Writing Prompts (Over One Hundred)

Writing Prompt 83

"What's in those jars?"

"Dreams."

     The teenage boy watched the elderly man stirring wispy flowers into his bowl. His beard dragged through the mix, the part that hit the potion burned away. The old man calmly kept stirring, using his free hand to grab his beard, shake the mixture off, and tuck it into his cloak. The boy watched in awe, his floppy hair covering his sparkly eyes. He swiped it away.

The weaver of peace. That's what he was. A wizard of old. One of the eldest.

     "What are you staring at, boy?" His gruff voice startled the young man. But his reply was instantaneous.

     "The souls that are weaving into your mix. Their designs are mesmerizing. Are you using flower souls?" The elderly wizard stopped, standing stock still.

     "What did you say?" He turned, his eyes blazing, to see the boy clearer.

     "The souls you are weaving, the designs? They're very strange-" the peace weaver held up a hand, silencing him.

     "You aren't supposed to be able to see those." His voice was low and calm, almost threatening.

     "What does that mean?"

     "You, boy, are the new Weaver of Peace."

Take it from here :)

Thanks for reading! I decided to change it up again, and felt like doing magic, so I did and there are the results. Tell me what you think! Every time I feel like I just can't find inspiration, and I'm drying up, all o a sudden a bunch of ideas hit me and I can't stop writing! Vote and comment and share! Thanks peeps,

Payton Janae :).