Challenge
Prose Challenge of the Week #45: You’re on death row for a crime you didn't commit. Write about it. The winner will be chosen based on a number of criteria, this includes: fire, form, and creative edge. Number of reads, bookmarks, and shares will also be taken into consideration. The winner will receive $100. When sharing to Twitter, please use the hashtag #ProseChallenge
121 reads
Senses in the Third Degree
Hopelessness feels like cold concrete waking every morning to greet your feet with a friendly reminder of how far you've fallen.
Hopelessness smells like the sins of men seeping from their pores, relentlessly circling your soul like a ghost longing to die again.
Hopelessness sounds like screams of guilt in the middle of the night, fear and regret wailing as one chorus in a song for the Devil's dance.
Hopelessness tastes like the innocent blood they say is on my hands, like the blood they demand in return.
Hopelessness looks like any man dressed in white waiting for mercy to fill his veins, to reunite with the victim he never claimed.