Writing Prompt
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Saturday WriteO Prompt: Clap
Oskar had waded through the remnants of the town for over a day, not finding anything important or useful in the rubble. His stomach was grinding with anxiety and hunger, worrying about what was going to happen when it finished… Continue reading
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Thursday WriteO Setting Prompt: Bag
The sprite slipped into her hand-bag, falling in between the small gaps of jumbled objects as she jostled it in her walk. When they finally came to a stop, the hand-bag was thumped once more, dropped onto a counter and… Continue reading
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I’ve Revived my Writeometer
Years ago I download an app called Writeometer. I stopped using it for a long time because of my inability to keep a schedule and the big low of my writing years but have recently cleansed it and started using… Continue reading
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Tuesday WriteO Poetry Prompt: Warden
Sometimes I feel small, Like I’m curling into a ball, As if making myself small, Will make life feel less threatening, Sometimes it feels like I’m being swallowed, Like my body is being hollowed, Into the darkness, I am swallowed,… Continue reading
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Writing Prompt: Foreclosure
When I was younger, I moved a lot, Home was not a house, not a place, not a single spot, But I wanted that room, that place I always knew, I wanted my own space, known by few, But that’s… Continue reading
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Writing Prompt: Cleaning
I do and don’t like cleaning. It’s one of those things that I don’t want to do when it’s someone else’s mess or if someone tells me to, but I sometimes will like cleaning the houses of my siblings when… Continue reading
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The Christmas Edition
She had cream coloured hair, with caramel streaks. her eyes were a variant of light browns, like walnuts without their shell. A snowy path with lanterns dangling from the trees, dimly lighting the way with a little swing as… Continue reading
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A Flower Child
Her hair sticks out in thick, orange locks, like a bonnet of petals, the blondish centre appearing to be the centre of this little flower. Continue reading
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Always a Painting
There is always a sunset and a sunrise. A painting that drifts around the world. Changing and morphing but always the same kind of beauty. Continue reading
Hopfield is Writing 