The Ink Well Highlights Magazine #66

The sky began to change color, as if ready to welcome the arrival of night time. The sound of insects one by one began to sound quite loud. From the window of the family room house, I saw the sky was getting dark because it was cloudy and some mist had begun to cover the flower garden belonging to the late grandmother in the front yard of the house, "It looks like it will rain tonight" said my heart. — Hive account@bettyhandayani

Dried twigs and fallen branches of several enormous trees crackled under the thick soles of a drunken man’s boots as he swayed his way towards the source of the splashing water. The melodious cacophony of droplets, coming from what he imagined as a waterfall, entertained his sense of hearing, soothing the pain in his wounded heart. — Hive account@idlemind

My father worked on the railroad for many years, from a very young age he followed in his father's footsteps and became the conductor of the trains that traveled throughout the region of the great mountains in the south of the country, crossing tunnels and bridges over high cliffs that made many people dizzy, seeing that under them there were only meters and meters of air space until they reached the rocky ground. Those wild mountains preserved a wonderful fauna and flora, where the puma was the king of the mountain, until man came to damage this balance. My father understood this very well when the night surprised him on the way. — Hive account@popurri

She always loved the smell or what she refers to as fragrance from her modest condo. The verandah was a mess, filled with leaves all over. The rain had left a good impression on the wall as well as the plantain stems that were bent over as if in a salutation to its owner. — Hive account@diikaan

I don’t have water. Whether in the ground or on my tongue, i don’t have water. I must tell my tale with dried mouth; a berry, out of colour, my lips must open and i must speak. If i don’t speak, what will i gain? Will my silence melt the clouds; will it drag the sky down to my door? If i am silent, will that river crack open and a flood will pour out from its charred skin? I must speak because i am human; i am a parent who has to watch children go to bed with ribs stitched to their skin. I must speak. — Hive account@warpedpoetic