This is a little sadder and longer than my other stuff. Oops!

6) Abandoned

A little girl shivered in the husk of a structure that once was a home. What portions of the blackened walls still stood were already crumbling, and if she could touch them, they would surely fall apart.
The girl - Morana, she was called - crouched down further. There were tears in her eyes, and she would claim that it was the wind if you mentioned them, despite not even a single strand of hair moving out of place in the harsh breeze.
No, no matter what she said, there were tears welling up in her eyes, and the sobs that shook her shoulders were the sound of a much older girl.
She was alone.
Her parents - dead, in the very fire that had burned down this building 68 years ago. Her sister - gone, witnesses swore she had been there in the fire, but her body was never found. Even her pet rabbit had run, hopping away from the flames without even glancing back.
She, alone, had stayed and lived.
Now she sat in the ruins alone, the grasses having sprung up long ago as nature reclaimed its land. It was almost beautiful, in a way, the girl mused, but the thought was fleeting. Her sister - her beautiful sister, her perfect sister, her heroic sister, was not coming back.
It had been 68 years. Morana had to move on.
She took a deep breath -
And let her spirit go.
4 days later, a woman walked into the ruins. Her heart nearly broke at how just 56 years after the fire, the world was already reclaiming it. Already moving on.
The woman - Erena, she was called - was now 84 years old. She had to move on. Had to find her peace. She looked around, then took her thick walking stick (don’t let it fool you - she was spry enough) and set it down before kneeling on the earthen floor.
“Oh, Morana,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I should have been there. I should have come back sooner.” Her shoulders shook. “I should have said goodbye earlier. I should have reached out, done something.”
The grasses swayed, but only the wind heard her cries. Morana had moved on too early. Erena was too late.

6 - Abandoned

Everyone in town knew about the house at the end of the train tracks.  It had stood there since time immemorial, crumbling and overtaken by climbing vines and wildflowers.  Even the elders of the town couldn’t remember a time when anyone had actually lived there.  It seemed to be perpetually abandoned, frozen in time.

Parents still cautioned their children not to play by the tracks and especially not close to that rundown home.  But these warnings had fallen on deaf ears these past few years.  Not that the children played there anyway - they were too busy playing video games or pursuing the small-town dream of moving to the city and becoming famous.  No one really cared for old things anymore except old people.

Akira was no stranger to chasing dreams and fame.  She often stared out of the window during school, imagining bustling streets and glittering lights, and doodling in her notebook.  There was a whole world out there for her to see and she couldn’t wait to get out of this stagnant town.  Her bedroom walls were covered in drawings and scribbled notes of half-constructed plots, stories she longed to share with someone more than her parents and baby brother.

It was out of pure curiosity that she did what her parents and grandparents had drilled into her not to do.  The house was just there, its windows shattered and curtained by ivy.  Akira thought it might be a good place to sit and draw, to get away from the monotony of her days.  She headed that way after school instead of home, slipping her shoes off and walking barefoot across the train tracks just because she could.  It stood in front of her like an old ghost, peeling paint and all.  Light, barely audible music floated towards her from somewhere unseen.  Akira shrugged and wrenched open the somehow still-intact door.

I'm thinking about turning the prompts into an ongoing story...

I'm kind of doing Writober very partially, but oh well.

9) Ephemeral

The warmth of the fire in the darkness of the night, the quick laughter of Reynara, and the soft music coming from Elderim's flute all made Indiria feel, for just a moment, as if a curtain had gently been lifted, and she had seen the true beauty of life. Out here, under the desert sky with this little band, all grouped around the fire, she felt a quick stab of joy. She was with people who wanted her, at long last, and she was working with them to save her homeland, and life was so beautiful!

The feeling was ephemeral, for in a moment Elderim had ceased playing and gotten up. The others got up too, talking among themselves. Only Andarar stayed where he was. Indiria saw by the expression of his face that he had felt the same way she had.

She never forgot that happy moment - for the lessons it taught her remained with her years later.

This has to do with the character I described earlier using Luna-Wolf's character sheet, so if you want to find out more about who Indiria is and what she's doing sitting in a desert in the middle of the night, you can find out there!

Yes, yes, I know I haven't posted the last couple days worth. I got kind of stuck on "zeppelin" and "labyrinth" but I do intend to come back to those once inspiration strikes. I also do have somehting for "ephemeral" but I want to go over it again so I will probably post that tomorrow. Sorry for all hte out-of-order-ness! In the meantime, here's a cute little poem for "cherish" that is different from what I usually write. Enjoy! (Hopefully)

10) Cherish
I cherish daffodils
And I cherish roses
And springtime
And people listening
To my “I suppose”s

And I cherish fire
And I cherish hearth
And holidays
And cute snakes
That have doodled-on arms.

And I cherish reading
And I cherish friends
And open doors
And so much more
But this poem must come to an end.

11) Homesick

I miss Mexico. If I close my eyes I can see it all. The brilliant pink bougainvillea vines tumbling over old stone walls. The tiny squares of greenery called parks, with children playing and parents talking in Spanish. My grandmother's patio, filled with flowers and wind chimes that softly tinkle in the breeze, their music accompanying the still-softer, never-ceasing song of the doves that sit on the edge of the wall.

I can hear the sounds, too, and smell the aromas and taste the food, of Mexico. The voices of the people I know and love, the rich vibrant scent that comes when the strong rainstorms come in summer, and the soft, flavorful tortillas we used to buy at our local shop. Life there is always interesting and passionate - there's none of the single-minded, deep-rooted obsession with money that pervades other places and makes them chilly and soulless. In Mexico, it's life that's important. And I miss it. Mexico's vibrancy and beauty are always around me, because they're a part of me. I often feel that I can't live without them - something in me is always crying out to see them. Its long streets with cars parked along each side, and orange trees blossoming, rise up before me so vividly, I would almost cry if I didn't know that my family and I are in a plane flying there as fast as we can.

Not that the United States is a bad country. We're part American, and we love and value so much about it. But a part of us is always crying out to go back to Mexico. It's where we understand the culture, where we have friends, and where we ourselves are understood.

In the middle of the night, the plane touches down. I look out the window and see pinpoints of light glowing through the dark. We get out of the plane, into the cool, enormous night. A bus comes to take us to the airport buildings. After a long, long time of standing in lines, we get a taxi and drive through the famiiar streets, across a well-known bridge, and into our old neighrborhood.

It's eleven at night; I ought to be falling asleep, but I've never been more awake in my life.

The taxi comes to a stop outside my grandparents' house. We get out. Then the door opens, revealing a square of yellow light and a whole host of aunts and uncles and cousins, all crying out to us in welcome, familiar voices. I rush into my grandmother's arms and smell her familiar perfume. I break away to greet my favorite aunt. I wander into the beautiful old rooms full of lovely furniture and ornaments, and something that's always been tight and restless in me relaxes. That dreadful, miserable longing is satisfied.

I'm home. And I'm at peace.

@Hunter: I read your writing for the Abandoned prompt, and I just want to say I think you're really talented!

@Admins: Sorry this is a little long.

No apology needed. It's beautifully written, and I enjoyed reading it.

Admin

Hello everyone, sorry I have not given mine in a couple days! This is not today's, but I decided that my ephemeral one, which I had left to come back for edits with a fresh mind, is as good as it's going to get. I'm still not super satisfied with it, mainly, I meant for it to be shorter and it sort of ran away from me, but here you go! Feedback?

9) Ephemeral
Ephemeral.
It’s such a beautiful word.
So I say it again.
Ephemeral.
I roll it around in my mouth,
Letting the “r” and the “l”
Elegantly interact,
Elongating the word
Until it is just soft sounds,
A collection of meaningless syllables.
Ephemeral.
But I think I
Like the way the lowercase “e” looks,
So I make it
ephemeral, and while I’m at it,
i decide that maybe
everything is better in lowercase.
and i look it up in the old dictionary
(it takes forever to lug down off the shelf)
and it means,
    “lasting a very short time;
     short lived;
     transitory”
and it’s a shame because this word feels
like it should last
Forever.
(and I gave that a capital “f”
because it felt very important,
but don’t be fooled, friend,
we are still using lowercase)
and i decide that maybe it will mean
“forever” from now on,
after all, once it is
a collection of meaningless syllables
it can mean anything.
and before i felt that the word was so long
(e-phem-er-al)
and the meaning too short
but now it feels that the word is not long enough
(ephemeralephemeralephemeral, it goes by so fast)
And the meaning lasts
the perfect Forever.

This one is a little shorter, but it still took me a surprisingly long time:

13) Devastation

I looked down at the frail woman standing before me. Her eyes were lowered, and her posture was hunched over her willowy cane. To any onlooker, she was nothing to be afeared of, nobody powerful enough to be dangerous.
And yet. Everyone who made eye contact with her shrunk away, for in her eyes they saw:
Deserts, sand scorching the buried ruins of their once-proud homes.
Battlefields, remnants of wars that decimated entire worlds.
Forests, trees fallen and animals silent in fear.
Mountains, slowly being hallowed by the work of those who had no choice.
Yes, everybody agreed: this lady was dangerous. She approached the throne.
“Welcome,” the king said, as if he had invited her, as if she did not go where she wished.
The Sibyl of Devastation grinned underneath her cloak.

I'm glad everyone liked the Homesick narrative! It's based on real-life experiences. I haven't been able to go to Mexico in ages because of Covid, which INFURIATES me.

Anyway. The prompt for today is Devastation. I don't feel much like devastation, so I'll do the one for tomorrrow instead!

14) Sunrise

A boy stood on the beach, his hood pulled over his head, trying not to look cold in the dawn breeze that wafted around him. He was all alone. The sand, gray in the young light, stretched away to both sides of him, empty but for a few pieces of driftwood. As for the quiet sea, it was deserted as a painting.

Every day the boy came to this beach to watch the sunrise. He was quiet and unassuming, without much to say in the company of others, but he had a quick, deep perception of beauty wherever he found it. And he loved these brilliant Caribbean sunrises more than he cared to admit.

Gradually the light grew stronger. It seemed as if a fire was being kindled in the east, chasing away the darkness and sleepiness of the night. Gold streaks flared above it, and suddenly the water and the sand of the beach were no longer gray, but blue and white and sparkling. A bird nearby began to chirp. Another echoed it. From the village nearby came the faint sound of a rooster crowing.

The boy smiled. It had been a good sunrise. He turned and started the walk back to the house, ready for whatever the day might bring.