I gripped my knife as he entered the room, and tried to crouch tighter against the shadows of the corner. It was too risky to show myself. The government's soldiers were everywhere--and besides, even if he was on my side, I wasn't sure I wanted to make alliances.

He had mousy brown hair and freckles splattered across his nose and cheeks. He had brilliant green eyes, but bags hung beneath him, indicating that he had not gotten much sleep for days, like most people. Dirt smeared his face and hands. His lips parted and he let out a quiet yawn.

I narrowed my eyes and held my knife closer to me. What was he doing here? Why did he seem so careless? I scowled. Was he even going to do something, or was he just going to stand there like an idiot?

His gaze darted around the room, and I tensed as it flitted past me. I relaxed. He hadn't seen me yet. I stroked my knife, and glanced up at him.

His gaze rested on a vase, and he walked over to study it. He took it from the shelf and turned it over in his hands, running his fingers along the intricate designs and carvings. After what seemed like hours--although it could have just been minutes--he lay the vase back on the shelf, glanced around one more time, and walked out of the room.

I sat crouched in the corner for a very long time after he left, to make sure that he wasn't going to come back. Finally, I crawled out of the corner, knife in hand. I stretched, and tip-toed over to study the vase. The designs and carvings seemed to tell a story--one that I could not follow, of course, for the carvings and designs were jumbled all over the place--but it was a story, at that.

Suddenly, the door opened, and I dropped the vase. It shattered into thousands of tiny pieces, and a gasp came from the door.

I glanced over to see him again. I gritted my teeth. I had been sure he was gone--yet here he was. I ran my thumb of my knife's handle, and said, my voice thick with menace, "Who are you? Friend or foe?"

He gazed at me for a long while before answering. He tipped his head and said, his voice a bit shaky, "I--I would ask the s-same of you."

I raised my knife. "I asked the question first," I hissed. "Now, answer me, or I'll kill you."

He blinked. "You're--You're one of them, right? The government's enemies?" He drew in a breath. "I guess I'm a foe."

I rolled my eyes. "Thought so. Government's pet." I paused for a moment, and lunged forward, knife in hand. "I guess I'll have to kill you."

I tried to stab his throat, but he blocked my blow with his own knife. He tried to knock my knife out of my hand, but, when that didn't work, he squeezed his eyes shut and stabbed my shoulder instead.

I dropped my knife and fell away from him. It took me a moment to register that I had been stabbed. I glanced down at the knife lodged in my shoulder, and thought simply, 'Oh. I've been stabbed.' And once I realized that, pain started running up and down my arm, making me gasp in agony and resist the urge to scream.

His eyes widened, and his eyes searched the room. After a quick moment, he raced up to a table and stole the cloth from it, and he then ran back to me. "Sorry," he said quietly, "but this is going to hurt." He yanked the knife from my shoulder and pressed the cloth against the wound, which had started gushing blood.

And hurt it did. Pain exploded from my shoulder and black spots started to dance in my vision, but I pushed them away. Confusion started to cloud the pain, and I asked, "Why are you helping me, government's pet? You're supposed to be the enemy. Need help with that? Okay, I'll give you instructions. I'm the enemy. You kill the enemy."

He stared down at the cloth, which was starting to redden with my blood. "I don't like killing people," he said softly.

"You don't like killing people?" I scoffed. "Uh-huh. You're a soldier; you're a government's pet. That's what you do. You fight, you kill."

Suddenly, he stopped applying pressure to my wound and gazed up at me. "I don't kill people," he said, and then mumbled something that I could not make out.

"Then why're you a soldier?" I snarled."Well, pet? Why do you stand with the government, loyal like a drooling dog?" I narrowed my eyes. "Soldiers kill people, and that's why I don't stand with them."

His eyes started to burn with an angry fire. "Why do I fight for the government?" He asked, his voice low. "Why am I a soldier? Because I need to support my family, that's why. Because we are poor, and we need money. And by fighting for the government, I can give them the support they need." His voice started to rise. "I do NOT kill people. I have not killed anyone; not once in my life. And what about you? You are apparently against killing people, huh? Well, what about back there? You tried to kill me. And how many others have you tried to kill? How many soldiers, how many elders, how many children, standing with the government? And how many times have you succeeded?"

I stared at him, silent for a long, long time as I, surprised at his outburst, mulled over what he said. Finally, I said softly, "Four. I have killed four soldiers." I turned away, suddenly ashamed under his intense gaze.

His hands started to push against the cloth again. "I thought so," came his whispered reply.

After a few more minutes, he removed the cloth, for the blood had stopped. He gave my shoulder a few more dabs, and then said, "How's your shoulder? I'm really sorry that I hurt you."

My shoulder was lightly throbbing, but I said, "It's fine." I paused. "And, um, thank you."

He smiled a bit. "You are very welcome." He tilted his head. "What's your name? I'm Cooper."

"Amanda," I replied, not smiling back, "but my friends call me Mandi." I prodded my shoulder a bit, resting where it hurt and where it didn't. I winced as my fingers found a tender spot.

Cooper laughed quietly, for no reason. "And can I call you Mandi?"

I thought about this. "No." I got to my feet. "Well, I'll be leaving now. I should probably go before you run off to get the authorities." I rolled my eyes, walked over to the corner, and slung my backpack over my good shoulder. I turned on my heel and started out the door.

"Wait!" Cooper called. "Mandi--I mean, Amanda." He grabbed my hand.

I spun around. "What do you need?" I spat. "I'm not coming with you willingly to the headquarters, pet." I yanked my hand away from his.

"I know that..." He paused, and locked his gaze with mine. "Where are you going, Amanda?"

I sighed. "Somewhere. Anywhere. Away from here." I made big gestures with my hands as I said it. "Everywhere."

"I..." Cooper hesitated. "Um, could I come with you?"

I blinked, and scowled. "Are you kidding me, pet? God, no. You're a soldier. Is this some sort of dumb trick? Because I'm not falling for it."

Cooper took a step back. "No."

I crossed my arms. "Well, then. Why do you want to come?"

"Because... Because, your shoulder isn't fully healed yet. I need to keep an eye one that." His mouth twisted into a half-smile.

I sighed. "Okay, look. I know that's not the only reason, so unless you can cough it up, I'm leaving you here."

Cooper looked down at his shoes. "Well... Well... You're the closest thing I've had to a friend for a long, long time." He looked at his feet. "And... My family. There's something I didn't tell you." He sighed. "Well, okay. I lied. My family doesn't need my support. Not really." He turned away. "My family's rich. But they... They support the government entirely, and... And so... I had to work for the government, or else my family... Well, let's just say, um... They aren't exactly kind to people that don't support the government."

I was quiet for a long time. "You mean... You don't support the government? And why did you lie?" I scowled, and crossed my arms.

He bit his thumbnail. "If I told you the truth, you would have killed me. You know you would have."

"Yes," I said slowly. "Yes, I would have. But if it was a choice, why did you join? And what's all this about not supporting the government? And why did you choose to tell me the truth now, only minutes later? I could kill you right now, if I wanted. Oh yeah, and just to be honest: we aren't friends. I tried to kill you, Cooper. That isn't friendship."

He smiled the tiniest bit. "You softened up in those minutes. You won't kill me; I can tell. I could have killed you, but I didn't." He shrugged. "I don't support the government. Not really. But I'm not against the government, either, not like you." He sucked in a breath. "If I hadn't of joined, my family would have gotten suspicious." He glanced at me, eyes wide. "And Amanda, you don't know my family. They're harsh." He shuddered a bit. "You may have tried to kill me. But you didn't."

"I tried. And I can do it again." I picked my knife up from off the floor.

"You aren't going to."

"Why do you think that?"

"Because I just healed your shoulder. And because of your eyes. They aren't cold, although your voice may be. I already told you this."

"And stabbed it," I said, ignoring what he said about my eyes.

"I could have killed you, but I didn't. You owe me one."

Silence.

"Oh, fine," I sighed, giving in. "But you make any attempt to find the government officials, I will kill you."

He grinned. "Got it." He started out the door, and I followed.

In the empty hallways, I said sternly, "You aren't allowed to talk, pet. Too dangerous."

"Okay, fine," Cooper said, and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

There was a long silence as we walked through the metallic halls, occasionally stopping to hide in the corners as soldiers passed.

Then Cooper spoke. "Hey, Mandi?"

"Don't CALL me that," I mumbled.

"Amanda?"

"What?!"

His eyes glinted a bit. "We make a good team."

I hesitated before speaking. "No, we don't. We aren't even a team yet." I heard a soldier's footsteps, and him and I hid in a corner.

Once the footsteps had faded, Cooper let out a quiet laugh. "We are to a team. I'm protecting you; you are protecting me."

I gazed at him for a long time before answering. Then I picked at my cuticles with my knife point, and said, "I guess... We sort of make a good team. We make an okay team."

We started walking down the hall again, and Cooper said, "We need to come up with a team name."

"Oh, no. No, no, no."

"Please?"

"No! What are you, ten?"

"Almost eleven."

"Stop joking." I scowled.

He poked me. "Okay, grump." His eyes lit up. "Wait! We could be the Tenners! Yeah, that's a good name."

"Stop shouting, Cooper. Anyway, that's a stupid name." I almost smiled, but I managed to keep my lips pressed in a tight line. "How old are you, anyway? I'm seventeen, if you must know."

"I told you. Almost eleven."

"Oh, shut up and be serious."

He sighed softly. "Seventeen."

"Thought so."

We walked in silence for a long time, hiding from guards, listening to our echoing footsteps.

"Um, Mandi?"

I didn't correct him. "Yes?"

"Uh..." He hesitated. "Thank you. For taking me with you."

I opened my mouth to shoot a sharp remark at him, but I thought better of it, and said quietly, "You're welcome." What I didn't tell him was that I was glad of his company--that I liked the sound of double footsteps, that it was nice to hear his voice.

I wasn't alone anymore.

As mentioned last Monday, we are launching a blog series in which our Prose. Partners will take on the question, "Why Prose.?"

To kick off the series, this week we welcome author, blogger, and editor, Jaime Mathis (@jaimemathis).

Why Prose.?

Because I want to be better. To strive for excellence in every comma, plot and spelling. To raise my bar by associating with writers more talented, diligent, and inspired than I am. Yes, I want a community that keeps me honest and challenges me to improve because I am a WRITER. Not a dilettante, not someone looking for free therapy and not someone trying to get laid or pick a fight.

Facebook is for people who don’t give a shit about the art of the written word and try to turn everything into a virtual popularity contest that has no reflection on the content, skill or merit of an idea or illustration. There is no place for pettiness or semantics or emotional neediness in Prose. as I imagine it. There are trenches that reach to glory, strung with sentences that are tight to bursting with pulchritude and punch. Prose. because you’re committed to building an empire of narrative and poem that has a fine foundation and something to screw light bulbs into.

I’m here because I want to be stretched within an inch of my skills, called to task on words that don’t quite sing and chided when semi-colons are merely decorative. I’m here because I believe in the power of craftsmanship and that it takes a community to hone a diamond from coal.

...

Stay tuned for this narrative in its entirety later today on The Official Prose. Blog at: blog.theprose.com/blog.

"No, Mommy, I don't want to go in there!" The girl wails. She has bright green eyes and curly brown hair. Her lips are curled, and she crosses her arms. "I won't go."

The mother takes her daughter's hand. "It's only for a little while, love. It'll be over before you know it."

The girl shudders, and pulls away from her mom. "But they're gonna give me a shot."

The mother bites her lip. "Yes, they are. But--honey-"

"I WON'T GO!" The girl's eyes well up with tears, and soon they stream down her cheeks.

The mother sighs. "Darling, it's for your health. You don't want to get sick, do you?"

The girl lets out a small whimper. "You can't make me go, Mommy."

The mother is about to respond when a nurse, a smile plastered on her face, comes into the waiting room. "Is she ready?" The nurse asks.

"NO! NO! NO!" The girl's face is red from screaming and crying. She clutches her teddy bear. "You can't make me!"

The nurse still his her smile, but she really hates having to put up with this. "Now, sweetheart, I-"

"You can't make me get a shot, you can't make me!" The girl's eyes are wide with fear. She buries her face in her teddy bear and lets out a sob.

The nurse clasps her hands together, and tilts her head. "Oh, it'll be over before you know it. You won't feel a thing!"

The girl brings her teddy bear down from over her eyes, and peers up at the nurse. "I don't wanna get a shot," she says, her voice hot with tears.

The mother lifts her daughter up, and heaves her onto her hip, although she's been telling her daughter that she's been too old for being carried for a while now. The mother kisses the girl's cheek. "Shh, it'll be alright."

The girl starts sucking on her teddy bear's ears. "Really, Mommy? Really?"

Another kiss from the mother. "Really, honey."

The three of them walk into bright room full of stuffed animals, cardboard books, and cartoony posters.

All is going well, until the doctor comes in, and brings out the shot.

The girl lets out a scream. "NO, NO, NO! NO!"

The mother looks flustered. "Shh, honey, shh."

The girl is shaking. "NO! You can't make me, you really can't!"

The doctor, a man with warm brown eyes and shocking red hair, smiles. "It won't hurt, I promise."

The girl shakes her head vigorously. "No!"

The mother lets out a long, soft sigh. "Sweetheart, just hold out your arm."

The girl lets out another scream. "NO, NO!"

The adults try to persuade her.

"You won't even feel it."

"It'll be fine."

"It will help you."

"I promise that it will be okay."

"Just hold out your arm."

The girl gazes at her mother and the doctor, her green eyes wet with tears. She wipes them away, and holds out her arm. Her heart is racing and she is taking in short, fearful gasps of breath.

The doctor wipes a spot on her arm, and plunges the needle in.

The girl lets out a terrified scream, although it doesn't hurt that much, not really.

The doctor takes the needle out, and disposes it. He puts an Ariel Band-Aid on her arm, where she had gotten the shot. "See? It wasn't that bad," he says calmly.

The girl hesitates. Her heart is still racing, although it is slowing a bit. She glances at the doctor, and at her mother. "It wasn't so bad," she admits.

Her mother beams. "I'm so proud of you, honey."

And the girl is proud of herself, too. After she gets her lollipop and is out the door, she says, "Mommy, I have a question."

"What is it, honey?"

"Can I get a shot again?" She asks, very seriously. "I really like lollipops, Mommy."

The mother laughs, but the girl just looks confused. "We'll come back soon enough," she says, and ruffles her daughter's hair.

"Okay!" The girl says cheerfully, and dashes off, cherry lollipop in mouth, teddy bear under arm.

Once upon a time there lived a man and a woman--Love and Hate.

Love had beautiful blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes.

Hate had black hair and dark, covered eyes.

Love and Hate were two of the most unlikely people to fall in love--but they did.

Love was working at a farmer's market, happily selling peaches to lovesick strangers.

Hate, his head covered in the hood of his jacket, was selling rings and necklaces--although he didn't sell much of them.

Love, when her break came, headed over to Hate's stand.

"I'd like a necklace, please," she said in her smooth, pretty voice.

Hate looked into her blue eyes and nodded. "Which one?"

Love pointed to a small necklace that had a blue stone in the middle. "It's for my mother," she explained.

Hate tilted his head to one side. "You don't have a lover, do you?"

Love blushed. "Ah. No, I don't." Her voice was wistful. "The only man I ever loved regected me, and..." She broke off. "The necklace, please." She placed some money on Hate's counter.

But Hate didn't take the money. He just glanced at it and gave it back to Love, along with the necklace. "My gift," he said softly.

Love gazed at him for a moment. "Thank you," she murmured, and left.

Throughout the day, Love and Hate stole shy glances at each other, although they could never gather up the courage to walk up to the one they had fallen in love with and talk to them.

Finally, at the end of the day, Love and Hate bumped into each other again.

Love tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Oh!" She exclaimed. "I'm... I'm really sorry."

"No." Hate shook his head. "I... That was my fault."

For a few minutes, they just stared at their shoes, words unable to form on their tongues.

Hate said, "That necklace... It matches your eyes."

"It matches my mother's eyes," Love murmured. "I... I got my eyes from her." She laughed. "Well. I mean, not literally..."

Hate smiled. "I'd be surprised if your mother was as half as beautiful as you are."

Love felt her cheeks grow hot. "She's more beautiful," she blurted out. "Everyone... Everyone says so."

"That she's more beautiful than you?" Hate asked. "You don't believe them, do you?"

"I... I..." Love sucked in a breath of air. "I need to go."

Hate sighed. "What's your name? Are you from my Clan?"

"I'm from the Clan of the Sun," Love said. "My... My name is Love."

"And I am Hate," Hate said. "I'm from the Clan of the Moon."

"Oh." Love rubbed her mother's necklace against her fingers. "Well, we won't be seeing each other again. You know that friendships are forbidden as well as I do."

"Yes." Hate nodded, and turned away so Love could not see the tears pricking at his eyes like thorns.

Love bit her lip, turned on her heel, and followed after the people of her Clan, not able to admit to herself that she had fallen in love.

And Hate followed after after his Clan, thinking only of Love.

Here is the real reason the chicken crossed the road. So one day he was in his shower enjoying himself when a spider dropped from the ceiling. If you didn't know chickens are terrified of spiders. Anyway when he saw the spider the chicken ran out of the shower, out of his house, then he crossed the road. That is the true reason why the chicken crossed the road!