Bring on the Sun
It was in the 80's yesterday. The EIGHTIES! I've never gotten on too well with the long winters of New England. I wash up on the shores of Spring pale and rigid as a piece of driftwood. But there's nothing quite so glorious as the transformation from winter to spring, nothing so intoxicating to me as the scent of thawing earth.
Some weeks are harder than others for me to make my pick. I'm hardly a literary critic, so I rely on what speaks to me, and even then I can't always tell you why. Ask me about the brain sometime, and I'll dazzle you with science, but when it comes to the arts I'm probably decidedly under-sophisticated.
My pick this week is Lance with his latest installment from an ongoing series he's created with the 100 Word Challenge. Every week he takes the prompt and weaves into a larger sci-fi story.
Exhausted by the events in New York, I walked lifelessly through the Atlanta airport. I wanted to bring Breann with me but she was in New Jersey speaking with her mother. I wasn't sure I could be in the same room with my parents. They raised me to believe that hiding information was lying.
By the luggage carousel, a boy; maybe 4 years old, played with a toy robot that talked when you pressed it's chest. The toy wouldn't talk. "Mama, this robot is broken!" he yelled. I shook my head muttering to myself bitterly, "damn right it is."
As you'll recall, April is National Poetry Month. This week's prompt comes from a charming and clever piece by Neil Gaman (thanks Mary Lou), "Instructions".
The word is