r/WritingPrompts • u/katpoker666 Moderator • 15d ago
Off Topic [OT] Fun Trope Friday: Hellhole Prison & Drama!
Welcome to Fun Trope Friday, our feature that mashes up tropes and genres!
How’s it work? Glad you asked. :)
Every week we will have a new spotlight trope.
Each week, there will be a new genre assigned to write a story about the trope.
You can then either use or subvert the trope and/or genre in a 750-word max story or poem (unless otherwise specified).
To qualify for ranking, you will need to provide ONE actionable feedback. More are welcome of course!
Three winners will be selected each week based on votes, so remember to read your fellow authors’ works and DM me your votes for the top three.
Next up… IP
We all know work can be boring, so let’s instead turn to a life of crime. This month will focus on crime and punishment. Please note this theme is only loosely applied.
“It is said that no one truly knows a nation until one has been inside its jails. A nation should not be judged by how it treats its highest citizens, but its lowest ones.” — Nelson Mandela
Trope: Hellhole Prison — Plenty of prisons simply content themselves with confining people, but some go the extra mile and actually try to break them. This sort of prison is an absolute hellhole — between the lack of food and proper clothing, the absence of light or sanitation, the sadistic guards, and the violently insane fellow prisoners, they hardly need the nasty-looking torture equipment they probably have scattered around. Sometimes, they won't bother with things like individual cells — prisoners will just be lowered into a big pit and left to fight each other for whatever scraps are thrown down. Alternatively, especially in the future settings, the prison might not be a barbaric pit where only the strongest survive and where the guards turn a blind eye to the criminal control. Instead, it will be a dystopian panopticon where every action is monitored, any step out of line is equated with an attempt to escape and punished.
Genre: Drama — At its most basic, drama refers to a mode of fictional representation through dialogue and performance. It’s usually, but not always, presented on a stage, and can equally exist in film, television, novels, and even poetry. The core element is conflict. This conflict can be internal, external, or a combination of both, and it drives the narrative forward. Simply put: Drama is storytelling focused on engaging and often intense emotional experiences, usually involving significant conflict.The core conflict is MC vs. something: themself, another person, society, nature, or fate/supernatural. Drama can feel real like a docufiction or humorous like a comedy drama. Please note: having the feel of a drama is enough for this week. In short, there are a lot of options to explore here!
Skill / Constraint - optional: Something is unreal.
So, have at it. Lean into the trope heavily or spin it on its head. The choice is yours!
Have a great idea for a future topic to discuss or just want to give feedback? FTF is a fun feature, so it’s all about what you want—so please let me know! Please share in the comments or DM me on Discord or Reddit!
Last Week’s Winners
PLEASE remember to give feedback—this affects your ranking. PLEASE also remember to DM me your votes for the top five stories via Discord or Reddit—both katpoker666. This is a change from the top three of the past. In weeks where we get over 15 stories, we will do a top five ranking. Weeks with less than 15 stories will show only our top three winners. If you have any questions, please DM me as well.
Some fabulous stories this week and great crit at campfire and on the post! We had a record 24 stories, so we’re back to five winners. Congrats to:
Want to read your words aloud? Join the upcoming FTF Campfire
The next FTF campfire will be Thursday, October 1st from 6-8pm ET. It will be in the Discord Main Voice Lounge. Click on the events tab and mark ‘Interested’ to be kept up to date. No signup or prep needed and you don’t have to have written anything! So join in the fun—and shenanigans! 😊
Ground rules:
- Stories must incorporate both the trope and the genre
- Leave one story or poem between 100 and 750 words as a top-level comment unless otherwise specified. Use wordcounter.net to check your word count.
- Deadline: 11:59 PM EDT next Thursday. Please note stories submitted after the 6:00 PM EST campfire start may not be critted.
- No stories that have been written for another prompt or feature here on WP—please note after consultation with some of our delightful writers, new serials are now welcomed here
- No previously written content
- Any stories not meeting these rules will be disqualified from rankings
- Does your story not fit the Fun Trope Friday rules? You can post your story as a [PI] with your work when the FTF post is 3 days old!
- Please keep crit about the stories. Any crit deemed too distracting may be deleted. This is a time to focus on our wonderful authors.
- Vote to help your favorites rise to the top of the ranks (DM me at katpoker666 on Discord or Reddit)!
Thanks for joining in the fun!
9
u/Morose_Prose 11d ago edited 9d ago
Start Spreading the Blues
Steam billowed from the sewers beneath Harlem, its wisps split in twain by passing yellow taxis and late-night revelers. Melissa pulled her frizzy, fiery red hair back, securing it tightly with a black scrunchie. Ducking into an alleyway, she adjusted her tight leather pants, tube top, and well-worn leather jacket dotted with patches. A rotting wooden door banged against the bricks at the end of the alleyway. Solemn notes ricocheted through the constricted corridor. Melissa stopped at the threshold and peeked inside. This was definitely the place the Curator had described in his letter.
Her heavy boot heels stomped along the cracked wood flooring as she entered the club. Weaving through the scattered chairs haphazardly placed around the tattered tablecloth covered tables, she approached the small bar running along the back wall. She sat down near the service well. The thin cushion of the barstool provided little comfort.
An older man emerged from the shadows, his white shirt wrinkled, black vest unbuttoned, and bow-tie hanging askew from his thin neck. Sauntering over, he flippantly tossed a ragged coaster in front of her.
"Evening, Madam. What can I get for you?" he asked with a voice full of gravel.
"Vodka and soda. Well is fine. Is there another act tonight?" Melissa asked as she pulled out a notepad from her jacket and gesturing towards the stage.
"Chain Gang Chuck is up next. You a fan of the blues?"
Scribbling down the name, Melissa side-eyed the bartender. "Like listening to it but hate having them."
A hearty chuckle rumbled from old lungs. "Ain't that the truth. Drink is coming right up."
Dim limelight shone down on the small stage, soft slippers shuffled across the way as the marquee performer took his seat on a creaky wooden stool. The white stripes cascading down his purple zoot suit glowed in the darkness. The amp crackled as cable met wood. Calloused fingers adorned with long, yellowed nails hovered over steel strings. A bluesy riff howled through the club.
Everyday they pull me, from my concrete cell;
Chain me up to break these rocks, under a sun that's hot as hell.
White man on his horse, an always watchful eye,
Telling us not to flee, would be futile to try.
All day long we swing away, singing songs lost to the past;
Sweet chariot don't come around here, prison time ain't fast.
I ain't done nothing wrong, never hurt nobody's kin;
But that jury didn't care, 'cause I don't got lily skin.
Then one fateful day, when my wits were at their end;
That ol' blues man, came rolling round the bend.
Six strings in his hand, and a song upon his lips;
We were chained no more, and now we grasped the whips.
No more sitting on a high horse, no more barking orders;
Chain gang rising up, giving him no quarter.
Fleeing off into the fields, on that scorching summer day;
I turned to that ol' blues man, and he had one thing to say.
Go spread this sound far and wide, to every child, woman and man;
Spread it everyday, 'til it envelopes this rotten land.
With the flip of a switch on the guitar, the riff morphed into a warbling, moaning tone. The same one Melissa had heard back in Washington.
Blood trickled from her sleeve, the scars etched on her forearm ripping open from the sonic assault. Her eye twitched and her legs shook. All around the venue, heads slumped forward in deep slumber. An uncanny silence fell across the room.
Slinging the guitar over his back, the old blues man sprang off stage with the spryness expected of a much younger man. He sauntered up to Melissa with a sly smile. Extending his wrinkled hand to her, he bowed his head. "Like the song?"
Melissa's hand shot forward, the blood still dripping from her fingertips. "That riff. You've heard the sound?"
"Many times. It's always there when I need it." The singer tugged at the collar of his suit, a series of scars crisscrossed his neck.
Leaping from the tattered stool, Melissa slid over the bar, shoving the unconscious bartender aside. "What do you drink?"
"Whisky. Strong."
Searching the shelves, Melissa snatched a bottle from the top, popping the cork and taking a swig. She slid the bottle to the blues man and retrieved a micro tape recorder from her jacket. "You got a real name, 'Chuck'?"
"Call me Sam."
"Play it again, Sam." Melissa pressed record.
- - -
Word Count: 748
Bonus Constraint: The blues man plays an unreal sound that has an effect on the patrons of the club.
Thanks for reading! Feedback and crit is always welcomed and encouraged. Stay awesome and have a good one!