Writing Prompt

In a world of a actions that follow the whims of people one ignores the path of the unspoken and unread. The wish every book holds dear is to be read and enjoyed by another reader. They spend each day gathering dust awaiting when the action of those who pass by like a blur gives them a chance to engage in life as vividly as their creators hoped.

A tiny seed was pressed into damp earth beneath the first blush of dawn. A faint chill was felt in the air, and a gentle patter of water was allowed to soak the soil. Rustling leaves were heard nearby, and a hint of fresh grass was carried on the breeze. “It must be protected,” was often whispered by worried voices, though no faces were seen. A tense pause was experienced when dark clouds drifted overhead. Harsh winds were stirred, and cold drops of rain were scattered across the fragile sprout. For a moment, loss was feared.

Yet, as the storm receded, soft rays of sunlight were extended once more. New warmth was given to the tiny plant, and new leaves were sent unfurling. Steady care was maintained under quiet vigilance. Soon, blossoms were revealed in bursts of color, and a sweet, earthy scent was caught by passersby. In the end, succulent fruit was cradled by sturdy vines, and hushed wonder was shared around the flourishing garden. Thus, a harvest was quietly celebrated, and gratitude was felt for the seed that had thrived against all odds.

Rain droplets crashed against his face. “ Why did you bring me here?” The hooded figure looked up. They gazed into each others eyes. “ I figured I would get you as close to heaven as I could. Before I sent you to hell.” They were miles in the air. On top of the tallest building of Silicon City. A beaming metropolis of tomorrow. The stranger stood up and looked out onto the city. The bustling light shone dimly against it’s face. They were so high up that the lights themselves could barely reach them through the fog below. The city was expansive and reached farther than the eye could see. Even from atop the tallest building one could not see the entire city. However, in that moment, it was just them. The thick fog that covered the city reduced their visibility to just the tower top. It seemed as if this place was all there was. Nothing beyond except a dark fog. The hooded figure turned back around with an in-human grin. Cybernetic teeth and dim green eyes. “This is where our game ends! Here below the very heavens! I will make my sins known to God Himself!” “ You are batshit insane!” “ Sanity has no place in a world without limits!” They stared each other down for a moment. They knew what was going to come next. A single shot rings out. A single case bounces in the rain covered floor. The hooded figure falls to their knees. Looking up one last time, they never let go of their grin. The figure pulls out a detonator. Several more shots are put into the figure. They do not even flinch. With a wicked grin the figure pushes the detonator. The gleaming tower of silicon city was lain to ruin.

Subject 31, gender: 2nd variety; weight: 2.3 purze; age: post pubescent

It pretends to sleep. How strange these creatures are? So different from us, weird and grotesque, their tiny eyes and stubby appendages. Dr. Curos house Le says they are primitives, merely reactive creatures. But to pretend is to have awareness of self and others. My house Cru is low borne but we know what we do not know. It is not for me to question. Yet. My instruments sit in order by function and process. Order is good. There is a sublime beauty in order and purpose. This research could unlock untold mysteries. Light level of surgery room rise. The specimen is immobilized. Sweat beads on its head. Dr. Curos says it is wasteful to use anesthesia on primitives. Heart rate rises. The body trembles under my hands. Studies have shown test subjects experience minor physical pain and no memory of experiments. Yet what if our definition of pain and memory don’t apply on this planet with these creatures. Is it cold? Could it be afraid? The surgery room temperature is raised to four hilds of the specimen’s natural blood temperature. It is not for me to question. The first incision is made. Samples are collected. Certification initiated. The eyes of the specimen are open watching me. Questions leak from its eyes. Note to GX headquarters revise specimen’s age to pre-pubescent. Not appropriate for further testing at this time. Tag and release. It is large for its age. What if it remembers holding pain in its brain in a way we don’t understand. Dose of analgesic and sedative administered. Its eyes close in sleep. ItS weird looking head is petted by my hand. The specimen is prepped by the extraction team. My tools stand ready. Dr. Curos will be displeased. She will call me a poet. My tools stand ready for subject 32.

Seeds had been thrown onto the floor, dispersed by a hand wrinkled with age.

Laces had been tied. A double knot—secure. Yet, as the soles crunched the gravel, a frayed tie had come loose. It dragged along behind, snaking in the dirt, and the once-white lace had been transformed, wiggling into a yellow-dusted worm.

Wings of black silk had flapped excitedly at the sight as the scattering of arid seeds had soon all been forgotten.

Taloned feet inched forward as the crow waddled forward, past his fellow murder members, and toward the succulent, wriggling morsel.

The disguised lace was pecked and prodded as the crow snapped open his beak. But no sweet juices flowed, and no pink flesh tore, and a foot was stomped impatiently on the cotton imposter.

“Oh!” A shower of seed suddenly escaped the woman's hand, sprinkling over the crow. “My laces have been untied,” she said. “Were you trying to warn me, young one?”

Two avian feet were bounced backwards, and the crow gave a startled cawed.

Thin lines creased at the edges of the woman's eyes, and a mouth was shaped by a chip-toothed grin. “I knew you were. Here...”

In a tilt of the crow's head and the blink of a beady eye—something had been pulled from the woman’s bag. A brown paper package had been held out, the string untied. The wrapping was delicately unfolded, and a squark croaked as its contents became apparent to the crow:

Boiled eggs.

“A thank you for your troubles.” The lace was tucked securely back into the shoe, and the egg was placed before the crow.

A thought of guilt was momentarily present in the crow's mind, for the aim hadn't been to aid the woman but to satisfy his grumbling gizzard.
Yet, as the crow blinked, the sunny, golden yolk and sulphuric tang soon pecked away those troubles and the egg was devoured before his fellow family had even raised their heads.

The door was opened by a scaled hand, and a bag of treasure was thrown inside. All the gold, pearls, and gems held by the bag were strewn about the ground by the sea monster’s careless toss. A chair was pulled out from under the table, and it was sat in by the sea monster. The monster’s tail was curled through the legs of the chair as its fingers were drummed on the table. Its dinner was anxiously awaited.

“Where is my food?” were the words spoken by the sea monster.

He looked around the coffee shop. Where was he? David wasn’t the type to be late, certainly not when meeting his old best friend. It had felt like years since Jack had seen his childhood friend. In reality, it had only been the day before but everything had been so frantic in their lives. Jack heard the ring from the door and looked up to see his best friend stumbling in.

Sitting there in an entranced state was the audience. Frozen in their minds by a beauty unknown. Forever trapped in a state of absolute fear by the horror staring at them. But from the outside there was nothing to see but a bunch of dancing maniacs.

The letter was finally ripped open. It had been like a beacon on the sideboard since it was put there along with the others that morning. The longer it sat there the more of a presence it seemed to have. It was now like the hole that the others were creating in the house was now getting bigger. It felt like that one extra letter was going to have the house crumbling down. It was time to take control. The mess that these letter represented needed to be sorted, one way or another. Things needed to get back on some sort of even keel. It was last letter, today’s that had been the final straw. The red letters that were plastered across the envelope were ones that needed to be taken seriously and it was all going to get sorted. There was money in the account now to sort it. Time to move on away from the past and start looking to the future.

The cake was eaten, I waited all day and worked my bum off knowing I was going to eat the cake. cheeky sod ate the cake. Worked hard baking the cake knowing that the cake would be there waiting but no no no the cake was eaten. All I see is crumbs and the knife that was used to cut the cake. I’m going to take this knife and find the sod.