Week of November 2-6 by Lamia Haque: Writing Prompt: Pick up the object closest to you. Describe it in the utmost detail possible. Use your five senses. Find symbolic meaning in those details, and relate the way you describe it with ways you might describe yourself. (Ex: The pillow was a special kind of soft, providing me with solace after innumerable stressful days.) The leather was soft and smooth, with a layer of polish over it. It curved around the pages inside, a mother protecting her child. A brown string wove in and out of the spine, creating a crossing pattern before weaving around the book, tying it close and finally ending in two old pendants. They bore an anchor and a ship’s steering wheel, into which tiny flowers were carefully carved, as though a captain’s daughter had visited.
Indeed, the notebook looked as though it could be found next to a treasure chest on an old, sunken ship: it was weathered-looking, with some pages torn or folded at the edges, yet the book was remarkably well-preserved. In fact, the compass stamped into the cover looked as though it had been branded just yesterday. Inside the notebook, taped to the sand-colored pages, were postcards, smelling of gift stores and books. Some were printed with mountains so green and clouds so white that you could almost smell fresh air. Others showed islands and shores lined with huge cities, the summer heat almost radiating through the picture, still others picturing old cabins in the forest, trains, and rivers. Some postcards had writing on the back, in neat script. Others reflected chaotic scrawling all over the paper, done in a hurry, almost illegible. Many had no writing at all, but tiny illustrations; simple contours without shading. They described the life of someone gone. Gone, lost to the hurricane and gentle river of time. Frozen, a snapshot cradled by the pages. Adventures forgotten, stories never to be shared again. A life one wishes to return to, but indeed, the moment has passed. Your time is up. You must continue, running through your years as fast as you can, never pausing to slow; if you slow, you are left behind, left to the essentiality of survival, and you must thrive, not merely survive! You must never reflect, not about anything; reflection wastes time and time is money, dirty and filthy, passed down through hundreds of years. Nobody bothers to clean it; when will they have the time? And thus, you see, we have an endless rabbit hole, inescapable. Too many people are going with the flow of the whirlpool to go against it, and so you must spend the rest of your days swimming with the crowd, even though we all wish to go the other way.
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