It’s not the trees nor the space between them

That’s makes a forest a forest

But what lurks between them

Stalking you with golden eyes

Resembling newborn stars in virgin skies

Reminding you of who the trespasser is

What makes a forest is what lives beneath

Roots like veins making the earth a living pumping being

It is in the magic spoken in long forgotten tongues

Restless monsters listening

To the whispers of ancient trees

It’s the feeling of branches scratching your cheek

Your heart pumping in your chest

It is the feeling that you are both home

Yet somehow still in danger

What makes a forest a forest

Is fear when you find yourself

Not so alone in the woods as you thought you were

Another midnight beta update for you all. It's probably a mistake releasing code this fresh off the press, but we love you so we'll do it anyway.

Bug Fix: Email Notifications

Email notifications weren't working properly. You should now be receiving emails in response to comments, likes, messages, etc, as well as new sign up and password reset emails.

Bug Fix: Instant Notifications

There was a bug with Prose's instant functionality. You should have been receiving alerts in response to comments, likes, messages, and direct messages without having to refresh the page. But you weren't; because it was fucked. You should now receive instant alerts as intended.

Bug Fix: Spell Check

Apparently spell check wasn't working on the post editor. Yikes. Now it is; but if you're using Safari you may have to contend with the dreaded autocorrect. Godspeed.

New Feature: Comment Replies

Lengthy comment threads are difficult to keep track of, especially when there are multiple conversations happening in the same thread all at once. We added comment replies to remedy that issue. You can use the little reply icon next to the comment time indicator to reply to a comment. As a bonus, we also added insant commenting. There should be no need to refresh the page to see new incoming comments on a post that you're currently viewing.

Next up, we'll be addressing issues with Books. In particular, adding/editing chapters, which is not in a pretty place on the beta. It'll get a lot better soon.

Let us know what you think of these updates by commenting on this post or emailing us at info@theprose.com. We hope you like 'em. If you haven't had a chance to try the beta and you're wondering what all the fuss is about, join us at beta.theprose.com.

i'm just emotional

i'm just emotional

i'm just emotional

so why can't i turn it off?

As someone who has scouted many realms and travelled many universes, I must say, this world isn't known for providing much magic.

However, the speck of space where magic does glimmer,

The times where MP can be found and used,

The tiny rifts in time and reality where the supernatural does appear,

are truly a sight to behold.

These small little seeds to inspiration and motivation is where one can find true, and authentic power.

Music is a magic.

Art is too.

Dance. Sculpting. Drawing. Painting. Origami crafting.

Graffiti. Weaving. Knitting. Sewing. Cooking.

And any other form that can create something out of nothing;

like writing for example.

Or a newborn baby.

One can even say the gift of life, as it bubbles and grows and experiences all these artistic links, is in and of itself:

Magical.

This question isn’t hypothetical for me.

I, straight up, had a high school teacher that looked, sounded, and acted like Professor Umbridge, so this isn’t a ‘what would you do if’ scenario, it’s a ‘what we had to do, because of her’.

Essentially, we tried to get her fired.

But, let me start over...

Once upon a time, in a kinder era of hope and innocence, we had this super cool, amazing music teacher who looked, sounded, and acted like Robert Downey Jr. (Tony Stark version). Everyone loved this guy. The school itself was practically known for having him, and as a former music student, I can verify this.

Mid lecture, this teacher would stop what he was teaching, clap his hands together, and say “Okay guys, its story time,” and then go on a tangent about some crazy event that happened in his very chaotic life. On a personal note, he encouraged me to be a better person, and on top of that, he was hilarious. Hands down, my best times in high school took place in his classroom.

Then, one day, he was like ‘I’m going to try to be a principal’ and he left our high school for Dumbledore-train- I mean, principal training.

His replacement: Umbridge 2.0

So, picture True Umbridge, with greying blonde hair, a bit shorter in height, and a voice that usually remained an octave lower than True Umbridge-level, but definitely had the capability of reaching that wonderful soprano tone.

Now, when I say this lady acted like Professor Umbridge, I don’t mean she went around branding people or sending dementors after them, or drugging her students. No. I’m saying she did all that stuff, but within the laws of a muggle realm.

I kid you not, everyone hated this lady. Hands down – or I suppose, ‘hands raised up when speaking in her class’ – some of my worst times in high school took place in her class. There were rumors that she caused depression in the neighboring cool guitar teacher, who became not-so-cool after she showed up.

I was one of the five, yes FIVE, people who still took music class the following year that she showed up. I hated her too, but my love for music was stronger. Regardless, that class was cancelled because there weren’t enough students and I was forced to replace music with media arts. It was like switching from Hufflepuff to Ravenclaw. I was betraying my kind!

This lady ruined the reputation of the music-hallway. At lunch, the halls became quiet, whereas before you would hear the echoes of saxophones and flutes playing jovially in the background.

Plus! Like True Umbridge, she got into the school by using her authority. She was the vice-principal’s friend - we investigated this.

One of the crimes this woman committed included scrutinizing at the dress pants that one of my friends wore for a band performance, and proceeded to ask her, and I quote, “could you not afford better pants?” Just because her black pants were slightly paled.

What if she really couldn’t afford them? How could you say that to a teen? The most sensitive of all age groups?

Verbal abuse like this, reaalllyy irks my soul, especially when I witness it done to a friend of mine, or anyone who isn’t me for that matter.

There were a number of similar examples of her cruelty that I must have erased from my memory. Thanks to these numbers, me and a group of fellow victims to this... female warlock... banded together, collected a list of dated incidents and booked an appointment with our other vice principal – as in, the one that wasn’t her friend. Then we sat in a circle and presented our cases. *looks into the horizon*

Tears were shed that day.

Umbridge 2.0 went from a music teacher to an English teacher. She was not fired, no. And her becoming an English teacher might just have been because no one took her music class, but we put up a battle that day, and I’d like to believe we made a difference. Though, who knows.

Maybe what we really needed in order to slay her was a pack of centaurs... or a kid with a lightning-shaped scar.

Chris turned on the kitchen light and placed a hand on his heart. ‘You nearly scared me to death!’

His guest chuckled while shuffling a deck of cards. Chris looked at the cards that his buddy had placed in his own hand.

‘Well,’ his pal said, ‘wanna play a quick game?’

Chris: (sighs) Fine. I thought you’d be out celebrating.

‘Nah.’

Chris: Happy New Year to you Skelly. (smiles)

Skelly: (looks at Chris) Happy New Year to you, too. Now quit stalling and pick a card~ any card.

Chris: Ah, is this a regular card game- or is it a trick?

Skelly: (grins) You’ll have to pick a card to find out.

Chris carefully picks a card & watches the images begin to shift on the card. The image on the card changes from an evergreen tree to a deathly looking kind. The leaves fall to the ground and the tree branches droop.

Skelly: What do you think of the card you picked?

Chris: (stares at the card) I don’t know. Is this a spell card game?

Skelly: Sort of. I’m still working on it. I just wanted to see what would happen when a mortal held the card.

Chris: Oh~ come on! What if I ended up dying like the tree? Or if my soul got transported to another dimension?

Skelly: Okey. Calm down. Thanks for trying out my brand new deck of cards.

Chris: (glares at the ruler of the netherworld) Next time call before you get in, or try knocking on the door, please.

Skelly: Got it. (waves goodbye & winks) See you later alligator!

Chris watches the skeleton being vanish in a burst of lightning and thunder. He shook his head; Skelly always had to either arrive with flair, or leave in a grandiose way.

#TakeYourPick

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=wFhs7WVvuXk

(Imagine Dragons - Thunder)

i’m a bother to you,

and i know it

you never even try

to not show it

that look on your face

when i’m around

you act like i belong

six feet below the ground

well guess what, friend?

i’m not going away

i can’t get rid of this life

so i’ll live another day

spite? yes please

revenge sounds good too

i’ll pepper you with both

till you take a walk in my shoes

i know i’m not perfect

in fact, i’m far from it

mistakes? heartbreaks?

check both, cuz i’ve done it.

but here’s where i win

where i’ve got you all beat

when it comes to my heart

deep down i’m sweet

i never act tough

or try to hide how i feel

all these emotions you see?

they’re best ’cause they’re real

so leave me alone

take your fake self

do me a favor

and go sit on a shelf

because you’re unimportant

and don’t matter to me

i’ll leave you up there

for the whole world to see

and when i’m famous one day

for doing my best

when others around me

would give me no rest

i’ll look down at you

smile slightly and say

“i’m here ’cause of you”

and go on with my day

~emme

Once upon a time, in a little town called Ryne. There lived a farmer who loved his farm. He would wake up before dusk~ to work on all his tasks.

One day, the farmer stumbled upon something in his field. He used his pick-axe to make a deeper hole in the ground. With his tool he got to dig out pieces of tiny bones.

This scared him and sent chills down his spine. There were two bodies of young children who had been buried in the field. He didn’t know whether they died naturally, or if they had been killed.

The farmer decided to take a break and take the rest of the day off. Later when he was back in his cottage, he heard a knock at the door. He opened it and saw two pair of eyes watching him.

He asked, ‘‘How can I help you dear ones?’’ They blinked at continued to stare at the farmer.

Before the farmer could say another word— he saw one kid nod his head & the other moved the pick~axe aiming for the farmer’s chest. He screamed the second that the pick-axe landed right at his heart.

The two kids walked away and disappeared in the mist. If only the farmer had paid attention to the other folks who had told him not to disturb any bones he finds even if they were lying in his field. Maybe if he had buried them sooner (before twilight) he might have not faced the two undead children.

#Mort~Vivant:TheTwins.©️

Have you ever fell so deep into a dream that you thought it was real or has reality ever felt like a dream?

I’m in that space right now. I’m unable to differentiate between my now and my yesterday.

I’m falling though, falling fast. I’m falling gracefully as if I were a ballerina. There’s no fear because I know that I won’t hit the ground. A pair of hands grabs mine and together we summersault in the air. I swear we are flying, if only for a moment but flying nonetheless.

Do you believe in magic? I do because I am in the tent overflowing with the shiny stuff.

I’m not confused, my reality is my dream and my dream is my reality. Yesterday I was in school; today I am a trapeze artist.

When Mr Buttersworth approached me, I was bewildered. I told him I do not have any talents and he said the most bizarre thing: You don’t need any talent. I provide all to my staff including talent. All I need is the lonely heart.

I was pulled in by his words. For some reason I believed he could make me special and he did and so I went.

This clock, you see,

strikes a dozen times

not one more

not one less

This clock, you see,

sings its song

in the dead of night

at 3am

This clock, you see,

strikes out with

nobody

to listen

This clock, you see,

is the

last

living soul

This clock, you see,

survived.

It survived a war.

A war that

flattened

destroyed

obliterated

the world around it

This clock, you see,

is the single

flicker

of hope

This clock, you see,

embodies hope

courage

strength

This clock, you see,

stands alone

in the house

that is left in ruins

This clock, you see,

strikes for

no audience

but the birds

This clock, you see,

survived and

so can you

my darling.