Prompt of the Week: A Free Writing Space

Consider this a free space to write whatever you want.

Write your response in the comments below. Best entry gets a shout out next week!

—Lady Jabberwocky

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13 thoughts on “Prompt of the Week: A Free Writing Space

  1. I’m sad, and I don’t know why. I went back to work today after being home with COVID for a week. In the days before protocols, I probably would have only missed three days at the most, I was feeling noticeably better by the fourth day, but I have to follow all these rules now. Everything is stupid. I hate this world where people have to stay stuck in their little categories and hate everyone else and assume that everything is against them. It’s one thing to hold elections regarding taxes and foreign policy and things like that, but now it seems like the nation is rapidly dividing into two sides that have fundamentally different and incompatible views of reality itself. And I’m stuck behind enemy lines. Will I be found out? Will I have to make a choice of whether or not to stand up for myself when I could lose everything? And I feel so alone. Many of my friends don’t know where I stand, and they wouldn’t take my side if they really knew. But I’m very convinced that I’m behind enemy lines for a reason. I just wish I could figure that reason out. I decided after my breakup a year and a half ago that I was done with women forever, and I was just better off being alone, but it’s really discouraging thinking I’m going to spend every night alone from now until I die. And what’s going to happen when I die? Will anyone be there to find my body, since I live alone? Will anyone even remember me?

    Liked by 2 people

  2. There Once Was A Hermit
    There once was a hermit who lived in a cloister.
    and his sociability rivaled the oyster.
    He was lonely of course,
    folks said, “That’s what you get
    with your tippling and coddling that old amulet.”
    He lived (and I always speak only the truth)
    in a cell just the size of a telephone booth.
    In his chapel, which he built from a stack of old pallets
    he led a few stragglers in pious old ballads.
    At the end of the service, they held a communion
    and drank rot-gut wine from a rusty old cup.
    I wonder if Jesus joined in that reunion.
    Glenn Turner 2013


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