Find the prompt here:
A dark glare. A dark glare. A dark glare. A dark glare. A dark glare. Glare. Glam. Glamourous glare. Is that really how you spell glamourous? Looks like one U too many. Maybe it's a British thing. Nations. Nations, what the heck, nations. Irish nationalism is an interesting thing. There's those that found it too limiting, like James Joyce. There's those that seemed for it, that stoked it, but weren't really a part of the freedom fight, like Yeats and Lady Gregory. So what. What of it. Nationalism. Ties to a land. Land. Land. Land. I see sunshine now out the window, seems to belie the showers I saw forecasted. The clouds dispersing. Cloud is not spelled clowd. It's a good thing, anyway, that I watered the seeds. Seeds. Hopefully they grow. Glared. Glared. Glared. A squinting of the eyes. A dark glare, one that looks very angry, rather than suspicious, or questioning. Darkness gets associated with too many negative things. The dark is nice, the dark is necessary. It's all necessary. Except murder and war. There's no time, no place. We can move towards utopia, I believe. Death is necessary, okay, I'll accept that, but murder and war? No, I won't accept that. This planet is bountiful, this planet sustains us, this planet has space for us and we can work together, we can live together, we can live.