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VERSEVOICEINTHEWIND
Recitations. Zelda had revisited the Prose & Wine café several times – well, twelve times to be exact – over the last four months. And it was all purely motivated by the opportunity to hear him read just one more time. She couldn’t remember ever hearing a lovelier recitation of any piece of classical work.PROSE.
Prose Challenges. Here you will find writing prompts and competitions to help spark your imagination and guide your pen. Some challenges have prizes and entry fees, others are just for fun. Keep an eye out for our Challenge of the Week, where some of best writing emerges.Create Challenge.
PROSE. | DARK.
I gladly taste the spray from your decapitation. I bask in your feeble attempt at retaliation. Be it child, woman, or man -. All shall perish by my hand. With the scorching singe of my burning brand. Nothing will remain but bloodied land. Far and wide my blade will roam, I pity you not, as you rot and foam. HOW TO WRITE A SUICIDE NOTE 2. Start off with a greeting, like all letters do, like “To whom it may concern” or “Dear John”, or whatever you like. 3. This is the real deal. This is the part when you begin writing. Do NOT start your letter with the typical “By the time you read this, I might be dead. Don’t try to stop me.”. It will sound cliché.PROSE. | MAMBA.
Death and disease crawl through the walls. Flies gather near a bowl of grain. Hours drip and attach to guilt. Fettered and unwavering. The death of night. Light bends upon fragile skin. Nudity rotten. The earth pale and indifferent. Eager to feast upon fear. PROSE. | THYDUMPSTERFIRE. I don’t know where I’m going to go in my life, I’ve never been one to believe in fate or destiny, there are just too many factors. At my tender age of fifteen I feel like I’m meandering through this tiny speck of consciousness without a path or even the slightest hintof a guide.
PROSE. | CHALLENGE.
A quiet that is deafening. Silence is the void; broken by noise which shatters it like glass. The lack of life to break the deafness with ragged breaths and the beating of a human heart. Silence is noise, but quite unlike one we are accustomed too. It is the deafening lack of noise that is noise, the loudest of noises one could hear, as theyTHE GOD MEMORANDUM
The God Memorandum. I hear your cry. Be at peace. Be calm, for I bring you relief for your sorrow, for I know its cause and I know its cure. You weep for childhood dreams that have vanished with the years. You weep for your self- esteem that has been corrupted by failure. You weep for all your talent that has been wasted through misuse. PROSE. | STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS. Let it leak and flail. what do you do when you have high anxiety and panic attack and feeling super uncomfortable around certain people and feeling unsafe and don’t know who to trust or when you wanna escape or a vacation or get away but can’t and feeling depressed and jealous of people who have friends by their side but you don’t and getting sad that you may not be able to have children HOW TO SOLVE RUN TIME ERROR 2450 MS ACCESS CAN’T FIND THE FORM Runtime Error 2450 Cannot Find The Referenced Form Error Codes are an ending of one technique or the additional occurring since mis-configur PROSE.CHALLENGESHOPEMARTINFICTIONFANTASYPOETRY & FREEVERSEVOICEINTHEWIND
Recitations. Zelda had revisited the Prose & Wine café several times – well, twelve times to be exact – over the last four months. And it was all purely motivated by the opportunity to hear him read just one more time. She couldn’t remember ever hearing a lovelier recitation of any piece of classical work.PROSE.
Prose Challenges. Here you will find writing prompts and competitions to help spark your imagination and guide your pen. Some challenges have prizes and entry fees, others are just for fun. Keep an eye out for our Challenge of the Week, where some of best writing emerges.Create Challenge.
PROSE. | DARK.
I gladly taste the spray from your decapitation. I bask in your feeble attempt at retaliation. Be it child, woman, or man -. All shall perish by my hand. With the scorching singe of my burning brand. Nothing will remain but bloodied land. Far and wide my blade will roam, I pity you not, as you rot and foam. HOW TO WRITE A SUICIDE NOTE 2. Start off with a greeting, like all letters do, like “To whom it may concern” or “Dear John”, or whatever you like. 3. This is the real deal. This is the part when you begin writing. Do NOT start your letter with the typical “By the time you read this, I might be dead. Don’t try to stop me.”. It will sound cliché.PROSE. | MAMBA.
Death and disease crawl through the walls. Flies gather near a bowl of grain. Hours drip and attach to guilt. Fettered and unwavering. The death of night. Light bends upon fragile skin. Nudity rotten. The earth pale and indifferent. Eager to feast upon fear. PROSE. | THYDUMPSTERFIRE. I don’t know where I’m going to go in my life, I’ve never been one to believe in fate or destiny, there are just too many factors. At my tender age of fifteen I feel like I’m meandering through this tiny speck of consciousness without a path or even the slightest hintof a guide.
PROSE. | CHALLENGE.
A quiet that is deafening. Silence is the void; broken by noise which shatters it like glass. The lack of life to break the deafness with ragged breaths and the beating of a human heart. Silence is noise, but quite unlike one we are accustomed too. It is the deafening lack of noise that is noise, the loudest of noises one could hear, as theyTHE GOD MEMORANDUM
The God Memorandum. I hear your cry. Be at peace. Be calm, for I bring you relief for your sorrow, for I know its cause and I know its cure. You weep for childhood dreams that have vanished with the years. You weep for your self- esteem that has been corrupted by failure. You weep for all your talent that has been wasted through misuse. PROSE. | STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS. Let it leak and flail. what do you do when you have high anxiety and panic attack and feeling super uncomfortable around certain people and feeling unsafe and don’t know who to trust or when you wanna escape or a vacation or get away but can’t and feeling depressed and jealous of people who have friends by their side but you don’t and getting sad that you may not be able to have children HOW TO SOLVE RUN TIME ERROR 2450 MS ACCESS CAN’T FIND THE FORM Runtime Error 2450 Cannot Find The Referenced Form Error Codes are an ending of one technique or the additional occurring since mis-configurPROSE.
Recitations. Zelda had revisited the Prose & Wine café several times – well, twelve times to be exact – over the last four months. And it was all purely motivated by the opportunity to hear him read just one more time. She couldn’t remember ever hearing a lovelier recitation of any piece of classical work.PROSE.
The cries turned to wails, and the wails turned to whimpers. Randolph and his little family sneaked behind the stairs, trying to prolong their eventual fate, waiting for a miracle. But their hopes were not growing true- With a loud stomp, the front door collapsed, losing its battle to defend the family for long.PROSE. | A.
Slay me with your words. Annihilate the very fabric of my being. I’ve been meaning to emphasize the import of meaning as a means of amending the syntacic meanness.PROSE.
Charles Stanley CBD Gummies >> CHARLES STANLEY CBD GUMMIES SUPPLEMENT >> Looking after our body is the primary duty particularly with the growing age. As with age, individuals begin managing distinct fitness-associated issues. Some of the common are sound asleep disorders, soreness in joints, stress and tension, tension, and so forth which’s why today we’ve got surely come with one PROSE. | THYDUMPSTERFIRE. I don’t know where I’m going to go in my life, I’ve never been one to believe in fate or destiny, there are just too many factors. At my tender age of fifteen I feel like I’m meandering through this tiny speck of consciousness without a path or even the slightest hintof a guide.
PROSE. | MAMBA.
Death and disease crawl through the walls. Flies gather near a bowl of grain. Hours drip and attach to guilt. Fettered and unwavering. The death of night. Light bends upon fragile skin. Nudity rotten. The earth pale and indifferent. Eager to feast upon fear. PROSE. | PANJPRODUCTS. We here at panjproducts.com provides a list of viral products, Apps & websites with content and guidance https://panjproducts.comPROSE. | MCLARICE.
There is no breath left in my lungs for anyone else because she stole my last breath by one glance. There is no form of poetry to convey how the universe drips from her fingertips every time she caresses my skin.She is infinity wrapped in a cluster of colorful stars, and I cannot define her beauty.. She is my constant beginning and mynever-ending.
PROSE. | CARNATION1970. Single mom of beautiful twin teen daughters!THE GOD MEMORANDUM
The God Memorandum. I hear your cry. Be at peace. Be calm, for I bring you relief for your sorrow, for I know its cause and I know its cure. You weep for childhood dreams that have vanished with the years. You weep for your self- esteem that has been corrupted by failure. You weep for all your talent that has been wasted through misuse.PROSE. | PROSE.
Currently, that means navigation on the left, sorting on the top. The current (old) site uses a topbar nav, which drastically limits the number of navigation items it can easily surface. For a site like Prose, which allows you to explore posts, challenges, books,PROSE.
Prose Challenges. Here you will find writing prompts and competitions to help spark your imagination and guide your pen. Some challenges have prizes and entry fees, others are just for fun. Keep an eye out for our Challenge of the Week, where some of best writing emerges.Create Challenge.
PROSE. | DARK.
I gladly taste the spray from your decapitation. I bask in your feeble attempt at retaliation. Be it child, woman, or man -. All shall perish by my hand. With the scorching singe of my burning brand. Nothing will remain but bloodied land. Far and wide my blade will roam, I pity you not, as you rot and foam. HOW TO WRITE A SUICIDE NOTE 2. Start off with a greeting, like all letters do, like “To whom it may concern” or “Dear John”, or whatever you like. 3. This is the real deal. This is the part when you begin writing. Do NOT start your letter with the typical “By the time you read this, I might be dead. Don’t try to stop me.”. It will sound cliché.PROSE. | NARWHAL04.
I sit on the cold floor, the room lit with nothing but a half-burned candle. The silence is deafening. Chains wrap around my arms and legs, locked with a rusted padlock, keeping me from reaching what is almost within arm’s reach. THE ETYMOLOGY OF PROSE This. This was a fun outing and an excellent walk down Etymology Lane. I felt like I got lost between the stacks on an upper floor of some grand library where new and fresh histories were mixed in and hidden as gems among the rough and cracked bindings of the old and worn.IF I WERE A WRITER
Or something greater ! I don’t know the words, but I would have, if I were a writer. If I were a writer, I would write about How I picture you in every piece of music I listen to. Or how the melody is senseless unless I see you syncing in its rhythm.THE GOD MEMORANDUM
The God Memorandum. I hear your cry. Be at peace. Be calm, for I bring you relief for your sorrow, for I know its cause and I know its cure. You weep for childhood dreams that have vanished with the years. You weep for your self- esteem that has been corrupted by failure. You weep for all your talent that has been wasted through misuse. PROSE. | STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS. Let it leak and flail. what do you do when you have high anxiety and panic attack and feeling super uncomfortable around certain people and feeling unsafe and don’t know who to trust or when you wanna escape or a vacation or get away but can’t and feeling depressed and jealous of people who have friends by their side but you don’t and getting sad that you may not be able to have children HOW TO SOLVE RUN TIME ERROR 2450 MS ACCESS CAN’T FIND THE FORM Runtime Error 2450 Cannot Find The Referenced Form Error Codes are an ending of one technique or the additional occurring since mis-configurPROSE. | PROSE.
Currently, that means navigation on the left, sorting on the top. The current (old) site uses a topbar nav, which drastically limits the number of navigation items it can easily surface. For a site like Prose, which allows you to explore posts, challenges, books,PROSE.
Prose Challenges. Here you will find writing prompts and competitions to help spark your imagination and guide your pen. Some challenges have prizes and entry fees, others are just for fun. Keep an eye out for our Challenge of the Week, where some of best writing emerges.Create Challenge.
PROSE. | DARK.
I gladly taste the spray from your decapitation. I bask in your feeble attempt at retaliation. Be it child, woman, or man -. All shall perish by my hand. With the scorching singe of my burning brand. Nothing will remain but bloodied land. Far and wide my blade will roam, I pity you not, as you rot and foam. HOW TO WRITE A SUICIDE NOTE 2. Start off with a greeting, like all letters do, like “To whom it may concern” or “Dear John”, or whatever you like. 3. This is the real deal. This is the part when you begin writing. Do NOT start your letter with the typical “By the time you read this, I might be dead. Don’t try to stop me.”. It will sound cliché.PROSE. | NARWHAL04.
I sit on the cold floor, the room lit with nothing but a half-burned candle. The silence is deafening. Chains wrap around my arms and legs, locked with a rusted padlock, keeping me from reaching what is almost within arm’s reach. THE ETYMOLOGY OF PROSE This. This was a fun outing and an excellent walk down Etymology Lane. I felt like I got lost between the stacks on an upper floor of some grand library where new and fresh histories were mixed in and hidden as gems among the rough and cracked bindings of the old and worn.IF I WERE A WRITER
Or something greater ! I don’t know the words, but I would have, if I were a writer. If I were a writer, I would write about How I picture you in every piece of music I listen to. Or how the melody is senseless unless I see you syncing in its rhythm.THE GOD MEMORANDUM
The God Memorandum. I hear your cry. Be at peace. Be calm, for I bring you relief for your sorrow, for I know its cause and I know its cure. You weep for childhood dreams that have vanished with the years. You weep for your self- esteem that has been corrupted by failure. You weep for all your talent that has been wasted through misuse. PROSE. | STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS. Let it leak and flail. what do you do when you have high anxiety and panic attack and feeling super uncomfortable around certain people and feeling unsafe and don’t know who to trust or when you wanna escape or a vacation or get away but can’t and feeling depressed and jealous of people who have friends by their side but you don’t and getting sad that you may not be able to have children HOW TO SOLVE RUN TIME ERROR 2450 MS ACCESS CAN’T FIND THE FORM Runtime Error 2450 Cannot Find The Referenced Form Error Codes are an ending of one technique or the additional occurring since mis-configurPROSE.
Recitations. Zelda had revisited the Prose & Wine café several times – well, twelve times to be exact – over the last four months. And it was all purely motivated by the opportunity to hear him read just one more time. She couldn’t remember ever hearing a lovelier recitation of any piece of classical work.PROSE. | TAKI.
Every edge glistened like a blade, simple but strong, predictable but wild, with the arms of an ocean that wished to embrace him forever. He let it. That was how one defeated a larger enemy. That was what he had learned from the winged vulpine felere, the Mind Talent master hunters. Don’t fight the tide.PROSE. | MAMBA.
Death and disease crawl through the walls. Flies gather near a bowl of grain. Hours drip and attach to guilt. Fettered and unwavering. The death of night. Light bends upon fragile skin. Nudity rotten. The earth pale and indifferent. Eager to feast upon fear. PROSE. | PANJPRODUCTS. We here at panjproducts.com provides a list of viral products, Apps & websites with content and guidance https://panjproducts.comPROSE. | POETGREEN.
On the ocean and the line of trees far away. Suddenly clouds chase each other. The sky darkens to a charcoal gray. And the waves swell agitatedly. Thunder growls, calling for rain to come. Flashes of lightning decorate the sky. While the pouring rain. Half-drowns the island. Soon the rain turns to a drizzle.PROSE.
Remember reading? Words have never been more important. Prose is a coauthored collection of poetry and prose. Written by you. Read byeveryone.
PROSE. | CHAD1983.
Katrina gave him a half smile and slid up beside him, taking one of his arms in her hand. The other felt along his chest and downward. Cross tried to step away, tried not to let her see how he responded to her touch, but she gripped his arm tighter and pulled him close. “Oh, we are,” she purred. “Don’t bePROSE. | BUNNY.
A poet/musician, who sings in his dark-wave band 'Tail From the Crypt': https://tailfromthecrypt.bandcamp.comPROSE. | CHALLENGE.
A quiet that is deafening. Silence is the void; broken by noise which shatters it like glass. The lack of life to break the deafness with ragged breaths and the beating of a human heart. Silence is noise, but quite unlike one we are accustomed too. It is the deafening lack of noise that is noise, the loudest of noises one could hear, as theyTHE GOD MEMORANDUM
The God Memorandum. I hear your cry. Be at peace. Be calm, for I bring you relief for your sorrow, for I know its cause and I know its cure. You weep for childhood dreams that have vanished with the years. You weep for your self- esteem that has been corrupted by failure. You weep for all your talent that has been wasted through misuse. PROSE.CHALLENGESHOPEMARTINFICTIONFANTASYPOETRY & FREEVERSEVOICEINTHEWIND
Recitations. Zelda had revisited the Prose & Wine café several times – well, twelve times to be exact – over the last four months. And it was all purely motivated by the opportunity to hear him read just one more time. She couldn’t remember ever hearing a lovelier recitation of any piece of classical work.PROSE.
Prose Challenges. Here you will find writing prompts and competitions to help spark your imagination and guide your pen. Some challenges have prizes and entry fees, others are just for fun. Keep an eye out for our Challenge of the Week, where some of best writing emerges.Create Challenge.
PROSE. | DARK.
I gladly taste the spray from your decapitation. I bask in your feeble attempt at retaliation. Be it child, woman, or man -. All shall perish by my hand. With the scorching singe of my burning brand. Nothing will remain but bloodied land. Far and wide my blade will roam, I pity you not, as you rot and foam.PROSE. | TAKI.
Every edge glistened like a blade, simple but strong, predictable but wild, with the arms of an ocean that wished to embrace him forever. He let it. That was how one defeated a larger enemy. That was what he had learned from the winged vulpine felere, the Mind Talent master hunters. Don’t fight the tide. HOW TO WRITE A SUICIDE NOTE 2. Start off with a greeting, like all letters do, like “To whom it may concern” or “Dear John”, or whatever you like. 3. This is the real deal. This is the part when you begin writing. Do NOT start your letter with the typical “By the time you read this, I might be dead. Don’t try to stop me.”. It will sound cliché.PROSE. | NARWHAL04.
I sit on the cold floor, the room lit with nothing but a half-burned candle. The silence is deafening. Chains wrap around my arms and legs, locked with a rusted padlock, keeping me from reaching what is almost within arm’s reach.PROSE. | CHALLENGE.
A quiet that is deafening. Silence is the void; broken by noise which shatters it like glass. The lack of life to break the deafness with ragged breaths and the beating of a human heart. Silence is noise, but quite unlike one we are accustomed too. It is the deafening lack of noise that is noise, the loudest of noises one could hear, as theyIF I WERE A WRITER
Or something greater ! I don’t know the words, but I would have, if I were a writer. If I were a writer, I would write about How I picture you in every piece of music I listen to. Or how the melody is senseless unless I see you syncing in its rhythm. PROSE. | THYDUMPSTERFIRE. Some random teenager that thinks they can write for some reason. PROSE. | STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS. Let it leak and flail. what do you do when you have high anxiety and panic attack and feeling super uncomfortable around certain people and feeling unsafe and don’t know who to trust or when you wanna escape or a vacation or get away but can’t and feeling depressed and jealous of people who have friends by their side but you don’t and getting sad that you may not be able to have children PROSE.CHALLENGESHOPEMARTINFICTIONFANTASYPOETRY & FREEVERSEVOICEINTHEWIND
Recitations. Zelda had revisited the Prose & Wine café several times – well, twelve times to be exact – over the last four months. And it was all purely motivated by the opportunity to hear him read just one more time. She couldn’t remember ever hearing a lovelier recitation of any piece of classical work.PROSE.
Prose Challenges. Here you will find writing prompts and competitions to help spark your imagination and guide your pen. Some challenges have prizes and entry fees, others are just for fun. Keep an eye out for our Challenge of the Week, where some of best writing emerges.Create Challenge.
PROSE. | DARK.
I gladly taste the spray from your decapitation. I bask in your feeble attempt at retaliation. Be it child, woman, or man -. All shall perish by my hand. With the scorching singe of my burning brand. Nothing will remain but bloodied land. Far and wide my blade will roam, I pity you not, as you rot and foam.PROSE. | TAKI.
Every edge glistened like a blade, simple but strong, predictable but wild, with the arms of an ocean that wished to embrace him forever. He let it. That was how one defeated a larger enemy. That was what he had learned from the winged vulpine felere, the Mind Talent master hunters. Don’t fight the tide. HOW TO WRITE A SUICIDE NOTE 2. Start off with a greeting, like all letters do, like “To whom it may concern” or “Dear John”, or whatever you like. 3. This is the real deal. This is the part when you begin writing. Do NOT start your letter with the typical “By the time you read this, I might be dead. Don’t try to stop me.”. It will sound cliché.PROSE. | NARWHAL04.
I sit on the cold floor, the room lit with nothing but a half-burned candle. The silence is deafening. Chains wrap around my arms and legs, locked with a rusted padlock, keeping me from reaching what is almost within arm’s reach.PROSE. | CHALLENGE.
A quiet that is deafening. Silence is the void; broken by noise which shatters it like glass. The lack of life to break the deafness with ragged breaths and the beating of a human heart. Silence is noise, but quite unlike one we are accustomed too. It is the deafening lack of noise that is noise, the loudest of noises one could hear, as theyIF I WERE A WRITER
Or something greater ! I don’t know the words, but I would have, if I were a writer. If I were a writer, I would write about How I picture you in every piece of music I listen to. Or how the melody is senseless unless I see you syncing in its rhythm. PROSE. | THYDUMPSTERFIRE. Some random teenager that thinks they can write for some reason. PROSE. | STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS. Let it leak and flail. what do you do when you have high anxiety and panic attack and feeling super uncomfortable around certain people and feeling unsafe and don’t know who to trust or when you wanna escape or a vacation or get away but can’t and feeling depressed and jealous of people who have friends by their side but you don’t and getting sad that you may not be able to have childrenPROSE.
The cries turned to wails, and the wails turned to whimpers. Randolph and his little family sneaked behind the stairs, trying to prolong their eventual fate, waiting for a miracle. But their hopes were not growing true- With a loud stomp, the front door collapsed, losing its battle to defend the family for long.PROSE. | A.
Slay me with your words. Annihilate the very fabric of my being. I’ve been meaning to emphasize the import of meaning as a means of amending the syntacic meanness.PROSE. | TAKI.
Every edge glistened like a blade, simple but strong, predictable but wild, with the arms of an ocean that wished to embrace him forever. He let it. That was how one defeated a larger enemy. That was what he had learned from the winged vulpine felere, the Mind Talent master hunters. Don’t fight the tide. PROSE. | BROCKFAMOUS. Brockahmpton merch give us quality of shirts, hoodies and shoes in lowest price.get fast shipping. https://brockhamptonmerch.net/PROSE. | MAMBA.
Death and disease crawl through the walls. Flies gather near a bowl of grain. Hours drip and attach to guilt. Fettered and unwavering. The death of night. Light bends upon fragile skin. Nudity rotten. The earth pale and indifferent. Eager to feast upon fear.PROSE. | CHALLENGE.
The book the City of Joy was a stark reminder of the cruelty of living in abject poverty. The stories of the main characters Hasari Pal, a peasant turned human rickshaw puller who suffered from tuberculosis, and Stephen Kovalski, a Polish priest who lived and served in the slums of Kolkata, were harrowing.PROSE. | DAVEK.
she moves in like the tides, as though the ocean copies . her little breaths as she sleeps, snaking soft against me, washing away my broken bits. like sand into the deep, PROSE. | THYDUMPSTERFIRE. Some random teenager that thinks they can write for some reason.PROSE. | CHALLENGE.
Prose Challenge of the Week #8: Write a Haiku or Tanka about the supernatural. The winner will be chosen by Prose based on a number of criteria, this includes: fire, form, and creative edge. Number of reads, bookmarks, and shares will also be taken into WHAT DOES "LOVE WINS" REALLY MEAN? What Does “Love Wins” Really Mean? Words mean things, yet many times, especially when crafted for marketing or political reasons, words can be bent to mean something completely different or masked to cover up the reality (if you are lucky enough to be talking about marketing, you usually get a lot of legalese fine-print to explainwhat is
PROSE.CHALLENGESHOPEMARTINFICTIONFANTASYPOETRY & FREEVERSEVOICEINTHEWIND
Recitations. Zelda had revisited the Prose & Wine café several times – well, twelve times to be exact – over the last four months. And it was all purely motivated by the opportunity to hear him read just one more time. She couldn’t remember ever hearing a lovelier recitation of any piece of classical work.PROSE.
Prose Challenges. Here you will find writing prompts and competitions to help spark your imagination and guide your pen. Some challenges have prizes and entry fees, others are just for fun. Keep an eye out for our Challenge of the Week, where some of best writing emerges.Create Challenge.
PROSE.
The cries turned to wails, and the wails turned to whimpers. Randolph and his little family sneaked behind the stairs, trying to prolong their eventual fate, waiting for a miracle. But their hopes were not growing true- With a loud stomp, the front door collapsed, losing its battle to defend the family for long.PROSE. | DARK.
I gladly taste the spray from your decapitation. I bask in your feeble attempt at retaliation. Be it child, woman, or man -. All shall perish by my hand. With the scorching singe of my burning brand. Nothing will remain but bloodied land. Far and wide my blade will roam, I pity you not, as you rot and foam.PROSE. | MAMBA.
Death and disease crawl through the walls. Flies gather near a bowl of grain. Hours drip and attach to guilt. Fettered and unwavering. The death of night. Light bends upon fragile skin. Nudity rotten. The earth pale and indifferent. Eager to feast upon fear. HOW TO WRITE A SUICIDE NOTE 2. Start off with a greeting, like all letters do, like “To whom it may concern” or “Dear John”, or whatever you like. 3. This is the real deal. This is the part when you begin writing. Do NOT start your letter with the typical “By the time you read this, I might be dead. Don’t try to stop me.”. It will sound cliché.PROSE. | NARWHAL04.
I sit on the cold floor, the room lit with nothing but a half-burned candle. The silence is deafening. Chains wrap around my arms and legs, locked with a rusted padlock, keeping me from reaching what is almost within arm’s reach. PROSE. | STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS. Why read if it doesn’t make you smile, at least once in a while, more oft than this Pink Moon we’re having, but maybe less oft than each added sliver of every waxing phase - enthusiasm wanes when I turn the page and frown, so pronounced is the melancholy sound of why must it all be like the end of days when I wake up seven a week in spite of the greenhouse haze which resembles fog atPROSE. | CHALLENGE.
A quiet that is deafening. Silence is the void; broken by noise which shatters it like glass. The lack of life to break the deafness with ragged breaths and the beating of a human heart. Silence is noise, but quite unlike one we are accustomed too. It is the deafening lack of noise that is noise, the loudest of noises one could hear, as they PROSE. | THYDUMPSTERFIRE. Some random teenager that thinks they can write for some reason. PROSE.CHALLENGESHOPEMARTINFICTIONFANTASYPOETRY & FREEVERSEVOICEINTHEWIND
Recitations. Zelda had revisited the Prose & Wine café several times – well, twelve times to be exact – over the last four months. And it was all purely motivated by the opportunity to hear him read just one more time. She couldn’t remember ever hearing a lovelier recitation of any piece of classical work.PROSE.
Prose Challenges. Here you will find writing prompts and competitions to help spark your imagination and guide your pen. Some challenges have prizes and entry fees, others are just for fun. Keep an eye out for our Challenge of the Week, where some of best writing emerges.Create Challenge.
PROSE.
The cries turned to wails, and the wails turned to whimpers. Randolph and his little family sneaked behind the stairs, trying to prolong their eventual fate, waiting for a miracle. But their hopes were not growing true- With a loud stomp, the front door collapsed, losing its battle to defend the family for long.PROSE. | DARK.
I gladly taste the spray from your decapitation. I bask in your feeble attempt at retaliation. Be it child, woman, or man -. All shall perish by my hand. With the scorching singe of my burning brand. Nothing will remain but bloodied land. Far and wide my blade will roam, I pity you not, as you rot and foam.PROSE. | MAMBA.
Death and disease crawl through the walls. Flies gather near a bowl of grain. Hours drip and attach to guilt. Fettered and unwavering. The death of night. Light bends upon fragile skin. Nudity rotten. The earth pale and indifferent. Eager to feast upon fear. HOW TO WRITE A SUICIDE NOTE 2. Start off with a greeting, like all letters do, like “To whom it may concern” or “Dear John”, or whatever you like. 3. This is the real deal. This is the part when you begin writing. Do NOT start your letter with the typical “By the time you read this, I might be dead. Don’t try to stop me.”. It will sound cliché.PROSE. | NARWHAL04.
I sit on the cold floor, the room lit with nothing but a half-burned candle. The silence is deafening. Chains wrap around my arms and legs, locked with a rusted padlock, keeping me from reaching what is almost within arm’s reach. PROSE. | STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS. Why read if it doesn’t make you smile, at least once in a while, more oft than this Pink Moon we’re having, but maybe less oft than each added sliver of every waxing phase - enthusiasm wanes when I turn the page and frown, so pronounced is the melancholy sound of why must it all be like the end of days when I wake up seven a week in spite of the greenhouse haze which resembles fog atPROSE. | CHALLENGE.
A quiet that is deafening. Silence is the void; broken by noise which shatters it like glass. The lack of life to break the deafness with ragged breaths and the beating of a human heart. Silence is noise, but quite unlike one we are accustomed too. It is the deafening lack of noise that is noise, the loudest of noises one could hear, as they PROSE. | THYDUMPSTERFIRE. Some random teenager that thinks they can write for some reason.PROSE.
The cries turned to wails, and the wails turned to whimpers. Randolph and his little family sneaked behind the stairs, trying to prolong their eventual fate, waiting for a miracle. But their hopes were not growing true- With a loud stomp, the front door collapsed, losing its battle to defend the family for long.PROSE. | A.
Slay me with your words. Annihilate the very fabric of my being. I’ve been meaning to emphasize the import of meaning as a means of amending the syntacic meanness. PROSE. | BROCKFAMOUS. Brockahmpton merch give us quality of shirts, hoodies and shoes in lowest price.get fast shipping. https://brockhamptonmerch.net/PROSE. | MAMBA.
Death and disease crawl through the walls. Flies gather near a bowl of grain. Hours drip and attach to guilt. Fettered and unwavering. The death of night. Light bends upon fragile skin. Nudity rotten. The earth pale and indifferent. Eager to feast upon fear.PROSE. | TAKI.
Every edge glistened like a blade, simple but strong, predictable but wild, with the arms of an ocean that wished to embrace him forever. He let it. That was how one defeated a larger enemy. That was what he had learned from the winged vulpine felere, the Mind Talent master hunters. Don’t fight the tide.PROSE.
Remember reading? Words have never been more important. Prose is a coauthored collection of poetry and prose. Written by you. Read byeveryone.
PROSE. | CHALLENGE.
Exclude any swearing and blasphemy and good luck! Created by HelenaTherese. Completed | 39 Entries | 30 - 30 words allowed | No entry limit. The winner will be decided by the entry with the most likes. best. Newest Best Random. Written by LuckReaper. 4 weeks ago. Break your reader's heart in thirty words. PROSE. | THYDUMPSTERFIRE. Some random teenager that thinks they can write for some reason.PROSE. | DAVEK.
she moves in like the tides, as though the ocean copies . her little breaths as she sleeps, snaking soft against me, washing away my broken bits. like sand into the deep, WHAT DOES "LOVE WINS" REALLY MEAN? What Does “Love Wins” Really Mean? Words mean things, yet many times, especially when crafted for marketing or political reasons, words can be bent to mean something completely different or masked to cover up the reality (if you are lucky enough to be talking about marketing, you usually get a lot of legalese fine-print to explainwhat is
PROSE.CHALLENGESHOPEMARTINFICTIONFANTASYPOETRY & FREEVERSEVOICEINTHEWIND
Recitations. Zelda had revisited the Prose & Wine café several times – well, twelve times to be exact – over the last four months. And it was all purely motivated by the opportunity to hear him read just one more time. She couldn’t remember ever hearing a lovelier recitation of any piece of classical work.PROSE.
Prose Challenges. Here you will find writing prompts and competitions to help spark your imagination and guide your pen. Some challenges have prizes and entry fees, others are just for fun. Keep an eye out for our Challenge of the Week, where some of best writing emerges.Create Challenge.
PROSE.
We'll keep your scribblings temporarily saved until you're ready to share them. Hashtags and links in posts have changed. You can now add hashtags and links simply by typing them in the body of your post. If you don't want to disrupt the flow of your Prose, just add them at theend of the text.
PROSE.
The cries turned to wails, and the wails turned to whimpers. Randolph and his little family sneaked behind the stairs, trying to prolong their eventual fate, waiting for a miracle. But their hopes were not growing true- With a loud stomp, the front door collapsed, losing its battle to defend the family for long.PROSE.
it doesn’t matter because being around you is almost like sunshine. not that you are a sunny person, but. when i’m with you my thoughts turn. blurry, as if melted by your warmth, my brain turns. fuzzy and my thoughts become. slow. you are comfort. it’s. hard to imagine that there will be a time when i.PROSE. | FINDER.
Prose. | Finder. a person HOW TO WRITE A SUICIDE NOTE 2. Start off with a greeting, like all letters do, like “To whom it may concern” or “Dear John”, or whatever you like. 3. This is the real deal. This is the part when you begin writing. Do NOT start your letter with the typical “By the time you read this, I might be dead. Don’t try to stop me.”. It will sound cliché.PROSE. | NARWHAL04.
I sit on the cold floor, the room lit with nothing but a half-burned candle. The silence is deafening. Chains wrap around my arms and legs, locked with a rusted padlock, keeping me from reaching what is almost within arm’s reach.IF I WERE A WRITER
Or something greater ! I don’t know the words, but I would have, if I were a writer. If I were a writer, I would write about How I picture you in every piece of music I listen to. Or how the melody is senseless unless I see you syncing in its rhythm. PROSE. | STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS.EXAMPLES OF PROSEDEFINITION OF PROSEPROSE VS FUNCTION OF BEAUTYWHAT ARE THE SPECIFIC FEATURE OF PROSE Why read if it doesn’t make you smile, at least once in a while, more oft than this Pink Moon we’re having, but maybe less oft than each added sliver of every waxing phase - enthusiasm wanes when I turn the page and frown, so pronounced is the melancholy sound of why must it all be like the end of days when I wake up seven a week in spite of the greenhouse haze which resembles fog at PROSE.CHALLENGESHOPEMARTINFICTIONFANTASYPOETRY & FREEVERSEVOICEINTHEWIND
Recitations. Zelda had revisited the Prose & Wine café several times – well, twelve times to be exact – over the last four months. And it was all purely motivated by the opportunity to hear him read just one more time. She couldn’t remember ever hearing a lovelier recitation of any piece of classical work.PROSE.
Prose Challenges. Here you will find writing prompts and competitions to help spark your imagination and guide your pen. Some challenges have prizes and entry fees, others are just for fun. Keep an eye out for our Challenge of the Week, where some of best writing emerges.Create Challenge.
PROSE.
We'll keep your scribblings temporarily saved until you're ready to share them. Hashtags and links in posts have changed. You can now add hashtags and links simply by typing them in the body of your post. If you don't want to disrupt the flow of your Prose, just add them at theend of the text.
PROSE.
The cries turned to wails, and the wails turned to whimpers. Randolph and his little family sneaked behind the stairs, trying to prolong their eventual fate, waiting for a miracle. But their hopes were not growing true- With a loud stomp, the front door collapsed, losing its battle to defend the family for long.PROSE.
it doesn’t matter because being around you is almost like sunshine. not that you are a sunny person, but. when i’m with you my thoughts turn. blurry, as if melted by your warmth, my brain turns. fuzzy and my thoughts become. slow. you are comfort. it’s. hard to imagine that there will be a time when i.PROSE. | FINDER.
Prose. | Finder. a person HOW TO WRITE A SUICIDE NOTE 2. Start off with a greeting, like all letters do, like “To whom it may concern” or “Dear John”, or whatever you like. 3. This is the real deal. This is the part when you begin writing. Do NOT start your letter with the typical “By the time you read this, I might be dead. Don’t try to stop me.”. It will sound cliché.PROSE. | NARWHAL04.
I sit on the cold floor, the room lit with nothing but a half-burned candle. The silence is deafening. Chains wrap around my arms and legs, locked with a rusted padlock, keeping me from reaching what is almost within arm’s reach.IF I WERE A WRITER
Or something greater ! I don’t know the words, but I would have, if I were a writer. If I were a writer, I would write about How I picture you in every piece of music I listen to. Or how the melody is senseless unless I see you syncing in its rhythm. PROSE. | STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS.EXAMPLES OF PROSEDEFINITION OF PROSEPROSE VS FUNCTION OF BEAUTYWHAT ARE THE SPECIFIC FEATURE OF PROSE Why read if it doesn’t make you smile, at least once in a while, more oft than this Pink Moon we’re having, but maybe less oft than each added sliver of every waxing phase - enthusiasm wanes when I turn the page and frown, so pronounced is the melancholy sound of why must it all be like the end of days when I wake up seven a week in spite of the greenhouse haze which resembles fog atPROSE.
Remember reading? Words have never been more important. Prose is a coauthored collection of poetry and prose. Written by you. Read byeveryone.
PROSE.
The cries turned to wails, and the wails turned to whimpers. Randolph and his little family sneaked behind the stairs, trying to prolong their eventual fate, waiting for a miracle. But their hopes were not growing true- With a loud stomp, the front door collapsed, losing its battle to defend the family for long.PROSE.
Remember reading? Words have never been more important. Prose is a coauthored collection of poetry and prose. Written by you. Read byeveryone.
PROSE. | A.
Slay me with your words. Annihilate the very fabric of my being. I’ve been meaning to emphasize the import of meaning as a means of amending the syntacic meanness.PROSE.
it doesn’t matter because being around you is almost like sunshine. not that you are a sunny person, but. when i’m with you my thoughts turn. blurry, as if melted by your warmth, my brain turns. fuzzy and my thoughts become. slow. you are comfort. it’s. hard to imagine that there will be a time when i.PROSE. | FINDER.
Prose. | Finder. a personPROSE. | SHY.
I wish you could love me the way you love to put me down. Belittling me as if my opinions didn’t matter. I wish you could love me the way you love to silence my voice. I wish you could love me the way you love your friends. But you don’t. I wish you could love me the way you love to assert your dominance. PROSE. | BROCKFAMOUS. Brockahmpton merch give us quality of shirts, hoodies and shoes in lowest price.get fast shipping. https://brockhamptonmerch.net/PROSE. | POETGREEN.
On the ocean and the line of trees far away. Suddenly clouds chase each other. The sky darkens to a charcoal gray. And the waves swell agitatedly. Thunder growls, calling for rain to come. Flashes of lightning decorate the sky. While the pouring rain. Half-drowns the island. Soon the rain turns to a drizzle. PROSE. | WAYNEGUERIN. 9mm Ammo" /> . 9mm Ammo" />P.
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Written by EmJayBarnes1 week ago
Challenge of the Week CLXXIANGRY FATHER
We whisper in the kitchen, So as not to disturb his slumber, Tiptoe tiptoe tiptoe is all we do, To let him sleep, not trigger the bomb, The bomb goes by many names, Anxiety, depression, possibly bipolar, Send him plethoric at minuscule matters, Strained relationships over scruples, Not one to hit, but verbal iniquity, Is what made mother stay, Safety presumed, though in reality, Arrows strike merely inches nearby, Every word, though carefully articulated, Actuated attack, demanded a win, Eyebrows adhere permanent expression, Of one who’s relief cannot ebb, Cannot make a decision with him, Cannot choose a thing without, No matter the ways you go about it, We all suffer one man’s lack of peace.22
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Report PostGo to Post URL Advertisement DisableWritten by rlove327
1 week ago
Challenge of the Week CLXXIJUST KEEP SHAVING.
The most moving moment in the zombie-plague film _28_ _Days Later_ involves no death or speech or kiss. It’s Cillian Murphy shaving. Having fled from zombies for days with some others, Murphy’s character reaches a high rise where a father and daughter have successfully barricaded themselves. They talk and they plan, and I believe they talk about the loss of the girl’s mother - so many years after viewing the movie, I cannot recall most of the details. I just remember the speechless scene that follows. Murphy stands in front a mirror with his unkempt beard stretching far down his neck. It’s less beard and more furband, really. There is no shaving cream, and there is only cold water. The razor is dull. It’s a scraping, unpleasant shave. But he does it. Murphy steps out of the bathroom. From the first moments we saw him, waking from a coma in a desolated hospital, he has had this bedraggled facial hair. Now, cleanshaven, the people he has been with are taken aback. It’s tempting to say he transformed. But really, he reclaimedhimself.
Despite the chaos around him, he wanted to shave because he insisted on his humanity. To do otherwise would be an overreaction: when things are bad, we must not give in to despair, because there is more hope than we see. Fear is normal - he had fled from a zombie horde, after all - but he refused to sacrifice his humanity to it, even holed up ina tiny apartment.
The coronavirus has not reached my New York county yet, officially, but it’s hard to say what adequate testing will soon reveal. Our appointments and social engagements have been cancelled. As a teacher I will attend a conference day tomorrow, and I will see my students for one more day Tuesday before the state of emergency goes into effect. Then, I will not see them again for nearly a month. I’m going to offer my students some books, a bit of work I will try to persuade them to do. I’m going to hand out a recommended Netflix watch list, and I’ll schedule some Zoom conferences for anyone who is hungry for some academic interaction, either about _A Series of Unfortunate Events_ (Neil Patrick Harris rocks) or the books. I’ll ensure my daughters at home keep getting some education. I do not know when they will next see their grandparents, but we’ll have regular “read with Grandma and Grandpa” times on Skype. I’ll probably have a lot more time for Prose than I’ve had lately. I’ll keep an eye out for a local need for volunteers to deliver meals for seniors, which I think will likely be coming. I won’t be going out unless I need to, but I’ll shave anyway. After my freshman year of college I landed at internship in Pittsburgh, and one morning an ugly traffic snarl brought all the commuters on I-79 to a complete standstill for two hours. People got out of their cars and chatted. A few people tossed a football back and forth in the median. I can’t help but wonder what let through more of our humanity that day: the morning commute we began like every day,or that standstill?
Let’s flatten the curve, guys. And even as we socially distance, let’s be human to one another. And ourselves.16
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Report PostGo to Post URL Written by BonnieBoo1 week ago
Challenge of the Week CLXXI ELVIS PRESLEY’S NAVAL This guy with a cowboy hat and connect the dot overly dramatic freckles asked me where the nearest bus stop was and I told him, “Half past Elvis Presley’s naval,” and not too surprisingly he knew exactly where to go without further ado. When you live in or visit an _artsy-fartsy_ town like mine, mostly every Joe Schmo bopping down any alternate side of the block knows the legal and illegal graffiti better than a street sign spelled Main, or Banks, orRiverdale.
“Going my way?” Seemed quite unnecessary to say for this guy as much as it did for me, because he ran from me at the _“l”_ in _naval_ like I stunk or had the plague. Anyway, I am not in the habit of making friends on my way to work, nor on the way home, and also between the hours of 12:00 o’clock p.m to 11:59 a.m. if you catch my drift. Who needs friends when you’ve got a paintbrush, a canvas andan eye?
The bus driver, Hank, (and I only know his name because he has a sign on his windshield visor that says “Hi. I’m Hank”) knows me better than I know him because he’s the type of guy that loves what he does; a people person, it’s obvious, because it shows in his crow’s feet and loose limbs and the way he never fails to personably greet every Tom, Dick and Jane. He doesn’t know my real name but that didn’t stop him from gratuitously assigning me one. He calls me Michelangelo. And he sorta sings it when he addresses me, Pavarotti style and I sorta like it, like I like potato chips. Michelangelo. Not to be confused with _Ninja Turtle_ Michelangelo, as in the High Renaissance Michelangelo, at least that’s what I assume he believes by the way he eyes the paint stains under my fingers when I pay for myfare.
But on this particular day Hank looked at me fearfully when I went to pay my fare and he didn’t bellow my name operatically, but rather cleared his throat in the same way my grandmother would at the dinner table when my father had too much to drink, and tilted his head back and to the side as if to warn me of something supernatural, something evil, and it was when I looked away from him towards _MY_ seat that I knew. Joe Schmo was sitting in my seat, and everyone that rides the “B” picked up at my stop knows, especially Hank, that the window seat, second row on the left belongs to _Michelangelo_. “I tried to tell him and he didn’t listen,” said Hank so low that I thought perhaps he had laryngitis. Like white on rice I converged on this asshole also named _Whodoeshethinkheis_ with my fists in the air and one knee up making me wonder for a split second in the midst of my rage if Hank had meant the other Michelangelo all along. Apparently, _Whodoeshethinkheis_ a.k.a. Joe Schmo was groovin’ intently to whatever the hell he was listening to on his earbuds and lucky for him he must have seen me approaching out of his peripheral just before he got clocked in the kisser with my right Doc Marten by ducking and then jumping up firmly, erected, coinfidentantly and said, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up your friggin horses buddy! What’s your problem? Where I come from bus drivers don’t hold seats for people. If this damn seat means so much to you, then take it damn it!” And he gallantly pushed past me, animated, looking like a badass cowboy in a black and white Spaghetti Western. And I took it. _My seat._ And I sat, instantly forgetting I had ever laid eyes upon Joe Schmo, and even Hank for that matter, adjusting my butt cheeks comfortably right where they belong against the grain of the worn pleather, just in time to see Elvis’ naval fading from myview.
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Report PostGo to Post URL Written by parachutes1 week ago
Challenge of the Week CLXXI (:)(:)(:)(:)(:)(:)(:)(:)(:)(:)(:)(:)(:)(:)(:)(:)(:)(:)(:) “The Coronavirus! There’s 2 confirmed cases in theprovince!!!!!”
I rub the sleep from my eyes as my mother runs around my room in apanicked state.
“Where are the clothe you wore yesterday?” she demands.“Erm..”
“We must SANITIZE them right now, so where are they?” “Um, I think they’re over there by the desk.....” “Good. Now, where did you go last night, and who were you with?” “Christ Mum, why are you panicking? This is the firest two cases......where was it even?” “St. Charleston, but that hardly matters, who were you with AND WHERE WERE YOU???” St. Charleston is 4 hours away by car. Christ, she’s losing hermind.
I won‘t be the one to tell her that though. “I was at the library on 6th Ave with Candice and Franky. We went to the DQ on 4th Street after, and we got milkshakes.” “Mhhm, and what kind of shake did you get?” “I beg your pardon?” Mum has whipped her phone out of her pocket and is frantically dialing. She glares at me. Her eyes are bloodshot. “JEROME! What kind of shake did you get??? This is an emergency, could you take this seriously please? We have to make sure that the ice cream and toppings didn’t come from CHINA!” Someone must have picked up on the other line of whomever she dialed, and she begins frantically talking to the person on the other end. “What kind?” she mouths at me.“Cherry.”
“Yes, he says he had a Cherry milkshake. I need to know where these ingredients were sourced from RIGHT NOW.” Groaning, I get out of bed and walk towards my mother. I place my hand on her shoulder. She screams in horror and drops the phone. Completely forgetting about me and the phone call, she scurries out of the room. “Hello?” C comes form the phone on the floor. “Yeah, dont worry about anything she said. She’s going a littleinsane.”
I click end on the call as she comes hurtling back in the room, mask on her face, gloves on her hands, and a large plastic bag. “What the hell?” “Put your clothes in here, and dont touch me again. You, young sir, are under quarantine.” “Fat chance of that. Calm down Mum, I’m not infected!” “YOU CAN’T PROVE THAT!!!!!!!” Dropping the bag, she begins throwing miscellaneous objects at me. Hand sanitizer, gloves, masks, Kleenex, bleach, 2 Costco sized packs of water, a bucket, garbage bags, duct tape, a baby monitor, and several cases of toilet paper. “Christ Mum, where did you get this stuff?” “I had to go out last night before the stores ran out of supplies. The apocalypse is coming! We must have enough supplies to last us for6 months.”
I glance at the pile. “What am I supposed to eat?” “You are on on 48 hour fast. If this water wont get that disease out of you, the starvation will.” “That’s NOT how this works!!!” “It is now. I will be back in 2 hours. The new shipment of canned goods should be hitting shelves in 20 minutes, and I must be the first one there. While I’m gone, please toss all of your belongings out the window, expect fro things that are non porous. Those things get bleached and sanitized. You should have enough toilet paper to make it through the fast. Also, please use the garbage bag and duct tape to seal off your door and window. We will use the baby monitor to communicate for the next 2 days. Godspeed son.” A tear wells in her eye. “I love you son.” She slams the door closed, and through the thin drywall I can hear the sound of duck tape being slapped on the frame of the door to seal mein.
Jesus, she’s lost her mind.#coronavirus
#paranoid
PSA I know the coronavirus is serious, but writing stupid shit is howI cope with stress.
Stay safe fellow Prose users, stay safe, hoard toilet paper, and washyour hands.
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Report PostGo to Post URL Advertisement Disable Written by Justonewort1 week ago
Challenge of the Week CLXXIOWN
I’m in a constant state of astral projection. Until the world requires I return. I come home and it’s a mess! The media a circus, the public a frenzy, all the while I’m sitting here thinking “When did she end up alone?” I stand, sit, lie in “my” room. Like I live here when all the while the clock is saying: “Only a matter of time.” time for what? I have so many clocks in my house. All saying the same thing. One more hour again. Another day becomes another day. A fold and she’s a day older. A page and it’s a chapter gone. One month and all she have left is a paper cut from a broken stamp and ablank stare.
I tiptoe around the body, not wanting to be seen. she’s hurt. she’s wounded. she’s alive but barely. I hide my face behind a lampost down the street. How many times had she passed that way? Not knowing it would be the last. I was friends from afar. Look at that body go! She’s got a job! Another heart break. She’s seen a lot. But not many have seen her.Been her. With her.
She tries.
But she’s lost.
I really should be getting back. But all the while, the world becomes so clear, insanity is currency, but I’m not supplied. I cannot take one more step in that body. So sweetheart, I’m sorry. You’re on your own2
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Report PostGo to Post URLWritten by A
4 months ago
KENSHO
when you
shut your mind’s eye, close your mind’s ear, relax your mind’s skin, hold your mind’s tongue, and stop your mind’s nose, the ripples in your mind’s pond will cease,and
you will realize
the pond
is an infinitely deep,infinitely vast
ocean
of
pure
consciousness,
and every subsequent ripplewill be
a tsunami
of
delicacy
and
delight
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Report PostGo to Post URL Written by Writemore2 weeks ago
THIS IS TERRIFYING.
I’ve been staring at the blank post for at least an hour, trying to figure out how to introduce myself to the world of Prose. I love writing, but this scares the hell out of me. English was easily my best subject in school, and I’ve always loved journaling, but this? Putting myself out there for the entire world to see - and critique? Absolutely terrifying. That’s why I’m here, though. I joined this site to force myself out of my comfort zone and flex my creative muscles. I attempted NaNoWriMo a few years back and churned out about 10,000 words of gibberish, so I’m here to practice writing fiction, try my hand at poetry, and say the things I never said out loud. Hello, people of Prose. Please be gentle.32
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Report PostGo to Post URL Advertisement Disable Written by BonnieBoo2 weeks ago
Challenge of the Week CLXXEGGS
Believing the last egg I cracked was cracked right up the middle is my prerogative, that is if there is a middle. If you ask me, the problem with eggs is their lack of structural perfection, so affixing blame to myself for my inability to predetermine the outcome of the break is no different than an eager beachcomber viewing a line in the sand as the tide ebbs and flows, expecting a straight edge. Some will look at an egg and see the hand of God, a miraculous offering, the spherical elongation released from a chicken’s vent; as food for the hungry. All I see is tangible irregularity. And I could eat a dozen. Two dozen. Waste not want not. Cracking them one at a time, releasing the yolk and the albumen flagrantly to sizzle unabridged upon the preheated griddle, as Jose Rameriz pitches a perfect game that I don’t watch, and I want more, even after Ivomit.
Tomorrow, when I wake up, the same exact time I woke up today, I will drive my clean car an equal distance between the double yellow line and the shoulder waiting three seconds before I proceed after the light turns green to buy more eggs. Two dozen. Maybe more if they are on sale, opening up the carton with anticipatory willingness only to be deceived. Eyeing every one of the twelve I rebuke the notion of God. There is no perfect egg.17
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Report PostGo to Post URLWritten by mm42883
3 weeks ago
Challenge of the Week CLXX CONTROL FREAK SIDESHOW “Step right up! Step right up!” He yells four nights a week. The other two nights we usually travel. Long stretches of highway. Cornfields. So many cornfields. “Step right up and see the greatest traveling side show stillaround!”
He wears a bright red suit with a shiny cape and a tall tophat. When crowds are low he pulls a flask from his pocket. When crowds are plentiful he stands on a box to shout over the din. “Control the freak! See what she can do! The most flexible woman alive! Step right up!” The long cables attached to my binds feed through a series of pulleys terminating in four wooden handles. “A live marionette! Control the freak! Make her dance! Make her stretch! Make her moooooove!” He always puts a foul twist on the last word, often winking at a potential male customer when he says it. Money is paid. An eager-looking group of young men enter my tent. I lay on the floor, still, sprawled, crumpled and waiting to be controlled. They take the handles to my cables and pull me to a standing position. They get four minutes, unless they paid the premium rate, but I doubt these young men know to ask for the availableextras.
They spin me around and around, make me jump, bow, twist, and convulse. I am their’s. Their puppet. Their entertainment. Their slave. They have the cables, the power, the control. Outside, the yelling continues. More people line up, waiting their turn to be my master. Maybe it isn’t right. Maybe it is. Maybe it’s more common than you think. Maybe it’s you.11
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Report PostGo to Post URL Written by Scratch773 weeks ago
Challenge of the Week CLXXMAN IN CONTROL
Georg was born in Germany shortly after World War Two, when the country was trying to pull itself up out of the ashes. His hard-working father did his best to put food on the table and instill in his children a sense of responsibility and a strong work ethic. “Useful” was the operative word. Another thing he learned from his father was an all-encompassing “they’re all out to get me” mentality, which governed every decision he made and every action he took. When he began relationships, or even casual acquaintances, they were always on his terms, since the alternative was certain disaster. Everyone was evil and malicious, and it would only be a matter of time until his friends/girlfriends/random passersby would attempt to lie to/hurt/cheat/steal from him. From his father he inherited a wonderful sense of humor as well, but because life was a disaster waiting to happen, it never attained the freedom it needed to enhance, aid in growth and bring people together. It was tainted with bitterness, prone to _Schadenfreude_, and sought to strengthen his virility while burying the weak. It was hard to stay happy for any length of time, and not just because it was gray and rainy all of the time in Deutschland. There just wasn’t enough money to go around. Through it all, he worked. He worked until his fingers bled and his back ached and beyond. He learned trades avidly and shunned the liberal arts, as his father had done, since it was not useful. He worked at construction sites until he could easily be paid on any site, anywhere, being competent and knowledgeable in the art of building, had he wanted to. On these construction sites, Georg discovered a love and respect for cement. It was so hard! If mixed right it would withstand the elements for hundreds of years. It was strong and sturdy and would protect his material goods and valuables. Therefore it was good. In the 80’s, Georg was still struggling trying to pay the bills. One reason was because he had managed to cheat on his wife, with whom he had one child, with another woman who also got pregnant. In order to complicate matters further, Georg bought a house-with the new one, not the old one-and put himself under the most possible financial stressimaginable.
It was time to buckle down. Georg started working twenty hour days, twelve or so in the office and the rest building up the disaster better known as his new house. The house was built on the side of a steep hill. There was plenty of room for a garden in back, but it would have to be terraced. Georg needed lots of cement. For many people, those desperate times would have raised questions, like for example “I’ve tried working like an idiot for twenty years and I’m still at the bottom of a bottomless pit, I wonder if there might be a different way to find my fortune?” Any and all doubts and questions had been destroyed back down the road, in his childhood, when, after incidents of bad behavior or disrespect, he was locked in a closet in the dark by his loving, hardworking, World War 2 veteran/ ex-POW of a father. There was only one way out, and that was to really take control of his situation. Lesser men, like Hitler, had failed because they had trusted others to do tasks they were incapable of. Georg was not goingto let that happen.
There was a company opening up not far away-they had something to do with computers. Luckily, Georg had seen the computer for what it really was-a doorway to the future, and had spent all of his “free time” learning how it worked. And how to play Tetris. He got a job at SAP, a little company that did very well for itself. Georg was able to slowly drag himself out of debt and really make something of his house. While his wife sank deeper into misery thanks to complete and total emotional neglect and unimaginably cruel verbal abuse, Georg built one addition of the house after the other. He dug out the hill on both sides of the house and put not one but two garages in. He built a sunroom on the terrace behind the kitchen and, shortly thereafter, a sauna next to that with a separate shower and bathroom. He built a garden house with a refrigerator and fully stocked bar. One level after another he finished off the garden-with tons of cement. Here was a spot where vegetables could grow, there was an area for strawberries, and another one was for beans. He built a large work area near the top where he could cut the wood for the stove he had also installed. He redid the roof and the garden out front. He built an entranceway behind a very solid, nearly impregnable front door. Inside the entranceway he drilled a large hole in the floor where at first he had a spiral staircase installed, but after years of lugging building materials up from the street and developing some major knee problems, he took the staircase out and had a freight elevator put in. It alsoworked for people.
At the very least, he could park the car in his garage and be inside the house without having to go back out and around again. In the entranceway he put in a guest toilet as well, and, through an archway, he built a nail studio so his wife could be productive inside her own home. One of the last things he built there, before the archway, was a custom made closet that fit the exact dimensions of thewall.
He built an office for himself that looked like command central at NASA. From this room he was able to keep an eye on every last detail of his life, from his finances to retirement planning to the monitors of his security cameras to the finances of his wife and to those of his daughter and son-in-law. He would type a German word into Google Translator, look up the word in, say, Italian, then translate that into Japanese, then into Portuguese, English, Swahili, Sanskrit, French, Mongolian, Norwegian, Creole, and back into German to see if the Translator worked correctly. He practiced counting to sixty to see if he could train himself to measure out an exact minute (he could). He looked out the window every day until he could say for certain at what hour and on what day the first rays of sunshine would hit the lawn in his garden every year. He trained himself to have a photogenic memory. He also looked out the window to spy on his neighbors and to “see what that a-hole is up to now”. He taught himself little coordination tests to make sure he would keep his brain limber. He also knew what to do in case of heart attack or stroke, the exact details of the latter he printed out and hung on the bookshelf in the living room. He was so in tune, and had everything so under control that when he said he would be eighty-six when he died no one batted an eyelash. And when all of the ingredients of his life were put together, with all the negativity, paranoia, and mistrust, he created a philosophy which not only stated, but proved that seventy-seven per cent of the world’s population should be put out of their misery tomorrow-they were no good to anyone and wasting everyone else’s oxygen. Sometime halfway through all of his construction work, however, a funny thing happened. The Earth, specifically, the hill he lived on, not interested in Georg’s need for and excitement over perpetual and immutable constants, shifted. One of his beautifully cemented walls cracked. Then, near the end of his work, after the entranceway had been completed, water began to drip drip drip slowly down the brand new custom made wall closet. It rained a lot in Germany, and water flows downhill, what can you do? Buddhists would argue that it was Georg’s dogged pursuit of death and disaster, of his firmly held and from experience validated law that the worst was always going to happen, was bad karma that did, in fact, enable his law to become law and be validated in the first place. He was caught in a damnable eternal circle, with no chance of escape, because an ox cannot become a butterfly. Religion, however, like philosophy and literature, like art and beauty and magic, are not useful and therefore bad. Money is the only thing that really mattered, and Georg set about to acquire it with a religious fervor, as he always had. Money meant security and success, and there was nothing else to strive for inlife.
The only problem with money was that it wasn’t going to stop that pesky leak in the entranceway. Or stop the ground he stood on from shifting. Or stop his wife from being miserable. Or stop him from walking from one disaster to the next. Like when he went into the hospital to get a cancerous growth on his face removed and the doctors butchered the job, turning his face into something out of a horror movie. Like when he had to pay an eight hundred dollar speeding ticket in New Jersey for a speeding ticket that cost fifty dollars. Yes, you readthat right.
Like when he was lost his license (twice) for driving under theinfluence.
Like the trip to London to watch the New England Patriots play at Wembley, which turned out to be his life in a microcosm. Nothing the entire weekend worked out the way it was planned, starting with the price of the ticket-he had to ask twice to make sure he got it right. Like the foreigners that began to stream into the country like water in his entranceway; they poured in and swamped the country and didn’t want to work and raped the women and brought their diseases and cost him as a taxpayer life and limb. Et cetera et cetera.{_Repeat chorus_}
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