Day 3: Theme: Skin, Style: Prose Poetry, Device: Internal Rhyme
The moon felt sad about his bad face and asked the sun to share one of her rays. Soon it grew to be in a new phase And light filled its quiet rocky surface.
The little boy could never smile because he always thought that he was the ugliest person to live. He thought none wanted to be close as he was hideous and unattractive. He had often asked the doctor to help him out, and once the doctor had consented. Exchanging the pills for a wad of cash, to his home in excitement, he did dash.
Yet, the gorgeous moon was far from joyous A dark mark stayed on the Earth, which was mysterious. It projected him into guilt more than he expected and created a plan to work to help the dejected.
On his way he saw the homeless, begging for food and money. But he noticed that they neither had shelter or anything to call cosy. This brought tears to his eyes, as he felt him despise for himself. He chalked up a plan and walked up to the clinic again.
The moon bounced the light to the provinces that were dim So those in the shadow were thankful to him. He felt joy that made him melt, in which he started to swim He knew he should do more according to his prayer hymn.
The boy went back to the clinic and traded his money back for the graded pills. He got back to the sector of the poor and gave out the money, becoming a donor. He found joy, by spreading it. A pleasure he had been unaware of so far. He made the decision to take the action forward as he knew the God of this creation would want him to.
The moon soon disappeared to become new and about where it went no one knew. Till he eclipsed the sun, he did grew and the solar power did cry and raise hue.
The power of the moon was thus made known The sun cowered and was covered by the moon which shone His influence on the earth’s waves and ways are stronger It is the moon that is, to the earth, closer much like the boy who, as a better doctor became renown.
The balloon seller, walked down his usual paths, selling his wares, in his usual way:
Get these balloons for all the good children And not for those, who break stuff and away run. Come ye. Come all. Get these balloons from me and gift it to your boys and girls who have a good story
And his usual way, unfortunately for the parents, was alongside schools and parks. On hearing his song, children would look at their parents for a judgement of behaviour. And in order to pacify them, the fathers and mothers would buy balloons for their children.
Today’s prompt: write this story(the first paragraph is already provided) in first person, told by the twelve-year-old sitting on the stoop across the street.
Today’s twist: Build this twelve-year-old as a character.
The neighbourhood has seen better days for Mrs. Pauley has lived there since before anyone remembered. She raised a family of six boys, who’d all grown up and moved away. Mr. Pauley had passed away three months ago. With no source of income, she fell back on her rent. The landlord, accompanied by the police came to evict Mrs. Pauley from the house she’s lived in for forty years.
Or so they say. It could even be more. I never knew them personally, save two reasons. My dad used to work with Mr. Pauley. And I used to live with them.
I’ve ripped off a few parts of this post from a lot of parts of the internet where I’ve seen people debating as such. Such content is definitely not mine – I’m simply borrowing those lines because they seem to fit. If you know who to credit, please do let me know below.
Today’s Prompt: write about finding something.
Today’s twist: if you wrote day four’s post as the first in a series, use this one as the second instalment — loosely defined.
“This book is trash,” cried the boy as he threw the book onto the floor.
Miraculously, a framed photograph of a deity fell on it. The book cushioned the fall and the glass remained unbroken.
“Why are these pictures still inside our home? Didn’t I ask you to throw them out yesterday?” bellowed the father looking up from the table where he was cutting vegetables, “I don’t believe in them anymore, not after…”
Today’s Prompt: A man and a woman walk through the park together, holding hands.
Today’s twist: write the scene from three different points of view
She insisted that we take a walk in the park to calm my nerves. As if my nerves could turn calm after what we did last summer. I think that it’s her nerves, she wants to calm more, in this walk, than she wants to calm me. I still can remember the lady’s cry of pain when our car rammed into her. Her vivid grey eyes that grew vacant and closed at the hospital. The pain in the tears of her son who had come all the way from half-way around the globe. He hadn’t blamed or accused us – but the innocent faces of her grandkids as they clung onto her boy, their father, was accusation enough for me.