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At the end of my 2nd year of university, I donated around 20 books. Some I'd read for pleasure, others for my course, to discuss for an hour with peers and never think about again. At the end of my first year this number was closer to 50
Hate is a mold that bites and eats and feasts 'Til all you see is its colours And all colours you see are it And then it latches on to everything First like a tic burrowed deep in bristly furs Then like a sunburn And last like a rusty
Idea 5 from JF Danskin’s April Prompts: Someone is out of money and assets, and starts to sell or barter their possessions. Any setting — your choice (historical, dark future, etc). What are the last things that this character is unwilling to part with? An heirloom or magic item, perhaps?
Is this millennia my penance? This year, this hour, to sing repentance? To weep upon a single flower and never a happy song endow? The clouds rendered to rude calligraphy, and sublime passions eluding me. Uncanny spirits from the shadows black harmonize until Music comes back. For I am immortal
The last step on the stairs is shallower than the rest, and made of stone instead of wood. And Flores, who has been living here his whole life, trips on his way down for the first time in years. He is going to check the post. He won't
