They went back two weeks after the death flag had flown high above the body. Her mother's chair still sat there, unscathed, and the neatly scoured bones were stacked on top of it. Seeing it gave her the chills. It was supposed to be this way sometimes, or it had been in days of antiquity, when they had first moved out here, but in time out of mind what they had found was insect-riddled corpses, bodies chewed by coyotes, bodies shrunken by the heat. Some even said that it wasn't a fitting way to treat their dead, despite the ritual's inculcation in their most holy rules. "What is that?" Edgar whispered, edging closer to her. "It's a death-eater," she said quietly, almost whispering herself. After the days she spent happily lost in the first archives of the colony, the time teaching the kinder, and the--


Inspiration: http://www.flickr.com/photos/dandom/8512414543/in/photostream/
Story potential: High.
Notes: And what does the death-eater provide in return? And why did they leave? And why are they back? And and and.... Also, that is one gloriously creepy photo.

The slums were a muddy ocher color. They said it was because of the color of the dirt on that planet, but I always thought that enough of us had bled our lives out into the ground that the color itself changed in sympathy. We'd sold all we had in hopes of a new beginning on a faraway star. We were promised a certain amount of land, of the currency of the place, of livestock. We were promised education for our children, a good policing system, and a safety net that would protect the less fortunate. We didn't get any of that. I'm still not sure exactly why. Some of it had to do with how long they sent ships out to that planet for. In the beginning, maybe all the things they promised were true. But then the colonization company started to need to make more and more profit to satisfy its shareholders, and there was already a network of colonists--

Inspiration: "slums"
Story Potential: Low.
Notes: This isn't really a story, merely a framework that many others have explored before me.

"The leaves are lanceolate in shape," he muttered into his recorder patch as he edged closer. "They appear to be silver in the atmospheric light, and the thermal detector picks up more than passive heat. They are in fact an animal life form, despite their appearance of foliage." The leaves rustled warningly when he took a step closer. He stopped. THough he was in an environment suit, he was smart enough to pay attention to his surroundings, and he'd noticed that no other leaves moved when these ones had. "The leaves have moved. This may be an attempt to communicate or to warn me off. I will not approach closer at this time.

Inspiration: "lanceolate" - shaped like a spearhead.
Story Potential: Low.
Notes: I do like the idea of opening a story with a scientist who doesn't automatically do the stupid thing and get killed.

In space, no-one can hear you scream. Except for the twat on the other end of your intercom, the one who persuaded you to do a one-only spacewalk on the outside of the ship because he thought he saw "something weird" and he's going to stay inside to give you directions. Right. She sighed, more than entirely expecting that he was about to sever her umbilical airline and go straight for the main base himself. All the heavy lifting was done. He could get in, sell the ore they'd harvested, and laugh all the way to the bank. There were always spacers looking for a berth, and maybe this time he'd get lucky and find a not-hideous one who didn't recoil when he offered to bunk together, one who would be happy to play second fiddle to a man who she now suspected only had the ship because--

Inspiration: Ah, I've been reading some space opera lately, and I really like it.
Story Potential: High, if only because this can go so many directions.
Notes: Does he? Doesn't he? What comes next?