A fork in the road came to view slowly, a few fronds in the middle of the road grew taller and thicker. The sunset sank from the sky, peeking through the treeline in the deepest shades of pink like that of the hibiscus back home. Reflecting on a memory, I felt joy from a distance, if not for a moment.

-Having finished up a day on the hot beach, I made my way past rows of houses. My flipflops flapped against my heels as I walked beside the road throwing sediment up my legs as they caught every loose patch of sand around the grass. I knew what Grandma's house looked like. I would know it when I saw it. All I had to do was find it. Looking left and right, I passed many a sunglassed flamingo, sun, and crab, many wicker chairs, welcome mats, and pun-clad flags- and FLOWERS! Grandma loved flowers, so I picked some. Finally I caught sight of the familiar house surrounded by hibiscus bushes with large deep pink flowers. I needed to find trimmers. There were always some in the shed beside the house. I made a pit stop there and then dismembered the bushes. I liked to pick the lightest flowers. They didn't quite fit the look of Grandma's house. I burst my way through the door, ran up the creaky steps, announced my presence, and proudly presented my findings high in the air for everyone to see.-

I caught myself smiling; that felt wrong. I looked down in mourning the loss of that joy. The road at my feet was nothing more than dirt and gravel. I noticed my gait, left, right, left, right. The weight of the food in my backpack grew heavy, pulling me down as I walked. My heart sank and my breath shallowed as if I'd been holding my breath. Had I been breathing? Inhale 1…2…3… Exhale 1…2…3…

Why am I smiling? What's wrong with me? Those days are long gone and she is gone. *Heavy shallow breathing* I'm so tired. I couldn't sleep last night. I didn't eat last night. I've got to save the food I have. Should I eat?

I tried to picture what life would be like on the other side of those woods. I had no idea, really, if I was making the right choice. I could turn around. I knew I didn't want to do that though. Behind me was pain, death, deformity, and suffering. I could not stand it any more.

There was no where to look but ahead.

Is it possible to predict the future? Chance is the likelihood of occurrence within a context. The more a context is explained or imagined, the more accurate we can be about the actual result. At what point is chance truly 100%, I wonder.

That context can be limited to an amount of time, space, content, and variables.

A simple example: A coin generally has a 50/50 chance of landing on either face.

Variables affect the actual result: there is a third surface to the coin which can be considered, the rim. Yes, it is POSSIBLE for a coin to land on the rim.

"What if the coin is being slammed down atop the hand after being flipped?" This introduces a new context to the coin being flipped. The tension of the thumb against the finger before the flip, the force at which the thumb hits the coin, where the thumb hits the coin, the amount of time which the coin is allowed to be suspended in the air, any wind in the air(caused by any number of factors weather, nearby bodies of water, etc), gravitational force in the area(affected by elevation at least)and so much more. The forces and variables influencing the coin as it flips is incredible. In the end, do most of them matter- probably not past the force of the thumb, where the thumb hit on the coin surface and time suspended in the air. Likely not. So is it necessary to define every single variable in the context? Only if the goal is to be 100% accurate. Is it possible to be truly 100% accurate? Possibly not- that would require some feat of defining infinity, would it not?

"Well, my writing is probably too dramatic. Sometimes inspired by ADHD-fueled research sessions where I get 3 hours into picking apart theology, history, or some subset of nerd culture. I once wrote an entire DND campaign based on lore around Merlin and 'night mares.' My favorite piece was a research paper about 'little vittles' where pilots flew candy to Berlin after WWII. When a piece is finally written, I pick through it until it's intelligible and clearly written. I put in way too much work and my writing usually ends up being some sort of rant, but I enjoy it!"

This part 2. In an effort to improve story-telling though dialogue, I've written a narrative introduction and a single character's inner thoughts to tell the same story. Short, sweet, to be continued. Inspired by "The Rockrose and the Thistle" by The Amazing Devil. As always, constructive criticism is welcome.

Screams reach through the sky down the cliffs to where the demon lay, tearing through scale and flesh, calling on the demon to mend the pain. Unable to sleep and unable to resist the summoning, the demon looks up yearning to see over the sheer cliff. Shattering shards of rock and exposing slick pores of magma with each step and reach, they ascend toward the human plane. The demon slips and struggles toward the poor screams and The demon is a summonable curse whose deals cannot be broken. Once their victim suffers physical pain, mental torture, and the shadow of the ever-present beast

"I have no choices. I must ascend.

The cliff I climb to reach you is echoing with your screams. I feel your pain with every crumbling step. Each claw dug into the cliff shatters loose jagged rock, revealing pores in the cliff that ooze magma.

It'd be best if I stayed here's impossible to deal with this much longer. Your pain would be fleeting if you would just let it be. It's impssThe burn in my eyes clouds my vision… all of this struggle just to torment you. Why do you scream so loud? Why do you go through such onerous rituals to summon me.

You've summoned a curse to soothe your woes. The shrieks you emit now shall become colder, madder and plague our existence together. I have no way to help you but since I have no choice, I promise I will try."

In an effort to improve story-telling though dialogue, I've written a narrative introduction and a single character's inner thoughts to tell the same story. Short, sweet, to be continued. Inspired by "The Rockrose and the Thistle" by The Amazing Devil

Wind sweeps past rockrose and thistle, whistling over a cliff edge to cool an aged demon. The demon fights its purpose, driven by two forces, captivity and empathy. The demon was made to serve the wishes of misguided humans in the living planes. When summoned, the hellhound must answer to the call of the living. The nature of hell, though, carries the endless unknown. That when coupled with errant misguidance and vehement emotion can cause great disregard for consequence and further, turmoil.

"Zzzzzz…. Zzzzzz…… No… not this time. Not now. Not now.

A red string appears from the sky.

Nrgh, my eyes- I can deal with it. I can. I can. I've been here eons and decades. Hell has tortured me, hardened me, turned my scales to stone. There is no more it can do to me. Still… this pain won't go away.

Please stop, reverse whatever spell you've cast. The kindest thing I can do is to leave you alone. Do not turn to me for help. Whatever pain you're experiencing is nothing like that which you would suffer under me."

"Not now. Not now," I beg. I feel my expression freeze in a feigned enthusiastic smile. I quickly glance behind Paul again. She's there, wearing a bridesmaid dress. It looks perfect on her- red in perfect contrast to her dark hair, her dark lips, her red cheeks. Why did she have to show up today? She was been away for weeks. She's got that sly grin which tells me she knows something. What is it? Whatever she knows, I can't let it get to me and I have to save face in front of everyone. I smile but joy is quickly escaping me. I'm losing my grip on reality. My face feels heavy and warm like I'm melting. Plop. I feel something heavy land on my head. Plop plop. Natalie giggles and points to Paul's ear. Coated in delicate white frosting, his cartilage collapses under the weight and falls onto his shoulder. His earlobe threatens to fall off but is held on by a few crumbs. Cake. Cake. Cake. Why the cake of all things, Natalie? Why?

Paul smiles endearingly, unaware of the rainbow sprinkles hanging errantly off his eyelashes. As I lean in to kiss him, my brain is filled with a breath of warm almond wedding cake. I close my eyes and hold my breath to seal our wedding vows and to push for an end to this hallucination. Paul's sweet sticky frosting lips give way to a warm supple crumb cake. I sigh, feeling love in the moment I've been waiting for- married at last, but panic sets in as I start to inhale and my nose is filled with sprinkles and that displaced cake icing.

Sensing my panic, Paul gives my hands an encouraging squeeze. My hands disintegrate, my fingers turn to mush in his grasp, and my wedding ring falls to the floor with an audible "Plop. Ting!" I bend down, searching for the ring, but only feeling the sponge texture of my flesh.

Paul meets me on the floor, "Are you okay? What are you doing?" "Natalie," I whisper, "It's stupid. I'm sorry. She turned everything into cake. I dropped the ring. I'm sorry."

Giggles echo in the venue. I look out to the crowd in time to see Paul's dad being scolded. Natalie is behind him digging into a healthy slice of his face.

Paul wraps me in a soft and mushy hug, displaces my frosting hair by kissing my head and pulls me down the aisle. There are no cheers as we walk by. Makes sense because cake can't talk.

(I've submitted this for another prompt, but love it so much that I'd like to continue the story)

My love traced the path of the sun before it set over the coast. She swept the clouds to gather them for the evening's portrait. Looking down, I saw she had them lined parallel with the Rockies, matching height with opacity. Tonight wiwould certainly be the most beautiful in the season.

Dread had been high among the gods and the creatures. Plagues of weather, political disaster, and astronomic anomaly had just then begun to lull on Earth.

My love remained bssful in relief, unable to sense untrusting tension from creatures below. Her art thrived in her naive emotions. It was cute. I knew if she looked over, she'd catch me smiling and it would inspire her efforts.

A few moments passed; she hadn't caught my gaze nor seen my smile. She fervently deliberately warmed cirrus and nurtured cumulonimbus. Only she knew which colors would appear. It would always be spectacular pink, orange, red, bright yellow hues.

In the corner of my gaze, light hit tthe clouds. Pulling her hands to her eyes, my love wept. She gasped. And then I saw it-

Purple. With murder, prestige, and terror- the clouds were purple. The screams were loud. She screamed in purple. The blast cleared my vision to white. Reaching out for my love, I grasped for her heat. Instead, the atmosphere burned and cooked my flesh dry as bone. If the blast burned the gods, then truly the creatures below would not make it. I knew that, but I hoped. I knew that if life survived it would be burned, deformed for eons, suffering in the terror. It was everywhere in wake of the blast. A sonic boom filled the air. Still, my love filled my head with screams. I thought the worst was over and the terror would cease to reach us. Her screams would halt and we would mourn in peace.

A moment passed and the remnants of a terrific bright cloud filled my vision, revealing my love outlined by a purple shadowed sky. In my ears hummed a muffled tone through which I heard my love scream, "my- I can't see! There's no white. Tthere's no dark. I can't-." Following her voice and her figure, I went to her. I wept imagining the panic she felt. Had she felt panic before? Had she experienced fear? I placed my hands on her face. There were no tears. Could she cry? I felt for her eyes and found them wet, burned hot, clammy. Were they there? Her screams turned to moans of wretched agony and turmoil. "Where are you? I don't see you. Why are you hurting me? Let me go!" I pulled my hands away from her face and she caught one as it fell. Gasping for breath, she covered her face. I reached for her other hand but it was too late. She screamed in pain. I pulled her hands together and to my chest as she moaned and collapsed to her knees. "Help me… Help me…" she wept. "We made it through the blast. We will make it. You're strong, my love. I'll help you."

"Help me… Please! Why won't you answer me!"

I'm me, now. I'm no longer plagued by linearly asking,

"Am I forgetting something? Is there anything I need in this room before I exit it? Do I have any cups to take out?

Any laundry? Are my shoes out away? I meant to call my doctor. I need to remember to do that on my phone when I get to the next room. Did I need to do anything else today? Okay, I can leave the room-Any laundry? Are my shoes out away? I meant to call my doctor. I need to remember to do that on my phone when I get to the next room. Did I need to do anything else today? Okay, I can leave the room-

Look on a spot the left side of the doorknob. Where? There. There. There. Now a spot on the right side to make it even. Is that the same distance away from the doorknob? There There There. Ugh, It's not quite the same. Move focus in a bit inward toward the doorknob. There. There. There. Is that good? Good enough. I remember when I would make actual lists of things to do. I should do that again. Is there anything in that room that I need? I should have gone out to check the mailbox. Oh well my hands are full with this blanket and I have to feed Lucy."

"Lucy! Come eat," I call.

"I've got to go to the closet and get her food. My steps aren't even. Even them out. Open the door. You used too much pressure on your left foot-make it even."

My mind doesn't do this constantly any more. My mind makes me happy, focused, and possibly best of all- my tics are comparatively few and far between. I'm learning to be ME now.

In winsome winds we wondered why

Games gallant gladden, grip gerbers' gaze

Of osteopathic obliteration ostentatiously observed

To terrifically twist the typical total tactful treaty.

Yes, youth yet yellow yearn yonder yays.

Other older obstetrics outlearn obvious obfuscation.

Under unobtrusive umbrella, ungodly tterances unfold

Really reader, ready ruse redemption-

Nose