To some, the word is a struggle,

or, a curse,

or, nothing more than a box to check.


To some, the word is a struggle,

or, a curse,

or, nothing more than a box to check.


To some, the word is a struggle,

or, a curse,

or, nothing more than a box to check.


Writing Prompt #140 “Collage 14″

Collage 14


URBAN, was the theme of my project. So I gathered my camera bag and a snack for the ride. The nearest city was hour’s away but as grassy fields turned into suburban sprawl, it seemed like a different country entirely.

I didn’t expect it to turn out this way.

“Name?” The guard had asked.

“John,” I replied. “I’m here to take photos.”

“Go on, but be careful,” he warned, not looking up from his magazine. Who still reads magazines?

My first clue, had I paid attention.

As a trapped soul in a mirrored room, the guard’s words make sense now.

They see me as they ride, forever a reflective legend.

Written for last weeks Micro Bookends – where they supply the first and last word and you write the rest

Three Line Stories –

It’s Thursday! Head on over to Not3LineThursday for some fun. Here’s my last two submissions for a taste:

Prompt –  Wherever you are sitting, look up, write about something that you see ahead of you.

Wooden planks connect white cinder blocks,
In this uniform work cage.
I will soon be free; only to return tomorrow.

Prompt – The second person you loved.

You quoted Harry Potter and it was easy to say yes
to the date you asked me on. Then I tripped into you
during our first kiss; you petted my hair and laughed.



“Mary! Jane! Come here!” Amnesia fretted under the afternoon sun. Her seedlings were missing and after last year’s slash-and-burn by the men in blue – she had reason to be concerned.

There had been a backpacker earlier and images of her babies, plucked by some hiker chasing a high, spun her into a panic.

“Mary! Jane!”

What they needed was a proper farmer. She had managed to plant her seedlings and watch them grow. But she needed help, someone to monitor the grounds and nutrient their water; someone who could make her babies even grander than the sun alone.

It’s impossible though, their plant family were the “villains.”

Then she heard it, a chant from down the mountain: “Legalization!”

Excitement floated up the hill with each breeze. Heavy footprints followed and she still couldn’t find her babies. Her leaves reached out for them as a boot trampled her friend. She screamed their names as greedy hands ripped up her neighborhood.

She awoke, replanted, under artificial light; the sun gone but her roots full of proper nutrients.

“Good morning, mama,” Mary said.

“Welcome to our new home,” Jane greeted.

There were men in white spraying them with mist. The farmers had found them and now, they may never see the sun again.

A two part prompt written for Flash!Friday:

The protagonist must be a farmer and you must to incorporate:

Inspection. CC2.0 photo by Brian (Ziggy) Lilioia.