Write a descriptive piece about a desolate landscape.
Think about how you can describe both the physical aspects, and atmosphere, of this place.
The first thing I notice is the echo. There’s nothing in between me and my voice-not for hundreds of feet. Everything eventually bounces back to me, a little less than it was before. The second thing is the stillness. Stillness itself is not a strange or unusual thing. Plenty of things are still-lakes on a calm day, trees, houses, mountains. They don’t move for years and nobody gives it a thought...
In all directions there was nothing but desolation. The last bits of light were not giving way to much detail. A weathered two lane road ran through the middle of the desert. An unmaintained wire and post fence bracketed the road. Some old farmer may have ran cattle in the area long ago. The road seemed to lead nowhere in either direction. An ominous mountain range that could only be distinguished...
The beach is strewn with debris and ruin, an utter devastation. The ocean has made cleaning up easier, leaving only one important thing. You could say, the biggest issue of all this madness:
Who killed the soldier?
The heroic man lays motionless on the beach, his face buried in the sand. There are no signs of violence, no blood or gashes to suggest foul play, but you can tell he’s dead with ju...
In a foggy desolate forest a few towns away from their home town Dartmouth,it was a full moon that night. There was a decent sized cabin bunker way down the muddy and dirty road from where the forest began. This forest was real far away from any civilization in the areas there is no people that ever came here because this forest is so absolutely haunted by the spirit’s of the people that were kill...
I abandoned the desolation long ago
The place of triggers, ideations and compulsions
Where morning light carves the only hope in the grooves of those early years
Until I became an artist of my healed emotions that bled the colors of my perceptual canvas
But all that is abandoned can often return
Still hollow places can wither shiny days
The landscape of my psyche with its mines
Calls for the refo...
Gray from horizon to horizon. A stone ground peppered with cracks and with dust. The harsh grays of the floor seeming to fight the bright hopeful blues of the sky right above. The ground exists in parallel to the sky. Clumps of rocks forming crude imitations of the clouds high above. Reflections in puddles hoping to capture even a fraction of the light of the bright, burning sun.
The sky lets it’...
Chills went down my spine, the only things I can hear is the wind and my beating heart. I stare off into the vast tan landscape seeing nothing but flat land for miles. No trees, no form of life. It was eerie being all alone. Trapped with no way out. The sun beat down on me warming my back uncomfortably, the wind blowing specks of sand against my face forcing me to squint my eyes. Everything seemed...
Snow thick as marshmallow fluff crunched satisfyingly beneath our boots. Our breaths came in white ghosts. Sneaking looks at me under the brim of his Phillies cap, Taylor was about to say something. I silenced him with an arched eyebrow. We are at the wrought iron gates. I remember Mr. Levin saying how on Sundays slaves here used to work for themselves to earn their freedom as iron mongers or plai...
Time has been cruel to us in many ways, shedding us of our luster and youth, and decaying the organs beating in our bodies.
Time has been cruel to the earth too, though arguably, not as cruel as the hands and minds of mankind.
Every idea, no matter how well-intended or pure, turns into something ugly and minacious the more it is passed from hand to hand.
If anyone or anything knows the destruc...
The air is different after the rain, here.
Layers of dust and dirt streak down anything with a flat surface. It snows here, believe it or not. That’s the thing people unfamiliar with the Mojave Desert don’t intuitively understand, how cold it can get. More common—though still uncommon—are the lightening storms.
The High Desert, north east of Palm Springs, becomes flat once you travel up, up, up...
Similar writing prompts
A homograph is a word that has multiple meanings but is spelt the same way for each - e.g. a 'wave' in the sea, or to 'wave' at someone.
Choose a homograph, and write a short story or poem, in any genre, where you use your chosen word for more than one of its meanings.
Write a story where an object that is inconspicuously mentioned early on is a key element of the plot towards the end of your story.
Using an object is an easy way to foreshadow an idea, but you could also try using something else like dialogue, or another character, to foreshadow your plot.