Where do I begin?

I could try to explain the hustle and bustle I’ve been caught up in

Or give an excuse about school’s abuse

But really the only person to blame is me

So allow me to turn the other cheek

I’m putting pen to paper

Or more truly fingers to phone

And am excited to say

That I have come home

I’m ready to write

Ready to read

Ready to give into my author needs

I’m beginning a new chapter

In life and this page

So let me start by saying

Hello again

Let’s begin

Hello fellow Prosers! First so sorry I've missed three days for these prompts, but like I said in the first one, weekends are a bit spotty for me as they tend to be busy and it unfortunately followed me into Monday. Any who, here's back to your regularly scheduled writing prompts! :)

Prompt:Write about something you can see from the window of your home.

It's simply a lamppost

One that I have stared at for years

Watching rain and snow pass under its light

I remember getting excited

When I saw it flicker on at night

When I was younger it was my timer

Telling me when I needed to be home

It stood tall just beyond my fence

Sitting on a pedestal of greying stone

It gives me warm memories

Of when I was younger

When life was simpler

And I hadn't made so many blunders

It was a ray of hope

In the dying twilight

Where I sat with pen and paper

And first dared to write

It was a place to run to and hide

When the bullies made me afraid

And a place to make memories

When I had friends who finally stayed

It has been there for the good

The bad

It has been there when I am happy

And when I am sad

But it's simply just

A lamppost

It hasn't even been a month

Barley a week

But the fact that I get to see you

And share this day with you

Makes me feel complete

Finding out was the easy part

First she missed a month

And soon every morning began

With some sickness and vomiting

There were hugs and tears

When that little blue cross appeared

And they told their mothers and fathers

That soon they would hold

Their newborn grandchild

Time for an ultrasound came

And they decided

For the sake of choosing a name

They would like to know the gender

Her eyes filled with tears

As she hugged her husband

Both of them simply overjoyed

At the news that they were having

A little baby boy

Times passed and her belly grew

Along with the love she had

For this child she barely knew

But at week twenty~one

She knew something was wrong

The pitter patter of his feet

Ceased across the surface of her skin

She tried to have hope

But then the bleeding began

And her husband rushed to take her in

They searched for his heartbeat

That little melody that gave them life

But it appeared his song had come to an end

As if his life was connected to hers

She began to break down

And lose all refrain

Her husband held her

Struggling through his own tears

As she cried for the child

She would never see with her own eyes

And she cried

My God did she cry for him

The little boy

Who never existed at all

Dedicated to anyone who has ever lost a child. My prayers are with you. <3

Sorry I died

I know it may not seem like it

But I did this for you

Sorry I died

I had thought of it before

But before I was weak

Sorry I died

Today was just the day

I had the strength to rid you of me

Sorry I died

I understand that you'll be mad

So please just take it out on my memory

Sorry I died

The only thing that was keeping me

Was the pain I could cause by leaving

Sorry I died

But today I knew

You'd be better of if I wasn't here tomorrow

Sorry I died

I just pray now

You will finally thrive

I'm sorry that I died

You know I thought this would be easy

Go through school

Maybe travel and live on my own

Find someone who loves me

Settle down and have a family

But life takes a whole lot more

Than just four steps

I didn't know about step number thirteen

Where you have to learn to be comfortable

In your own skin

And not worry about

Fat or thin

I wasn't aware of step number seven

Where people won't always care

About what you want

And tears won't always stop

Their hurtful taunts

How could I have foreseen

Step number fifteen

Where I have to go through

Unspeakable grief

When my mother

Is taken away from me

There are so many steps

And still more to come

I am tired of trying

To swim upstream

I am tired of trying

To fight a losing battle

But then again

What is life really

Without a little resistance

Mixed in with our bleak existence

Hello again fellow Prosers! Here is day two of my daily writing prompts. Don't forget to tag me in any pieces you write based off of these prompts as I would love to read your works! :) Now on to the story!

I sat on my bunk, staring at a picture of people I didn't know. There was a middle aged man in a thick blue sweater standing next to who I assume is his wife in a classy summer dress with her blonde curls blowing in the wind. From just a glance, one could have easily mistaken her for Marilyn Monroe. They stood in front of a house that I can't remember ever seeing in my life with a beautiful lake off to the right side.

I gingerly turned the photo over in my hands, the edges of it charred and crumbling. The back read "Mom and Dad~Summer home~2012." Even though I couldn't recognize either of their faces or that house to save my life, I knew that was my handwriting.

I sighed, instinctively running my fingers along the scars on my arm. I have stared at this photo for hours, hoping for something to come back, some kind of memory to float to the surface. To possibly remember a summer camping trip where we went swimming in that lake or a birthday party held on that wooden deck, anything.

I looked up as I heard my door open. I watched as Mackena stood in front of me and leaned against the door frame. She claimed to be my sister, but I couldn't even remember her.

She nodded to the photo in my hands. "You looking at that picture again?" She asked.

I silently nodded, running my thumbs over the photo.

She let out a breath as she pushed herself off of the wall to come sit beside me on the bed. She placed a protective arm over my shoulders as I imagine an older sister would do. Still, I flinched at the contact and she hesitantly dropped her arm back to her side.

"Look, Shay, I know it's been a rough couple of weeks, but I promise that things will get better," she assured me.

"How?" I asked, turning my head to look at her. "How can you be so sure? It's been over two weeks since you've brought me here, I'm still not exactly sure where 'here' is by the way, and in that time I haven't regained a single memory. The last thing I can remember is waking up in a fire. I-I thought I was going to die...." I trail off as I again touch the burn scars on my arms.

I feel Mackena rest a hand on my shoulder and I look up to see concern in her eyes. I brush her hand off again as I stand to face her. "I mean the only reason I trust you is because you're the one who pulled me out of that burning building! But that's it. That's all I know. I don't even know if you're telling me the truth about being my sister!" I feel my breathing quicken as the walls of the room seem to close in on me.

Mackena stands and takes me by the shoulders, shaking me slightly. "I am your sister, you have to believe me on that. I would never do anything to harm you."

"Than who are these people?" I ask pointing to the man and woman in the picture. "I know that's my handwriting. 'Mom and Dad,' so you have to know who they are. Who are they? Wha-why aren't they here? Were they with you in the fire-"

"Shay, enough!"

I took a step back in shock. Mackena had never raised her voice at me before; she mainly treated me like some wounded animal.

I looked at her, eyes cast to the ground, and I began to realize. "You know what happened, don't you?"

Still not meeting my eyes, she mumbled, "Yes."

"Than tell me! Why can't I remember anything? Why is it that every night I wake up in a cold sweat from nightmares of that fire you found me in? Why won't you just tell me-"

"Because you don't need to know!" Mackena snapped.

I stood there, just staring at her in disbelief.

Her gaze still on the ground, her chest heaved as she appeared to struggle to breath. "You-you shouldn't have to know....it's not fair...." she rambled.

"I don't need to know? It's my life," I spat. "I want to know. I deserve to know. How could you know all this time and not tell me?"

She finally looked up at me, her eyes heavy with sadness. "Sometimes memories are the worst form of torture," she choked out.

I stared at her for a moment, trying to process all that she had just said. I shook my head, trying to sort it all out. "I can handle whatever it is that you're keeping from me," I tried to explain. "I jus-I just want to remember something."

Mackena averted my gaze once again, only giving me a weak, "I'm sorry," as she exited my room.

I fell back onto my bed, tears starting to roll down my cheeks as I clutched the singed photograph of complete strangers in my hands.

Hello fellow Prosers! So starting today (well, tonight) I am hoping to write to daily writing prompts that I have saved on my phone. I will share the prompts with you in the photo section or in the text. The works may be either prose or poetry, whatever strikes me. I'm hoping to do this everyday with some exceptions for weekends or vacations. I also would love if you guys write to these prompts as well! Please tag me in any pieces that you create from these prompts as well as I'd love to read them. Anyways, here's the first piece of hopefully many to come! :)

Prompt:

"Are you you clinically insane or just incredibly annoying?"

"I don't know, probably both."

"Let's go! What are you doing? We don't have time!"

"Okay, just hold on a second," I said letting out an exasperated breath as I crouched down near the wall. Securing the last explosives I had with me to the support beam, I punched fifteen seconds into the timer. Letting out a crazed laugh, I got up and ran. "Jump!" I yelled ahead of me.

"Wha-" Caleb paused for a moment, his eyes growing wide when he saw the blinking light of the bomb. "What in the hell-"

"Get down!" I yelled, tackling him to the ground.

Not a moment later, a loud explosion went off, collapsing parts of the ceiling and covering us in dust and debris.

Pushing rubble off of my side, I rolled onto my back laughing. My sides aching as I struggled to catch my breath between each fit of laughter, I choked out, "Did you see their faces?! Oh Lord, that was priceless!"

Caleb stood up slowly, his shocked eyes taking in the scene around him. "What the fuck did you just do?" he yelled at me, a slight waver in his voice.

"Ugh, I'm pretty sure I just saved our asses," I answered as I got up brushing the dust off of me. "You're welcome," I said with an exaggerated bow.

"Sa-saved us?" Caleb let out a sigh as he closed his eyes and rested his hand on his temple. "How is using the last of our explosives and trapping us in a room with no way out 'saving us'?"

I slowly turned around, looking for any type of escape from the room. Turning back around to meet Caleb's eyes, I nervously rubbed the back of my neck. "Well at least we're not being chased any more."

"No, you're right, Theo. Because being trapped in a space where our enemies can easily find us is so much better than the possibility of out running them." He sighed as he dropped his hands to his sides.

"Now....I'm pretty sure that was sarcasm-"

"Of course it was sarcasm you idiot!" he said slapping me upside the head.

"Ow!" I complained.

"Well, thanks to you, we're stuck here," Caleb grumbled as he shuffled to the other side of the room. He sighed, taking a seat on a chunk of fallen ceiling.

I shifted my weight from foot to foot, slowly playing with the objects in my pocket. "Well I never said that was my last bomb," I mumbled under my breath.

Caleb looked up from his hands. "What?"

"Well I mean," I continued as I pulled out a small bottle of pool cleaner, rust remover, and a lighter from my pockets, "I do have these...."

Caleb paused, looking from me to the items in my hand. "You shouldn't have those...." he breathed.

My eyes widened in excitement. "Oh good! So you do know what these can do!"

Caleb put up his hand to stop me, a painful glare in his eyes. "Yes I know what those can do," he hissed, "but I also know that we were only allowed three bombs for this mission, which you have used, and that you're on probation for making bombs like this before."

I glanced off to the side, fidgeting with the items in my hands. "True, but I also knew something like this," I said gesturing to the room around us, "would happen, so I came prepared."

"Yes, but all of this is your fault," Caleb snapped.

"And now I am trying to fix it." I turned away from him, crouching down to begin mixing the chemicals and constructing a fuse out of an old shoelace.

I heard him sigh as he took a step towards me. "Are you clinically insane or just incredibly annoying?" he asked.

"I don't know," I said shrugging my shoulders as I stood to face him with smirk on my face. "Probably both."

I saw a small smile grow on his face as he clasped the bottle in my hand. "Then let's do this."

It's not like I've beaten the depression

That takes years of fighting and even then...

But today I can proudly say

That I win

I am happy for others

And the people they have found love with

Instead of feeling jealous

And simply alone

I am excited to see my friends succeed

Instead of craving their success

And feeling as if I'm left behind

I am contempt with where I am

Instead of wishing for someone else's life

And wanting to skip the journey ahead

Yes

There is still this distant aching in my chest

An empty hole of wanting someone to hold

A cold prison of yearning recognition

A blind hunger of searching wonder

But today

It doesn't control me

Today

I am victorious

I let out a low gruff as I sat down in the worn, wooden chair set near the window of my cabin. My calloused hand ran over the plain envelope that came this morning, no doubt another reply to my offer. I had over 20 replies already and all have been...underwhelming to say the least.

Expecting no different from this new contender, I proceeded to open the letter with the hunting knife I always kept near my side. Sliding out the rough paper with my forefingers, I proceeded to unfold and read the letter. It began as they all did.

Dear sir,

I am here to reply for your request of, shall we say, a special set of skills.

I rolled my eyes. Why does everyone describe assassination as "a special set of skills." They all act as if this was some game or a James Bond movie. I sighed, rubbing my weary eyes as I turn back to the letter. Good assassins were hard to find these days.

It is my understanding that the target you require to be dealt with is a secluded individual that does not take to public events quite often, making them more difficult to isolate and be disposed of. I assure you that I not only am a skilled assassin, but a skilled tracker as well, so hunting them down should not be a problem. After all, I was able to find you, wasn't I?

My eyes froze on the page as every one of my senses became heightened. I slowed my breath, listening, searching. Slowly, the joints of the chair underneath me groaning, I turned in my seat to look out of my office window. There, in a tree no more than 200 feet away, was a woman pressed against a branch with what appeared to be a .22 Hornet by the looks of elongated barrel. I felt my pulse quicken as she turned on her laser scope and motioned for me to keep reading.

I am approximately 235 feet away from the South East window of your cabin with what I am assuming will be around a 19-24mph breeze outside considering the time of year and your location in the mountains. I can assure you that I have confirmed kills from further distances under harsher circumstances, so this at the moment is simply child's play.

My fingers tensed on the edges of the page as I continued to read. It was one thing to threaten my life, I have had that happen a many of times. It is another, however, to toi with me; to act as if taking my life is as simple as plucking a daisy from the earth.

I feel that this effectively demonstrates that I am up to the task to find your designated target, as you have gone to great lengths to keep yourself tucked away from the world. I must commend you, as you have been one of my harder subjects to find.

A let out a harsh laugh. As if inflating my ego is going to give me any peace with the fact that I may soon be dead.

Considering that you soon will be dead, I am sure you have figured out by now that I will require no payment of any kind. If I do need any materials, I am sure that your soon-to-be vacant cabin will supply me with any thing I may need.

My anger only grew as I continued to read. This was no assassin, no that title was earned. This was a killer. They killed just for the thrill of it all, taking whatever they please from whom ever they wish. A sense of dread and relief filled me as my eyes shifted down and I saw that there was only one more paragraph.

I hope this letter allows you to rest comfortably in, well, whatever comes next for you. I can assure you that your wishes will be carried out and that they will be my next objective. Thank you for this opportunity of work.

Rest In Peace,

Mara King

I kept my gaze forward as I slowly lowered the paper to the table that I have had breakfast, lunch, and dinner at for so many years. I didn't doubt that this Mara King would keep her word and go after my enemy next. I didn't doubt that they would be dead by tomorrow night. And I didn't doubt that that was her safety clicking off as I closed my eyes waiting for the inevitable to happen.