Dec 2014
A landscape described by an old woman, who lost her husband: You cannot mention the husband or his death
Everything is cold, frigid and dark. The season of death is forcing the trees and grass to die. Even though beauty should surround by nature's cycle, the leaves look dull and colorless. There is movement around me, but my eyes are too numb to notice. I see children laugh as they play, but my ears are ringing in silence. The sun castes a dark shadow over my lonesome house; a house that was once a home, but now it is filled with sorrow. My body remains in an inert form as my porch swing sways back and forth with a creek. My hands are constantly shaking, a frequent reaction that my body responses to. The wrinkles that are engraved in my skin show ages of growth and a long life on Earth. All that remains with me are memories, but the only thought that is buried in my head is the bitterness.
A tree described by a young man who just committed a ******: You cannot mention the ******
A panic, my heart races uncontrollably. I run forever long on a never ending road; my skinny, long legs sped up my run. My baseball cap seals the light from the deep, velvet-red sunset as I get lost in a forest. My surroundings blended; everything looked the same, but then there was one tree that stood apart from the others. My run turns into a jog and then a gimpy walk. My knees buckle the closer I become and then I stop---my soul is capture. A maple tree stands in front of me, although this tree is not like other mother nature's creations. It is black, like a dark abyss hole that is carved out of Earth. Vines curl, as each layer has grasp claws at the end of each branch. Death at each tip with veins engraved in every leaf. I step in, drawn to the scent of sweet maple syrup. I place my filthy hand against the hollow trunk; it rests there for a while. Then gouges are ripping a part one of nature's beauty. The slashes went deeper than craters on the moon. The sap---dark as blood, oozes out of every crack of the tree. I quickly remove my hand; I step away to see my hand print, my true identity covered in the blood of guilt.
Describe a landscape as seen by a tiger: Do not state it is a tiger
The long green grass covers my face as I bury it near the ground. I wait patiently to hunt for my prey. My nails cress the dirt under my feet; I can feel every movement in the palm of my hand. Silence surrounds me; the wind is easily heard through the shift of my ears. Close, but in a distance my desire thirst will be tame. As a king I have power over my kingdom. I live in a throne, next to a waterfalls and an open valley. I roam during the day to fest, as the sun sets over the jungle I protect. Closely I watch; my heart beats and then I am ready. Blood drips from my mouth and the look of death glares through my yellow eyes. I am satisfied and all I leave behind is a warning, a print in the desert ground marking where I have hunted.
A building described by a man who just lost a son in a street fight: You cannot mention the son, the street fight or the man who is viewing the building
A dark shadow peeks over a head as the fog makes it a little vague. The shattered windows leave a deep hole; the glass lies on the ground beneath the concrete. Dark circles around all the doors. Dullness walks up the side of every inch of the walls. The top is slightly slanted and slowly breaking down. The stable support beam is becoming more dependent on its neighbor. Man's creation is crumbling down by the heat of the burning fire and the powerful noise of screaming innocence. But near the top a ball lays. The youth of a blue striped ball rolls down the broken hills. It tries to escape the death of the flames, but gets trapped. Squealing tires screech a high pitch and then the sirens ring. The structure finally collapses.
Describe the same building, but through the eyes of a woman who is in love: You cannot mention love or the in love couple
In a mirrored image of beauty and joy, black turns to white, as grey turns to light. Open windows scattered, allowing the sun to peep through. A colorful atmosphere that has flowers and green grass, which arch every corner. The sidewalk smooth like the skin on my legs. Everything is perfect that even the flaws are unnoticeable. The stairs leads to Heaven's gate filled with prosperity. The support beam is built out of steel; it is sturdy and hard to break. The doves chirp; each one is paired singing a perfect harmony. The tune holds an everlasting sense of wonder and companionship between every dove. The walls crawl with bright reds and the sky mixed with deep blues. A painting created by an artist filled with passion.
Everything is cold, frigid and dark. The season of death is forcing the trees and grass to die. Even though beauty should surround by nature's cycle, the leaves look dull and colorless. There is movement around me, but my eyes are too numb to notice. I see children laugh as they play, but my ears are ringing in silence. The sun castes a dark shadow over my lonesome house; a house that was once a home, but now it is filled with sorrow. My body remains in an inert form as my porch swing sways back and forth with a creek. My hands are constantly shaking, a frequent reaction that my body responses to. The wrinkles that are engraved in my skin show ages of growth and a long life on Earth. All that remains with me are memories, but the only thought that is buried in my head is the bitterness.
A tree described by a young man who just committed a ******: You cannot mention the ******
A panic, my heart races uncontrollably. I run forever long on a never ending road; my skinny, long legs sped up my run. My baseball cap seals the light from the deep, velvet-red sunset as I get lost in a forest. My surroundings blended; everything looked the same, but then there was one tree that stood apart from the others. My run turns into a jog and then a gimpy walk. My knees buckle the closer I become and then I stop---my soul is capture. A maple tree stands in front of me, although this tree is not like other mother nature's creations. It is black, like a dark abyss hole that is carved out of Earth. Vines curl, as each layer has grasp claws at the end of each branch. Death at each tip with veins engraved in every leaf. I step in, drawn to the scent of sweet maple syrup. I place my filthy hand against the hollow trunk; it rests there for a while. Then gouges are ripping a part one of nature's beauty. The slashes went deeper than craters on the moon. The sap---dark as blood, oozes out of every crack of the tree. I quickly remove my hand; I step away to see my hand print, my true identity covered in the blood of guilt.
Describe a landscape as seen by a tiger: Do not state it is a tiger
The long green grass covers my face as I bury it near the ground. I wait patiently to hunt for my prey. My nails cress the dirt under my feet; I can feel every movement in the palm of my hand. Silence surrounds me; the wind is easily heard through the shift of my ears. Close, but in a distance my desire thirst will be tame. As a king I have power over my kingdom. I live in a throne, next to a waterfalls and an open valley. I roam during the day to fest, as the sun sets over the jungle I protect. Closely I watch; my heart beats and then I am ready. Blood drips from my mouth and the look of death glares through my yellow eyes. I am satisfied and all I leave behind is a warning, a print in the desert ground marking where I have hunted.
A building described by a man who just lost a son in a street fight: You cannot mention the son, the street fight or the man who is viewing the building
A dark shadow peeks over a head as the fog makes it a little vague. The shattered windows leave a deep hole; the glass lies on the ground beneath the concrete. Dark circles around all the doors. Dullness walks up the side of every inch of the walls. The top is slightly slanted and slowly breaking down. The stable support beam is becoming more dependent on its neighbor. Man's creation is crumbling down by the heat of the burning fire and the powerful noise of screaming innocence. But near the top a ball lays. The youth of a blue striped ball rolls down the broken hills. It tries to escape the death of the flames, but gets trapped. Squealing tires screech a high pitch and then the sirens ring. The structure finally collapses.
Describe the same building, but through the eyes of a woman who is in love: You cannot mention love or the in love couple
In a mirrored image of beauty and joy, black turns to white, as grey turns to light. Open windows scattered, allowing the sun to peep through. A colorful atmosphere that has flowers and green grass, which arch every corner. The sidewalk smooth like the skin on my legs. Everything is perfect that even the flaws are unnoticeable. The stairs leads to Heaven's gate filled with prosperity. The support beam is built out of steel; it is sturdy and hard to break. The doves chirp; each one is paired singing a perfect harmony. The tune holds an everlasting sense of wonder and companionship between every dove. The walls crawl with bright reds and the sky mixed with deep blues. A painting created by an artist filled with passion.
