I feel I have done this before, but it somehow seems necessary. I will try to do it a bit differently.

I am Chuck, a long-time Proser (I am here because my wife liked my writing and encouraged me to find a way to share). I have included links to some seemingly ancient posts that tell about my introduction to theProse site. The first link was written soon after my initiation to Prose. The next was on why I decided to stay at Prose rather than continuing to write on some other sites I was also experimenting with at the time. The last one is years later, and is a fun description of how I felt mentally after trying to answer at least one ”Prose Challenge” a day over a prolonged period of time (my writing brain was in a wrung-out place). You may find the links interesting, you may skip them altogether, or you may even go watch television instead of reading any of this - no matter - lucky it is for you that I exist here entirely for your whim.

https://theprose.com/post/252367/prose

After three years I still feel very similarly to how I felt when I wrote that. Three years? The time stamp on the post states, “January 19, 2019.” I feel like it was longer ago than that? Surely I have been around longer than that? Could it be that I edited it on 1/19/’19 (back when you could still do that? Jeez, how I wish you still could… edit, that is.)? It must be that, but regardless…

My friend, mentor, and Prose conscience, dctezcan was kind enough to hit “like” on that long ago post. I don’t believe that anyone else who did so is still around? Or at least active. Good writer’s gone, they. Or if they are still around I don’t see their posts as often as I would like, and I miss them for it. That is what Prose seems to be to me now; comings and goings, which is unfortunate for me, as mine is an old soul that craves stability. This particular “Challenge” (or “Vehicle”) that was scatter-shotted out as an e-mail has proven effective at drawing back some familiar names and voices. I like that. Do it some more, Prose! Perhaps some of them will read a few lines for nostalgia’s sake and decide to stick around, maybe even post a poem or two? Once a writer, always a writer! But as with any business it is the relationships that keep people coming back, so go ahead and reach out. No need to break shy on us now.

https://theprose.com/post/254778/an-old-prose

I have been around far too long to list all the writer’s I enjoy on the site. It would only water them down to try. Besides, I have not kept record and would surely leave off some wonderful people and writers, but I will do this, as recognition can be motivational and inspirational when applied sparingly, and when given for a specific behavior, so I will offer a short list in hopes of retaining some talent to my third home (family, work, Prose):

I was drawn into Prose by Mazzmyrrheyes, Undermeyou and tornesornerob. They transported me to different places and feelings with their words. Theses writers baited the hooks that pulled me into the boat. I thank them for that, even as it may cause some to revile them ;).

I love the relationship dctezcan and I have built over the years. “The lovely-talented-kind-and intelligent” dctezcan. A friend who is single-handedly showing the Prose world that admirable adjectives in front of a name beat-tar out of pronouns.

I have remained here in large part for Posey’s poetry, and EstherFlower’s rhymes. The two of them generally invoke differing emotions, one dark, one light, but they always invoke something.

I look forward to stories by rlove327, Mfrobs, and SamWebster... they who understand that if you care about what you write, you must care about how you write it.

Prose would not be the same without Mnezz, Thereisnospoon, Finder and fudo. What a presence they add to the site.

I am glad that excellent writers like TW, KMCassidy, and that long gone girl whose username I can’t remember, but who changed her profile picture weekly to feature a new bikini… yikes! Those of you who have been around awhile will likely remember the one I mean. Anyways, we do not always align ideologically, but I truly appreciate their talented writings (Prose can always use more of that) that force me to reconsider my mule-headed positions.

https://theprose.com/post/366881/hidden-gems

I miss the Prose Challenges of the week and month, but I can do without all the serial killer themes (I greatly enjoyed the Fantasy challenge, as it left tons of room to wander around in creatively, so more like that please). For me, prize money is unnecessary. The opportunity to get the attention of other talented writer’s is plenty payment enough.

If you made it through to the end, thank you. If not… yea, I can see why, but regardless… I hope to see you around!

America has seldom in it’s history been a “kumbaya” kind of place. There have been moments, of course; times of joy that have brought us together despite our differences, but any land of free ideas and free speech is bound to be a land of contention. If more than one American is present at anyplace in any moment then there will likely be those who will and those who won’t, those that do and those that don‘t.

The coming together of Americans following our WWII victory allowed for a brief drunken fiesta lasting about 12 hours and then the debates were back whole-heartedly; Russia, Korea, McCarthy, Russia, Vietnam, school segregation, Elvis, Civil Rights, Kennedy assassination, Russia, women’s rights, Hippie movement, busing, King assassination, The Beatles, Russia, Manson murders, Roe vs. Wade, Watergate, Muhammad Ali, Libya, Drug Wars, Russia, rap, Panama, Iraq, Iran, Oklahoma bombing, Snowden, Afghanistan, Cuba, China, Russia, Trump, etc., etc., etc.

To think that our times are any worse or better than any other is pretty vain. Yes, we get passionate, but so did our parents and our grandparents get passionate. They also had a dream for tomorrow. The vision for this great country is constantly changing, and that is it’s innate beauty. The masses ebb and flow over the “next big thing” with a toe in the water, testing whether it is safe to dive in while the extremists on either side attempt to sway them.

It is why freedom of speech is so important. Those debates are what makes America great. Yes, passions can spill over… once to the point of all out war, but goodness always comes of it. Always. The better vision always prevails, even if it is not always your vision.

So today… relax. Hang a flag. Grab a dog and a lemonade. Crank some ice cream. Watch a ballgame. Attend a fireworks show. And while watching the bombs burst over our flag, think of those whose struggles ended as they attempted to make her a better place no matter which side of which argument they stood on, and take a little pride in being one of them.

And for heaven’s sake, if you are so sure that all of your views are absolutely right, then maybe this America is not the place for you? Your neighbor likely believes otherwise… so let’s quit the argument and put it to a vote.

God Bless America.

We all at times

shed the tears of true pain

yes they’re bitter,

they’re potent

and they’re real.

But we do not give in

for there’s always a hope,

to transform

to redeem,

and to heal.

So take hold of the reins

do not succumb!

for true pain never dies

it sleepeth ...

As my view became clearer, I realized where I was. The dark ebony woodwork on the ceiling embedded with glittery tiles could only be a disastrous architectural choice unique to the one person who slept comfortably in front of me. What took a while to catch my eye was a movement next to the window. Summer had just begun; the light cold wind fluttered the grey curtains. After looking around, I moved closer towards the window only to pass through something that made me feel like being torn apart. I turned around to see the silhouette; a shadow that made its way to the bed. It stood next to the sleeping man; almost like it was hovering over him.

A criminal? A robber? A murderer? A psychopath? A ghost? Why here?

I had so many questions and so little answers. My screams seemed to go unheard and my presence was unnoticed. The shadow pulled back the hood revealing a familiar face, a hint of sadness mixed with the overwhelming desire to destroy whatever was in front of him. That was what I could make out of his expression.

I have to stop him. I have to stop him before he does anything foolish.

I immediately grabbed his hand, only to realize I couldn't touch him. I tried so many times but in vain. I turned around and hit the wall in frustration; the thud echoing through the room. I turned around at the rustling of the duvet.

What have I done? Elias, you should run for the window. Elias you should run!

I pushed him but in vain. Christopher, the man on the bed, sat up.

"I told you not to come here? You're making this difficult for the both of us!" Christopher spoke, a lot calmer than you would expect a person being threatened with a knife to their throat to be.

"You told me everything would be fine. It's not. I have nightmares", Elias said as he buried his face in Christopher's chest.

"Don't worry. I will sort everything out", he replied ruffling his hair.

There's no way Christopher and Elias...

*Knock Knock*

I followed as the two immediately made their way out of the room. Christopher made sure the three doors in the living room were locked and opened the main door.

Christopher was a colleague of mine with an incomprehensible interest in my personal life.

The police officers stepped in, and shoved a warrant in Elias's face.

"You're under arrest on suspicion of murder and kidnapping", the officer said pulling out his handcuffs and walking to Elias.

No, not like this. It isn't over until...

I walked to the door to the basement and with whatever strength I had, I pushed it hard. The lock fell off, alerting the second officer, who held out his gun and rushed to the door. The other followed. I looked at the familiar environment, a faint smell of newly opened paint and grease covered the room. I moved to stand beside the commercial refridgerator in the corner. One of the officers was quick enough to catch up. They threw open the lid, pulling me out. This was why I was here. I have been here for way longer than just a few hours.

Elias was my lover.

"There's no pulse", the officer repeated over his walkie. Christopher had grabbed his hunting rifle from the garage and the officer had acted rather swiftly. He collapsed on the ground. Elias rushed to him. I glanced at the cold body on the floor one last time.

At least I was found.