So as a writer we all get writer's block. I have a list of challenges I like to do when this occurs. Here is the first challenge :), I hope you enjoy.
Challenge: The colour green, a room, a pineapple, a pathway, and some form of irony.
There was a cosy cottage nestled within a green grove of forest that ran along the lake, soaking up the nutrients that came from the sea life below. The lush landscape set a perfect tone for the people who enjoyed the spacious living within the home they called a wonderment.
Although perfection is a hard and almost impossible quality to achieve within this great quest, it seemed that they had done so. It even came down to the room without flaws - a wholly hearth of warmth.
The living area was carpeted with a dark red material, soft and firm, comforting and harsh. The walls were a mahogany, uncloaked and naked as the sunrise approached, softening the harsh realities of conflict.
The living room sported an ornate table, dark polished oak wood, with images of vines wrapping the legs in an imprisonment. Across from the table stood a lonely armchair, facing the window which smiled upon the eastward direction. Beside the armchair was a small, two-tiered, end table, round and varnished in a coat of lead. It embellished the small bowl of pineapple which was an appetizing sight to the untrained eye. A fruit of temptation, in a perfect world of happiness.
With a glimpse out the window at the rising sun…it illuminated across a pathway which came out of the forest. It was a small winding path, with only enough room for one to tread upon it. It had a canopy of leaves and branches that entwined above it, shrouding it within darkness even though dawn was approaching. It came out from the darkness into a picturesque scene of tranquility. The pathway lead quite a ways into the darkened forest, where the leaves would rustle important but strange words, and the birds would reply playfully. Once it had travelled quite a ways within, it forked, the left being less travelled by, of course.
Like the memories of conflicting images which collided with the vision of perfection back at the cottage, the path gave an aura of bewildering inquiry. The memories here, were those of great question.
The seclusion of the cottage, and the pathway of questions was revealed within the darkness of night as the perfection of an image granted to all those who believed in the imagination and the thought of chasing ones’ dreams. Nevertheless, the pathway, was not only full of questions, but also of answers. One may ask how the dream came to be, the perfect life of whomever beheld the hearth of lead coated fruit and meticulous detail. It was a life beyond the chaos of hell, it belonged to a dream within a dream. It was clean, cute, crisp, and offered the obscurities of desire and the transformation of beauty.
As perfection is built, as disillusionment is stripped away, the core of the vision is answered. The road less travelled by is the road that offers the greatest rewards. Although, the scenic view of dreams are not realities until we realize their faults, and the solution to the obtainment of them. With this, and that small cottage by the lake the pathway of questions will answer the simplistic question of why perfection cannot be and why the cottage is but a dream within a dream.
The pathway to the right, thought to be that of the good, which runs parallel to the sinister, marks the end of a fantasy. It leads to the reason for our own destruction and the failure of a utopia. It leads to the cities of humanity.
The Irony: A day of perfection is a wonderment for destruction.