When I was a kid I was afraid of Johnny Cash. His music hit like a storm, so that the mere mention of his name was enough to conjure up black clouds and whirling winds in my childish mind. I didn’t know him, had never even met him, but when a girl in my class said she was related to him it was enough to send chills down my back. Country music was what my family tuned-in to in those days, and Johnny Cash was country music (all others, to include the hillbillies before and after, being mere imposters). Such was the living legend of “The Man in Black” down where I am from.

It wasn’t the prison associations he fostered that frightened me, nor his priestly black, frock coats, nor his towering physical presence, nor even the deep bass of his voice, although any of those things could be scary enough in their own rights to a seven year old. It was his aura that unnerved me. It was the reverent way that people I knew and respected spoke about him, as though Johnny Cash was the Resurrection itself, or worse, that he might have actually sprung from that other place that we were not allowed to talk about. Johnny Cash seemed larger than life back in the early 1970’s, and capable of any and everything. For instance, my Memaw would say with certainty to everyone gathered around her television set that Johnny Cash was the very devil himself come up from Memphis, and this as she sang and clapped along to he and Mother Maybelle picking out the Wildwood Flower. How is a child to process such oxymoroneous (I just invented that word) behavior?

Later, when I was in my thirties, my wife and I moved to Hendersonville, Tn., where Johnny and June had a house on the lake. I saw them while shopping at the local Lowe’s one day, she carrying a list as she scurried up and down the aisles, he struggling to keep up on the little electric handicapped cart, his bowed head humble and gray. Any unresolved fear I harbored was lifted at the sight of it, he being so obviously near his end, and yet I felt that same shiver I’d felt when my little classmate, Angie Cash, had told us all so long ago that she was somehow his kin. I never would have believed that day in Lowe’s that Johnny could somehow survive June, and looking back on it I wish he hadn’t. Her death left him even more broken than the turncoat, ”keep up with the times” country music industry had.

Johnny is gone now, and it is still debatable which direction he traveled from Tennessee, north or south, but he left behind a discography of greatness to remember him by; a plethora of songs to remind us in their simplicity and lyric, from rockabilly to gospel, that our time here on Earth is short, just as his was, and that there is something worth considering after… maybe even something to fear.

Just how high is that water, Momma?

Challenge

down the mountain

"She slung her bag over her shoulder and took off down the mountainside" -- This popped into my head today, and I thought it would make a god prompt! Use this sentence somewhere in your write. Poetry or prose, whatever comes to you :)

Nickf

13 reads

The Mountain

She slung her bag over her shoulder

and took off down the mountain side with a boulder

The sun was shining bright

As she continued on with little to no fight

She moved fast on the ground

As the birds sang all around

She left her sadness at the top of the peak

And now she feels like she is able to speak

The bottom of the mountain was in sight

She wanted to reach it before the fall of night

The sunset on her back

Made her think she got her life back on track

Challenge

Challenge of the Week CCXXVI

You wake up in what looks to be a barn, sore & confused. You remember scattered details leading up to this moment, vaguely. What you do remember is seeing your (newly- married) mother or father’s significant other approach the vehicle that you were thrown into, as you were blind folded & injected with something that instantly put you to sleep. Panicking, you have no idea if your Mother/ father is facing the same fate. Now what? How did you escape? What was the significant other’s involvement & reason behind their actions? Is this driven by a serious motive in their eyes or are they just psychotic & doing it for the thrill? Happy ending, tragic ending or everything in between… the choice is yours. The more detail, the better! Short stories, please. Let’s see what everyone comes up with… And go! Prose. will stuff $25 in the digital pocket of the winner. Challenge idea is from Amanda B. Jaworski. Thanks, Amanda!

SummerBorne

36 reads

Secrets

I came to suddenly, the blackness seeping away from my vision as adrenaline started to race through my veins. My hands were bound behind my back, handcuffs digging into my wrists, but the pain barely even registered past the panic. I couldn’t move from where I sat, bound to the pole at my back with a light shining directly down on me. Everything outside the ring of light was lost to the darkness.

The air was thick with the smells of hay and manure. Cicadas chirped beyond the walls in the still night air and I heard the gentle scuffing of someone, or something, moving not far away.

I heard large doors open somewhere behind me before they swung shut yet again. Heavy footsteps came ever closer until they stood before me.

It was Ryan, my new stepdad. He’d married my mother nearly a month ago, but I didn’t really know him very well. He was a tall man, with salt and pepper hair and average build. He liked to laugh and overall seemed friendly, which was a pleasant surprise. I was told he was an attorney, but at this moment I wasn’t entirely sure which side of the law he was on. He looked down at me with calm, knowing eyes and a solemn expression.

“Ryan?” I asked in disbelief, “What’s going on?”

He shrugged, so slight a motion that I nearly missed it entirely.

“This isn’t how I wanted to do this, but you gave me no choice when you walked in on me and Vanessa. I couldn’t have you spoiling things, so I had to resort to…extreme measures.”

His words brought back a fuzzy memory. I’d come home early and walked in on Ryan talking with a young woman I’d never seen before. I remember being outraged, thinking he was cheating on my mother already. Before I’d been able to say anything, I’d felt a sharp pain in my neck, and everything had gone black. Had he drugged me? Was he going to kill me to keep his dirty little secret? Where was my mom?

“Where’s my mom?” I asked, my mind locking on the singular question.

“Your mother is around here somewhere. I’m sure you’ll see her soon.”

A knowing smile touched Ryan’s features as he made a ‘come here’ motion at the shadows behind me. It only took a second for another figure to appear, a tall, blonde woman in a police uniform. My heart sank into my stomach at the sight of her. Presented with a lawyer and an officer in this old barn, likely in the middle of nowhere…what on earth were they going to do to me?

“Do you know why you’re here, Jacob?” the woman asked sternly, her gaze locking on my own and holding steady. I shook my head, a cold sweat breaking out on my palms. What did they find?

She made an unhappy sound, frowning slightly, and bent to my level, her eyes still locked on my own.

“I’ve heard things about you, Mr. Reeves,” she said slowly as an unseen figure behind me unlocked my cuffs, “I’ve heard you have the uncanny ability to get yourself into lots of trouble. That you are a naughty boy.”

The purr at her last words made me freeze, uncertain. My brow furrowed as somewhere in the area, music began to play.

“SURPRISE!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY JAKE!!”

People swarmed in from every direction. All of them friends and coworkers I was close with. It seemed, in everything going on, I had completely forgotten about my own 21st birthday. My stepfather winked at me conspiratorially as the officer began to strip. I lost him in the crowd shortly thereafter.

The party was a blast, going on late into the night, but nothing would top the relief I had felt when I realized they hadn’t found the bodies.

Challenge

Challenge of the Week CCXXVI

N_Ameless

58 reads

forNever hold your peace.

Luckily injectable anything is something I've built a physiological tolerance to.

The dose they gave they acted as though would normally put out a horse, so they leave me to the coma they think I'm in with what reminds me of a nicotine pouch attached to my left boob.

The world's different when you're supposed to be knocked out and get to view things from a 3rd person perspective.

They- whoever "they" are , leave the car.

I hear a door shut from afar and peak open the eye they left smashed against the driver side passenger door.

Nobody's in sight.

My legs are itching, toes tingling .. Feels like a fire is being stoked underneath me.

Fuck this charade its time to bounce!

They really had confidence in whatever they gave me , they left the child saftey locks off.

I can feel my heart beating in slow motion which is weird since I don't think I've ever ran this fast in my life.

The road's pebbles bury themselves in my bare feet but this barley phases me.

My toes get caught underneath my stride from some pothole my tunnel vision left out ; the fall came at perfect timing as the road was turning sending me into a shrub filled ditch.

An exact replica of the car I just ditched turns the corner going the way I came.

My in laws face pressed against the same window mine was , except I don’t think they're going to be getting up when they're left in the heat with the windows up.

My bloody knee has already scabbed up, my energy is gaining , and my gut is telling me to keep running in the opposite direction.

My gut also told me to not " speak my mind " and to " forever hold my peace ".

Guess I'm gonna have to bail that stupid mother fucker out of this mess so I can get a couple things off my chest.

Mamba

96 reads

And the winner is…

Imaginary Journey

Writing Challenge: Imagine yourself as the protagonist of an extraordinary journey. You are transported to a fictional world where anything is possible. Your task is to write a short story or narrative poem describing your adventure. Explore the sights, sounds, and emotions of this unknown realm. Let your creativity go to it’s limits as you encounter fantastical creatures, navigate uncharted territories, and face unexpected challenges. Share the triumphs, the trials, and the lessons learned along the way. Immerse the reader in the magic of your journey and ignite their imagination. The word limit for this challenge is 500 words. Let’s GO! Winner Gets $20.00 Via PayPal Or CashApp

Ladies and gentlemen,

Today, we gather here to celebrate the remarkable achievement of our writing contest's challenge winner. It is with great pleasure and admiration that I stand before you to congratulate

BJLeCrae, the brilliant mind behind the prose Fizzy and Mixx that earned them this well-deserved 20 bucks.

In conclusion, let us raise our glasses to Fizzy and Mixx, the charming characters of this writing contest. Your words have breathed life into characters, worlds, and emotions that will forever remain etched in the space time continuum of Prose.

Congratulations, your success is truly well-deserved, and I eagerly anticipate the literary wonders that you unveil in the future.

Cheers!

@BJLeCrae

Fizzy and Mixx

by BJLeCrae

"Dad's home. What are we going to tell him?"

"We're not going to tell him anything, Fizz."

"He's going to notice the fucking dog is missing, Mixx. He's not an idiot."

"Yes, he is. Mom only married him for his hair and biceps..."

"And gluts."

"Yeah, don't remind me. We'll tell him we haven't seen Bailey and just play dumb."

"That's easy for you; you've only got a 167 IQ. I'm going to have to put on the performance of a lifetime."

"Four points, Fizz. Four tiny fucking IQ points, and I was hopped up on Paracetamol..."

"Hey girls, what's up?"

"Hi Daddy!"

"Hey Fizz! You guys still working on the project?"

"Yeah, Mixxy's just working out some bugs."

"Bugs? It's almost noon. I would have thought you two would be celebrating unlocking the mysteries of the space-time continuum by now."

"It's the... time-space continuum, Father."

"Yeah... that's what they call it in this universe. So, what is this thing, Mixx?"

"Right now, I don't know what it is."

"Well, what does it do?"

"Nothing."

"That's not true. It does something, we're just not sure what."

"Well, what's is supposed to do?"

"It supposed to facilitate the diffusion of molecules across a selectively permeable membrane between areas of higher to lower concentration, Father."

"Ohhh... so it's a ray gun!"

"Yes, it's a ray gun."

"Nice. Where's Bailey?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen him. Have you seen him, Fizz?"

"Well, I certainly don't see him now."

"Maybe he's in the back yard."

"Maybe... it's weird, he always greets me at the door. I figured he must be up here with you guys helping with your work on your ray gun thing..."

"Don't touch that!"

"Daddy no!"

"What's happening?!"

"Mixx! Fizz! Hold onto me!"

"Daddy!"

"I've got you!"

"Look... "

"What? What the hell? What's wrong with my voice? Are you hearing this?"

"You sound like a chipmunk... hahahaha! I sound like a chipmunk!"

"Why don't I sound... ooookay, I sound like a chipmunk, too. What the heck is going on, Mixxy? What kind of molecular diffusion... selectably permable..."

"Selectively permeable... it doesn't matter! That's not what it was. You wouldn't understand it anyway."

"Sure I would. Molecular diffusion... and selectively permeable... membranes and the... the other..."

"That's osmosis! I just gave you the definition of osmosis so you'd leave us alone to work on accelerator!"

"Accelerator?! What does it accelerate? Where the hell are we, Mixx?"

"I don't know! Ask Fizz! She's the smart one!"

"Only by four points! I don't know where we are! Everything's all fuzzy and blurry and..."

"Okay, let's all just calm down."

"Fizz! Fizz! Sit! Fizz! Mixx!"

"Who the heck is that?"

"It came from over there. Look, some... thing's coming."

"Sit! Fizz! Mixx!"

"Holy mother of crap! It's Bailey!"

"Bailey! You're talking!"

"Bailey talking. Good boy."

"Holy crap, Mixx. You've transported us into a parallel universe where dogs can talk!"

"What do we do now, Mixx?"

"I don't friggin' know! There's a 500-word limit!"

Challenge

Write a drabble (a story of exactly 100 words).

In Prose only, 100 words exactly, tell me a story. Fiction or fact, fantastical or realistic, just make it lean, mean, and punchy. No theme assigned this time, let's see what you can do without guidance. I'll choose the winner in June.

RosemarieThorn in Fiction

21 reads

Tear Stained Letter

Hey,

Remember that fight we had last month?

You had injured yourself trying to save my life. I told you it was a stupid move and that you should have stayed behind like I told you.

You told me it was your job to keep my alive, that you would have stayed behind if I had.

I corrected you and told you that your job was to take over after I left.

You told me you couldn't take over, that I had to keep leading.

Truth is, I don't have the will to lead with you gone.

Come back. Please.

Challenge

Write a drabble (a story of exactly 100 words).

shiffa84 in Fiction

30 reads

Heedless of the damp newspapers drifting along the languid current, he waded further towards his flooded van. Yesterday's trash strewn across a fold-up table was scattered, while the travel chairs, the tacky table tarp, the notebook - all gone forever.

"There you are," she greeted him. A puff of smoke escaped her lips. He prayed it was from a cigarette.

"How much damage?" he asked.

"Engine's drenched," she replied nonchalantly. "Maybe it's time we-"

"No."

"Jeez. Have it your way," she dropped the cig into the murky water. "But know this - I'm tired of you leading us into trouble."