Every Wednesday Rochelle Wisoff-Fields provides a picture prompt challenging writers to create a 100-word story, poem, or whatever work they want.  This weeks photo is provided by Mr. Brainsnorts himself, guru and writing mentor to little grasshoppers like me.

I started off as usual, writing a story for the image. I had two versions but ultimately decided to try something different. So I scratched them both and wrote a poem instead.

Make sure you click on the link below to read other creations. They never disappoint.

Copyright – Rich Voza (Mr. Brainsnorts to me!)

The Oracle

The Matrix reawakened an ancient idea

Red pill, Blue pill

Which one to choose?

 

A little girl whispers

He loves me, he loves me not

As plucked petals fall

Rose’s Red, Violet’s Blue

 

I’ve aged White

A ghostly apparition

of Love’s Labour’s Lost

 

And I dream of a lush field

Where choices have become doors

White, Blue, and Red

 

The Greeks always knew

Their birth rite

Drink of the river Lethe

Walk the earth again

Drink from the Mnemosyne

Live in Elysian Fields forever

 

Prophecy my birthright

Spinning my own fate

Upon destiny’s loom

I chose the White door

 

Word Count: 99

 

***I was inspired by taking door three, mythology and these lines from the Matrix.

Oracle: Candy?

Neo: Do you already know if I’m going to take it?

Oracle: Wouldn’t be much of an oracle if I didn’t.

Neo: But if you already know, how could I make a choice?

Oracle: Because you didn’t come here to make the choice. You already made it. You’re here to try to understand why you made it.

 
****
This is the story I originally wrote. Figured I’d share and store it here.

Mnemosyne Dream

Whenever Claudine had a decision to make it was the same dream. Entwined among sheets, swallowed by the cloak of night, she’d arrive before three doors-White, Blue, and Red. A choice must be made.

Facing the blue door, her question posed, “Is it time?”

The door slammed closed. Shards of glass scattered around her feet. Quickly she jumped aside running through the red door.

The orderly entered room B13 finding the window shattered, restraints hanging from the bed rails. Peering down he saw the shadow of a girl running from the asylum, sheet twisting in the wind. “Claudine’s escaped again.”