After hundreds of questions and answers, each followed by, “Why?” patience ran out. I pointed to the back door.
“Go outside. Play a while. I’ll be watching from the window.” I went to the sink and looked expectantly out the window. I turned on the water and made motions toward washing the breakfast dishes.
Jason slammed out the screen door and stood in in the sunshine. He sprinted toward the fence, his short legs pumping quickly, then twirled and checked the window to see if I watched. I took a deep breath and . . .
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “go outside.”
First 50 Words - Prompts for Writing Practice 
Go outside. That’s what she really wanted to do. Step out from the bubble that held the city, with it’s artificial clouds projected on the dome’s top, recycled air, and muted sunshine. Years ago, long before her birth, the bubble wasn’t needed. At least that’s what the instructional vids told everyone. It was hard to believe people could ever survive out there.
Mutated animals, cannibals, and poisoned air were all that greeted the people designated to search for raw materials. Paying for the sins of their grandfathers was what they did now.
Go outside. It’s a comment my husband often wishes to make. Why am I still inside when the sun is shining? Why, when the roses need pruning, the grapevines are a tangle? Who would choose to be inside, ever, if outside was accessible? And I find it impossible to explain to my concrete, action-oriented husband that the rich reaches of my mind are providing access to thought, to imagination, to visions that I want to capture at my desk, so that they can live forever for others to see, outside.
Beware of Gifts
The door finally opened, the gold black one closed for a thousand years, The tallest, and broadest of the men picked his bow up and strutted out, yelling to the horde to wait. He hungered for the outside to be his, But doors let in. They waited hungry as well.