quickly changed into his warm clothes. She squeezed herself in glee, feeling so much better. Kolo was her friend; she shouldn’t be uncomfortable with him. He wasn’t crossing a boundary, so she should loosen up and try to get things back to where they were before.

In the living room, Naima was impressed with all the food. Kolo had a large Hawaiian pizza, breadsticks, chicken wings, and cups of soda spread out on his long coffee table. Her stomach growled; she held it, licking her lips. “Expecting company?”

“You,” he teased. “Come over here and help me eat.”

Naima didn’t have to be told twice. “Thanks.” She fixed her plate. “What did they say?”

“They’ll be at your car in between an hour or two. Can I ask what happened?”

Naima gulped. She didn’t want to tell the truth because then Kolo would probably get overly concerned. Besides, she didn’t want to be asked a billion questions of who she may have pissed off. Hopefully, it was a horrible prank by immature, stupid teenagers.

Changing the subject would be best. “Maybe I should go wait for them.”

“Not by yourself, this late at night.” Kolo laughed. “Changing the subject. Nice.”

Naima blushed, taking a couple gulps of her Mountain Dew.

Time passed where they enjoyed each other’s company. Kolo had been the perfect gentleman, and Naima was confident they’d get their friendship back.

She peeked at Kolo, who already stared at her. “We should go.”

Closing his eyes, Kolo sighed. “Or you could stay here.”

Naima bit her lip. Oh no, please don’t hit on her again.


Kolo stood in the hallway by the bathroom door. Naima had needed to switch back into her clothes. He didn’t understand why she didn’t just take him up on his offer to stay in his.

Kolo cracked his knuckles, grinning. His plan had worked perfectly. He was never caught spying on Naima through the cafe window. She had looked so beautiful, typing away on her laptop, hard at work.

Plus, no one witnessed him pour sugar in her tank. Good thing she never entered the kitchen because the evidence–container of spilled sugar and red tunnel–lay right on the table. He never got a chance to get rid of it.

Everything had been perfect tonight. She came right to his door just like Kolo knew Naima would. He licked his lips, anticipating how lucky he’d be within a few minutes.

He had tried to tell Naima how much he loved her but was shot down. Why? Kolo put her on a pedestal like she deserved. He would treat Naima better than Desmond ever did. Why couldn’t she see that?

“You okay in there.” Kolo took a step towards the door.

“Yeah,” her voice sounded muffled.

Within seconds, he heard a thud. Kolo sighed in relief, opening the bathroom door. There Naima lay on the tile floor. He knelt down and gently pushed her hair out of her angelic face. Kolo kissed her lips, and then picked Naima up to carry her to his bedroom.

Thank goodness she trusted him enough to drink the soda. No questions asked. Now, he could have his way with her all night.

He placed Naima on his bed, kissing her lips again. He smiled while running his finger all over her body. Then, he took off his shirt…


***Anyone interested in sharing their version of this creative writing prompt, please email me at Author.Yawatta.Hosby(AT)aol(DOT)com.

Keep smiling,

Yawatta Hosby

Creative Writing Prompt #2

6/5/12 Prompt

In a busy grocery store, a person is waiting in the

express lane for a very long time because the person

in front of him or her won’t stop talking to the cashier.

Person is on his or her lunch break and may have

to clock in late (5 minute drive back to work)…

I hate Martin’s Grocery Store.

Its my stupidity for stopping by the deli counter; I should’ve known better. Now, forty-five minutes of my lunch break has been ruined. All because the old timer moved as slow as molasses. Probably on purpose. She’s most likely a cat lover who hates people, who hates her life, and, most importantly, who hates her job.

Why else would she ignore me for thirty minutes before fixing my order? She had the nerve to make her quota sandwiches first to put on display. Then it took her an extra fifteen for mine.  Apparently, a veggie sub was the most difficult thing on the menu.

Lesson learned. I won’t be coming to this damn store anymore. I sprinted through the pasta aisle, almost knocking a woman holding a little boy’s hand down. “Sorry,” I said.

Yes. No one’s in any lanes. That’s a first. Before I could bask in the glory, I stopped in my tracks. Geez Louise, I forgot my boss’s Doritoes.

Turning around, I speedwalked to the chip aisle. She was the reason why I was here in the first place. I grabbed the big bag and grinned. If I suck up enough, maybe she’ll get off my back.

I made my way back to the check-out counter. What the–? Where did all these people come from? There were five lanes filled with three people–who had a billion items in their carts–in each line.

I’ll take my chances at one of the express lanes, both have about twelve people in each. My retired baseball coach smiled. “Hey Dustin. How are you?”

“Hey Coach Mackie. I’m good. And yourself?”

“Still breathing. That’s always a plus,” he joked. We both laughed. “Look at you in a suit. You’ve come a long way since high school.”

I tugged at my tie. “Don’t let the suit fool you. I work in customer service.” I grinned.

We chuckled. Actually, I worked as a marketing consultant; I enjoyed my career. However, recently, I messed up. I had been dating my sexy, Cougar boss until I cheated on Maria with her sister. Now, she rides my ass whenever she can. Said the next time I’m late for work, I’m fired.

I looked at my watch. Fifteen minutes left. I had plenty of time. The line moved quickly. Now, only a lady at the register, then Coach Mackie, then me. No sweat. I pulled out my wallet, anticipating the transaction. It’d be nice to get to, you know, actually eat on my lunch break.

We had a staff meeting–corporate was in town–soon, and I didn’t want to go in there on an empty stomach.

Coach Mackie and I continued to make small talk because that’s what people do when impatiently waiting for their turn. I sighed, looking down at my watch again. Seriously, five minutes had passed. What was this lady doing?

I tapped my foot, drumming my fingers on the conveyor belt.

“Sorry ma’am. That card didn’t work either.” The cashier frowned.

The lady pulled out another credit card. “This one should work then.”

Of course, it didn’t. Bugged-eyed, I wanted to scream. This lady would end my career. Could be worse. At least I wasn’t Craig, who got fired on his day off over “stolen” boxes.

No, I’m just a pushover–prisoner to grocery store politics of wasting customers’ time. I glanced over at a magazine with Kim Kardashian on the cover. She used to be so hot until she turned her face into a plastic doll. I drooled over Susan Sarandon’s photo. Now, she was a fox.

If only I was a celebrity and could get away with being fashionably late.

“I’m so sorry, dear. I could’ve sworn money was in my account. I have to use change now.” She retrieved a piggy bank, reaching for coins.

Coins! This would take all day!

The cashier rolled her eyes. “It’s okay, ma’am. Take your time.”

Take your time. A plague on both their houses. I tapped my foot impatiently, wiping sweat from my forehead. Coach Mackie conversed with me, but I couldn’t focus on what he was saying.

It felt like I was stuck in a comedy sitcom–the scene where everything plays in slow motion to empathize how bad the character’s life is going. Except I’m not an actor who’ll hear “Cut.” This was my real life.

“Ma’am. The total is $5.20. You only have $5.05.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, sweetie.”

“It’s okay.”

The lady shook her head. “Oh no, sweetie. I can’t cheat the system.”

But you can ruin my life!

“It was nice seeing you again, Coach Mackie.” I patted him on the shoulder, then walked over to stand beside the lady. I handed the cashier my two items. “Ring these up.”

“You can’t cut in line, sir.” The cashier folded her arms across her chest.

I took a deep breath to try and calm down. I couldn’t act a fool in here, but I was two seconds away from being banned. I threw the sub and Doritoes at her. “Ring these up. I’ll pay for them.” Frazzled, I put a twenty dollar bill in the lady’s palm of her hand. “Keep the change.” I rushed out this hell hole they call Martin’s Grocery Store.


“Fifty on pump one.” I slumped my shoulders. I sighed and closed my eyes. It took all of me not to cry. I couldn’t even bear to think of the box on my passenger seat from where I had to clear my desk. Maria had fired me, yet accepted the chips. Cold-hearted bitch.

I reached for my wallet and opened it. This couldn’t be right. Wide-eyed, I searched through it again. I pulled out a twenty dollar bill. Earlier I had two bills–one a twenty and the other a fifty.

I scratched the top of my head, disheveling my dirty blonde hair even more. I had given the annoying lady a twenty–

Wait a minute!

A line formed at WaWa, a convenience store. I whispered, “I could’ve swore…nevermind.” I pouted. “I’m sorry, make that twenty on pump one.”

I handed the cashier my dollar bill in defeat. Twenty dollars wouldn’t even get me to the unemployment office in the morning. I shook my head, sighing loudly.

Where’s a therapist when you need one?


** If anyone would like to share their take on this creative writing prompt, email me at Author.Yawatta.Hosby(AT)aol(DOT)com**

Keep smiling,

Yawatta Hosby

Creative Writing Prompt #1

6/1/12 Prompt

Begin a story with a character saying

“The first time I wore…”

“The first time I wore my RA shirt, I wanted to take it off and throw it at you guys.” Yvonne shook her head. “You guys were so bad, sneaking alcohol on the floor the first two nights. I wanted to quit.”

Jason smiled. “You can’t leave us. You love us too much.”

Yvonne rolled her eyes.

“We love you too,” Jason encouraged.

“Yeah, you love to drive me crazy.”

Carla nudged Jason’s arm. “Don’t let Yvonne fool you. People on this floor complete her.” She imitated a heart shape with her hands.

Everyone laughed. Carla was an RA for the 8th floor, which consisted of only females. To get away from the cattiness and boredom, she’d often escape to Yvonne’s lounge to hang out with her and her male residents. Every floor was co-ed, except 8th.

People often joked that Jason spent too much time with RAs, but he didn’t seem to care. Once, Carla told Yvonne she thought he had a crush on Yvonne, but she just brushed the news off. The whole ‘if you avoid the issue, then it’ll disappear’ thing.

Deciding it was time to decorate the bulletin board, Yvonne went to her room to gather her materials,  then walked back out into the lounge. She scooted her chair to face the board by the elevators while the others continued their conversation.

It was almost the end of second semester–a bittersweet moment. On one hand, it was great for vacation. However, she’d miss everyone. After this  year, they wouldn’t be Yvonne’s kids any more.

Busy at work, she cut the paper, so it’d line up properly in the bulletin. Randy turned the corner. “What ya doing, Yvonne?”

“Hanging up superlatives.”

He stepped closer, scanning the papers on the chair. Yvonne bent over to pick another one up. “Hey everyone, get your lazy asses out here! Yvonne’s putting up superlatives!” He grinned, not moving from his spot, which was directly behind her.

Yvonne smiled. She enjoyed company. All of a sudden, several boys rushed to stand behind her. Then another group appeared. “Keep this up and we’ll be able to call this a floor program,” she joked.

“We’ll stay as long as you need us to, but you have to buy us pizza,” Randy offered.

“I’ll talk to Aidan to see what he says.” Aidan was her co-RA. They couldn’t have a floor program using part of the budget if both RAs weren’t present.

Yvonne was flattered and shocked that the guys, of all people, were interested that much in the superlatives results. If anything, she assumed her girls would be more into it.

She bent down, hard at work, not even paying attention to the people behind her. She was too nervous. Her male residents were cute–hence why Carla was always in the lounge with her. After the last page was taped to the wall, Yvonne turned around.

The boys moaned and pouted. “You’re done already? That was too fast,” Bradley, a huge flirt, said.

“Sorry. At least, you can see the finished product now.”

Bradley extended his hand, helping Yvonne jump to the ground. To her surprise, the boys scattered back to their rooms quickly. Randy pushed the elevator button and left. Why didn’t they stay and read the superlatives?

Just like that, Yvonne, Carla, and Jason were left alone again.

Yvonne pushed her chair back to the table. She looked out the window at some guys playing basketball.

“Yvonne, I can see your ass,” Carla said.

Turning her head, she asked, “What?”

Carla smiled, nudging Jason’s shoulder. “I can see both your butt cheeks.”

Yvonne covered the gigantic holes in the back of her jeans with the palm of her hands. She bit her lip. “Damn, I thought this long shirt would cover that up.”

“Wrong.” Jason imitated a buzzer going off, a loud and annoying buzzer. “You don’t dress like an RA.”

Yvonne looked down at her navy blue Hooters shirt and light blue jeans with flip-flops. “Why didn’t you tell me you could see my butt before?”

“The thought never occurred to me,” Carla replied. “Don’t act like you didn’t like the guys’ attention earlier.” She smirked.

Yvonne hid her grin. Of course, she had, but there was no way she’d let Jason know that. Her guys would never let her live it down. “At least, it was nice of Randy to share the view.”

The women chuckled.

Jason didn’t look impressed. “So, are we eating before the cafeteria closes or what?”

Carla stood. “I’m down.”

Jason folded his arms across his chest. “Well, are you gonna change?”

“The day’s almost over; what’s the point?” Yvonne shrugged her shoulders.

He frowned, rising from his seat. They made their way  to the elevator. The next time she’d wear these jeans, she’d either have tights underneath or wrap a sweatshirt around her waist. Problem solved.


**If anyone would like to share their take on this creative writing prompt, email me at Author.Yawatta.Hosby(AT)aol(DOT)com.**

Keep smiling,

Yawatta Hosby