Write four lines of prose about: the inevitable.
Do you ever get a word stuck in your head and you end up using it over and over again, either in your thoughts or out loud, or both? Well I do, and inevitable was today's word.
I imagine making it a prompt isn't going to help any.
Heading back to the market in the morning, to sell plants and rhubarb and greeting cards. Fingers crossed the rain will leave us alone.
The destination awaits our arrival. We may get there early, we may be late, but it knows we will reach its murky shores one way or another. There can be no other ending to our story.
But still we fight as though another option existed.