How Do Your Writing Exercises Work? Essentially, I go to a “Single Word Prompt Generator” and have it throw a random word at me. Then I go to Unsplash.com and use that word to search their database of images, and scroll through for something that catches my attention. This may be something where I simply want to describe what’s in the image, or maybe it sparks a small story nugget in my brain. Regardless, I then take the picture and post it here, with credit, and proceed to write for 15 minutes. Whatever I produce, I share with you lovely people. Unedited. Typos are to be expected. Word Prompt: Divide She could feel it. The slow encroachment of darkness, seeping into the soil of her home. Hesitantly, the Dryad separated from her tree and glanced around the forest. It was a sharp divide; the bright leaves covered in sparkling snow, and dancing with life even in the depths of winter. As she turned, there was the other side, creeping closer so slowly no mortal eye would perceive it. The snow didn't glisten, the birdsong was softer as though scared the wake the sleeping darkness, and the flowers withered beneath the ice. They lacked the strength to push through the frost and decorate the forest floor with bright patches of colour. She didn't know the source of the darkness, only that it crept ever closer to her home, and the Dryad let one hand rest against the trunk of her tree, fear echoing around the chambers of her heart. It wouldn't be long before it reached her now. A year, maybe two, but all she could do was watch its inevitable approach. A chill wind blew in from the west. Cold with more than the ice and snow of winter. It whistled harshly through the rattling branches of the desecrated forest, and carried with it poison. The rustling material hit her tree and the Dryad flinched, staring at the strange white material in horror. She's heard mortal hikers speaking of such things; Plastic Carrier Bags. As the foul winds tangled the object within her branches, she shuddered and the darkness crept closer. She didn't understand what the mortal object was, but wrapped tightly around her tree it made her flesh shudder. Without thought, the Dryad climbed. Reaching high up within the branches of her home quickly, and reached for the plastic whose touch felt like the encroaching darkness. Her long fingers pulled it free of her home, her skin burning at the slimy touch of something unnatural at it's very core, and as she watched the wind carry it further into the unspoiled beauty of her glistening snow-touched forest, she began to cry. Tears of ice trailing down her cheeks, she turned her back, unable to watch where the poisonous object landed, but instead her gaze settled on the encroaching darkness and she sobbed in realisation. The plastic had burnt. Had hurt. Had damaged her home in the few brief moments it had been in contact. Her skin was still red and stinging from it's touch, and she stared out at the darkness that no mortal eye could see and grief consumed her heart when she finally realised the source of the darkness. Humans and their plastic waste. Mortals who would not live to see the destruction their carelessness had wrought. #Writing #Original #Writing Exercise #Ari Writes #Arista Writes
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Arista Holmes
I'm a writer in her thirties, who is based in the South East of England. Archives
March 2024
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