Welcome to the second ever Prompt Pot writing challenge here at Newshound to Novelist.
A massive thanks to everyone who took part, messaged, and generally got involved and felt inspired. You all rock! And a special shout out to our first poster, Sara at Puny Fingers for her curry-inspired tale.
This morning I pulled out a delicious pastel green strip of paper with the word ‘hills’ written inside of it.
Feel free to interpret the prompt in anyway you like. Your words could focus on taking a walk up to the peak of Snowdon, in Wales, or it could be the metaphorical hills you still need to climb to reach a particular goal.
The rules, as always, are to pen your own micro story of 100 words or less, using this week’s prompt ‘hills’ (please note the use of plural too).
Remember to pingback to this page and include the tag ‘The Prompt Pot’ so we can find your efforts in the WordPress reader.
The best of luck to you all. I look forward to reading what you’ve all come up with.
Now, without further ado, here is my micro for this week.
Someone famous once sang about the hills being alive with the sound of music. I think they must have been drunk at the time. All the hills I’ve ever walked up are usually cold, windy, and wet.
It’s my parents fault; they loved walking. Self-confessed raucous ramblers, they used to make me scale the highest of hills with them every holiday we went on. I never once enjoyed it.
Now that they have gone though, it’s the only time I am able to feel close to them again. I sometimes wonder if I can hear their laughter on the breeze.