Monthly Writing Prompt ~ April

Hello!

Featuring those who submitted to the previous writing prompt from Live-Love-Write, here are the participants, listed order of submission, along with information on the newest prompt. Please remember to fave this journal to help support your work and the prompt!

To submit to the writing prompt, please remember to put "for the Live-Love-Write writing prompt" in your artist's comments and submit to the Writing Prompt gallery for your feature every week. Entries without this info will be denied. To submit to a past prompt, send us a note with a link to the entry and the prompt information.

All literature and comics in response to the prompt are welcome and encouraged.

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Previous Writing Prompt

Write anything that features one or more of the following:

- a doctor
- crystal
- a dissociative fugue
- space travel

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Admin's Choice:

:thumb666700733:

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Poetry

:thumb666700733:

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Prose

Space Illness“Doctor, Doctor!”
Dr. Harvey turned toward the sound of the word doctor before raising an eyebrow at the two explorers running toward him. They were frantic in their waves and the way they were running. He hadn’t been called a doctor in a long time. With the advancement of technology, doctors had become obsolete. Organics were able to diagnosis themselves via a small robot. The robot would give a diagnosis to which an antidote or antivirus was created. It didn’t take long, and they were very good creations.
Doctors were no longer needed.
He stopped walking before turning toward them. It was two of the newest recruits to the homeworld. He recognized them for the fact that he was the one that taught them to run the place. Dr. Harvey glanced out the window to see the sunlight and slight breeze that ruffled the tops of the ever green trees. The recruits stopped their frantic running as they tried to catch their breath. It would seem they had been looking ever SlipperyI blink, but the blackness I feel is clouding my vision doesn’t fade or flicker. I am still looking directly in front of myself, staring at the corner of the red tennis table, covered and sullied by my various paraphernalia and sewing equipment. My vision is tunneled and although the lights are on and energy is flowing through the room I reside in, I feel dark and dead from the diaphragm out.
It’s a strange sensation to feel your body through layers. Invisible layers of dissonance that withhold you from appreciating who you are. Aware of time’s relativity, day and night merge as the consciousness does not rest. In various states of spiritual slumber, I feel drowned. Weaving black and white paper strips, how do you tell which is dominant when they are used equally? Slipping back and forth between life’s responsibilities and the undercurrents that implication affects.
I change areas but the thoughts never acclimate to new surroundings. In the backyard, in the dark

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This month's writing prompt, from now until April 30th:

Respond to the following theme:

A gift that is not truly free

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If you have any questions, please feel free to ask below.