They were surrounded on all sides – the waters were rising, the air was polluted, and mutant virus were at their door.
The men in charge were at a stalemate – was it happening? was it their problem? were the scientists being too dramatic?
Where does a refuge go if the moon is not colonized and there is no safe place upon Earth?
Written in response to Sonya’s Three Line Tales photo prompt #294
What legends do your ancestors tell?
They who knew the builders well
The only to survive the pharaoh’s fell
?
Written in response to Sonya’s Three Line Tales 293 photo prompt.
If animals could tell their legends, we could truly rewrite history. Imagine if a cockroach story-teller emerged…
Two years of friendship and laughter lost
Two years of education brought to naught
O invisible enemy, what havoc you have wrought!
Written in response to Sonya’s Three Line Tales photo prompt
.
No one thought anything of the enthusiastic tourist admiring their wares and taking their pictures.
The online bidding started the very next day.
The cyber-crimes unit is still investigating.
Written in response to Sonya’s Three Line Tales prompt 291
Always a lurking shadow, often breathing down my neck
In the dark of night, they take form and keep me awake
The weight of my sins
Written in response to Week 290 of Three Line Tales.
Outside the parliament we do protest
The water by now is over our head
Yet everything that truly matters remains unsaid
Written in response to Sonya’s Three Line Tales 289 challenge
“If there were a zillion of me, what a perfect world it would be,
No opposing opinions, no one who will disagree.”
.
“Do you see no problem in that, like a lack of variety?
Or a world drowning under a deluge of pompous vanity?”
.
“Is the world going to drown? Go under the sea?
Bit of a problem I suppose, if there is no one else around to take the blame but me!”
.
Written in response to Week 287 of Three Line Tales.
The wretchedness of the wretched race depicted upon his wretched face
The artist wields the brush he sees fit, marking society, culture and time
And when he’s gone and his pain is dead, that’s when his works will come alive
In response to Sonya’s Three Line Tales #286
The warm lights beckoned like a beacon of hope – of a place to rest, perhaps a meal, hopefully a phone…
The inviting aroma of coffee and freshly baked cookies didn’t let him wonder about the unusualness of an unlocked door.
Until, suddenly, all the lights went out and a blood-curdling shriek pierced the stillness.
*******
Written in response to The Three Line Tales #285
“It’s all about knowing the laws of nature, self-confidence and of course a lot of practice.
A perfect wheelie is a fine balancing act.”
“Sounds a lot like life!”
Written in response to Week 284 of Three Line Tales
Leaking Ink 