Objective: Write a poem or piece of prose in exactly 87 words
The story repeats in predictable fashion. A hopeful soul blazes through the pristine wilderness, searching for his breakthrough discovery. With luck, his reward is exotic birds, diverse species of rare orchids, and unique animals. Excited, he shares the wonder.
Tiny frontier towns sprout in the hinterland to provide the curious with accommodations while they conduct their research. A steady stream marks the beginning of an erosion that culminates in a deluge. In time, they conserve the endangered and priceless treasures in an isolated park of utopian hell.
A derelict Airstream sat on the family’s vacation property. Tyler’s grandmother peeled apart pages of a fragile photo album, each image prompting stories of grand adventures shared with friends and loved ones.
Inspired, the intrepid Tyler devised a plan. Grandmother’s memory guided the trailer’s restoration and the promise of a remarkable life.
You’d expect me to hide from a formidable opponent, but my soul is hard-wired for defiance and committed to protecting those who cannot defend themselves. Black cumulonimbus clouds rise forty thousand feet in the air to provide Cyclops with his anvil. His forge is the birthplace of lightning, tornados, and hailstorms.
Plunged into darkness, frightened souls huddle. Sobbing like small children, they pray and beg for forgiveness. Despite deafening thunder, eye-searing lightning, and a pounding heart, I step into the downpour with my fiery purpose.
The night’s darkness hid his destination until he arrived. He didn’t feel nostalgia, hope, or even curiosity. He’d burned those bridges years ago. The freak spring snowstorm stirred forgotten habits, guided his car to a faraway country he could no longer call home.
Black snowfall accumulated. Cold hardened him, and he waited.
A light punched back grey edges of a lonely dawn, a harbinger of her brighter day.
A man moved through the house toward the kitchen. He pulled filters from the drawer, measured coffee, and retrieved her favorite mug nestled in the cabinet next to the sink.
Bitter regret stained his face as he started his car, resigned to being the one departed.
Crystal jars, tinted bottles, and woven baskets crowded the shelf-lined room. Identical labels with precise black handwriting adorned each vessel. Elena inched into the space, confused by the overwhelming volume of items. Her fingers traced unfamiliar words.
“Kamala Seed Pods, Madder Root, Mangosteen Peel,” her lips moved silently. As she continued reading, the chaos dissolved, replaced by an odd sense of order.
“What color does Pomegranate Rind render?”
Elena picked up the jar, shaking the rose-hued contents before she turned to face Mistress Moiree.
“Guessing?” Mistress Moiree asked and extended her hand.
Elena felt the heat of embarrassment in her cheeks as she relinquished the container.
“They look red,” she said rolling the glass in her hands, “but when boiled, they dye mordanted fibers a golden yellow. You will learn.”
Dismal clouds shrouded winter mountaintops. Cloaks of despair, they wept, their sorrow drenching the landscape. Parched souls, clinging to life, found solace in the mother’s healing tears.
Breathless, I waited.
Brown became gold as nomad tinkers arrived. Singing children frolicked. Their laughter summoned sunshine, and magical colors transformed the valley. Continually moving, they were always at home. Their work complete, they disappeared beyond the horizon, leaving hope behind.