prose piece
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Prompt: Write about the secrets carved in the door. The old wood was scarred with years of secrets. Words twisting, turning, and overlapping, covered every inch of the door until it breathed in the dim lights of the hallway. The carved words spoke in whispers, in voices echoing their physical presence.Some smooth and quieted with
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Prompt: Write about someone’s eyes without saying the color. You would have thought they’d be cold. Cold, flat, and hard- like a sheet of ice on the lake in January. But, those eyes weren’t cold at all. They were bright. Bright, expressive, and lively- like light dancing off the waves in June. People are full
Bringing Mae Flowers 