He lay the quill down beside his Manifesto, reaching to close the cap on the near-empty inkwell.
Leaning back, he gazed out his window at the sunrise, the horizon full with rooftops. It was a sign of Providence for the impoverished people of his city, he decided.
His fingers rasped over his many-days growth of beard, poetical hair flowing long and dark over his shoulders…like the ink that had poured from his pen!
“Finished?” Eliza’s heels clicked over the bare wooden floor. “Let’s get moving, then!”
“The ink’s still wet! Let me enjoy my moment!”
“We’ve no time.”
© Liz Husebye Hartmann (2018)
Carrot Ranch Prompt (01/11/2018): In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about wet ink. It can be artistic, writerly or something completely off-the-wall. Go where the prompt leads.