I am taking a creative writing class to hopefully stabilize my writer's block. The first exercise was to write six sentences about objects and stop after two minutes of writing. My friend thinks I have a gift with prose but I think its garbage. Enjoy reading my eloquent slop. And the nice picture of the guy and his umbrella. Hopefully it will rain today....
Its viridian shell hides her shallow self. The thick ridges on its back gives off the feeling of pride, yet it is used in many shameful ways. So many are lost,but this one will remained fixed as long as the sun stays out.
Olfactory pleasing but physically unappealing, this crescent shaped behemoth breathes. Flying through the air while chasing its death, it soothes me. As long as distance is maintained, life is unchanged.
Obsidian and obscene, this object cannot project what I am conspiring about. Its lifeline is disconnected but not for long. Two semicircles will soon pulsate until the lights dim, and then will I really be awake.
Read while red, the cushion is stained by the tears. Almost like play-dough but rougher than a rock it shimmers under the fake fluorescent sun.
A mosaic of pebbles, intelligently designed by nature. The remains of a cataclysmic event involving the fateful meeting of its parents. So short the life of man.
A cylinder containing nothing but dust. There is a cursed air around it but its color says otherwise. A plethora of thorns decorate its roof. The stellar ceiling reflects off the cellar door.
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