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Thank you so much for this! :) I am always trying to come up with short story prompts and have yet to master the topic game! Anyway! Here is my tale for the Writing Prompt Wednesday~ :)
We were being followed, but not by the usual perpetrators. By the constant and cold wind of the northern hemisphere. Our strides had brought us to a new town, a new city that was less helpful than the last. There were few like us, living, breathing, and moving. Corruption robbed us the motivation to reunite with a happier life, with a happier time.
Water spoiled with feces and the raindrops from Heaven actually came from hell. It seemed there was no escape from this destruction man had caused. We were lost among the waves of protesters.
It was a silent whisper in the night that made me realize the earth could not, would not heal itself after we threw up all over her masterpiece called nature. It was a long time to consider making the world a better place, rushing to the conclusion that change were possible, if not inevitable. But that is not how this story ends. This is not how my brother and I’s cataclysmic memoir begins. The greed of a woman, the jealousy of a man, pushed barriers of personal and moral decisions to prove that we were not meant for freedom of choice, rather choice of freedoms. Catered to the knowledge of the happenings, my feet stumble over rocks, no they are gray and white washed, they must be corpse bones of yesterday. Turmoil struck and I stood face to face with all the kings and queens as they took their last bows, going out in a graceful manner before execution progressed.
What would you say if I told you I knew this event would take place? Not because I saw visions in my mind, pleading against a gift from God. There were signs of mass venality. There are always signs, I remind myself. Signs to inform or warn you against the path you have taken, needless to confirm there are always signs. Signs that tell us that the world is not ending, but beginning a new chapter, a cleansing fire and brimstone era in its stages of life and leisure. Wounded not by weapons but by the ideas of one man who thought it would be better if others thought the same way as well.
I confirm nor deny the accusations of complaining to my accusers. A definite error is trying to be solved in this community.
The error being human.
-S.M. Bjarnson
We were being followed, but not by the usual perpetrators. By the constant and cold wind of the northern hemisphere. Our strides had brought us to a new town, a new city that was less helpful than the last. There were few like us, living, breathing, and moving. Corruption robbed us the motivation to reunite with a happier life, with a happier time.
Water spoiled with feces and the raindrops from Heaven actually came from hell. It seemed there was no escape from this destruction man had caused. We were lost among the waves of protesters.
It was a silent whisper in the night that made me realize the earth could not, would not heal itself after we threw up all over her masterpiece called nature. It was a long time to consider making the world a better place, rushing to the conclusion that change were possible, if not inevitable. But that is not how this story ends. This is not how my brother and I’s cataclysmic memoir begins. The greed of a woman, the jealousy of a man, pushed barriers of personal and moral decisions to prove that we were not meant for freedom of choice, rather choice of freedoms. Catered to the knowledge of the happenings, my feet stumble over rocks, no they are gray and white washed, they must be corpse bones of yesterday. Turmoil struck and I stood face to face with all the kings and queens as they took their last bows, going out in a graceful manner before execution progressed.
What would you say if I told you I knew this event would take place? Not because I saw visions in my mind, pleading against a gift from God. There were signs of mass venality. There are always signs, I remind myself. Signs to inform or warn you against the path you have taken, needless to confirm there are always signs. Signs that tell us that the world is not ending, but beginning a new chapter, a cleansing fire and brimstone era in its stages of life and leisure. Wounded not by weapons but by the ideas of one man who thought it would be better if others thought the same way as well.
I confirm nor deny the accusations of complaining to my accusers. A definite error is trying to be solved in this community.
The error being human.
-S.M. Bjarnson
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Wow +S.M. Bjarnson! What a powerful piece of prose!
I love the fact that it's set in the real - that they weren't being followed by the "usual predators." That there's a real sense of bleak disaster too. You paint a vivid picture, but one that's a bit unusual...which is totally cool!
Great juxtaposition using the glittering visual of kings and queens against this dying gray world.
And "The error being human" is a fantastic last sentence!
Thank you for sharing this! Fantastic job! :)
I love the fact that it's set in the real - that they weren't being followed by the "usual predators." That there's a real sense of bleak disaster too. You paint a vivid picture, but one that's a bit unusual...which is totally cool!
Great juxtaposition using the glittering visual of kings and queens against this dying gray world.
And "The error being human" is a fantastic last sentence!
Thank you for sharing this! Fantastic job! :)
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