You are so far away,

 twisting through

  the Milky Way,

    you have left me

     to dream of Saturn forever.

     And I know it’s bizarre,

    to want someone so far,

   but your eyes,

  your brown eyes,

sting like Saturn.

Treading unbeknownst in every mind, a lurking shadow without figure. Ethereal, fantastical, a character of the mind, his existence is whispered into the crevices of the world. At the dawn, so it is. He remains elusive in the fabrics of fiction. 

As the beams of life start to emanate across the horizon, his shadow begins to take form and solidify. His imminent presence brings a cloud of dread. As the first icy breath tickles the back of your neck, he steals the irretrievable, leaving only the black knife that pierces you. It is poisoned, spreading its cold, ruthless venom to every fiber of your being. You see him clearly for the first time; an enemy is born. 

You live with the mark of his darkness for some time, before once again you feel the crawl of his fingertips along your spine. The knife drives with familiarity this time, but just as raw, just as agonizing. The animosity turns to ache, capitulation, despair. He is the victor, and you fall slave to his musings, hypnotized by the prospect of finality. He turns you against his opposer, and now a new hatred, a new rivalry forms; he is now your savior from all that is wrong. But he passes by you, leaves you to the pain, the turmoil, as you await his rescue. You beg and plead into the heedless night for the nameless stranger to offer his companionship, to vanish into his domain.

No word, no whisper of his whereabouts. You must move on and let his shadow fade into the distance. For he does not offer comfort. He is distant and cold, fraught with purpose. Let him diminish into the recedes of the universe, you will come to know him in time. When dusk sets in, his figure will loom larger, more vivid, more tangible. No knife, no enmity, an embrace awaits, familiar and welcome, as equals you become with a final breath. 

Wildly, I erupt in panic, tears falling, breath catching, the burning core of who I am torn into two as I see what cannot be true.  

Blinking rapidly, I pant, blink, pant, blink, each time expecting, each time terrified, something to change, nothing changes.

What words, what thoughts, what answer can explain the rend in reality that has broken my mind, fractured my soul, opened up my body so another can inhabit it's space?

I scream at those eyes, plead with myself to acknowledge that nothing is wrong, that I am only having a temporary break from my sanity, sobbing when I look back caustically at myself, tears on my fingers betraying the lie on my face. 

A blubbering, frightened child.

A restrained acerbic stranger.

I cannot tell, must hold my secret close.  I am afraid that they will tell me what I already know; I am crazy.  They will lock me up, take me away from my home, strip me of what sanity I have left.

So I must live.  I must pretend.  I must hide the eyes that are not mine, hide the identity that threatens to steal mine, become exactly who they expect me to be.

I must believe the lie.

I would like to fall in love with someone

          Who does not know the mountains

                  But wants to.

“Find her,” the Stranger said, throwing a dossier on my desk.

I took a long, slow drag off my cigarette and cocked an eyebrow at him. “Why should I?”

“You’re a detective, a gumshoe,” he replied flatly, begrudgingly tossing a roll of hundreds on my desk. “That should get you started.”

I leaned forward, eyeing the money. It smelled faintly of blood. I’d be concerned, but I had debts to pay, mostly at Harry’s Pub.

I grabbed the folio and thumbed through the files. “There’s no pictures, boss.”

“There’s enough.”

“Find her and tail her, that it? You want pictures? See who she’s been with?”

“Just find her for me.” The Stranger snapped, stepping back into the shadows of my office, quietly letting me peruse the documents.

“You’re the client,” I shrugged noncommittally and returned to the dossier. The more I read, the more familiar she seemed. “I think I know this broad.”

“I’m sure you do,” the Stranger leered through the darkness. “In fact, I think you, of all people, know her better than anyone.”

“She got a name, this golden girl of yours?”

“Indeed she does, Lauren,” he whispered, the click of a gun echoing through the silence of my office.

I looked up with revulsion. He found me.

Strings. There were strings everywhere. Strings that connect person to person. Friend to friend. Never getting tangled. Always there, always everywhere that only I could see. I looked at all the different strings in the sky. The yellows, the reds, the pinks. The threads, the strings, the ropes.

I was focusing on a specific yellow string in the sky. The string was surrounded in the color of pain and misery, the color black. Suddenly, the yellow string I was looking at, snapped. I pursued the string back to two women yelling at each other. I immediately reached out and grabbed the two fading strings. My hands struck together with such force that the two strings became one once again. The two women started to apologize profusely. I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding, the two friends were back together. As I was staring at the two friends, I heard laughter. A group of friends, all connected with yellow ropes, walked past me, all as happy as can be.

Down the street, a yellow roped pair turned into a red stringed couple. I saw them kissing, and looking at each other with admiration. Like they were the only two in the world. Another red roped couple were walking with their hands locked together, smiling sweetly at each other.

Suddenly, two people walking past me, collided. Looking up they saw each other with raw emotion. A bright glow emitted from both of their bodies. The glow created the most powerful string. The pink string, True Love. I heard gasps behind me. I turned around seeing a man kneeling on the ground, a box in his hands containing a ring. He lovingly stared at a woman that was connected to him with a pink string. She nodded happily and he got up and swung her around in a hug.

I looked at all the different combinations: Friendship, Relationship, True Love. All the different ways people are connected. Smiling sadly, I looked down where my strings should be, not seeing any.

A bell sounded, I turned back to see the building of colored webs. I walked into the school. It was filled with yellow, red, and even a few pink strings. Varying in sizes, twisting and turning. Amazed, I looked around at the red roped teens, kissing. There was a group of yellow threads gossiping in the corner. Two pink strings looked at each other and blushed as they walked past one another.

I was admiring the different view, the building I have never been in before. Seeing all the different combinations in here than in the outside world, I didn't notice when someone bumped into me. Making me fall to the ground.

“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” A girl asked, helping me up. “Hi, my name is Alice. What’s yours?” She had long brown hair meant for a goddess, and blue eyes that reminded me of pools of water.

I opened my mouth to answer, when I felt a tug coming from my stomach as if something pulled me to Alice. I slowly looked down, seeing a yellow string come out of me and attach to her. A lonely string, the only string I had.

I smiled softly, already knowing everything would be better here.

Pssstttt...

Prosers. It's back!!!

It went on hiatus and now it's back and better than ever. It's only Prose Challenge of the Week #55.

This week we will be doubling the prize fund and the length of time you have to win it. Yes, that's right, the Challenge of the Week is going to be worth $200 and will run for two weeks.

After these two weeks, we will return with a weekly prompt and a prize fund of $100.

So, let's take a look at how you can get your hands on the prize...

Challenge of the Week #55: Write a story of 200 words or more about a stranger. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $200. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit

200 words (or more) for 200 big ones. That's $1 per word. Easy right?

Put your pens to digital paper and get entering the first Prose Challenge of the Week 2017.

Here's to big and bold things.

Until next time, Prosers,

Prose.