So in my hopes of revitalizing this lovely community, here is some prose I wrote recently. Enjoy!
The words poured from her mouth, tasting trite. She wished she were some sort of artist, molding syllables to as-tound-ing clar-it-y. His eyes were monochromatic, and bored. She could not understand why he did not flinch from her poison, which left such a profound aftertaste on her tongue. His apathy silenced her, though. A tear fell from her chin and was smothered in the wool of her sweater.
She shrank. She was about three inches tall and he still gazed vacantly at the empty space where she had been. She turned around and walked away, but not before tying his shoelaces together. Petty compromising payback. She coughed at the dust on the floor, which was almost up to her waist, and did not see the mousetrap. Her long neck was covered by purple bruises the shape of hands and it was there that, when she tripped, the trap shot down with a resounding rusty clang, projecting her head across the room. It bounced twice, landed, and rolled to a stop at his feet. There was a little red trail and droplets of her blood laying in the dust from the arc her head had made. Dust filled and spilled from her open mouth.
He bent down, untied his shoes, and carefully picked up her head by the curly black hair that always had wrapped around his fingers so well in the past. Putting her head in his pocket, he turned to his wife in the kitchen, saying, “I believe it’s my turn to do the dishes, dear.”
PS. I've written more if anyone is curious.