Prompt for June 20: Four Lines of Prose about the Flower Shop

Standard

[Prompt from http://daily-writing.blogspot.com/ .]

Tending the tulips and roses with care, spritzing them with drops of fresh water, Frank contemplated his lot in life. All his friends left the small town of King’s Hollow to join the army raids up north at the border. Woman, they had called him, fearful little girl. But his friends didn’t realize that Frank stayed in his father’s flower shop out of intelligence instead of fear; after all, Frank was the only one of his friends that wasn’t currently buried six feet under the ground with an axe buried three inches into his chest.

Prompt for June 19: The Destroyer

Standard

[Prompt from http://daily-writing.blogspot.com/ .]

He came upon me with a sword of burning flame. Reds, oranges, yellows, whites blazing against the night sky, dimming the world to a shade darker than black. That sword of his posed high above his head; the tendons and ligaments of his arm stood out like bits of coiled rope, ready to loosen their burden upon the world.

He opened his wings behind him, widening his wide set shoulders and increasing his substantial size. Those white feathers glowed an array of the warmest colors as the flames from his sword flickered over the plumed canvas. They were like the moon, reflecting fire to create their own light in the darkness.

There was no stopping the destruction by his hand. He let lose that flaming sword upon me, his wings snapping shut to give more power to his thrust. I didn’t stand a chance against him and his glory, his hand destined to break me. I had lost any power to stop him long ago.

That, indeed, was his true power, not his flaming sword or his wings of light. His eyes held all the truth in the world and through them, the ability to strip your defenses down to walls of sticks and mud. All the barricades I had built to protect my treasure were nothing when caught in his gaze. I was vulnerable.

And with that first look, he destroyed any chance of me being content with my isolation. And with one sweep of his sword and flap of his wings, my heart was stolen from my chest like a jewel taken from a thief in the night.

Prompt for June 18: Canvas

Standard

[Prompt from http://daily-writing.blogspot.com/ .]

Black pages, skies of dawn and dusk, grasses of every season, sun rays, blooming flowers, the rain, ocean, clay and dirt, a dancing flame.

The world was at my fingertips, every aspects of life and death were reaching out to me, their very fibers intertwining with the course hairs of my brushes. They craved the fame and immortality that only I could give them.

And so I painted.

Prompt for June 16: The Last Chance

Standard

[Prompt from http://daily-writing.blogspot.com/ .]

I’m on the edge of the world, no time to think,
No time to wish for a fuck or another cold drink.
All I can think of is you and what you did to me,
Kissing her in public, just to make me flee.
I gave you a chance, the last one I had
To take me home, to make me glad.
That letter I sent was supposed to bring you here,
Supposed to bring you to conquer my fear
That you had indeed left me for good with no
Thought toward the status of being friend or foe.

I’m on the edge of the world, no time to think,
Just to stand there in silence, staring at the brink
Of eternity. There’s nothing left for me to do
But to take a deep breath and follow through.

Prompt for June 15: The Cow

Standard

[Prompt from http://daily-writing.blogspot.com/ .]

Of course there would a physical barrier blocking my path. How else would the universe, Fate, and all that was good in the world tell me to just abandon my mission and accept my lot in life?
Harvey Lane became narrow just after the first hill of the countryside, blocked on either side by large trees that would prevent even my small Volkswagen from bypassing the large black cow standing directly in the center of the road. I was already half an hour late to the ceremony and only another three miles from the small 18th century church located on the cost. I could almost make out the top of the steeple over the trees.

“Can you chew your shit elsewhere?” I shouted outside my window. “Some of us have a wedding to crash.”

The cow merely turned its large head toward me, the large brown eyes seemed to stare straight through me as if I didn’t matter. Even the cow knew my degree of insignificance. It then returned to staring off into space somewhere on the other side of the road.

It didn’t even dignify my disturbance with a “moo.”