What Prose means to me? It means opportunity, when I think about it. An opportunity to grow as a writer and express myself in ways I never thought about. It also equates to a sense of freedom to me, in many ways. Freedom to express myself, freedom to drop any carefully constructed mask I may have created and just live. It means writing. Writing is a stress-reliever and a way to make words beautiful in ways I can't comphrend or ever see myself writing with such eloquence. It means I can see into the minds of others through their writing and that's a beautiful thing, I think. Prose means a lot of things I can't put into words and I love that.
It coursed through her like a scorching blaze intent on destroying everything in its path. Her mind was no longer clear and the only though was the one that screamed to take over. Why should she take this mistreatment? He needed to pay for his trangressions. How dare he presume he can just walk all over them all without second thought? He was treated like some precious trophy that would break without delicate care, a silver spoon in his mouth since birth, it seemed. The arrogant, condescending attitude it have given him made her burn with indignation. He was going to pay for his words, that much she knew. No one deserved to get away with such blatant disregard for anyone but themselves. How terrible he was - a painted smile of innocence and perfection ruined by the words he spat in secret with the impression that nobody would hear them. They caused her great displeasure and made her resent him even more - his patronisation had irked her for years but this was the last straw, so help her God that she didn't resort to physical violence, he was so infuriating.
He was going to eat those words for the next fifty years.