It’s a rainy day. A rare rainy day here in Eastern Oregon. The dogs will go stir crazy over the moon INSANE being cooped up but it’s raining, babies.
No, you’ll melt. Go take a nap!
Here’s a 150 word micro mini super-tiny bit I wrote for something something or other. I rather like how it turned out even if nobody else did. You get a word prompt. It has to appear somewhere in your effort. I think the word was ‘bloom’.
Bloom hated her name. She had a tattoo of the devil on her arm to remind her she was not some flower or houseplant. Be nice, her nice mother counseled without an ounce of pity. One day, as stories often start, Bloom noticed a tree. A little plum tree with white-petaled glories full of drunken bees having orgies and feasts. Her fingers ran along the back of a bee, but it melted away to the next blossom’s well. I wish to be the bee, not the flower, Bloom decided. She cut off her princess long hair, she wandered the world looking for herself. On her deathbed, she held out her hand. Bring me a plum tree full of drunken bees. I want to start this all over again. Her fingers ran over the air. I wrote my name in the skin of this world. I wrote my name.