Day 863-865 #Freewrite

It’s been a few days, guys. In addition to the Justin Sun stuff, I had some personal things that have kept me away from writing for a few days. I’ve written journal-ish-type-stuff but not anything worthy of posting. I mentioned that I would respond to the prompts I had missed, and am planning on doing them in a format kind of like what we see for weekend freewrites. I will write generatively, then write some sort of interference or conflict, then write a dramatic twist, all based on the following prompts from @mariannewest : - [fraud](https://steemit.com/hive-161155/@mariannewest/day-863-5-minute-freewrite-sunday-prompt-fraud) - [bulging eyes](https://steemit.com/hive-161155/@mariannewest/day-864-5-minute-freewrite-monday-prompt-bulging-eyes) - [cold front](https://steemit.com/hive-161155/@mariannewest/day-865-5-minute-freewrite-tuesday-prompt-cold-front) Here is what came from the prompts:

https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmf4ojWPSTCB5G9okWuJST6hadmLP9ALTQ5ZU5VCacZC85/photo-1582902244820-61cd52e9445a.jpeg

https://steemitimages.com/80x80/https://steemitimages.com/DQmVzSo2bfA2xrbshEQjjbTKeXGJpX5dy1KXjkQwR24phPW/grunge-spade-symbol-4-1004x1024.png It was not that he was sneaking out in the dead of night while the moon hung highest and brightest in the airs, casting scatters of shadows from tree to tree so that there was an intricate web of darkness interwoven with the intricate web of light, and stole the crown jewels from the most vaulted safe in the city. It was not even that he was a credible identity thief. He had stolen nothing and yet he managed to serve great imposterities to the people about him, and they never caught on. They simply nodded and nodded as he spoke of the wonders he had seen in the world: a three-headed dog with one of the heads being that of a cat, the Lost City of Atlantis making its way around the world in some sort of spherical transportation system, the axis mundi somewhere in Idaho. He always spoke of things of gravity, the dog-cat-beast seeking to rip his flesh for having thieved, the Lost City coming to him out of desperation, the axis mundi a revelation by God himself. It was hard to believe him, but it was even more difficult to be incredulous. After years and years of telling these stories, and more, he was visited by a frail Mexican woman in the heat of noon day which was, even as far north as Idaho, blazing. She wanted to discuss with him the many stories of his past, having come from far and wide to meet the renowned thief of which so many rumors spoke. After listening to his babbling for just a minute, the woman put a finger up in the air and looked at him in the eyes. She smiled a curse at him, “May your insides puff with every lie you tell.” “Que cada mentira te encuentra en el infierno,” she continued. He asked her if she wanted to hear more as she gathered her things and paced towards the door. She turned to watch him swell and smiled the same curse at him. And so it was. He started to swell and swell until his skin could contain him no longer, and he looked like the very exemplar of sausage casings gone wrong. As though on cue, from the north there came a woman who was less brazen than the Mexican woman who had visited before. This Canadian woman, humble and meek, approached the imposter and looked on expectantly, despite the fact that what she beckoned to speak hardly resembled a man, no less a masterful thief of anything. “You have no stories to tell?” she asked. “I. Do not. Want to burst,” the man strained, his swollen eyes brimming with veins. He “Who did this to you?” she asked. “A witch. *Bruja*!!” he cursed aloud. “Have you tried a cold compress?” she asked. “No, I haven’t tried anything except being quiet,” he finally admitted. He did not think there was a reversal to the Mexican woman’s magics, and he was quite right, as he had brought the fortune upon himself with his lying. The Canadian woman, however different to the Mexican woman, did not seem to care whether or not the man was telling the truth. “Well of course I don’t care. These adventures of yours are perfect for a book I’m writing,” the woman finally said as she applied the cold compress to the most obvious patch of flesh: that of eye level. They both thought it a miracle, and it was, because no cold compress in the world could save the imposter. Only humility could. https://steemitimages.com/80x80/https://steemitimages.com/DQmVzSo2bfA2xrbshEQjjbTKeXGJpX5dy1KXjkQwR24phPW/grunge-spade-symbol-4-1004x1024.png Keep an eye out for more work. I am hoping to utilize this platform to strengthen my generative acumen, and am working on getting some projects off the ground. I also want to come at writing from an educational perspective in the future. If you are interested in commenting or critiquing my work, I would appreciate it. If you are interested in approaching writing from an educational perspective (learning/teaching writing) please comment below, as I am trying to gauge how much interest there is in this sort of thing.