It was a quiet street with well-manicured lawns and white picket fences. Everyone on my block knew each other and greeted each other every morning, but something about the new neighbor always left me feeling uneasy.

I'd see him coming and going, always sneaking around, and never staying long enough to chat. Then one evening, I'd just finished hanging laundry on the line when I heard loud shouts coming from his house. It sounded like someone was in danger.

I rushed over to his front door, knocked five times, but there was no answer. That's when I heard it - a woman's shriek, in the basement of the house. I could see a red light from behind the window, and I knew I had to do something.

I called the police and gave them a tip on the neighbor, that something illegal was going on in his home. But even though they searched the house that night, they found nothing, nothing incriminating.

I knew all along! How could I prove it? I kept my eyes glued to the neighbor's house, always watching for something to present itself.

Days passed, and I realized the search of his basement never penetrated deeply enough, so I made my way over to his window and began a discreet investigation, taking pictures. I identified pictures and strange objects hung on his walls, and in the end, found pictures of a young woman who went missing four years earlier.

I collected all the evidence and handed it over to the authorities. Finally, the neighbor was caught and admitted to the crimes. It was the biggest news story of our town. While it was a terrifying experience, I was grateful that I persisted in the search and was able to make a difference.

In the end, justice was served, and the neighbors lived a little bit safer with a killer off the streets.

Summit’s Point – 12:40 p.m.

They had no sooner pulled to a stop, making sure no one else was around when Ellie attacked Stevie.

It was attack he enjoyed. Ellie pressed herself tightly against him the deepest, wettest, and longest kiss ever. When she finally broke away so both of them could get some air, she bent her head and started nibbling on his neck.

Stevie’s hands were caressing her back, or his hands would run through her hair. Ellie like having her hair played with.

Ellie was going further. Her hands ran up and down his chest and across his stomach. Lifting his shirt, her head lowered as she started tracing his chest to navel with her tongue and lips.

Stevie would be a liar if he said she wasn’t exciting him, and it was for that very reason, he used every ounce of his strength to fight off her advances and pull her away.

“Dang, Ellie. Slow down, girl! I’ve missed you, too, but wow—hell even, you almost got me to forget who we are.”

Ellie smiled, leaned in, and gave him another quick kiss on this lips as her hands stroked his chest and stomach.

“And just who are we, Stevie?”

“Why, we’re, uh—we, I mean, we love each other, right? And when two people fall in love, they respect each other.”

“Do you respect me, Stevie?”

“Since the first day we met. I respect you as much as I love you.”

“What about after we have sex? Would you respect me then?”

“If we had sex, as long as it’s safe sex, yes. But this isn’t the right place or the right time. Okay, I know it’s the twenty-first century and that most kids younger than us are doing it, but sex just for the sake of sex just doesn’t grab me. Maybe I’m the only old-fashioned kid left on earth, but I’d rather make love to you and have it mean something important for the rest of our lives; like when we would be married.”

Ellie’s hand stopped playing along his chest and she placed them behind Stevie’s head.

“Why do you have to be so sensible, Stevie? As much as I want you right now, I get what you are saying, and that’s another reason why I love you so much.”

They kissed again but this time it was slower, a much gentler kiss. When they pulled away, Ellie looked at Summit’ Peak walls and pointed. “That is so cool, huh?”

Stevie looked at the wall of rock facing them. The sun hit it at an angle that made the formation surface look like solid gold. It lasted almost two minutes as the sun shifted and shadows replaced the light.

After sitting quietly together and watching gold turn back to gray, Stevie pulled his shirt down and started the car.

“Now, how about that lunch at the Pit-Stop?”

“You’re on. Let’s do it!”

Hestor Hills

261 Devonshire Way – 2:46 p.m.

Four blocks away from Dianne Andrews home, Michael Collins drove past Cliff’s house. The garage door was open and empty. He wasn’t home. Probably out job hunting.

He would come back later.

216 Blake Way – 2:59 p.m.

He was able to get into the expensive apartment building by following behind another tenant and caught hold of the outside door before it closed.

He saw Michael’s name on the registry next to the mailboxes. Apt. 12-A, third floor. Four floors, sixteen units total.

He took the elevator and when it stopped, he walked out and within a few seconds found Michael’s door and pressed the buzzer. He couldn’t hear any movement from the other side of the door, and figured that Michael wasn’t home yet.

He released his grip on the gun inside his jacket pocket and swore in a whisper. He looked at his watch. 3:06.

He decided to take the elevator to the fourth floor, then take the steps up that lead to the rooftop balcony. The Blakemore hosts the only covered outdoor swimming pool to its tenants, plus the view is incredible.

He would simply wait until he knew Michael would be home.

Mike’s Haven

2nd & Dumar – 3:46 p.m.

Andrew Davis and Ryan Clinton were on the scene along with Carl Macklin Sr. and four of his F-Team members as they sifted through the destruction of Mike’s restaurant.

For many years, Mike has used this place to feed the homeless or those in need. He was always able to get financial contributions from the citizens of Montie, as well as certain food products from Wal-Mart, Baker’s Supermarket, and all the fast-food places, Lucy’s, as well as places not within downtown.

But not more than an hour after Mike closed for the day, someone, or a group of people broke into his place, used axes on the counter, tables and chairs. The vent system was shorn in half from apparently a chainsaw and his grill and fryers were overturned. Grease was spread out all across the floor making walking dangerous. Almost all of the canned goods were gone, and the meat freezer was emptied out.

Until Carl and his team could find any evidence that would point to the parties involved, all the police could do was take Mike’s statement.

“Tonight, I’m going to make a detailed list of everything I’ve lost for my insurance company and then I’ll bring a copy to you guys. At least I’ll be able to salvage a few things out of this mess.”

“Mr. Ambrose,” said Larry, “here’s my card. When you have everything itemized, call me. That way I can add your copy of items missing and damaged to my report.”

“Might be a day or two but I can do that.”

“The grill and fryers aren’t damaged though. It’ll take a couple days to rid the floor of the grease. Vent walls aren’t cheap, but they won’t cost me an arm and a leg either.

“It’s just that, well, it’ll be a week, maybe two before I can start feeding the homeless again. So many people who come here depend on me for a meal and a warm place to stay during the day.”

Mike’s lips trembled and he wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

“Why? Why would someone do this? If they needed food all they had to do was ask. They didn’t have to bust the place up.”

Ryan Clinton said, “Mr. Ambrose, we’ll do what we can for you. We will find who was responsible for this.”

Carl and his crew kept dusting every area of the restaurant and taking different pictures from various angles. Carl knew this wouldn’t be a simple identity case. Dozens of prints were pulled from the countertop as well as the broken tables and chairs. When their afternoon was concluded, Carl and his team would take back to the Lab, 346 lifted print impressions.

Adventurous Spirit 11

Ari, Maria and Essie arrived at the rental next door to Nick early the next day to meet the movers.

The stove was in place and the new refrigerator was brought up the lift. The movers placed the old refrigerator in the smallest room Essie was calling the office.

Ari gave Essie a small ladies hankie bundled inside was a refrigerator magnet tied with a slim red ribbon.

“ This is from Sissie and I. It is out house warming gift to you. The hankie was our Mamas. Red ribbon Maria's. I bought the little gift from a little ninety year old vendor at the produce market last week.”

Maria said “Hurry up and open it.”

Inside was a refrigerator magnet saying”

There is food for everyone on this planet, but not everyone eats" - Carlo Petrini

Oh, Maria, Ari, it is perfect. I will place it right at eye level. She hugged them both. Ari took off to see Nick leaving the two ladies alone.

Oh, Maria, I am so happy the stove is a gas one.

Yes and Essie you asked me how to make proper Greek coffee. There is really no main set and tried recipe. All you need is a large wide rim heavy brass briki along with dark Turkish coffee and sugar.

Mama taught me that it is brewed about three to five minutes then another to let rest in the cups. The large pot makes two cups at a time if one wishes.

I stir the coffee as I drink it so I do not get so much sludge in the bottom. I know people look at me strangely because of the stirring but I can not stand to waste coffee or any foods or drink.

To make “Ellinikos Kafes” start with the right equipment. To prepare Greek coffee your briki and Greek coffee cups

to create the right amount of foam or“kaimaki” , which is a very important part of the process.

First of all make sure to use cold water. Use the coffee cup to measure the water needed for each cup of coffee, so that you have the right proportions. Also make sure that the heat is medium to low.

Do not to stir the coffee all the time, while it is roasting in the pot over the fire. Stir it only at the beginning and then let it heat through. Give a little bit more love and attention to create the right creamy foam on top to give characteristic texture.

It i is served with the coffee granules at the bottom of the cup, so give it a little time to rest after serving. And remember to serve with a cold glass of water and to sip slowly while enjoying it’s full aromas and blends!

The four main types are:

“Sketos” (plain, no sugar): If you like your coffee without sugar, then add only 1 heap tsp of coffee.

“Metrios” (medium sweetness) : 1 heap tsp coffee, 1 tsp sugar

“Glykos” (sweet) : 1 heap tsp coffee, 2 tsps of sugar

“Vary glykos” (extra-strong sweet coffee) : 3 teaspoons of sugar and 2 teaspoons of coffee

"As you see I took a few notes. I'm sure I will figure it out as I go each day. Thank you for the lesson Maria"

The two ladies had just finished their coffee when Nick and Ari came up the stairs saying they were off to Archanghelos to see a man about a traditional wood oven.

“Sophia mentioned that Rasmussen has a birthday coming soon and now they will have a real home for the three of them she wished she could surprise him with an outdoor wood oven to make bread.

We will see if a craftsman will come build one for us as a housewarming gift for the three of them. Do you two want to come? It is a lovely ride and Essie has not seen this part of Greece.”

Essie went off to her soon to be her room and collected her hat, a small backpack to carry her phone,money and id. She put on a skirt and long sleeve blouse with a scarf around her neck came back saying she was ready to go.

“That was fast but why the skirt? You always seem to favor light weight clothes like those closed shorts you call skorts, heavy blue jeans or lightweight items you call capris. You know the easy to wash by hand ladies pants.” came from Maria.

“Ari said it was a place where time sort of stood still to traditional. I did not wish to offend the ladies of the village.

All my dresses are not arm covering or are sleeveless sun dresses. Do you think I have on too many clothes?”

“You look fine. Come on lets get in the

back seat where the women folk sit” said Maria rolling her eyes.

Nick and Ari looked at each other with grins not saying a word.

© Julia A Knaake

I think I might love you but it’s one of those things where it’s not worth it if I don’t. When I look around my room I see your limbs draped along the bed frame, pieces of your heart taped on the wall and propped up on the shelf. When I think about my time here I imagine ocean waves crashing with your voice, something stupid that you said to make us laugh. It’s one of those things where if I had to pick the best aspects of my life, they would all trace back to a few ways that I’ve felt, and those would be remnants of moments with you.

But I’m not stupid. I’ve made peace with the fact that I grew up too fast and left behind the innocence of wishing on dandelions before I fully blossomed. Now I’m something of a witch, grumbling on the shoreline, swaying to the wind, standing tall and independent. I don’t expect to be picked, and I’m content with where I am. A tiny part of me is even glad that you keep me around – never the object of affection, but a wise constant in the scene.

If I do love you, I’m scared that that’s the worst thing I could do. There will always be girls who are prettier, flashier, more me than me. I know every type that you like, every glimmer that catches your eye and warrants a cheeky joke in my direction. If I love you, I am signing myself up for a lifetime of battle scars, every new connection for you matching a burn on me.

So I think I’ll fold this intuition up and bury it in a moving box as I pack up my mind. It was just a lapse in judgment. You own too much of me; I will never let you get close enough to see.

Hello, Writers and Dear Readers.

First off, let me say to the winning entry for last week: I did a long deep-dive into your profile after the narration and congratulations, then my entire setup crashed, rebooted just fine, but trashed a large chunk of the edited video. We'll make it up to you soon with a feature, stand on us. And: Congrats!!!! You wrote one hell of a story.

Also featured is a poem by one of our veteran writers, and it put the staff in a good and somber mood, in all the best ways. See all of this and the new Challenge of the Week just below this sentence.

https://youtu.be/lVdq_kwxGm4

https://theprose.com/challenge/14067

And.

As Always.

Thank you for being here.

-The Prose. team

the bullet is devoured and my throat collapses. my ribs split open and a child, bare and bathed in blood, crawls out as i watch from the vents in the bathroom fan. the child is crawling out of the crimson coloured scene and i project myself out of the vents so my naked feet can follow it's clammy handprints.

the child makes it's way to the kitchen. i hear a curse and a wail; my father is dying on the second-hand sofa and the baby is clutching the dagger.

i sob into my father's chest because i need him to wake up so i can finally play baseball with him like he'd always ask. the baby is gone and i run to find it again.

the baby is standing in the garden with my sister and i smile because she looks so lovely when she laughs. when i blink, her head is severed apart and the baby throws aside the shovel.

i scream her name until the syllables tear my tonsils. i scream it because i'd never said it since she left town and i'm howling because she thinks i never cared.

next, we are walking together down the street and the baby knocks on a door. emily jane from 9th grade opens it and i gasp because i'd forgotten how beautiful her eyes really were. i feel like im a boy, savage and scrawny and shy, picking her up for the movies again. the baby leaps into the air and strikes her cheek until the flesh dissolves. my knees buckle and i stroke her raven hair, willing her to breathe, willing her to tell me she forgives me for the night i joked about her friend's cleft lip.

the baby takes my hand and, suddenly, i'm at the pub with the boys and mark has his arm around carl because he's had a rough night. the others chuckle at something he says and i wish i could remember what the joke was. i smile anyways because mark was always funny even when i'd tell him to shut his trap. the baby smashes the beer bottle against mark's head and blood pools from his mouth and i feel like i'm going to be sick because his warm hands turn cold and his eyes won't move anymore.

the baby runs out of the bar and i don't even realise i am shrieking as i follow it. we are at the church and my brother is kissing his bride. the baby is running towards the altar and the axe is splitting both their bodies in half — one by one. i can't breathe at this point and my fists shake as i watch the blood curl around the birthmark on her clavicle. my mind swirls like a tornado as it hurls image after image at me; parking a car by the motel, unbuttoning my pinstriped shirt, tracing the lines of a birthmark, icy blonde hair wrapped around my fingers, my brother punching me in the face, his wife begging him to stop. i can't feel the air in my lungs. i can't feel my hands, my tongue, my knees, my nose, my gut. i open my mouth to tell my brother i'm sorry but there are no words because i remember deleting his number from my phone and i can't recall the digits anymore. what were they? what were they? please...what were they?

they baby drags me along to the hospital and — oh, god. please, please, please, no! the baby sits me down next to my mother's frail body and a lone tear falls down her cheek. the nurse is consoling her; she's telling her that sons are just like that and it'll be okay. i wish i could just crawl back into the vent in that grubby fucking bathroom. my mother's voice is croaky when she tells the nurse that, "no, my boy is sick of caring for me; cancer's not an easy thing to be around." i'm so ashamed i feel as if the hospital ground could swallow me whole with a clinical, corrosive chop. i want to jump into her arms and tell her i love her. i love her so dearly and i'm sorry for the fight earlier, ma, i'm not sick of you, i was just having a bad day.

when the baby holds the revolver to her head, i don't even have the courage to stop him and i see her bleak stare so i close my eyes when the PANG echoes.

when i open my eyes i am in the vent again and the baby is on the bathroom floor. it's body convulses and the bones snap. the flesh expands to wrap around the lengthening limbs and it's jaw opens to welcome a fresh set of teeth. i'm banging my fists against the vent because i recognise my hair, my hands, and my face. i want to lurch out and kill this disfigured man-child. i want to tear him apart for what he's done but suddenly, he looks into my eyes and only then am i purged of my rage.

this is what i've done. i've ruined and ransacked ever memory, every person, every relationship i had. my hands have walked around the earth like the grim reaper's scythe and all this agony sired by me has no reverse. my soul is diseased and when there is a disease, you kill the bacteria to save the body. i have nothing to show for my pain except the bruised belief of everyone who ever loved me; that thought is so haunting that when the me on the floor picks up the gun, i exhale for the first time in my life. i taste the metallic snout of the metal and my last meal is appetized by the memory of my mother's sallow face.

I died in 1974 in Baltimore, Maryland from a drug overdose.

I was declared dead for eight seconds as the ambulance approached John Hopkins Hospital, but it was those eight seconds that seemed to hold a lifetime.

I saw myself in a world of color that had no color. Squares were round and straight lines became crooked. Light and darkness crisscrossed rapidly. I was running yet not moving. I screamed but no sound could be heard.

I call it the waiting room to either or.

When I came back, the paramedics were surprised, and I spent two days in the hospital before I was released. It was from that moment I gave up drugs and cleaned up my life.

Forty-nine years ago, I was given a second chance to be alive and from then to now I've made the most of it, although now, at 75, as fearful the moment then, now, I truly long for death to take hold of me. Crazy perhaps, but I have seen my share of moments, of friends, of family, simply dissolve.

A small number of people will miss having me around, but the majority of people will simply say, "Oh well. I was bound to happen,"

After all, dying is the last thing we all do.

He didn't believe in an afterlife.

Yet someone he knew that there was ground beneath his feet, metal sitting in his fingertips, and a bullet in his brain.

It wasn't the silence that he was imagining when he pulled the trigger.

Bang.

No.

This was a wash of regret and confusion and anger.

This was watching your own body fall to the ground as you float in a sea of mystic bullshit.

It was everything and nothing that he wanted.

And it played again and again and again in front of him.

Barely a minute of time.

Hanging up the phone.

Picking up the gun.

Falling to the ground.

Hanging up the phone.

Picking up the gun.

Falling to the ground.

Hanging up the phone.

Picking up the gun.

Falling to the ground.

Again and again and again.

Taunting him with the knowledge of his final decision.

This was the outlier of his life?

This was what the fates decided he needed to look at as the last of his breaths escaped his body?

Not friendship.

Not love.

Not heartbreak.

Just death.

Hanging up the phone.

Picking up the gun.

Falling to the ground.

Hell

Undefined by atheists

Mine?

Day-to-day life

Depression settles in like an old friend

An ever-lasting cloud of hurt

Sinking right into my pores

But to others?

A monster.

An unwanted one.

To me?

It was my monster

It took me and held me like no one else

Whispering sweet nothings in my ear

"You deserve this pain."

"What's there to lose?"

Oh the phrases and sayings felt true

They were comfort

Bring down my mental illness to something hypothetical

Because to others, it does not exist out of my head

But it was impractical right?

It raged on my life with a never-ending vengeance

"Bleed one more time."

"Whos going to notice?"

The outside had to match the inside

So people know I'm hurting

But then what does that make me?

An attention seeker?

A pick me?

No.

I just don't want to feel this hurt anymore.

I was told a theory by a friend who has since passed ; Flashes of memory presenting itself before one's eyes when the possibility of death has reached N.earD.eathE.xperience levels, means they have lived their life in such a fulfilling manner that their subconscious is attempting- failsafing, whatever it is where our " consciousness " goes when our meat-vessels no longer host them. "Failsafing" in my friends theory he was presenting to me during our smoke break at the funeral of the third point in our now broken friend triangle, meant one was being sent off with the prerequisites to eliminate the possibility of them getting stuck in limbo due to a life they weren't happy with in some form.

He said that this doesn't necessarily mean they were happy all around or that they didn't leave strings untied , but that their life had been sufficiently lived and this is something decided unconsciously but does lay at the shallow end of whatever void we all have inside us.

I still wanted how or who or what inside us would be deciding this - is it something that is similar to evolution that isn't self aware but instead objective?

In my experience with death, I saw nothing & I consciously know how deeply limbo'd I'd be( if that really is a thing anyway ) if I did die then or even if I were to die now.

A life cut short before it peaks is the exception to " Only the Good Die young ".

Sometimes what had the potential to be good or even great - die middle aged, old.

The seceond thing that he said happens, was that blackness. Nothing.

He told me he was proud he too saw nothing the moments before we had almost died.

" If what I saw before we didn't die , but I for some reason Did die , I'd feel cheated and probably would be reincarnated into another baby being born and have to restart from scratch- "

I thought , man , what a way to say you're deeply unsatisfied with yourself and the impact you've had on the world thus far.

" Blackness , it's your soul's way of not failsafing itself so that it can be limbo'd and possibly reincarnated. It knows that it Needs another chance at that point in time and so it simply blows out the candle that would otherwise be lighting those memories into view that others say they've had witnessed "

He blew out smoke that came purely from the butt of the ciggarette , and flicked it against the gust of wind that made me give up on trying to light mine minutes earlier.

The butt traveled with the wind , into the open church door lobby I was halfway in myself.

It landed on a leaf. that began smoking just a bit. I look at him , and we make eye contact ; his sunglasses mirror what's behind me , first a swarm of fire like cool guys avoid looking at in the movies, - me imagining that a 'candle' he mentioned earlier, getting blown out by .. something , then .. Blackness. Nothing.

I guess we'll be meeting again soon, old friend.