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Ben found himself wistful in recalling the green and growing Spring, the triumph of life in its myriad expressions. The world had been a lively place back then, marked by the paint of the Sun’s light upon the world.
But life eventually will falter and bend under the forces of time and circumstance. As much as he wanted to lift above the sorrows, he sank back down in his nakedness. The icy hiemal that was now existence ruled everything. He doubted he would see another Spring, even when the season actually arrived.
Commanded by the powers to live in perpetual fear of everything that was really nothing, he could ignore it or decide to leave. The leaders said everyone who did not obey would die anyway, so why did it matter if it happened their way or his?
Don’t worry, I feel fine, but as I started to write the wordle, my thoughts drifted across the sense of hopelessness the “official” response to the COVID 19 crisis imparts on so many people.
This wordle, hosted at Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie requires that the following list of words be used to manufacture a poem, short story, or some other creative work. The words are listed in my story in bold and are:
Wistful- pensive, especially in a melancholy way
Myriad- a very great or indefinitely great number of persons or things: ten thousand
Hiemal- of or relating to winter; wintry.
Speaking of winter, my first self-published novella Ice finally got its first review on Amazon, while my first ever novella Time’s Abyss is up to three. Not much, I know, but that’s life as an indie writer.
To read other works inspired by the Wordle, click on Mister Linky.