I was wracking my brain. I couldn't think of what to come up with. I had spent all night writing something for a small community of AI enthusiasts that I was a part of, something called a prompt. A prompt was a usually short wall of text used to kickstart a story in one of the many AI storytelling services that were shilled in the thread, and I usually had no problem writing one. Usually all of this would come to me naturally and I would have had this prompt done already, but there I was at my desk, with my head in my hands, visibly struggling to think up anything for a prompt. As I sat in my dimly lit room I looked up to see what I already had written down to remind myself where I was. There was only one word, "The." Fuck it, break time.
I pulled up the thread on my computer to see what everyone else had submitted for Theme Friday. Theme Friday was an event that happened every other week, where people wrote prompts for a certain theme. This week's theme was cryptids, and people loved it. There were loads of prompts for all types of cryptids, the Jersey Devil, Nessie, and even a Mongolian death worm with aphrodisiacs instead of poison. But there was one that I expected that surprisingly wasn't there, that being the Mothman. I guess that works out for me, as that's the one that I was going to do. If I overcome this writer's block that is. "You know," I said to myself. "Maybe I should just ask the thread for advice." I asked if someone could give me some ideas for my Mothman prompt. Just as I sent my message, I heard my stomach grumble, notifying me that it was time to go get a late night snack. I then slunk out of my chair and went over to the kitchen.
After about half an hour, I came back with a full stomach and with my writer's block hopefully gone. I noticed that the window was open, but I probably opened it at some point, as I remember it being pretty hot in my room before I left. I sat down and sunk into my chair and checked the thread for any responses. Only one, and it seemed to be from the local cryptid expert himself, Cryptidanon. Eleven minutes ago, he sent a short and rather cryptic message.
"I AM AN EXPERT ON THE MOTHMAN, I WILL BE THERE SOON"
Huh, weird. I wonder what he meant by that? That's when I felt something move behind me. I slowly turned around with a rising fear that I was not alone in my room. And that's when I saw it. Two big, beady circles on the wall. Eyes in the darkness staring right back at me, directly into my soul. The fear that I felt deep inside of me finally mounted and hit its peak. As it walked towards me I tried to move, run, scream, fight, but I could do nothing. I was paralyzed. It finally took its last step towards me, and I could get a better look at him now that he was in the light from my computer. He had a humanoid body covered in dark fur with a noticeably larger and lighter tuft of fur around his neck, and he had clawed hands and feet. His head was like that of a giant moth, antennae and all, and he had wings that were huge and velvety, with a pretty pattern of grey, black, orange, and yellow. His wings probably would have been mesmerizing if I wasn't figuratively pissing my pants.
It felt like an eternity before either of us did anything, but the large cryptid made the first move. He opened his mouth and spoke in a raspy voice.
"Hello Anon, I heard that you needed help with a prompt, yes?"
That's when I connected the dots. I was absolutely dumbfounded, I didn't even know what to say. How does someone react to learning that someone that they've been interacting with the legendary Mothman?
"Do I have something on my face?" he asked with an innocent look on his face, waking me from my stupor.
"Uh, I t-thought that you would be louder, since u-uh..." the words stutter out of my mouth as I tried to regain my composure.
"Oh," the fuzzy creature responded. "That's just because my caps lock key is broken. So, show me this prompt that you've been having trouble with."
"Alright then," I said, switching my tab back to the prompt window that only had one word on it. Fuck.
"Is this all you have?" The giant moth asked me, clearly unimpressed with the amount that I had typed out.
"Yeah."
"Well do you at least have any ideas for a prompt then?"
"I don't think so..." I said, lying through my teeth. The truth was, I could think of plenty of things that I wanted to put in the prompt, but they were... not the most wholesome. As if sensing my embarrassment, the Mothman put his fuzzy arm around me and asked, "Are you sure you don't have any ideas?" In as sensual of a tone as his raspy voice would allow. I looked at his eyes with my own, silently wondering what he meant by that, but then I saw that his half-lidded eyes did not meet mine, they were looking towards my tented pants. Well shit.
"W-wait, Mothman, I can ex—" He silently shushed me with a finger.
"You can call me Mothy."
The oversized insect started to unzip my pants, and then