Everything depends on what I do with this blade. I could sink it into the skin and let it all end, here and now. But a tiger is always replaced by a lion. Or should I let a murderer live? I can’t just let him walk away with what he has done, but then again, I am just a barber, doing my job. I am not a murderer.

My hand passes over his chin. It is clean, soft and healthy. I plunge the sharp blade into the basin on the shelf. The warm soap, foaming at my wrist. He gets up and walks over to the counter.

“How much do I owe you”, he asks.

“No charge, Sir”, I reply. I will not take money, gained through service to butchery from this man. My pockets shall remain clean. I shall not shake his hand nor smile at my work. My duty is done.

He smiles and walks towards the door. Opening it, he lets a clawing, musty breeze into the shop. Warm saliva bubbles up my throat and I feel my breath catch deep within. He was so close and I let him go. The door swings shut and I am alone.

It starts with Supergirl

Flying to get us when we are sick

She slays the villainous cold with ice cream and kisses.

As time goes on, she becomes Wonder Woman

Carrying all the school books and bags

The shopping hanging from the tips of her fingers.

Wonder Woman transforms into Cruella De Vil

Stopping us from seeing friends because we "have" to study

Nothing can halt her rampage.

Cruella De Vil turns into Batwoman

The one you call in tears after a tough exam

The one you look forward to seeing when going home

The one whose cooking you miss.

Then comes Black Widow

Both good and evil

The one you know will understand

when you become Supergirl.

If your eyes couldn’t see what was optimal,

what the world decided is favorable,

what media taught you is desirable,

would you still think me beautiful?

If the picture in your mind,

was just a light you see,

the brightness decided by my energy,

the only marker of your need for me,

was the truth inside me that no eyes can see?

If you could hear no sound,

would you listen to me?

Would my words

still bring you peace serine?

Would you hang on every idea I share,

believing me so worthy of care?

Would this pedestal you perched me on,

be still as high without the volume on?

If my skin you couldn’t feel,

if my scent you couldn’t catch.

If you couldn’t taste my essence,

in the moments of romance.

If you could know me only,

by the truth in my soul.

If the only things to judge me by,

were the parts I can’t control.

If you couldn’t watch me walk away,

if you couldn’t see me leave,

would you still crave every piece of me,

would you still think me fit to be your queen?

If your senses couldn’t identify,

a mystery locked deep inside.

If my playful ways,

and teasing style,

couldn’t enchant you,

and set your world on fire.

If you could never get lost,

in my big round eyes,

if my odd perspective,

didn’t challenge your mind.

If my journey to now

couldn’t inspire respect.

If my fragile condition,

didn’t awaken protectiveness.

If my strange little ways,

didn’t pique your interest.

Would I still be the girl of your dreams?

If you were blind,

would I still be beautiful?

Tossing and turning throughout the night,

we knew that something wasn't quite right.

The mosquitoes were flapping their weary wings.

The sky was the color of dirty string.

A thunderstorm was supposed to be rolling in.

We felt like we'd been trapped inside our skin.

The air was so hot, it hurt to breathe.

There was nothing we could do that would relieve

the particular combo of humid heat

that started that day with no relief.

When the power went off, we threw up our hands

feeling like we didn't understand.

The weathermen later informed us that

a "heat burst" had almost knocked us flat.

We didn't know then and we don't know now

what they mean by that new term anyhow.

Suffice it to say that the climate we feel

eventually is going to truly reveal

how each of the beings upon this earth

contributes their deepest inner worth.

We finally arose at five in the morning.

Exhausted and damp, we read the warnings

that excessive heat would follow for days.

So we took cool showers and went on our ways.

Dear Earth,

How much are you worth?

A rabbit is shot,

but stew is put in a pot.

A lion is maimed,

but that lion is tamed.

Your heart is fading,

and people keep trading.

Metal for machines,

New submarines.

An explosion to rattle an army.

You suffer me.

You suffer us.

When is this enough?

When will the cogs turn?

How many forests need to burn?

We are a bruise

causing all the blues.

We are leaving you behind.

Going off to find

another place to harm

to make another farm.

But you still fight back,

making an attack

that will keep the good

and i have understood.

We need to stop.

We need to make a new crop.

We need to change

and We need to behave.

You have nurtured our hive

and because of that, We are alive.

But now let us give,

and hopefully, you will forgive.

Pulled out of a meaningless dream

To possess such power

That I may crack like the moon

And leak galaxies,

Bodies of milk that are unforgiving in their might,

What is omnipotence to a slave?

I don't even bend.

Instead,

I see the souls of men

Beaming from their bellies

As though they've all swallowed dying stars,

I know I have the power to blow out those eternal flames,

How do I know?

How do I see?

How many worlds could I end by breathing enough?

My lungs seem to hold aliens now,

There are gods seeping out of my mouth to enchant,

I feel I know too much.

I could speak and melt nations.

My power may enslave.

Humanity and I are incompatible now.

I've touched the glass between mortal and Maker,

But it feels like climbing a cumulonibus cloud and finally reaching that heavenly Himalayan high.

Holy.

Peaceful.

Free, I am no longer a slave.

There is a place, far from earth, far from space, existing beyond the reach of those alive. To travel to this place, you must first cease to exist, leave your earthly body behind and listen. You must listen until you hear the sound of deaths slow whistle, raspy and shrill. Death will come to find you, long black cloak trickling behind him like water.

For Death to send you to the place you seek, you must tell him how you died, tell your death as if it was a movie. Create twists and turns, it will have to be as engaging as possible for Death to deem you worthy, Death can be picky at times.

Once Death has sent you on, you will travel the light road, it will be as bright as a star, white beams create patterns over the sky, however you cannot dwell on the sights, follow the road as fast as you can, but never run otherwise they will suspect something. Along the roadside spirits sit and beg, you must not speak with them, they are trapped for a reason, never intended to reach the other side.

At the roads end is a vast lake, black liquid laps the shores, a rickety wooden boat sits bobbing on the current. It is here you must have faith, close your eyes, think of flying and breath in and out deeply. If you can do this right, you will take off over the lake, your great feathered wings beating. Look back if you dare, and you will see the ocean demons peer at you, hate blazing in their eyes, pulling the boat back beneath the waves.

Now near your journey's end shall you meet the dueller. An old spirit, though with the energy of a sprite, she will not speak until you ask to pass, tell her that death has sent you, if she accepts this pass by her and enter the void. If she refuses tell her that Nomed has sent you. She will now move aside for you to pass through, and here is where the story ends, though I am sure you are wondering who I am my dear human... For I am Nomed, ruler of the second realm. demoN of all evil.

Hello, Writers and Dear Readers.

Happy Saturday, fam. In today's video, we lazily cast a net into the the waters of Prose., and reel in a haul refulgent with beautiful brains of madness and gorgeousness. Just a mellow morning of reading these greats with coffee and the hum of possiblity.

There is nothing finer.

Featured and flounced before you, and waiting at the end of this sentence, is the link to the channel.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=horH5hzrBmI

And.

As always.

Thank you for being here.

-The Prose. team

Snow White with skin like snow... Lips of cherry red. Thats how I look now... well sought off, clown red lipstick, 100 shades to bright. Pale concealer spread thickly, failing to disguise the blueish hues that often form after death, I hate that word "death". Makes me think of life. And I never want to think of life.

One thing of being a ghost is the cold, in haunted places people say they feel a chill, it's like that though more consistent, never-ending bit like being dead.

Being dead, it's a funny thing to be able to say.

I peer round, the mortician enters the room, he's a pretty thing, dark hair flopped over a pale face, and cute round glasses. I wonder if he thinks I'm pretty. I'd like to hear him say it, he won't though. It's weird to compliment corpses.

Floating here actually gives me a really good vantage point. I can see all the nooks and crannies of my former body. Bodies bloat after death, I'm fairly sure so I'm not gonna blame myself for that, but the scars on my wrists. Long slits from funny bone to fingertips, one on each side. Left first, then... That's strange, I don't remember the second cut.

The door to the side of the lit medical theatre opens again, this time revealing a considerably less attractive balding man, in a long white coat.

"Police have requested to see the body." He states then begins to exit.

"Yes." The other man nods quickly. He grabs the end of the trolley and begins to wheel it, out away from me. No! I try to speak, words catching in my throat, I can feel my very being trembling, shaking, screaming. Why were there two cuts, why are the police here... AND HOW DID I DIE!!!

Hello, Writers and Dear Readers.

In today's vid, we announce the new CotW, after the important stuff --- a big HBD to one of our pillars, and we go into the winner of last week's CotW, and a new talent, courtesy of the birthday boy.

Here's the new Challenge of the Week, number 228:

https://theprose.com/challenge/14079

And here's the feature on The Prose. Channel:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VnyJkZhvmAA

And.

As always.

Thank you for being here.

-The Prose. team