my mother says i speak with my hands. red fingertips ripped raw, scratching skin, digging holes to bones. she says the dried blood beneath my nail beds reminds her of women whose homes are shadows and alleys, who swallow grease and eat needles, who need a fix and need fixing but can't do it on their own. she says to please keep my left hand away from my right, stop your picking, jesus christ. she says i am lucky i still have skin to grow.

my grandmother passed down her bad habits. my father passed them down to me, and i have inherited every piece of dead skin they have peeled off their bodies. my grandmother picked her shoulders, my father picked his fingers and his toes. i was born a hybrid who is willing to scavenge both.

when i am ten, my mother coats my hands in lotion, the kind that smells like a head cold in the winter. she wraps gloves to my wrists in gauze, tells me to wear them while i sleep. she thinks double layers can stop me. i rip the fleece off with my teeth.

i'm at my worst when i'm with god. my mother holds my hand during the our father and won't let go until mass ends. she slaps my arm every time i pretend to fold my palms to pray but start to pick again. at penance i stain the pew when i rest my red nails on its wood. the priest and i both know i won't confess to the mess i've made even though i should. 

i learn how to shake hands with strangers and grip their palms like i am whole. lightly squeeze, dip and flip at a fifteen degree angle. i hide the animal my father sees, whose maimed joints i make look tame. the cracks in my knuckles go deeper than any routine can tame.

I am drowning in the center

Of the ocean. I scream and yell,

But no one swims my way. There

Are bolts of lightning as the waves

Violently rage on. I watch the people

As they laugh and play, unaware of

The voices in my head. They are

Oblivious to the tornado eating

My body. I gasp in between gulps

Of water as the ocean quickly silences

My cries of pleas. This is what depression

Feels like. I am drowning and no one knows.

Hello, Prosers,

We hope this challenge announcement finds you well and writing!

It’s week sixty-three of the Prose Challenge of the Week.

For the last week, you have been writing about a female Lucifer, and man, did you deliver. Before we check out who the deserving winner and recipient of $100 is, let’s take a look at this week’s prompt:

CotW #63: Take a much-loved Disney story, twist it into an adult, kick-in-the-gut tale. Poetry or Prose. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #twistedtales for sharing online. Now lights, camera, fiction.

Now, back to the winner of week sixty-two.

We have read all of your entries, and have come to a decision. The winner of the Lucifer challenge is @Delilah49 with their piece, Who is the Devil?

Congratulations! You have just won $100. We’ll be in touch with you shortly.

In the meantime, you have one week to get your write on!

Until next time, Prosers,

Prose.

i.

I smiled once, in a photograph

ii.

somewhere, thunder is stranded

in a squall of clouds

waiting

          like an afterthought

          or the burden of shadows

          yet to fall

rain jewels the periphery

          curses the storm

          that brought you here

iii.

& so what if

I'm rain-drunk

dancing barefoot

shivering like

a virgin with

a tickle crawling

through my veins

the same as what

salt does to ice

          old words melting

          into new poetry

iv.

observe the crocus

pushing away the innocence

of new march snow

leaving its blood-red stain

in the budding

rising like sin from preying hands

v.

in the last season, as the sun sits low & late

bury the all of me

          bone & ash

                    smoke & secrets

lah 4.1.17 ©

god is just a

wish on a shooting star.

heartbeats stop and

life still hardly seems subpar.

I listen for harmony

but I'm greeted with crime.

he lied only once when

he said he was all mine.

I claim people can't be

'broken' but really we break.

I try my best to be present,

another mistake.

life's not fair

just a big chess game

check, check, checkmate

down in flames.

Deep in the caves of the purple mountains

A girl lies slumbering

Sedated by illusion

Trapped in an eternal cycle

Until a voices whispers

"It is time to awaken little one. You have been asleep for too long. It is time to awaken from this great illusion, awaken, and realize the destiny that lies ahead. Wake up!"

Her eyes finally opened for the firs time in an eternity

"How did I get here?" She wondered

But then, she saw a sight so beautiful no human mind could ever understand

Light poured in from all directions

Shining out ignorance!

Shining out pain!

Shining out hatred and sorrow!

Breaking down the walls of this grans illusion!

Until there was nothing left

But peace and serenity

Now children of the earth,

It is time to wake up!

What is Justice?

Justice is equality, fairness, a level playing field and impartiality. Justice is something that we aspire to in our courts of law, in the workplace and in our lives.

Justice is a system invented by man whereby wrongs may be put right, for only human beings are supposed to have a sense of right and wrong. But, having said all this, does Justice actually exist? That's a very difficult question to answer is it not?

Is it Justice if it can be bought? No, but you can buy a version of corrupted Justice if you have the readies, and a version of corrupted Justice is to all intents and purposes real Justice isn't it? No it isn't, but it happens doesn't it dear Prosers? Surely, if we employ a system of laws that can turn a blind eye to corrupt Justice, then the system is broken, and if the system is broken can true Justice be served?

Of course it can't.

Is true Justice an eye for an eye? It may seem so, but it isn't. Is it Justice if half the world has so much food that it discards huge amounts every single day, while others fight for scraps?

On a personal level I gaze out into a corrupted and decaying society that clings to its false promises on a dying world that struggles to cope.

Justice? Don't make me laugh.

I suppose we all view ourselves in a favourable light don't we. I do honestly have a low self esteem and this is something that has plagued me since childhood, but when I stand before a mirror and adjust my tie, I don't see my age, I see a handsome grown man smiling back at me.

Yesterday I was out with friends and we enjoyed a very pleasant afternoon in Keswick, at one point the cameras came out as we watched Chanade playing and I somehow ended up in a video.

I watched the video later when we arrived back home and was horrified to see this wizened old fart wearing my clothes. I looked like something that had been dug up!

Of course what we see in mirrors is enhanced by our egos isn't it, but seeing myself in photo or video is truly horrific, I hate it.

But how I appear to be differs from my opinion of myself, as when I dress for work I see a smart, crisp professional, but others see a half blind old fool who is as scruffy as he is demented. I think I am talented when in fact I am not, I think I am gifted when in reality I'm a dolt with an imagination, and I see myself as an empathic philanthropist when in fact I'm little more than a cabbage.

Self praise is no praise.

Nothing smooths wrinkles like an ego, and even though I may have facial features only a slug could love, my mirror loves me every time.

of course I do no hope to die

I intend to live forever

however, under the inevitable circumstance that is called the circle of life,

I know there must come a day

when that day comes

I hope to die in complete peace

maybe in my sleep

maybe a casual fall

whatever it is

Just don't let me know that I'm dead