Hello, Writers and Dear Readers.

Hope your week has started off metal as possible, or classical as possible, or new wave as possible, or... Look, I couldn't think of a way to start off this post to introduce a 41-second poem on the channel. But we thought it would be cool to change it up once in awhile. Plus, I got this badass new webcam I wanted to test drive. Anyway, here's the link.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yYvN5aQGHWw

And.

As always.

Thank you for being here.

-The Prose. team

There’s a window open to the night sky. I’m surprised to see it naked, no drapes. The glass is crystal clear, and stars twinkle in the distance. The moon is bright enough to cast a shadow, and I see her moving in the room. I think she’s smiling, at least it sounds like she is when she says my name. I don’t want to listen, but I turn towards her anyway, my ears perked and primed. I know she won’t use this room in the daytime. There’s no hiding from the sunshine here.

Our lips meet and I want to forget, but I can’t. In the darkness, I imagine it’s her. My mind knows it’s not, but in the dark, the senses can lie. Her hair brushes over my chest as we kiss and I’m there. Mexico ten years ago. With the one, I’ll never forget. I’ve forgotten everything, but I’ll never forget her.

Her eyes glow red and I become lost in her black endless center. I’m hypnotized. She never blinks, burning a hole into my soul until I submit. She begins piercing my lip with a tiny nibble, until a bead of blood forms around her tooth. She is hungry, but she is careful not to ruin her meal and she takes her time with me and then I submit. I get lost in Mexico again to ignore the pain. You’d think I’d be used to it by now, but I am not. I long for my Samantha and I wonder where she has gone since I was taken.

***

They usually forget. Everything. But this one, he holds on to something as if it will restore to him the life I have usurped. The first time I bit him, I was just hungry. I wasn’t even going to keep him, just drain him and go. But there was something there, as I watched the light vanish from his eyes. Something I wanted to see again. And I stopped, which is something I never do. I have been accused time and again of having zero control. Which, of course, is hilarious to me. They brought me into their fold for my uniqueness, thinking that would help their cause. Then for centuries, they cursed me for not adding to their ranks, only depleting their prey. Yet they never asked me if I wanted to join them. Not that I asked Seren. But he is grateful for his new life, I think.

***

I’m lost on the winds of a Gulf beach, and I know the stinging of sand across my bare skin is a stand-in for the pinch of pain from this monster’s meal. Will today be the day she lets me drift into the dark forever? Am I going to be cursed to walk the world next to her, never to know the warmth of an ocean sunrise again? Part of me hopes for oblivion while wishing for the curse of her gift. My instincts to live any life I can rage against my despair and I surrender completely. My hopes don’t matter; I am food. I am completely hers.

Unbelievably, I am content. I open my eyes and the moon stares at us in our dark embrace. And she’s smiling at me. It isn’t the evil smile of a predator gorging on its prey. It’s the smile of someone who’s genuinely curious. There’s a strange interest I can’t put my finger on.

“Do you know what this is?” She asks. I shake my head slowly.

“Do you know what I am?” Her words are breathed out with a smoldering fire.

“Yes,” I say softly.

“Would you like to be one?”

I was weak. Her question perplexed me and my limbs were frozen in place. She held me up while I took the time to find my feet under me again. Then I found my voice.

“Be, Like you?”

She tilted her head back and licked her lips from the rest of me draining from of the corners of her mouth, but never took her eyes off me. Her mouth didn’t move but she still spoke to me inside my mind.

“Yes, do you want to live forever?” She began smiling.

“Do you want me to erase her from your mind?”

She reached up with one finger and ran it across my lips smearing the now cold and drying blood across them.

“You could love me, like you love her, you know?”

***

I don’t know how it was that I knew that light in his eyes was a woman. I guess the stirrings of so much human blood coursing through me over the years has sensitized in some way I don’t understand. But in that moment, that one tiny moment of an infinite life, I ached for someone to think of me that way as they die. And maybe that’s the power of the immortals my peers were always antagonizing me about. Maybe that’s the pull they feel as they create the new undead so loyal to them and this new life. So dependent on them for the foundation of their path forward. But is that love or a superiority complex?

***

To be a dead thing, imitating life. To be a dead thing, moved on to the next world. Why can’t my choice be to be left alone? But I know I’ll never walk free. An absence of a fence isn’t freedom. To see the horizon and know that I can’t approach it without a chain of regret pulling me back is almost enough to make me break. My will to live wanes, but refuses to snap. Is it weaker to wither, or to rot? Which is which?

“My love for her was never a choice. It just was. You can make me love you, but I’ll never choose it.”

“Choose life or choose death,” she whispers in my mind.

“You don’t offer life. You offer shadows of living.”

“Choose the shadows, or choose the fire. I’ll not force you.”

In the end, my will isn’t strong enough for oblivion, so I choose damnation.

"I choose you,” and my tears mix with my blood.

And she smiles and puts her teeth in my neck again, but this time it’s more kiss than bite. And she pricks her finger with a tooth and lets the blood trickle into the bite wound and she kisses again. Rather than the kiss of life, it’s the kiss of the undead. And it went on for what seemed like an eternity. When she backed away, I felt regret and longing. A deep dark longing. A hole in my gut, in my very soul. A hole through my entire being.

“You should have killed me,” I said.

“I said the same thing.” There was a great sadness in her voice. “I’m sorry.”

She walks away toward the open window, disappearing in and out of the shadows until she reaches the sill. One side of her shifts in the light and she absorbs the brilliance of the night. Her hair drapes down her shoulder and covers her chest and her long black robe blends her into the darkness of the room.

“You will never love me the same, will you?”

She looks down at the ground seeming disappointed.

“I was a fool to think it was possible.”

***

There are two sides to one bite. They equal a different forever. I pause at the artery and listen as if his blood holds secrets. Does his blood hold secrets? There was a tell in his eyes, the way they shone, there was a taste, reverberating through the blood I’ve ingested over the years that spoke of that shine. So elusive, so interesting.

But is he interesting? I am starting to think he is not. Evoking a feeling of weakness, there is no room for that in my…life. I am starting to think he is just desperate. Or am I projecting? What happens to a mind after so many years of eternal life? Does it begin to…degrade? Is this what is happening? Am I allowing these humans to demoralize me and warp me into a sensibility and desire for intimacy I never had? I position myself for the final bite.

***

The ritual is complete, she leaves me, and my body is wracked with the pain of a million dying cells. I think it’s over, and the pain begins again with a million cells being reborn. My skin is on fire and the sound of silence is a white noise hiding a thousand creaks and groans of wood and nails. I smell the iron of the hammers that drove the nails and I smell my rusted, spilled blood covering them.

I notice no heartbeats because heartbeats belong to food.

I hear her watching me in the Moonshadow.

I scream until I am raw, but I’m not breathless.

I do not breathe.

I can’t forget what it’s like to live, because this pain is a reminder.

I gasp out of habit, collapsed, curled, waiting for the agony to subside. Still, she watches.

I sense the sunrise nearing the window, and I wait for her to take me by the hand.

I consider gripping her when she reaches for me, holding her like the lover she pretends to be, while we burn.

I decide to wait.

I’ve forgotten how to live, but I still know how to die.

When the time is right, I’ll remind her of what it means to do both.

This week's writing prompt was inspired by the Italian movie poster shown on the above cover, "Dimentica Tutto."

Written in order by @Ferryman, @Ledlevee, @ChrisSadhill, and @Meejong.

What follows is lifted from my contributions to a collaborative story told with @Meejong, @chrissadhill, and @ledlevee. The story was inspired by the movie poster photograph above, "Dimentica Tutto."

_______________________________________________

There’s a window open to the night sky. I’m surprised to see it naked, no drapes. The glass is crystal clear, and stars twinkle in the distance. The moon is bright enough to cast a shadow, and I see her moving in the room.

I think she’s smiling, at least it sounds like she is when she says my name. I don’t want to listen, but I turn towards her anyway, my ears perked and primed.

I know she doesn’t use this room in the daytime, but I'm still surprised at the lack of caution with bare window treatments.

There’s no hiding from the sunshine here.

She embraces me, and I’m lost on the winds of a Gulf beach. I retreat into memories of Mexico, of long black hair and sincere smiles. I know the stinging of sand across my bare skin is a stand-in for the pinch of pain from this monster’s meal.

Will today be the day she lets me drift into the dark forever? Am I going to be cursed to walk the world next to her, never to know the warmth of an ocean sunrise again?

Part of me hopes for oblivion while wishing for the curse of her gift. All of me longs for the days when I knew the embrace of true love. Of Truthful love. This place offers no love or truth.

Still, she whispers my name and I can't help but respond to her touch. My biology is outside my control, and she knows this.

How long have I been here, too afraid to leave and too terrified to stay?

My instincts to live any life I can rage against my despair, and I surrender completely.

My hopes don’t matter; I am a dinner guest at a table set for one, and I'm not eating.

I am completely hers.

Unbelievably, I am content.

I open my eyes and the moon stares at us in our dark embrace.

She ends our dance and I'm pulled from my reverie. Handing me a clean strip of linen, she steps back and smiles while I apply familiar pressure.

I pretend not to notice my redness on her lips just as I pretend to not notice the feral length of her teeth.

We both pretend that this doesn't end with me in a box, one way or another.

"What do you want?" She whispers with a voice heavy with satisfaction.

"To be free," I whisper with a croak of a dry sob.

"I can free you from shadows of her." My eyes snap from the night sky to the dark well of her eyes. I know she has spoken without moving her lips; my mind is her open book, and she makes notes in the margins as she reads.

"You offer only shadows of your own," I manage to put strength in my voice despite the weakness in my knees.

She offers choices. To be a dead thing, imitating life. To be a dead thing, moved on to the next world.

Why can’t my choice be to be left alone?

But I know I’ll never walk free. An absence of a fence isn’t freedom. To see the horizon and know that I can’t approach it without a chain of regret pulling me back is almost enough to make me break. My will to live wanes, but refuses to snap.

Is it weaker to wither, or to rot?

Which is which?

“My love for her was never a choice. It just was. You can make me love you, but I’ll not

choose it.”

“I simply offer you the option to choose life or death,” she whispers in my mind.

“You don’t offer life. You offer shadows of living.”

“Walk with me in the shadows, or stand alone in the fire. I’ll not force you.”

I know my will isn’t strong enough for oblivion, so I reluctantly embrace damnation.

"I'll walk with you," I weep.

Faster than I can think, she's on top of me, riding me to the floor. She feeds again, furiously. I don't even have time to drift on memory's bliss before tunnel vision turns the room stark black; I'm dying. I'm dying, and the decision isn't wholly mine, and I smile.

But she stops, and I hear my heartbeat's thready pulse slow. I'm both warm and cold, wet with hot blood cooling in the air. She slashes her wrist with a razored finger, and my lips know the spice of an ancient Egyptian's tomb.

She isn't the graverobber. She is the grave.

I'm the one plundered, and I feast.

The ritual complete, she leaves me, and my body is wracked with the pain of a million dying cells. I think it’s over, and the pain begins again with a million cells being reborn. My skin is on fire and the sound of silence is a white noise hiding a thousand creaks and groans of wood and nails.

I smell sweat of the men who used the iron of hammers that drove the nails and I smell my rusted, spilled blood covering every board.

I notice no heartbeats, because heartbeats belong to food.

I hear her watching me in the moonshadow.

I scream until I am raw, but I’m not breathless.

I do not breathe.

I can’t forget what it’s like to live, because this pain is a reminder.

I gasp out of habit, collapsed, curled, waiting for the agony to subside.

Still, she watches.

I sense the sunrise nearing the window, and I startle when she takes me by the hand.

I consider gripping her with every fiber of my newfound strength when she reaches for me, holding her like the lover she pretends to be, while we burn.

I decide to wait.

I’ve almost forgotten how to live, but I remember how we can die.

When the time is right, I’ll remind her of what it means to do both.

Struck

By how little

I am able

To pull meaning

From any of it

"What do you want for dinner?"

She asks,

From a residential

Kitchen,

"A hill of beans"

I answer,

From a parallel

Dimension.

Now you know

What she's up against.

You should stop

By sometime.

She's beautiful

David Burdett

6/23/2023

Yesterday a bird died

I saw it drop from the sky

I saw it hit the ground

I saw it die

Yesterday a bird died

And the worm carried on

It got to enjoy his day

Because the bird was gone

Yesterday a bird died

And it's only a little sad

What hurts the predator

Makes the prey glad

Yesterday a bird died

There were parties thrown

But also memorials

For the path not flown

Yesterday a bird died

I watched as he fell

To some he's in heaven

To others he's in hell

i don't care if you love me

or kill me

because i promise to the ends of the earth

i'll be yours

and i'll love you until my

body breaks

so please break my

heart

18 years.

I turned 19 on June 8th. To celebrate, I took my friends to my favorite pizza joint. I brought my Polaroid camera and took some pictures with them, and drove to a Circle K afterward to get some slushies. It’s a great day.

June 9th.

I get to work and it’s going well. I work with two of my favorite people and I’ve spent more of the shift laughing than anything else. I go to lunch.

“You aren’t in trouble or anything, but when you get home, mom and dad need to talk to you about something.”

I read it and I have to text my sister back. A million questions.

“Is it important?”

“Very.”

“Is it good important or bad important?”

“Bad. Don’t tell them I told you, you’re not supposed to know about this.”

“You’re making it sound like someone died. Did they?”

“No one died.”

“Why can’t you tell me what this is about?”

“It’s not good to read over text.”

I shrink.

My break ends and I head back out to the floor. I’m standing there and that’s all I do for a minute, and my co-workers notice and they ask how my break went and how I’m doing. I can’t lie, I can’t keep a straight face. I tell them everything. I tell them that something is wrong but that my sister won’t give me anything. I say that nothing has been wrong at home. There had been some hassle around my birthday because of issues getting me a cake and that I suspected my parents were mad at me.

“Sound like a divorce,” one of my co-workers said to me. I shook my head.

“It can’t be that,” I said. “They’ve been together through so much, you don’t understand. I haven’t noticed anything along the lines of divorce, and I feel like I definitely would if that’s what’s going on.”

“You think you’re moving again?” asked my other co-worker, and at that, I lowered my head. I’ve moved at least 7 times throughout my life. Just during Covid we spent a 5-month stint in northern Utah before coming back. The idea blinded me. I could hear their voices sigh and tell me we’re moving and that I’ll have to find a new job and say goodbye to my girlfriend and promise to come back whenever I get the chance. I reflect on the past week, I realize the reality of the situation.

“That sounds like that could be it,” I whisper out in defeat. I work in the center of the store, and right in the middle of the chaos of a Friday, I try not to cry. I try to forget the times I’ve moved, how everyone will react, how little time I’ve spent with so many people that I miss so dearly. I blame my eyes on my allergies and take a pill that I keep stowed in one of the cabinets at the booth.

“Look, man, even if you have to leave, I hope that this happens for a reason and that you prosper in your new environment.” I thank him, and I sniffle.

“Thanks, man.” I sigh. “You make a lot of sense. When bad things happen my dad will stare out the kitchen window. I’ve seen him do it before when someone close to the family died. My sister told me that no one died, but I’ve seen him do that again lately. He’s been sad looking, like yesterday. We played soccer in the house but he looked like something was bothering him, he was barely moving, but I didn’t want to say anything because I thought he was mad at me, and I didn’t want to hear about that while we were playing soccer.”

It’s a hard shift after that. I’m consumed by an outrageous plague of anxiety and both my co-workers jokingly tell me to give my sister a good beating when I get home because she’s scared me to death. It makes me laugh, they both get me to laugh in their own ways, and with their help I’m able to finish off the shift without much affliction. They stepped up to help me with any extra stress that could’ve come to accumulate, they cracked some jokes and even laughed at mine. I finally got feeling okay.

I clock out for the day at 5 since I opened, and when I get to the car, I then turn on my phone and look at my messages. My sister’s messaged me 3 times.

“Never mind,” she said. “It’s not going to happen anymore, they changed their minds and don’t want to tell you. When you get home I’ll still tell you, though.”

I’m able to breathe. I’m able to drive home and not worry that my anxiousness will get me thrown into a wreck on the commute back. In a lengthy voice-to-text note, I tell my sister that I appreciate the heads up but that it killed my mentality through the shift, and that if anything of the sort ever happens again to let me find out on my own. A couple minutes later, she texts back apologizing. I accept it.

I get home. I turn off the car and grab all my belongings, and once I put them in my room, I head over to my parents’ room. They texted as they heard me come in to head to their room.

I step inside and shut the door to keep out the cats. My parents are sat on the bed, my sister sat down on my dad’s office chair. They look like they’ve spent some time crying, even my dad. I’ve never seen my dad cry. I’m in the room, and I remember that my sister said they weren’t going to tell me what all was going on, but seeing them all in the room, I feel as though I’m about to hear it. But I don’t.

“You have a good day, love?”

“Yeah, it was okay,” I say.

“The cake’s ready at Cold Stone so we’re going to go pick it up in a minute. We had them write the thing you wanted on the top of it, crazy.” My mom said, and I chuckled, still anxious. “Just wanted to tell you that we’re getting your cake, I know you were wondering about that.”

“Oh okay, thank you,” I say. And I go to leave. But I look at my sister, and when before I had only seen her in my peripheral, this time I see her directly. She’s slumped in her chair, not crying or anything, but gloomy. I have never seen her look more depressed. It takes me a second to leave because I notice what a toll this secret has taken on her. I’ve never seen my sister look this way before, but there, in that chair, she was broken.

I leave the room and head to the bathroom. I’m sat down and I’m wondering, all over again, what it could be that I’m missing out on. What does my dad, my mom, my sister, everyone in the whole house know about that I don’t? And why does everyone look like they’re recovering from the same thing even though no one’s died and we’re apparently not moving?

A minute goes by, and my dad texts again.

“Can you come back to our room, please?” Butterflies. I can’t even laugh about it; when he said that, every emotion that I came under all day hit me back all at once. My body jittered out for a second and my head began to hurt. I knew in a few short moments what was about to happen.

I finish up. I wash my hands with soap and I step out and into my parents’ room, shutting the door behind me once again. When before they seemed lighthearted enough to be just about to step into public to pick up my cake, they now looked serious. It was time for business. I had no idea what room I had stepped myself into.

“Something has been going on for the past few weeks, you may have seen me act different or mama act different, I don’t know if you have, but we wanted to talk to you about what’s been going on.” I swallow. “Um..” My mom finishes his sentence.

“Mama almost left,” she says in a bluntness I’ve never heard before. I don‘t process what she’s said.

“To where?” I ask, and she slightly laughs. At this, I see my dad tear up, as he must have not too long ago, and he takes his glasses off.

“No, no. I..” She sighs, and something in me breaks as I stand still to listen.

“For the past few weeks I have had a lot of issues, and there’s been so much going on that I’ve had doubts with our relationship. And I’ve prayed and I’ve talked to my cousin and we’ve gotten closer.. and I was going to leave and move in with my cousin. He’s just getting out of a divorce and I got attached and that mixed with me being unhappy in the relationship, I wanted to just leave, and I was going to. Up until today..”

“We told my parents last night,” my dad cut her off. “They can’t believe me. I couldn’t believe it.” He looked over at my sister, she now having tears in her eyes. “She couldn’t believe it. None of your other siblings could believe it.”

“She woke me up yesterday crying,” my sister spoke up, talking about our youngest sister.

“Your brother was crying, and he looked up at me today and he asked me the one question we’ve all been asking this whole time, ‘Why?’ Why? How could this happen, how could she do this? And I didn’t have an answer. That’s what my parents asked me, how could this happen, and I had to tell them that I don’t know.” My mom, three feet to the side of him, was crying, and seeing my sister cry made my dad cry. I have never seen my dad cry. I cannot stand to cry in front of others, and I stand there, and nothing that anyone says processes. I’m standing there like a fucking scarecrow, only one that looks like his birthday time has been cut so incredibly short so suddenly that he’s reduced to what he’d look like without a face.

My mom talks and she apologizes, and she talks about her feelings but they don’t make sense to me and I cannot take in any of her words. She cries, my sister cries, and my dad cries. And everyone is incredibly sorry.

“We’ve been hiding this from you because we didn’t want to ruin your birthday,” she tells me, and I understand. “Today was officially going to be the day I was going to get things packed and I was going to leave. But.. I changed my mind. I want to stay with you guys. I want to be here. I can’t leave you.” Her tears come again.

“We were going to tell her parents tomorrow,” says my dad, and he shakes his head. “This..” He has tears coming again, and I have never seen my dad cry. “This is going to make us closer in our relationship,” he gets out as he’s holding everything back. And he hugs my mom, and I just watch as they hug, and I watch as my dad hugs me, and I watch as my mom hugs me. And I watch as they say I’m good to go and that they’ll leave for the cake. I head to my room and I lay myself down. The heat from the sun comes through my window, and I feel it but I don’t understand it, it seems.

I cry. I cry the whole time they’re out. I haven’t cried so much in years. Years. I used to keep track of reasons I’d cry, but this would take all the reasons for a spin. They get the cake, and of course it takes a while. But I’m still crying when they get back. I’m still hurting and wondering why like we all have. My brother in his bed just 6 feet from mine walks over and gives me a hug, and he tells me, “Mommy isn’t leaving us, Yousuf.” And he’s happy. He’s not crying. He feels safe again. But me, I’m hearing this for the first time, ans all my memories as their child and as an older brother flood back in, and all the pictures of me as a baby come to mind, and I give my brother a hug, and I cannot stop crying.

I love my parents. I love my family. I love the imperfections of life and I love who I am. But I have the hardest time processing change, and I have always been riddled with an overwhelming sense of needing protection and some sort of resemblance to what the past used to be. I have always need a friendly hand to hold, a kind person to talk to, and a healthy community where I can remain ignorant because I’m young and trying my hardest to be good. I can handle certain things and inconveniences, I can handle change sometimes and I can adapt to my surrounding, but these moments, these things that happened just weeks ago, will never fucking escape me. I have been on the edge of my seat sense, and I am in worry that at any moment, I family will cease to be what it has always been; The parents, the family, the life I love.

Hello, Writers and Dear Readers.

On the channel today, we feature a tie for first in last week's challenge, and announce Challenge of the Week CCXXIX, which is linked just below this small paragraph, which will technically consist of four lines, because four lines just adds up on this hot and bright summer Thursday. Hope you sexy-minded beasts are keeping cool.

Number 229: https://theprose.com/challenge/14099

Channel link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6baahLzdXPY

And.

As always.

-Thank you for being here.

The Prose. team

I just turned 40 a few months ago. I wonder if it would feel different if I was a man. I was hoping that what I'd heard from older folks would be true and I wouldn't notice any difference. But I feel weird. 30 felt like yesterday and 25 was just last week. I swear it.

Is 40 still "middle aged"? But what is my middle age? I won't know what it had been until I die I guess.

It's weird to be 40 and still feel like I'm not really an adult. Calling myself a woman feels odd.

I'm married and have a career, but being a "woman" and no longer a "girl"? When did that happen? I still remember being a little kid and playing in the mud. I can feel the gritty, wet earth clumped between my toes.

My body is changing and time keeps moving forward. I am trying to accept and not hate it, but it is scary.

My husband still thinks I'm beautiful, but wonder will that change? I know it's my own insecurity and nothing he's said or done to make me worry. I can only do so much to stop the advancement of time on my skin. I moisturize now, and drink lots of water and wear sunblock inside. I take vitamins.

I used to eat fast food and not gain weight. I used to stay up until 2pm drinking with friends and go to work the next day to stare at a computer screen with blurry, hungover eyes. ....I guess not all the changes are bad. I feel pretty damned rested most days.

I have a strange mix of emotions of fear and excitement about what's next. Excited that good things keep coming, but a fear that they will stop. I know all this is normal. It helps to write it out.

I don't plan on playing into the midlife crisis and buying big dumb things or acting like a young fool. I am just secure enough to remain a rock in my family.

But it still feels weird.

Preteen girls on the playground parked on the curb, plucking their dying daisies,

"Does he love me? Does he not?".

It's unfair- let them be me! I sit on the curb of thirteen- sleepless,

"Am I? Aren't I? I can't be!"

My sweat and tears are dipped in misery, "Do I like her? Do I not?".

If god's there why'd he do this to me, "Why me! Why me!"

The 'normal' girls were content; I was dragged unwillingly.

Is my love not worth these daisies?

So now, when I tell you,

"I am."

How dare you tell me,

"You can't."?