I was all of 16 n 1963, I spent my summer vacation in a small place known as Kerr (pronounced cur) Station. Population yahoo but my grandmother lived there and ran a country store a number of years after her husband, my grandfather passed away.

It was that summer, my uncle found a job working in Smithfield at a processing plant and about a week after I arrived, asked me if I would be interested in working there.

"Pays seven and hour, Billy. Taint hard. All ya gotta do is wash down the floors, scrub real good, then wash it down again. Takes about five hours to get it ready for when they open up the next day. I can get ya in if ya wanna."

I thought about it for all of twenty seconds before I said, "Sure, why not."

Three words that were the worst three words I ever said.

My uncle didn't tell me what kind of processing plant it was, the day after I was hired, I showed up to do the best job I could.

I walked into a large room with all sorts of rubber insulated wiring hanging from the ceiling. The place had to have been over 1500 feet of concrete, blood and ... guts.

The smell hit me like a mack truck would hit a Volkswagen head on.

I wore protective gear such as goggles and a breathing mask and wore a bright yellow raincoat to keep me from soaking my own clothes and rainboots.

But no mask in the world could prevent the stench surrounding me to just go away. No matter where I turned, there were portions of chicken guts everywhere I looked, even a few chicken heads.

I stuck it out and finished the job but when I was finished, I quit.

My uncle laughed. He told me I was the sixth person hired in two weeks to do that job.

It took the better part of two weeks to wash away the stench that seemed to never leave my body.

I swore that day never to take another job he told me about.

Oh, and I haven't eaten any chicken since then.

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A mother cries as her baby dies.

They say it was a hoax.

And that's all folks!

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Faultlines are spreading

Across your skin.

The camera zooms in

Searching....true beauty lies within.

We are idiots trapped in a Web

Dealing in lies, collecting debts

Setting fire with every little step

When will we realize?

This is the end.

Modern society is one of the most confusing periods in history, and we are all living through it. Over-flowed with varying types of people with different beliefs, looks, feelings, and reactions; it is nearly impossible to understand society today. You never truly know each individual, even if you have known them lifelong.

Living in an age of uncertainty, we hope and pray that people will be hygienic in public; even at home. In various cases, this is not reality. Many people choose not to wash their hands while haggling with food, and even more disgustingly; after taking a trip to the toilet. This is sickening and a solution is necessary to “clean up” the population. While developing a solution, we need to find a way to deal with these unclean citizens. One way of this could be by carrying gloves around everywhere. We can also grab napkins or paper towels to battle the danger of opening public bathroom doors. To be extra safe, people can wear gloves whilst gripping a napkin; covering the napkin with a paper towel. The dangers of opening disgusting public bathroom doors can be lessened by executing this. These three items; along with numerous additional items should be essentials carried in a monster truck.

As we all know, monster trucks are one of the most riveting vehicles in the world. Many people wish to ride in one before they die. To ride in one, all of these essentials must be carried to enhance your riding experience: A wireless speaker(to blast your music at top volume while enjoying the ride of your life), protein bars, lots of water(to keep passengers full and hydrated so they can extend their time inside the truck), mobile phone(allowing the passengers to show their friends the engrossing vehicle that they are in, encouraging them to hop into the monster truck), and finally; a tire air pump(ensuring a smooth and safe ride)

In an ever-changing society, taking advantage of every opportunity possible is necessary. Whether it be finding a new job, moving to a new state, riding in a crazy monster truck, to staying protected from the surrounding crowd; it is essential to never stop exploring possibilities.

The mist shrouded the mountain like a snake that is about to squeeze its prey

At this place, far away from human civilization, I found my nirvana—

fresh air, fresh view, and fresh climb

Trees stretched their fingers towards the azure sky while bees and flies

circled around their trunks, always searching for something,

maybe blossoms that never grew on the branches

I too, am searching for something...

Peace and serenity

Darting around in circles, the swallows performed gymnastics as they rushed upwards, plunged down in neat swoops, and then spiraled into the air

Grey-headed bullfinches sat unperturbedly on flowering bushes and fruit-laden trees

as rain lightly licked their feathers

A bird hopped on its feet and looked at me with curious, black eyes

I stood there, unmoving

A straw-thatched house perched on a grassy slope, its door ajar as if inviting me in From the west, a puff of wind lightly tingled the straw on the roof and dipped its fingers in the sluggish river below

Sheltered by lush plants and friendly animals, I even forgot that this was a tourist site—it was a comfortable home for me

However, my reverie was broken when my mother

and some crazy monkeys stepped in my way

“Smile!” my mother yelled to me as she snapped a picture

of me gaping at the mountain

“Oh mom, you broke the silence!” I complained

“We’re going down the mountain anyway,” she replied

As I descended, I took one last look at the startling Giotto-blue sky

and the swallows that dotted it

But before my we reached the bottom, several monkeys blocked the way

One monkey grabbed my leg and hugged it as if it were a precious piece of banana

Another monkey approached and reached for my floral scarf

I was aware that Mom was probably saving this memory inside her camera

As I detangled out of the monkeys’ reaches, I realized that

I was actually enjoying their presence—

that was until one jumped on my back and tried to rip my hair out

And I also realized that my water bottle in my backpack was gone

As I veered off into the craziness that represents my world,

I stole a moment to just breathe,

took in the magnificent view,

and found peace to take with me

But even with the flowers, trees, and other parts of nature

that I feverishly love so much,

from the safe haven of my backyard to the green spaces of the park,

I felt at peace on this mountain

I rested on the rocky slope overlooking the mountain,

able to gaze out much farther and stand much taller than I typically can

I enjoyed the rough climb upwards because at the apex

I could survey what looked like the whole world

On that mountain, I realized that what captured my heart about the climb is that once I reached my destination, I became part of Nature—

I was in the clouds,

the river flowing below,

the ghostly mist,

the twittering birds,

and the playful monkeys

don't judge a crook by its cover

when judging covers, if first you dont succeed, book book again.

judge a Don't by covering its book.

don't blow a judge's cover, Bookie.

Booker don't judge. he just covers up the mess.

"by thy cover i will know thee" (book of Judges, ch. III, l. 21

you can stretch the judge's skin over the book, but it makes a messy dust jacket.

don't judge an adaptation by its book.

let he who is without a cover, judge the first book.

you don't bring a book to a gunfight, you bring Judge Dread and take cover.

judge an ex-president by his cover, not his "book".

you can lead a book to cover, but you can't make it judge.

passing judgment is like passing gas, there are plenty of 'don't's and 'boo's but there is no cover.

don't judge a manhole by its cover.

cover me, oh, cover, don't judge me by my book.

no use closing the book cover, after judges ran out.

don't 'judge' a Brooke under the cover.

the book "the cover Don Judganni" is about being yourself.

glass temple and weathervain kind of lies and mysterious cracks built on earthen leaves rainwater crawling through empty vine snaking like smoke up and down and through the walls

give in and free yourself or dont or give up or in out through

through the walls lit by candle light or whip lash trembling lightning laughing spilling though your mouth and out and over the terrible hilltops dragon laughter dragon wings flapping and generating the most horrible gust of air enough to knock them all over and extinguish all the flames

no more light just dark just a wind filled sky and blinking eyes in the sky

fall to the ground and pick up a handful of earth worm like fingers and tentacle arms tear through the skin and bone unlawful sins gush roses ragged breath

someday some one will find this, remains and remains and plentiful skin shells littered empty open weaved through each other like sick lovers too lost too soon too broken and misshaped to identify cracks in the line through the earth through the sky

when the clouds crack in half and the moon crash lands and glittering gold the blinking eyes align like firestorm wicked planets gone

touch the sky and forget to do anything but extend a fingertip peel the flames away from the sun and wear them like a crown

take that fire with you underground

I feel trapped in a painting, unable to wiggle

even a little.

It happened when I lost my identity two days ago

after never listening to myself and my own desires.

Always bending to others' persuasion

always soaking in everything like a sponge.

Then a stranger entered into my body.

My eyes has no fire, my face is colorless,

my hands remain motionless,

my heart swings to a stop,

and I am always looking

in that direction.

Call me mad if you wish, but life's events ebb in and ebb out,

never affecting me

trapped in that still

pose

and always wearing that expression of boredom

and vacancy.

I long to go to the outside world,

where Mother's homemade apricot pies await me.

Where there's the constant struggle of school, work, and relationships.

Where I can be drunk in the perfume of wisterias and lilies.

Where I can actually appreciate art from an outsider's perspective.

Where I can at least make faces and not stare dumbly into space,

waiting

for others to interpret my feelings.

Clank!

Now I am being shipped off to another place...

A laundry room perhaps?

Or a patio?

Or a bathroom?

Or a dentist's office?

Or another garage?

Or worse...a closet?

Either way, I am still

trapped.

Sorry I’ve been offline lately everyone, it’s a mix between writers block and lack of interest in writing. But I still dearly appreciate everyone here :D

The device I used to check Prose on stopped working for some unknown reason, so I’ve been checking Prose off a different device. I haven’t remembered as much to check Prose as before, but I’ll still try to stay somewhat active. Even if I show no activity for a month, just know I’m still here, and shall return every now and then :)

I haven't had as much motivation with writing as much as I used to, but know that I'm ok and doing well :3

-sincerely Voidkin

This one is right up my street.

Counting is for mathmaticians accountants and the like.

Me I am a wordy bird who likes to write free, unencumbered by form like the wind to the sea.

Tanka and Haiku, just the thought brings on a cold sweat. “Count the syllables.” Those three words are enough I regret.

So, this challenge is hunky dory,

I can scribble on the page without a second thought for logic or a Triad of syllable and phrase.

#NotHiaku #challenge