Each month in class we write a prompt paragraph of 100 words or less. A prompt paragraph is a suggested topic for the writer to take any direction they desire in 100 words or less. It is always interesting to see the many different creative ways these prompts evolve. For the month of May the prompt was “Green”.
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GREEN by Katie Yusef
I had felt ill-tempered when I woke that morning, but I didn’t fully grasp how out of sync I was until my darkened mindset began tainting my normal interactions. When the chirpy barista, who had apparently yanked her bouncy ponytail too tight and activated her sloth mode, took too long making my caramel macchiato, I became exasperated and insulting. As blondie’s smile faded at my cutting words, I was mortified and realized something was very unbalanced within me today. Dashing home, I grabbed my jade and green calcite beads and headed into my yoga studio to reset my chakras. (99 words)
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Green by Laura Nicol
I was listening to the Home Ec teacher expounding on color choices in fashion.
“Blonds usually look good in green. How many of you like to wear green?” Hands went up. I wasn't sure if I should answer the question; my hair was dishwater blond. It bleached out in the summer with the sun and chlorine. Could I claim to be blond or would that be conceited? “Susan,” she snapped. “Are you listening? Do you like to wear green?” So, I guess I'm a blond. “Sometimes,” I answered quietly, flushed with embarrassment. Now I hated Home Ec even more. (99 words)
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Ode to Green by Al Tietjen
Background screen, light aesthetic,
Pastel or natural, apple, spring
Benign olive, mint, dark or shady,
Design pattern, texture, and noun.
Adjective, adverb, figure of speech,
Symbolically sick, jealous in rage
Not blue nor yellow, it’s safe to go
The visible spectrum says lucky, you know.
Green is the most exuberant color
As a fiery pepper- it’s gold!
A primary, not, we still love it
A splash here, a dollop more there,
Would we fear guacamole without?
I tell you St. Patrick, March 17 - wasted
As a sign of unripeness it’s fraught;
When green becomes brown, all is rot. (99 words)
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Run like hell… (Homage to the Aurora Tunnel) by Carolyn Duncan
A tribe of green people is in perpetual flight under downtown Seattle. Hundreds of them running like hell. A 21st Century petroglyph of elbows pumping, heels flying, these emotionless giants are getting the hell outta Dodge. They’re orderly, although some are running north and some south, frozen mid-stride pointed toward the nearest door trimmed in green lights and electric EXIT signs. Green means ‘go’ in government signage and these three-hundred pairs of long green legs leave no doubt to tunnel motorists, this is the way to GO, GO, GO when fire, quake or tidal wave interrupt their commute. (100 words, exactly)
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The Color of MS? by Lucinda Hauser
Fluorescent particles. Green fairy dust. Another summer morning waking to the crop-duster’s roar as it lifts its fuselage over our house, exposing its underbelly to this awestruck 5-year-old. I jump out of bed to watch. My window wide open to let the “fresh” air in. A movie screen to this weekly wonder. The shimmering green “pesticide drift” floats onto our yard. Its sulfuric smell tickles my nose. Years later, I read articles such as “EPA-Registered Herbicide Found to Trigger Inflammation Linked to Onset of Multiple Sclerosis” and wonder…was my childhood, magical pixie dust the “environmental trigger” to my adult hell? (100 words)
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Lunch John Mistur
The Anaconda crosses the river, slithering through lily pads and tall marsh grass, blending into her surroundings. She reaches the riverbank and goes inland. Lifting her head in a lush field, she sees a bullfrog in a patch of ferns, eating a praying mantis. She sneaks up behind the frog and bites it on the neck. Her body wraps around the frog until its white grape eyeballs pop out and mantis remains gush out of its mouth. Balled up, the Anaconda looks like a watermelon sitting under the ferns while she waits for the final breath to swallow her lunch. (100 words)
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