Painted Prose
View DetailsThe Winners!
The Rocks. Second Place in Painted Prose Challenge. Content Warning.
Listen to the recorded story on Spotify: (Available on all major platforms—full list here) *** The sea screamed and shrieked, threatening to slice through the rigging as the gale reached fever pitch. Beneath Captain Wouyt's feet, the ship wailed its protest as wind and waves battered it from all sides. Like a wounded animal, it limped along, offering a few last gasps of defiance before its fate caught up.
By Stephen A. Roddewig3 years ago in Art
The Copper-Green Woman in the Pictures. Finalist in 2023 Vocal Writing Awards - Young Adult Fiction. Runner-Up in Painted Prose Challenge.
I remember the day I stood next to the copper-green woman. I forgot all about Iqbal and the colour of the henna around my hands. I was now feeling like the copper-green woman from the pictures. Static and full of secrets. The kind of secrets that Safa knew about me and together with me. So openly and so gently, every night in that narrow lane, we shared moments without our naked bodies or one on top of another. We were two halves of the same apple, becoming whole. Or better. Just like an apple, we were secretive. From the inside, filled with colours and textures, and from the outside just as plain as the water in the well. I was Safa’s secret affairs for over a year until Iqbal came to Kabul. In a month’s time, he convinced my parents and got engaged with me. He carried me alongside his suitcases, first to Islamabad, Pakistan then to Atlanta, America. We ended up in a place called Virginia. They say, the green woman in Iqbal’s photographs is called the Statue of Liberty, which is in New York City. I had wished since then to meet her. I waited to meet her one day, as it seemed she encompassed me and Safa in stillness. With her torch and the liberty that glowed around her head. That’s how I would show that Safa will be in my heart forever.
By Parwana Fayyaz3 years ago in Art
Mother and Child. Runner-Up in Painted Prose Challenge.
Mavis wanted to hate Timmy. He was the dead stamp of the man who had told her the only thing he wanted to do was “to stare into her eyes for the rest of his life.” But when Mavis told him she was pregnant, he disappeared
By Geoffrey Philp 3 years ago in Art
Wheatfields Under Thunderclouds. Runner-Up in Painted Prose Challenge.
Indiana held fields of winter wheat. To be clear it does still, but when we stopped at the station to fill the car and drain our bladders, the road behind us and the road ahead saw the encroaching storm push toward us from the west. Driving north to see my father’s father and my uncle, the image of the approaching storm held for me the first look of foreshadowing.
By G. Douglas Kerr3 years ago in Art
The Penitent Magdalene. Runner-Up in Painted Prose Challenge.
A young woman sits next to a decorative mirror. A candle's flame reaches up towards her face, casting a strong light upon her fragile body. This light, in turn, creates ill-omened shadows across the room: its deafening presence almost engulfs her body entirely. She sits in an oppressive silence, her long brown hair cascading down her furrowed white shirt. Her folded hands are tightened on the gleaming skull resting peacefully on her lap. Its eyes are wide open as it stares straight ahead without a drop of life to be seen.
By Dana Hambleton3 years ago in Art
A Million Times Smarter Than The Smartest Human. Runner-Up in Painted Prose Challenge.
This all started on one of those blazing hot New York days when the heat reflecting off the concrete and blacktop landscape turns the whole city into a convection oven full of disgruntled, sweaty people all rushing to get back inside. On days like that you can feel the parks breathing, exhaling their shade-cooled breath into the surrounding air. Yet, those verdant oases offer only a hint of the relief found from walking past some store with its huge glass doors open to the sidewalk on an avenue. One can’t help but feel a pang of guilt for enjoying a moment within untold cubic feet of ice-cold air-conditioned breeze blasting out onto the sidewalk.
By J. Otis Haas3 years ago in Art
New York Movie. Runner-Up in Painted Prose Challenge.
Mary leaned against the wall and sighed inwardly. She hated these late showings. Her friends were out on the town tonight, dressed up to the nines, looking young, free, and beautiful. It was just after nine, so they would be at a bar now, sipping on small flutes of champagne that fizzed and sparkled like the girls themselves, feeling wild and alive on a warm summer’s evening in the greatest city in the world.
By Jenifer Nim3 years ago in Art
Isle of the Dead. Runner-Up in Painted Prose Challenge.
“Papa?” Ada’s voice broke through a shallow and dreamless sleep. Mattias opened his eyes to a room no less dark than the space behind his eyelids. He reached for either the bedside lamp or for Miriam, before remembering he was sleeping on the couch.
By Steve Hanson3 years ago in Art
