DWP No. 064



For WEEK ONE, let’s warm up with a few guided, Genre Prompts. When responding / writing with the day’s prompt in mind, also attempt to embody the SPECIFIED GENRE at the bottom corner of each day’s prompt.

Happy Writing!

And don’t forget to SHARE in the REPLY box!


  1. The sun always shines on Tuesday which is ironic, given the dark chore that takes place. I suppose the cemetery, for some, can be an eery place, but for me, there is the essential quiet that is fuel for doing what I do. The green lush grass is an ode to the rebirth all around. There is nothing visibly dead there and dead is really just one’s perspective anyway. The sun just comes out, even if there is a light rain or cloud cover, I cannot dispute the affirming warm nod from the sky- every time, whomever is watching makes is noteworthy there’s something more. It’s far from a lonely place, I don’t think too much about how others judge what I do. Besides no one needs to know what really goes on there. They say ignorance is bliss, I say bliss is a sunny Tuesday at the cemetery tending to doing what needs doing.

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  2. The sun always shines on Tuesday. It was inevitable that Joshua would show up then, even though The Cans specifically asked him not to.

    The guy didn’t listen. He didn’t know how to listen. It was super annoying that he was always so upbeat and positive. The sun, in fact, was his invention. He felt it was necessary for a happy and peaceful existence.

    So what? And anyhow it was really a fake sun set out in the field, the ground a pale purple, The trees if you could call it those, all twisted wires filled with the regrets of previous generations.

    He set it up as an Alter of Happiness. People would come and deposit their hopes and dreams on the helium filled tables, grab a rubber hotdog, suck down a sour Z, and bask in the aura of hope and prosperity, a small escape from their daily blood- soaked death oriented existence. Murder is so tedious. Such a bore.


  3. “Night and Day”

    Awake, the Monitors sit, looking silently back and forth at each other, the Day Monitor states, “Someone is here for the Listmaker.” Glancing straight up now, through the sunlight in the roof, at the large star-sized light bulb swinging back and forth overhead, the Night Monitor returns its gaze to the Day, “Who could do such a thing?” Slowly, the Day lowers its gaze to meet that of the Night’s, “You know who, and she cannot be happy.” “She’s never happy,” the Night responds.
    “But this is different.”

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  4. When I was a boy I used to live in a place some people call heaven, but it was just suburbia. Most children raised in this type of place can all agree that the level of painstaking care taken to manufacture the various facades of suburban life is directly correlated to the severity of insidiousness coursing through the responsible suburbanite’s veins, at least I hope that most such children understand this now. Nonetheless, in the immaculately manicured residential nightmare that I grew up in, I found myself alone in my room on many a night, laying on the floor and staring at my bookshelf as I heard my parents screaming at each other through the walls. I taught myself to read, but couldn’t do it well yet, so, when I needed to distract myself, I used to always pick this little book about the weather on the different days of the week. Each time I started the book, I would get to the page that read, “The sun always shines on Tuesday” and then something would click in my mind and I would freeze – totally shut down – just frozen still. Sometimes, I wake up from this memory, right at that point, and forty years have passed by and I can’t remember who I am until I fall asleep and wake up again. And the thing is, every time I wake up, it’s always Tuesday, and the sun is never shining.


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