Underlying belief behind doing prompts: writers have to practice even harder than professional athletes, and for much less clout. If you want to join in, share your writing below. (Fuck the prompt is always a prompt). 

But first can I ask who I’m talking to? No? But I’ve always wanted to love an alien! Alright. It’s yellow. Do you know what that is? People say the sun is yellow but I think they’re wrong. I think they are trying to reduce mystery, which is why I trust science less than wizardry. It’s bright, I’ll tell you that much. No ears but still it hears an Easter wind, the three part call of the morning dove, other bird traffic sounds. It has two parts, many parts? One part is one color and sticks out of the ground like a straw (have you ever had a coca cola?) and the next part is the yellow part and it is like tissue, like oversized fish scales, like a trumpet, like a noun, this thing is a noun. You have no idea what I’m describing. Neither do I. Cranberries sing of them. I put one in my heart once before it was a shattered vase of skipped opportunities. I wasn’t sure until I knelt before it, but now I am certain it has a scent- like old ladies who are mothers and young again. The dog is not interested. The dog thinks I am crazy. The dog thinks very little of me until I have food or a ball. If I gave you this thing I would kill it. Sometimes we are willing to sacrifice a life for beauty, but I am trying to get out of the habit of thinking everything I want is mine for the taking.