Every #harvest was hard work for the farmer. When the harvest was bountiful, she worked in the field every day. When the harvest was small, she trolled the highways for field fertilizer, looking for hitchhikers and vagrants and stalled cars.

Inspiration: harvest vss365
Potential: high
Notes: This is basically a complete microfiction. Could be amped up, rewritten a little, more show less tell. And seasonal!

The white light overwhelmed her after weeks of nothing but darkness. She remembered colors and light but this had none of that. There was only the harsh white and the shadows moving through it. It was still more beautiful than anything she had imagined in her long sojourn under the city. At first she'd believed the madman would kill her, that he was the reason the newspapers were talking about the girls found without their teeth. But after a bit, she came to believe that he was just going to *keep* her, and in some ways that was worse. She'd started looking forward to death after the first week. Even now, echoes of pain ran along her nerves, and when her hands fluttered up to touch her eyes she found the dreaded wetness of blood. Maybe he'd blinded her. But no--


Inspiration: The picture, "Let Go" by Frou Frou (There's beaty in the breakdown), and "Teeth" by Lady Gaga.
Story Potential: High, perhaps. I like the character origin.
Notes: And she comes out of it rather insane but with abilities she did not have before.

The sound of the saw against the violin music sent her into shivering catatonic shock as she cowered in her "dressing room." The violin music stopped. There were screams, and the smash of a valuable instrument plummeting to the ground. The thump of desperately running feet. She sagged against the wall and pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes. Another "co-star" failed. She wondered how much longer this could possibly go on. At least--at least while "the director" was looking for the violin accompanist, she didn't have to worry about failing him again.


Inspiration: "Romance" - Apocalyptica
Story Potential: Low.
Notes: Meh. Same old serial killer stuff. Not too interesting.

The suite began, the musicians shifting effortlessly from tuning up to playing the first waltz. The little figurines glided out from their recesses in the walls of the dance hall and moved through their paces like the clockwork that ran them. Their faces were pulled back in macabre grins of joy, their heads tilted at angles indicating wild abandon entirely unfamiliar to those who knew human anatomy, angles that would have been impossible if, one and all, their necks had not been snapped before the clockwork mechanisms were slid under their skins like morbid bones. There was only one living girl in the mix, and she was nearly dead of exhaustion and fear. If she could keep up, she could live. This--

Inspiration: "suite", as a musical term for a set of instrumental dances.
Story Potential: High? Low?
Notes: Yes, I've a macabre mind. I sort of like this as some sort of steampunk/dark fantasy/horror invention. She can live, but only if she can dance as much as the clockwork figures. And somehow, she does. How? Why? Through what intervention? And what does that do to her for the rest of her life?