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Four times a day,
we help you
get the words out.
Write in any genre in
300 words or less.
Hit publish.
Read. Be Read.
Write. Now.
Sheryl held a dozen orange tulips close to her chest, shielding them from the relentless wind screaming down Pine. Passing through the crosswalk up 4th she appeared to the waiting drivers like a mother protecting her child. In a way she was. Sheryl never had children, but the motherly(more)
Give one to your lover. Plant one. Stop to talk to one.    

Remember, these flowers love rain.
Flickering light on
        the petals of a flower; the
                 tulips are on fire.
There’s a flower cart at the top of the escalator. Right between the fruit stand and the guy who sells artisan pickles. And you know it’s springtime because of the tulips. They don’t grow tulips around here. I mean, sure there might be some kept by some kindly old(more)
Orange tulips, huh? Like blue roses, except not?

Not. Not like blue roses. But not like pink roses either, or even like pink tulips, or red tulips. A little off, a little weird.
I fell. What else can I say? Late, my mind four steps (or four blocks) past where my feet were, the tip of my shoe found what it did not need on its way off the bus, and the sky was in the wrong place, and the quick force(more)