This one has no prompt but is 100 words all the same:
The valley goes down, it winds, with winds of disaster curling around it its edges. The path goes up. It leads to a place you once lived but had forgotten even existed.
In your mind you were once a child, an unformed idealism. Sprung from the unknown animism. You were primitive inside a system, an animal inside a human being. You grew and shaped. You moulded into an identity of sorts. Yet when the path stops you find yourself lost and back to retracing your own steps in the dark. Scratching around. Lost. Then found.
Copyright (C) bardicblogger / a thinker never sleeps / Teri Montague 2012.
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