Midnights make me miss you

I write, crying in my bedroom at one am, all alone

I know that he left to make the hurting stop,

but what I don't know is how the pain was never worth our love to him

It was to me.

I would've stayed forever,

because I was always comfortable with him,

even if it hurt.

And I know he doesn't think about me anymore,

but the memories of him,

of us,

still haunt me.

He haunts me when I'm happy,

surrounded by people I love.

And he haunts me when I'm all alone,

crying, missing you,

when I'm alone and spiraling,

when it's midnight again.

(Based on Midnight Rain by Taylor Swift, not exactly my favorite song, but one I've been feeling lately)

Friends, authors, Prosermen, lend me your corneas!

It is with great honor I bestow upon blah, blah, blah, let's get down to the winners, right?!

No way! These participants deserve far more than "Here's who won..." This challenge was freaking awesome! It had a terrible and ironic flaw from the very onset, which I admit, I created myself using an unparalleled lack of foresight, but the potential for greatness revealed itself very early on as well. Please, these are your people. Indulge me.

@InvisibleWriter submitted a brilliant initial entry, "what once was," that was just dripping with talent! The painful scorn of fading love and the inevitable landslide sheered from a mountain of unreciprocated dreams. Alas, the flaw in the challenge revealed itself right away (and I'll further address that below).

Then, @Akitoyu added "A Leap of Faith," another absolutely brilliant write from a voyeur's point of view, looking downward upon a troubled dancer in a storm, so careless with life itself that even death appeared a welcome end to a broken heart. Akito clearly showed up ready to win, but @Mariah came down hard with "The Letter." What a tantalizing approach--a secret letter wrought with vulnerability, seeking clarification of her suspicions: a possible suitor's not-so-covert hints of infatuation, but the letter itself is a calculated risk as it threatens to upset a delicate balance between two peoples.

Then things got interesting. The Letter was, as it demanded, answered post haste by one @DustyGrein with "The Reply." Lady H's suspicions were confirmed, and her vulnerabilities returned as Lord B expressed his will to risk everything at the chance of his infatuation being reciprocated with a single kiss. Fantastic! To bear witness to the birth of such an eloquent love story!

Enter @ChrisSadhill

His Part two to Akito's "Leap of Faith" was out of this world. The perspective of the sullen dancer-- imploring death's release from heartache's pain by taunting any higher power to strike down what was left of an empty soul, only to have death mock the plea, further heightening the rage, before revealing the voyeur's silhouette and clearing a path toward new love.

As if things weren't heating up enough, @U submitted "Something in the Eyes (Part 01). @U, who is rumored to be closely related to @A , kept me soaring this way and that as I shared, for a moment, the aftermath of a life lived in penned fantasies and fictional dreams. An invitation was extended to @Mavia to supplement the downtrodden writer's plea for help, and what an answer to receive! As a child, I had Heather Locklear pinned to my wall. As an adult, I now have this paragraph:

......... --I will fill you. With tireless wings I will lift your blackened carcass as if the weight were meaningless. And I'll breath a single kiss of passion forlorn into your wordless abyss till the color floods back into your fingertips, back into your ankles, elbows, and knees, back to your mind, ventricles, and entrails and all your lifegiving forces-- readied like paint for the making. And when we're fully connected in broadest of daylight, you'll come to your senses. You'll stand with me willingly, forcefully, giving... like it never happened. --@Mavia

@DanPhantom123 took me on an unexpected comedic journey reminiscent of both Alice's Restaurant and Alice in Wonderland! What else can one say, at the end of it all, but "what a trip!" This is an excellent example what happens when psychedelics, video games, and keyboards mix. So. Freakin. Fun! The brilliant mind of @DustyGrein graced this entry with a follow-up prescription, and with the right amount of counteracting drugs, and professional supervision, we think DanPhantom123 will be juuuuust fine.

Right when I thought it was time to put a fork in this challenge, a last-minute entry was submitted by @Fabulam desperately asking, "What do I do Now?" And there's a twist! Read the damn thing! Holy balls! I really, really wanted--aw, hell--I hoped, someone would respond to this slice of genius.

Enter @ChrisSadhill

I can't do it--I'd need the powers of @TheWolfeDen to give this piece the proper wrap up. Just go there. Read it. I only wish there had been more time for these two writers to develop this quid pro quo before the challenge ended. Fan-freakin-tastic!

So who wins, dammit?!

That's easy. I win! It's been such a pleasure reading these entries, I'm just thrilled to death! The winners, for the purpose of choosing winners, are Akitoyu, for "Leap of Faith," and ChrisSadhill for the reply, "Leap of Faith, part 2."

For their wonderful entries, everyone else will receive a whopping $5 donation as well. This isn't some everybody-gets-a-trophy proposition--this is for putting in the effort to create great writing! Thanks to all of you, I am anxiously looking forward to creating A Challenge of Inspiration II!

Now, as for the near-fatal flaw in the challenge, here's where I screwed up:

It seems wherever I go, I always end up looking for ways to circumvent the parameters of my world. After submitting my very first challenge entry on theProse., I wanted to submit another, taking the prompt in an entirely different direction. Alas, editing a challenge entry isn't even allowed, let alone creating a second one. I cheated the system in creating A Challenge of Inspiration, allowing an initial entry to be built upon by multiple respondents, and allowing authors to respond to multiple initial entries. But I really shot myself in the foot by suggesting the initial author tag a fellow Proser, unintentionally implying the invitation simultaneously uninvited all others. The idea, as the title suggests, is that each entry might inspire as many Prosers as possible to compose an appropriate response. Alas, I implied a parameter to my parameter-breaking challenge.

So! In future such challenges, if you read something that inspires you to respond, click on Write, and compose a response. Put a link to the initial challenge entry at the bottom, or in the comments, so people can find it; and place a link to your post in the comments of the initial entry so people can find your response.

Thank you all so very much for picking up the ball and running with it--I enjoyed the heck out of this!

Your friend,

LeCrae

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

I met someone.

More than someone.

And we didn't really meet.

We collided...

Instantly piecing together like a puzzle.

Without even trying.

Fuzing.

Now my days and nights are filled with her collisions.

And I hope they never stop.

Thank you for bringing a glimpse into the inner workings. The reminder that the Conscience is a convoluted thing, not a linear recording. All those steps shared, as words, as ones and zeros. Your pages are almost emptied... You resigned to a falling, a falling in, and the descent was beautiful in itself as tragedy in circles inevitably is. I sense "the pain in Metamorphosis," as mentioned; the Moth seeking the light is akin to the Butterfly seeking the shadow. The stars are simultaneously hot and cold, and accordingly so are we on reflection there of... having all these stairs... as seen, to climb: Up, Down, Sideways, or Within. Here's to the new being, wherever it is...

for TheWarp gone but not forgotten.

04.29.2023

Mitya Remembered the Pound of Nuts @Celeben

“No, no, dad! Just keep it straight up! Now you point it to the target like you’re holding a pistol. Just hold it straight up, yeah, like that. Now look at the screen, look at the screen. Ok. Can you see the target? Make sure it’s somewhere in the middle of the screen. Now press the power and volume buttons together. On the right-hand side. The two top buttons. Right. Are you pressing them both?”

The old man sighed, despair in his eyes. “I’ll never get the hang of this,” he said.

“That’s because you moved your phone, don’t move it. Here.”

His son impatiently took the phone from his hand. “Here you go, target in the middle, press buttons, piece of cake!”

The targeted plastic cup shot from the table like an arrow and landed on the windowsill.

“Now you,” the son said, and placed the cup back on the table.

*

The old man had been a wizard all his life. And quite successful too.

With his cloak, staff, wand, and spells he had saved the world from peril more than once.

Then one day, a parcel was delivered to his door. He even had to sign for it.

When he unwrapped the sturdy carboard box, it contained a shiny cell phone together with a brightly coloured folder with screaming letters:

HERE IT IS, YOUR OWN BRANDNEW PHONE!

There was also a letter, and he recognized the letterhead of UWA, the United Wizard Association.

Ah, now he remembered, the last UWA meeting, almost a year ago.

There, the Board announced that every member of UWA would receive a cell phone.

He thought they had just forgotten about it.

The letter read:

As announced during the meeting of 14th March, we are sending you your personal cell phone.

To make your phone operable for wizardly work, you must download the special WIZZ-app from the app-store.

This app will be upgraded regularly, so that eventually the device will function as a full replacement of staffs, wands, and spells.

Private use of the phone is permitted if this will not interfere with work.

Having no clue what it all meant, he placed the box with the phone on the table.

*

“Cool! Wow, cool!” His son rushed to the table without even taking his coat off.

He carefully took the phone from the box as if it were a breakable artifact. “This year’s model, wow!”

“It’s for work,” the old man said despondently. “It needs an app with double p so I have to find an app-store somewhere.”

*

Unlike most wizards, Geodefrith had not remained single. His wife Mildred (Millie as everyone called her) passed a few years earlier, and he loved their son Fernando as the living memory of her.

And for himself, of course, although he could be a pain sometimes; but a friendly pain.

*

With the aid of Fernando, the new phone was in working order within an hour.

Geodefrith’s head was still spinning and buzzing with terms like SIM-codes, fingerprint-recognition, downloads, upgrades, data.

Before he knew it the app (with double p) had been installed, and Fernando told him his profile was complete.

“You see, dad, it’s hardly brain surgery. Now all you’ve left to do is enter your spells.”

Geodefrith started. “My spells? But those are secret, private. They’re all in here!” he said, tapping his forehead.

“But they’re required if you want the app to work,” Fernando answered, “just sit down and enter your spells, I won’t look, ok?”

It had taken Geodefrith years and years to memorize all the spells he needed.

He sat down on the couch with the phone on his lap. His fingers slowly and unstably typed in the first spell.

After a minute, he threw the phone aside and sighed: “This is not working. Forget it!”

Fernando looked up from his own cell phone, laughing. “What’s not working, dad? How many spells have you put in?”

Geodefrith raised his arms in despair. “None! I keep getting invalid input, make sure the spelling is correct; remember, some spells may be case sensitive.”

“I don’t know how you spell all those spells exactly. They’re in my head. When I need them, I just cast them.”

Fernando said: “But there must be a way to know the spelling of your spells, right?”

“Of course, they’re all in the Secret Book,” Geodefrith exclaimed, “haven’t needed it for years. It’s going to take me weeks to enter them all.”

To make a long story short, defying all rules of secrecy and privacy, it took Fernando a little over forty-five minutes to copy all Geodefrith’s spells from the Secret Book into the phone.

In awe, Geodefrith watched his son’s fingers race over the shiny screen.

*

“Now you,” Fernando said.

Geodefrith held the phone as straight as possible, and his shaking fingers fumbled to find the two buttons on the right.

When he pressed them, the plastic cup shot against the living room window.

“I got it!” he cheered, “incredible! I still can’t get over it that the phone knows exactly what spell to use!”

Fernando smiled. “That’s why they call it a smart phone, dad.”

*

Spells came in variations, of different magnitudes.

There were spells that were hardly more than a simple magical trick, such as moving objects, or making things disappear.

Or, a bit harder, spells that could move a wizard from one place to another in a flash, sometimes miles away.

Then there were those to fend off danger, such as a sudden thunderstorm, a flood or an avalanche.

Some spells could be used to protect against de spells of others, especially members of the Dark Order of Wizards (DOW), a group with a questionable reputation that split off from the UWA centuries ago.

Regularly, there were encounters between members of both groups, sometimes leading to serious clashes.

Never, however, could these spells be used to kill or destroy. Even in the fiercest fights between opponents, spells were to be used only to defend, to annoy or fatigue the other.

Both sides adhered to this unwritten rule; wizards died, naturally, but never by the hand of another wizard.

The deepest spells did have the power to destroy or kill. In rare cases, where imminent peril was extremely profound and potentially lethal, a wizard might use such a special spell.

From the beginnings of wizardry, any wizard qualified as such, had every spell at his disposal.

But during the leadership of Frankfrith the Glorious, who acted as chairman of the UWA for more than six centuries, the Rule of Limitations was introduced.

Randomly, wizards might lose their “licence to kill”, or any other spell, for that matter.

*

By a small margin, Frankfrith had been elected as the 19th Chairman of the United Wizard Association.

But he soon managed to extend his power by placing his most avid supporters on key positions in the organization.

He appointed Glowfrith as treasurer, and Pensefrith as Scribe, a kind of personal secretary. Ilbreth, nicknamed the weasel became Deputy Scribe, taking care of “daily matters”.

Frankfrith’s rule was characterized by modernization, which, as most wizards agreed, was in fact Pensefrith’s idea.

The old communication system between the board of UWA and individual wizards, by using heralds to deliver messages in person, was abandoned and replaced by periodical letters signed by Frankfrith.

*

Nine decades after Frankfrith was elected, at the annual UWA meeting, he was surprisingly flanked by two large figures, who were introduced as Ironfrith the Unwaveringand Bullfrith the Wielder, both members of DOW.

Frankfrith had hired them as private security agents, to protect him from an “increasing number of serious threats by certain groups.”

It was from that time on that the periodical letters from the Board were signed Frankfrith the Great, and later even Frankfrith the Glorious.

*

A few weeks after Geodefrith had received his new phone, there was the annual UWA meeting.

All members gathered in a large hall.

Beverages were served before the meeting, and Geodefrith sensed a lot of tension, mostly having to do with the new phones.

After Frankfrith had opened the meeting and hammered away the approval of last year’s minutes, Donfrith the meak, the gentlest person that ever roamed the earth, raised his hand.

“Ah, a question,” Frankfrith said, “please, go!”

Donfrith’s crackling voice sounded through the hall.

“About these phones, Frankfrith, are they really necessary?”

Frankfrith looked down with a kind smile.

“I am afraid they are, Donfrith. There’s just no other way.”

Then Donfrith said: “But what was wrong with staffs and wands and spells? They always worked well, didn’t they?”

“Yeah, what’s wrong with staffs?” someone shouted from the other end of the hall. The figure of Bosefrith had risen, and he spoke with a booming voice: “It’s all about control! He uses those phones to track us everywhere!”

Soon almost everybody was screaming and shouting, until all voices joined together in a chant: No phones, no phones, no phones!

Then there was a tremendous bang that stopped the turmoil immediately.

Bullfrith’s fist had landed on the table with such great force that it almost split in two.

His huge shadow loomed over the hall.

Geodefrith was sure he saw flames and smoke coming from Bullfrith’s maw when his thundering voice echoed: “Enough!!”

*

This is to inform you that the introduction of cell phones has been a great success.

The latest upgrade of the WIZZ-app makes the next step possible.

The Board is proud to announce that from May 1st, all staffs and wands will be deactivated, and spoken spells will be rendered ineffective.

Representatives of the Board will be collecting your staffs and wands.

During the coming months you will receive notification of the exact date of collection.

Your collaboration is appreciated.

On behalf of the Board

Frankfrith the Glorious

Geodefrith put the letter aside.

Although, with the help and support of Fernando, he had mastered most of the features of his phone, he still liked to wander about occasionally with staff and wand, leaving his phone at home.

Casting spells the old-fashioned way felt great!

That was all going to end soon.

“A good thing,” Fernando said.

*

It had been an easy day. The world seemed to be in a pleasant Spring mood.

Geodefrith’s horse was trotting home and the old wizard smiled broadly.

He was looking forward to a quiet dinner, a fine wine, and a good read.

He sighed, complacently, until he spotted a silhouette on top of a hill.

Oh, bother, he thought, there goes a quiet evening!

He had immediately recognized Wellfrith the Gloomy, who came galloping down, waving and shouting: “Heya there, Geodefrith the Silly, old stoop!”

True enough, of all the dark wizards one could encounter, Wellfrith was probably one of the least bothersome, but he was such a show-off.

“Good eve, Wellfrith,” Geodefrith said, “wishing you a good journey!”

“Not so fast,” Wellfrith replied, “let’s not forget our good manners, you ancient creap!”

“Oh, come on, Wellfrith, let’s forget it,” Geodefrith pleaded, “I just want to go home.”

Wellfrith looked at him with scorn. “You lamentable fossil! You know what the code says: we have to exchange some spells.”

Geodefrith sighed. “Ah, well, you can have it your way!”

He took his phone out of his pocket, waiting for Wellfrith to produce a wand or staff but, much to his surprise, Wellfrith held up a phone as well.

“Take this!” the dark wizard yelled.

Wellfrith pushed his phone in Geodefrith’s direction, but nothing happened.

Then Geodefrith aimed his phone, target in the middle, nervously pressing the buttons on the side.

Wellfrith was thrown off his balance and landed on one knee.

“Well, I never!” he grunted as he got up. “You treacherous old fart!”

He aimed his phone at Geodefrith, but suddenly raised his hand.

“Hold on,” he called, “gotta take this!”

He put his phone at his ear and started talking, turning his back on Geodefrith.

After a minute or two, Geodefrith heard Wellfrith say: “Ok, let’s talk again later, I’m in the middle of something now!”

But before they could exchange any further spells, another call came in.

After the third, and twenty minutes later, Geodefrith sighed and said: “Come on, Wellfrith, may I go home now?”

Wellfrith looked at him and shrugged his shoulders.

“Ah, why not,” he said, “stupid phones!”

Geodefrith smiled and said: “I couldn’t agree more.”

Wellfrith replied: “I’d give my right arm for a good old-fashioned sturdy staff!”

*

“It’s all Ironfrith’s doing,” Wellfrith said as the two old wizards joined part of their journey. “Ever since he’s associated himself with your Frankfrith.”

Geodefrith answered: “It’s Pensefrith, really. He’s behind it all. It ought to be stopped!”

Wellfrith stroked his beard.

“You know, there might be a way,” he said.

“We could call for a popular vote. I know a big majority of DOW members want staffs and wands back. All we have to do is to send a message to all DOW and UWA group members; it's the only thing these phones are good for!”

And so, it happened. Text messages were sent to all the group members.

*

There was a rather heavy knock on the door.

Geodefrith got up to open and was surprised to see Bullfrith on his doorstep.

“You are requested to come,” he growled.

“Sorry, got other plans,” Geodefrith answered lightheartedly.

“You are requested to come!” Bullfrith repeated, a bit louder.

“And I still have other plans!” Geodefrith replied.

With his big paw, Bullfrith grabbed him by the shoulder and forcefully pulled him away from the door.

“Hey, take it easy,” Geodefrith squeaked.

Bullfrith dragged him along for some fifty yards, where Frankfrith sat waiting in a four-wheeled cart.

Geodefrith was pushed into it.

“What’s going on, Frankfrith,” he said while getting up.

The cart rattled along the cobblestone path.

Frankfrith looked at him affably.

“Now that was not a very smart thing to do, was it?” he said.

“What wasn’t?” Geodefrith asked, annoyed, brushing the dust from his cloak.

“Well, my dear Geodefrith, if you are to commit high treason, it’s not smart to do it all out in the open.”

“What do you mean, high treason, what are you talking about?”

Frankfrith calmly stroked his beard.

“You must understand, my dear old friend, that the Board cannot overlook individual, disgruntled wizards who undermine board decisions that were taken unanimously.”

“Not undermining; I was just asking the others to vote for or against using cell phones, that’s all.”

Frankfrith answered: “We’ll see,” and kept quiet the rest of the way.

*

Geodefrith was escorted into a room where Pensefrith, Glowfrith, Ironfrith and Ilbreth were seated at elevated tables.

On the floor below, there was a single chair.

Bullfrith pushed Geodefrith in the chair, and he and Frankfrith joined the others.

Frankfrith mildly looked down on him, and said: “It is the Board’s decision, Geodefrith, that it would be in your best interest to, erm, enjoy a few weeks, months of rest. All expenses paid, of course!”

Geodefrith looked up angrily.

“So you’re sending me away!”

“Believe me, we only want what’s best for you,” Frankfrith answered.

*

The resort was comfortable, but he never felt at home.

There were no other wizards, as far as he could see.

Most of the guests were older people, shuffling about with or without a walker.

He spent most of his time in his room.

He had his cell phone, but only very basic spells were left available to him.

Sometimes, some of the guests had visitors: families, children, grandchildren.

No visitors ever came for Geodefrith; it was decided that would be too stressful for him.

He sent messages to Fernando, complaining about his situation, but only received encouraging text messages back, wishing him speedy recovery.

He thought he was being censored.

*

Once a week, a nurse came by, a sweet young lady, who would sit with him, asking about his wellbeing.

She gained his trust and he felt comfortable enough to pour out his heart to her.

How he was kept there against his will and wished to go home to his son.

She promised to find out more, and she became an ally in his quest for rehabilitation.

He looked forward to her visits, the both of them plotting to find a way to reveal the truth.

Then one day, she was not there, but instead two male nurses grabbed him and put a needle in his arm.

*

When he woke up, two older men, dressed in white, stood at his bed.

The first one said cheerfully: “Welcome, sir! Welcome to the world!”

The other man added: “You have been asleep for quite a while, but the operation went very well!”

With shiny eyes, Geodefrith said: “Thank you, doctors!”

The first doctor said: “You will be going home to the resort in about two weeks. You’ll be happy there!”

“There are absolutely no signs of rejection,” the other said. “The chip is nicely embedded.”

Geodefrith smiled at them. “Thank you, doctors,” he said again.

*

Geodefrith sat comfortably in a chair in the recreation room of the resort.

There was the liveliness of children running about.

A lady came in holding hands with a little boy who held a toy car in his other hand.

“There’s the gentleman,” she pointed, “there’s the gentleman who can move things. Ask him if he can do it.”

Geodefrith smiled at the boy.

“Just put your toy on the table,” he said.

Then he took out his phone, aimed it at the toy, and simultaneously pressed two buttons on the side.

The toy moved.

The boy screeched and jumped up and down.

“One more time!” he screamed, excited.

Geodefrith laughed. He was a happy man.

He is staring over the top of his glasses with an inane curiosity and I am not sure what to say. Past experience is weighing heavy on my brain --- overthinking has commenced. I have told him I am a poet and now he wants the details. So I start.........I write poetry. He says "So cute, rhyming love poems?" I almost spit out my tequila. Um, no more like dark, sparsely worded poems that rarely rhyme. Poems that leave one asking questions or hating it. Why would you write something someone would hate? I look at him and am slowly coming to the conclusion that while there is a chemistry, there is no mental connection as I am coming up with a response. I look up and look past him. I tell him I write for me, not for an audience, not for the applause, not for the bound books. I write what my mind twists to explain the darkness within me and the world. I like the words that you rarely hear combined in new ways that maybe don't always make sense. He touches my hand and says "Have you sought help for this?" Sought help for what I ask? If you mean letting the dark out on the sidewalks covered in shadows and sunlight, the answer is no. I ask him if he wants to read one to get an idea of my writing. He makes this odd noise and fumbles with his phone. I look at the legs of tequila on the inside of my glass and know its time to run.

we

fell asleep in the back of your car

and

the truth is i don't drive

i'd like to say the stars were out

but

i didn't see the sky in the haze of all

the streetlights and shadows and fog

some

kind of birthday it is, to feel the shape

of your name on the backs of my eyelids

while

i'm asleep

and

when the nightmares come to get me

put your boots on, both feet on the ground

pause

and let the engine idle, so far away

the truth is i don't drive

and

my hair smells like the backseat of your car

and

rainbows don't mean a thing in the dark without the stars

and when the sun rises

another

day passes, and nobody even knows it .

All this advancement, all this sophistication - and yet we still know nothing. Concepts such as time and gravity are still so elusive. Consider one possible explanation.

Hindu mythology says Brahman is Infinity - all that ever could be, as one - and Brahman manifests itself as Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva - The Creator, The Sustainer, and The Destroyer. Spinoza remarked, "The order and connection of ideas is the same as the order and connection of things." Similarly, for every objectivistic way of seeing the world, there is an equal and opposite poetic way of seeing it. One side of the equation is sheer wonder and magic - the gods and goddesses themselves. Another side is pure, cut and dry, plain and simple, as mathematics.

Consider "Brahma" is simply the universe's tendency to create something from nothing. Quantum physics wouldn't disagree that "matter" arises from an infinite field of apparent nothingness. So perhaps "Brahma," understood objectively, is "Brahman's" power to create anything from nothing. We see this tendency manifest itself in phenomena such as spontaneous healing. Newton's First Law should be trimmed by Occam's Razor. The most fundamental law, it may seem, is that of Creation. Something arises from nothing. Then what?

Then, it exists.

It doesn't immediately go away. It remains. It sustains. Something holds it together. Something keeps it bound as a discrete unit within the universe. Perhaps, then, "Vishnu," understood objectively, is that which keeps things intact. "Time" and "gravity" are just different labels for this second most fundamental law, that is the universe's propensity to sustain, continue, remain.

Finally, things don't last forever. Buddhism's tenet of impermanence is undeniable. Things eventually break apart, wither away, decompose - die. The Second Law of Thermodynamics and "Shiva" - just as time, gravity, and Vishnu - are one and the same. Shiva, then, is a third fundamental force of nature - nature's tendency to destroy and be destroyed - the polar opposite of time/gravity/Vishnu.

These three forces are ultimately the same force that animates everything - the paint marking that blank canvas that is pure consciousness, nothingness, emptiness.

Black hole stole Historia’s canvas sky,

An eye imbibing pixelated clouds,

Twirling translucent exhaust: hereafter

boiling in and out of Afterlife's keen

Skyline; errors fluctuated and moon

Became sun and red giants protostars, all

Was appearing behind a feeble façade

Metal Terra and cyberspace flotsam.

Aims and Cowells sat among brewing stars,

Turquoise supernovae and suburban

No man's land, stages and blood-fused altars

Shouted like apparitions, trenches still

Topped with kids bodies, a hundred yards out

Cranes and construction workers tore away

Evil and replaced it with GLASS and concrete.

Aims watched rats swimming through puddles of gore

Little squeals pierced his mind, blood sung gently

Lulling their picnic rest stop in Outer

City limits of Afterlife. Cowells

Was not there when Oblivion arrived

Alexandria tore every entity's

House with nuclear-like hellfire, a

Battle that no Old Regime operative

Could have easily foreseen even with

God's eyes and Icarus Drones, they were all

Fated to meet Legion Sword swift, engine revved

Strobe light skies hypnotized for a moment,

Blink later- rubber scrubbed bloodied

Mud.

Silver daylight pierced wasteland, dregs dragged corpse

Toward pulsating Pink City, steel skyline stole

Azul hue, shrieks like harpies' breath, engines

Fed our beast, smog was last to ventilate

Cowells sipped on bitter brew, snapping golden

Battered chicken; entrails like hyperloops

Hypnotized, vomit bubbled and systems

Collapsed, shards of electronics wailed high.

Unseen grazed emerald strips, dim rags dragged

Putrid scent serenading local eyes.

Rarely heard, crystal horde disintegrates

Dwelling seen bridges and freeways for days;

Synapses crack, bones brittle, timeless fiends

Inhaling Pink City rosy aroma,

Incense veiling senses, corps singing soulless

Jingles: I see their faces for a second,

Restless, decrepit. Not older than seven-

Teen, fading from faithless isolation

Crawling when entities provide bite-sized

Sympathy. strange eyes scold me, wrinkles shroud

Youthful locks, golden, brown, and dozens more.

Cowells strayed above parasites etching

Improvised headlines, doomscrolling ten times more–

Friends leapt from hundredth story of Gaul Heights

Pink midnights kick like patrol car engine.

Hendryx, Kim, and Parks gone, Aims spit static past

Space city passage, fabric valley badlands

Awoke, arid blizzard swept grass patches,

Condensed soil once sweet acidic green.

dandelion smile

ascendent in the vacant

wastelands sold

soldiers search

hereafter…..

___________________________________________________________________

(1) Doom: https://theprose.com/post/419897/doom

(2) Historia: https://theprose.com/post/424698/historia

(3) Oblivion: https://theprose.com/post/426993/oblivion

(4) Oceanside: https://theprose.com/post/428493/oceanside

(5) Apocalypse: https://theprose.com/post/432306/apocalypse

(6) Entity: https://theprose.com/post/435150/entity

(7) Academy [doesn’t really count but it exists]: https://theprose.com/post/454455/academy

(8) Timeless: https://theprose.com/post/485400/timeless

(9) Eden: https://theprose.com/post/503844/eden

(10) Legion: https://theprose.com/post/525083/legion

(11) Afterlife: https://theprose.com/post/525696/afterlife

(12) Hellfire: https://theprose.com/post/530083/hellfire

(13) Deliverance: https://theprose.com/post/612211/deliverance

(14) Unseen: https://theprose.com/write?postId=718828

(15) Hereafter: https://theprose.com/post/733130/hereafter