The abandoned, red truck that appeared during the night is still standing at the side of the road when the police car arrives. The two men get out of the car and inspect the truck from afar. On the side of the truck, the word ‘FATE’ is written, but the paint is smeared as if the truck was driven through water while the paint was still wet.

The two officers walk closer to inspect the cab of the truck. The wind is howling around the sides of the vehicle and a soft creaking is produced.

One of the officers opens the driver’s door and glances inside. As should be expected, the inside of the truck looks rather normal. Then, the officer notices something strange. Is that an asthma inhaler? He reaches out and grabs the object from where it was lying on the passenger seat. The officer closes the door again and strolls over to the front of the vehicle to inspect the licence plate.

“Where do you think it comes from?” He asks while straightening up from the plate.

“I don’t know, but I have a strange feeling about it.” The other one answers.

“It comes from outer space!” A villager yells from behind the do-not-cross line. “It came to kill us all!”

Both police officers turn and frown at the man who succeeded in arousing the whole crowd.

“Calm down, calm down! It is a normal truck that someone drove and left here. Nothing to be worried about.” The man at the licence plate assures them.

The villagers do not heed him and start to yell out strange theories.

“Let's see what is in the back.” One officer suggests.

The other man agrees and they walk to the truck’s rear.

When they reach the large double-door, both officers reach to open it. A sound stops them from opening the door, and they look at each other.

“Something is in here.” The one police man states with wide eyes.

The other officer nods and pulls out his gun. Stepping back, he points his weapon at the door. He then nods at the other officer who grabs the door's handles and opens the door.

The two doors swing open and silence follows as everyone stares into the darkness of the truck's interior. Suddenly, something moves again and the truck creaks as if the thing is very heavy. Not waiting another moment, the man at the door jumps back, takes out his gun and joins the other officer.

The creature inside the truck steps into the light and all of the people outside gasp. It climbs out of the truck and light now confirms to everyone what it is. But can it really be? The creature spreads out its large wings and roars loudly. Instantly, chaos breaks out and the villagers start running in all directions. The two officers run and hide behind the police car.

“Isn’t that a... dragon?” One asks when they reach their desitnation.

“Yes, I think so.”

The following story is based upon a true story. I heard it from a friend who heard it from a friend, who heard it from a friend. (Not sure how accurate this is, and I don't know all the details, so I'm making them up but the basic story is the same)

She met him on a dating app and they went out to dinner. When they met she didn't really like him. After dinner she went home, deciding not to go on another date with him. While she was home she heard a noise. She ignored it, must be her imagination. Then she heard it again, and she lived alone. It sounded like someone grunted. She dashed upstairs and grabbed her landline and dialed 911.

"Dispatch, what's your emergency?"

"I think that there's someone in my house and I live alone. Could you please send someone over immediately?"

"I'm sorry we're really backed up right now. We can be there within 45 minutes to an hour."

"No, no. You don't understand. I think I'm in danger. I'm scared. Could you please just send someone over to check it out?"

"I'm sorry You're going to have to wait."

"Please, please. I don't know what else to do. I'm locked inside, I can't get away." Suddenly she hears a knock at the door. It had been about 5 minutes since she called. The door opened, and she heard a commotion downstairs. There was shouting and running. She screamed, she couldn't help it. She put her hand over her mouth. There was footsteps coming towards her, and the door opened. It was the police.

"We're here mam." She stared at him.

"But, but dispatch told me that you couldn't be here for another hour."

"Here, let me show you something." She stands up. The policeman leads her to her basement, The man who she went on a date with. He had followed her home, and broken in. On a table there were knives spread out

"He is a serial killer that we have been after for quite some time. When you called we figured it out, but look." The landline had been tapped into. He had been planning to kill her, but if the police had said they would be there immediately, he would have left. She looks at the police officer, she was still breathing fast.

"I'm never going to use a dating website again."

I have officially been on Prose for two years since May 24, 2019! (Technically two years and a day, I forgot to post this yesterday). If you want to read my first ever post, the link is here: https://theprose.com/post/276793/silent-anger. Unedited, shockingly, though it's tempting. I hope that the fact that I cringe reading my early posts means I have grown as a writer and improved my abilities over the past two years. It's been a crazy ride, and despite going M.I.A. for a few months here and there, it's been fantastic to be a part of a community of such incredible writers and people. There is an insane amount people that I want to thank, but putting hundreds of names would be tedious to write and no doubt tedious to read. So many people have made my experience on this website one of the best ever and I hope I will be here for years to come. You guys are amazing. Thank you. <3

Sits on the couch,

With a bag of chips,

Watching Sunday football,

A score for his team,

He yells and chips go flying,

And tells a dolphin to bring him more chips,

The other team scores and he stands up,

"NO!!!!!"

He calls for his trident and smashes the TV,

Then he goes to do some fishing.

She sighs. As usual, her videos aren't getting many positive responses.

Why can't they just understand her point of view?

Eating animals is evil, veganism is the only way to go.

Every day she spends in the Underworld,

she sees dead animals make their way into Elysium.

While she's happy they go to a good place,

she's also sad that they didn't get to live longer lives.

And why is that? Because of stupid meat-eaters who think its ok to eat animals,

they're just animals not beings capable of thinking.

The fools. She sighs once more, she's just trying to get the message out.

To help people understand that eating animals hurts all these adorable creatures.

Why didn't these people get that?

She shakes her head and goes to greet her husband, leaning against him.

"Hard day?" He asks.

"No one understands..." She whines pitifully.

"I understand." He tells her and she smiles and hugs him tightly,

ignoring how he's the one who brings death to them in the first place.

Its the meat-eaters fault surely?

(Author's note: personally I'm not vegan and never will be. But I can see Persephone being a total Vegan mom whose trying to persecute all the meat-eaters of the world for killing little animals. And Hades is just going with it cuz what else ya gonna do?)

We were having a conversation.

We were laughing and enjoying the flow, the rhythm, the symmetry. It seemed to be the right time to talk and vibe. A little too perfect. Then the conversation abruptly stopped.

Silence filled the phone with air. The middle of that conversation had no meaning now. A new conversation starts with fear at the wheel. The question “Are you okay?” floated in the air of concern. A brisk “I’m fine, but someone just hit my car” floated back to set the mood. Now the conversation is nervous and jittery. Last thought but in demand, “I hope you wasn’t driving while talking with me.” A quick answer “No! But I have to hang up now because I have to call the police.” An understanding agreement was reached and the conversation ended.

It came down to a letter of apology in her mailbox, a plea; I didn’t usually beg for anything, or feel much beyond fog, but this was going to be bad. It ended while I browsed through dresses at the local thrift store we both loved.

I thought about your apology, and I don’t accept it.

The horror of wedding dress shopping: I had stared her other bridesmaids in the face and only spoke to them in deadpan, clipped sentences. They were sheer perfection; if I could make them objects, they would be Marie Antoinette’s petit fours, exquisite in every layer. Their engagement rings glistened in the sunlight of the boutique like savage little smiles. I hated them, all of them.

There’s of course Isabella and her perfect life, who made my fall from grace possible. My smiles at her were darts. I didn’t speak to her at the bachelorette party I was supposed to have planned; instead of planning it, as the maid of honor, I had simply let my burn-out from work guide the lead-up to it, doing nothing to make it memorable. I pushed cake around my plate; my feelings of inferiority making me arrogant with petty blinders.

These women had everything I would never, ever have: fiances, husbands, shared apartments in the city, dream jobs that took effort to achieve and discipline to maintain.

Really, how could they? Honestly, their makeup even probably washed itself off after dark. Or, perhaps darkness is beyond them. One of them is is a therapist, helping the sad and dejected while never having experienced that herself. Before my sister loved her as a sister-in-law, we agonized over how little she must really understand her clients: her completely normal brain chemistry had never left her lying on the street corner, drop dead drunk and dirty. Dirty: another word that wouldn’t have crossed their lipstick stained, supple lips.

This is, of course, to say, I wish it had gone differently. Of course I wish I had thrown a fun, good bachelorette party. But it was beyond me to want to be anywhere near these women, and if we’re still to be honest, it’s torture just thinking about them.

Perhaps I am a terrible person, and I have certainly spent my fair share of nights wondering if I’m hopelessly, hopelessly awful.

After my sister told me she wouldn’t forgive me, I checked myself into a psychiatric facility to both cure my work burnout and hope she would see my sadness, my helplessness. She didn’t. When I checked out of the facility to go home, she didn’t return my texts that I had made it out. Neither did her fiance. They both ignored it all; everything from me was unwanted and toxic, a reminder of my selfishness.

My sister will, it’s obvious, never forgive me. I wish so badly I didn’t suffer from burnout, but that would be me pitying myself.

This sad tirade ends with Isabella requesting to follow me on social media; her likes on my pictures either just a reflection of her normal brain chemistry or forgiveness, or just sheer niceness.

I wish it had gone differently; my jealousy is a blood stain we won’t see washed off easily, a reminder that it wasn’t about me at all, it was just red and unfortunate.

This piece doesn’t make me feel good about myself, and hitting ‘publish’ makes me think of what this can contribute, but it feels good sometimes to vent; perhaps this can be a letting-go, if no one else benefits from it.