Writing Prompt

The smell of fresh and new cleaning products swam into my nostrils as I walked forward, into the museum. The inside was bright, yet ever so dusty as I continued walking.

For some odd reason, there was nothing really on the old green walls. It seemed almost like the wall itself was the art piece, yet I knew that was far from the untold truth. And the very reason I knew, was because there was a sin...

“Is this some kind of joke?” he mutters to himself, his voice echoing in the dim, hollow room. The place barely resembles a museum, feeling more like a neglected storage closet. Charcoal-painted walls swallow up the sparse lighting and seem to cast everything in an eerie glow.

At the center of the tiny room, under a single, narrow spotlight, sits a flimsy folding table that carries a single objec...

In the heart of the city, tucked away on a narrow, cobbled street, there stood an unassuming building with a simple wooden door. A small brass plaque on the side of the door read "The Gallery of Solitude." For years, passersby had glanced curiously at the plaque but seldom ventured inside. The few who did left with a strange expression, as if they'd glimpsed something profound and unfathomable.

T...

The Rose Museum at the heart of New York City sits a delicately woven floral. Its petals are made of small fibers dyed a bright red with its tips of pink. The tourists stand behind the thick pane of glass glancing at the beautiful rose. Designed by an anonymous artist with its intentions of being gifted to a partner was then lost and sold to the public. Many stand everyday to have a glance at the ...

It seemed barren. That was because there was nothing truly there. Just an empty mirrored pedestal seated .3 inches away from the center of the room.

Some hate modern performance art, but I think this work is quite powerful. You see, there is no performance, except the ticking of our minds breaking down in our lifelong quest to thwart insanity. Yet insanity is all around us. I think that is really...

Emery had heard all the rumors, but she needed to see it in person. The entire city was abuzz with a new painting by their very own Becker Davis. He had gone from a nobody to a local celebrity to an internationally acclamied artist.

Emery paused when she approached the museum’s front steps. She covered her head with a stocking cap, pulled the hood of her jacket up, and slid her sunglasses over he...

Finally the day came which I was waiting for desperately. Finally I shouted . My father dropped me off at the famous museum of the world .  It looked like a a castle of a wonderfully rich queen . I opened that heavy door I entered feeling like a princess, that door automatically closed behind me. My expectations were so high I expected painting’s by old famous artists, old pottery and buildings...

on display

in terrarium of moss

and artillery fern

the last garlic snail

never to be spotted

just a speck of russet

is sealed

and completely forgotton...

I wished to be held like a prized possession.

Isolated.

Away.

Too perfect to touch.

And I wanted to be at the top of the podium.

Second,

And third,

Too far away to compare.

And I wanted the whole world,

My friends

And family

To revolve around me like I was the earth…

Needed to nurture.

Needed to give.

But my talents and egoism

Were no use in the real world.

And others left me

When I kept choos...

Rachel absent-mindedly brushed some dust off the plinth. She glanced at her fingers before wiping it off with her other hand as she continued, equally absent-mindedly and on auto-pilot, reciting her speech to the visitors. About 20 tourists were gathered around her, examining the curious object that stood on the plinth in the middle of this large room. They listened intently as she spoke about the...