Gartic Phone Prompt Novels & Stories

I'd been assigned overseas for three months, but I wrapped up my work ahead of schedule and flew home early to spend New Year's Eve with my wife. While waiting for a ride, I scrolled through TikTok and came across a video captioned: [Marrying the one you love feels like winning a war.] Then the scene shifted, and my world tilted. The bride slung over the groom's shoulder… was my wife. At first, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. But then I spotted familiar faces—her relatives, unmistakable in the crowd. I didn't hesitate. I checked the hotel location tagged in the video and shoved my phone toward the taxi driver. "Change the route. Take me here," I said. "I'm going to catch them in the act."

I was the top engineer at the National Deep-Sea Institute—and the only person in the world with real deep-sea rescue experience. When my younger brother's submarine went down and he called for help from 35,000 feet below, I hung up on him. Then, calm and unhurried, I went straight to the police station and turned myself in for leaking classified research data. A few minutes later, my father called, furious. "Your brother's life is hanging by a thread—where the hell are you?! I demand you to get to the site and save him right now, or you won't see a single penny of the family fortune!" I pulled the blanket over myself and said into the phone, perfectly composed, "Busy. Don't bother me—I'm trying to sleep."

My husband and I take leave from work to travel to Highland. It's also an opportunity for me to return to my hometown. Unexpectedly, we get into a fight over the itinerary on our first day there. I snap at him when we're standing by the side of the road, but he calms me down. He even coaxes me and offers to pay for a nice meal at a restaurant. When I return to the hotel, I discover that he's run off with my luggage and mobile phone. He even leaves a message telling me to reflect on my mistakes. I borrow a phone to call him, but he doesn't answer. It's freezing in Highland. I'm almost about to die from the frost when I suddenly see sense. I'm not putting up with this anymore!

Jennifer Lockwood and Greg Davenport thought they would be together forever. Breakups and differences in hobbies couldn't separate them. But then came the phone and text that put an end to all that dreaming. He decided to go on a journey that she couldn't follow him on. Meanwhile, she ended up with her original plan of going to law school. Everything goes well for her until a devastating call leaves her shattered. Now she's left deciding. Deciding about her future, about what to say to the man in the bed in front of her, deciding whether she can love. While he falls in love with her, she's left with the memories of everything that happened before. Can she return to that life where her heart got broken, or is she forced to walk away and break his?

When Ayden Baldwin ignored me, who was stuck in an elevator, freaking out from claustrophobia, just so he could deliver cold medicine to his assistant, I filed for divorce. Ayden signed his name without hesitation and smiled at his friend. "She's just throwing a tantrum. Her parents are gone. I'm all that she's left. She won't leave me. "Besides, isn't there a thirty-day cooling-off period? If she regrets it, I'll be the bigger person and take her back." The next day, he posted a lovey-dovey pic with his assistant, captioned: "Capturing every shy moment of yours." Counting the days, I packed up my belongings and made a phone call. "Uncle, please book me a ticket to Burville."

Sylvia Frost and Victor Rothwell's wedding had been postponed 33 times. This time, it happened on the night before the ceremony. She was struck by a car and left with 19 broken bones. She was rushed to the ICU three separate times before her condition finally stabilized. Once she was strong enough to leave her bed, she braced herself against the wall and shuffled into the hallway. As she reached the corner, she overheard her fiancé speaking with a friend. "Last time it was drowning. This time you used a car. That gets you another two months. What are you going to do next?" Sylvia's blood turned to ice. Victor stood there in his white coat, his phone turning slowly in his hand. "No more delays." His voice remained flat.

My in-laws accidentally fall off a cliff in the middle of a mountain hike. But my wife, Stella Covington, who's also the leader of the search and rescue team in charge of that area, refuses to accept the rescue mission. Instead, she sets off fireworks with her junior, Noah Reid, to celebrate her birthday. By the time my in-laws are found, they've already died. Their corpses are left broken and battered. Only then does Stella call me on the phone casually. "Have your parents' bodies delivered to my team. Noah needs to dissect two more bodies in order to receive his license as a forensic doctor." It turns out that Stella thought my parents were the ones who died. I just chuckle in return. After that, I have the mangled and unrecognizable bodies delivered to Stella's team.

At the company team-building event, I got called out by my colleague Samantha Rowler for not removing my price tag—she accused me of being a "freebie chaser." "Oh wow, Carla, you drive a BMW 5 Series. Are you seriously planning to return your clothes within seven days too?" she sneered. I tucked the tag back in and ignored her snide remark. But after the event, as soon as I got home, my phone started blowing up. My chat apps were going insane. A friend had sent me a link: [Luxury-Car Executive Turns Out to Be a Return Addict!] Someone had filmed me leaving the price tag on and posted it to a short-video platform. I opened the comment section and was met with a barrage of insults. [Can't afford to live, huh? Tag warrior.] [Is this car a sugar-daddy gift? Those who know, know.] [OMG, does this woman have some kind of illness? Which brand is this so I can avoid it!] I immediately knew Samantha was behind it. I messaged her to delete the video. Instead, the next second, she blocked me—and pinned a comment to the top of the thread: [You can know a person's face but never their heart!] I was about to post a statement to clarify, my finger hovering over the send button, when I noticed the video's likes had already shot past ten thousand. I laughed. If they wanted a scene, fine—let's make it bigger. I quickly posted a new update: [The outfit is really nice. I'll wear it again next time.] The netizens erupted. The insults doubled, the heat skyrocketed, and the post shot straight to number one trending. I just put my phone down and went to sleep.

After the evening study session, I was just about to return to the dorm when my first boyfriend, the school's valedictorian and undisputed top student, suddenly tore across the courtyard toward me. Before I could react, he grabbed my wrist and, in full view of a crowd of stunned students, dragged me into a frantic run toward the front gates. I exclaimed, "Julian, have you lost your mind? Graduation's six months away. Are you really trying to run off with me now?" I struggled the whole way, twisting and pulling against him, but his grip never loosened. "Autumn, don't ask any questions. Just come with me. Hurry!" he said, his voice trembling with panic. We fled the school, jumped into a taxi in the middle of the night, and rushed to another city, where we checked into a rundown budget motel. Arms folded and brow furrowed, I glared at him. "So you hauled me out of school like a lunatic just to hole up in a cheap motel?" His cheeks turned bright red. He flailed his hands in frantic denial, then thrust a phone into my hands. I barely had time to unlock the phone and start dialing my parents before a breaking news alert flashed across the screen. My eyes locked on the screen, and I went rigid with shock. The headline reported, 'Mass Death at Blackwood High: All 5,000 students and faculty found dead last night after experiencing catastrophic bleeding. Only two students who skipped the study session survived.' I looked up at Julian in horror. He was staring at the screen too, his face white as paper, cold sweat running down his forehead. "You knew, didn't you?" I asked. "What the hell is going on?"

There isn't any cure for migraines. But my billionaire wife, Ashley Weston, has not had a single migraine for years thanks to my daily massage with both hands. On the day I get into a car accident, I beg a passerby to call her to save me. She replies impatiently, "So you're resorting to such shameless tricks just because I won't answer your calls?" Through the phone comes the mocking laughter of her childhood friend, Jordan Hanson. My right hand is permanently fractured, and my left hand suffers from muscle weakness after the accident. A lawyer helps me draft a divorce agreement. With much difficulty, I sign it and send it to Ashley. On the day her head throbs with unbearable pain, she looks at my drooping hands and remains silent for a long time.