This week’s prompt is another photo. My 100 word entry follows beneath it. See this week’s other entries here.
It was meant to suggest civilization cutting off its collective cancer– cleanly sliced nubs which had attached it to our heart, symbolizing intent, prostrate positioning showing its rigor mortis where it lay.
The young artist who tried, was appalled by glib interpretations finding no such idea, heartbroken as notions unrelated to understanding intolerance and hate, were spoken in her corner of the exhibition as if she couldn’t hear, lying there as tears soaked the fabric she had sewn for hours. That tough skin her teacher had warned about, would serve her well in the future. Now, it grew slowly, painfully.