A Win for Mr. Grein, New CotW, and Some Quick Information.
Hello, Writers and Dear Readers.
On the channel today, we congratulate last week's winner, and officially announce the new Challenge of the Week, and let the new blood know who's who in the admin zoo.
Here's the video.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oA03jVqp9Hc
And here's the link to CotW CCXXIII.
https://theprose.com/challenge/13980
And.
As always...
-Thank you for being here.
-The Prose. team
A Monster’s Mind: I Keep Thinking of Ways to Kill Children
I keep thinking of ways to kill children. It didn't really start until I had my own.
Suddenly, there I was, thinking, Look at this--small enough for him to put it into his little innocent mouth while no one's looking. He could choke! And, My God, turn the pot handle in toward the hot stove. Little hands could reach up and pull the boiling grease all over her. And, Should I put up some type of fence barrier thing on the railing of the balcony? They'll climb it. Of course they will, and one will push the other, and one would start to fall, and he would grab at her on the way down, and they both would fall to their little senseless deaths.
Once you have children, you begin to realize the worst possible thing that could befall a parent in this life. You're keen to inspect the floors. You smell for trouble. Your imagination begins to construct entire scripts in which the young, feckless, and clueless come up against the laws of physics, which are unyielding, and these children will get severely injured or die.
It's terrible, this monster I've become. Every object is scrutinized for the perfect tracheal diameter. Every sharp object is seen as something a child could run with. Little bodies don't like extra holes, unless it's a tube put in for ear infections. And it is exhausting to consider all of the things that could put out an eye. I don't know them all, but I think of new ones every day.
I sand without eye protection, but the little shitling better not even be in the same room.
Just how well do we trust that old dog of ours? Is cat scratch fever really a thing? Let them play outside--really? Are you out of your fucking mind! Is that just some rash or the harbinger of Neisseria meningitis? Another cold--that's two this year--leukemia? diabetes? How do I know this liquid Tylenol hasn't been...yea, that's right...tampered with?
When I'm stopped in traffic under an overpass, I back up a couple of inches so the falling girder will crush me instead of the kids in the back. What's in that aromatherapy machine I smell in Grandma's machine? Eucalyptus? Peppermint? Wintergreen? That stuff can kill them, for God's sake!
Are those vitamins really necessary? What about hypervitaminoses? Did you even think about that?
Yep, just when I think I know all the weird ways to kill a child, a new one stuns me back into the sobriety of mortality. How do I think of these things? Was I a child-killer in a previous life? Or has evolution given my children this survival advantage?
My kids are grown. They survived. And if I so much as catch any of 'em with a cigarette, I'll kill 'em.
Toxic, yes. Stupid, no.
How to Read People
When I'm at the front of the left turn lane, waiting for the light to turn green, cars coming from the right, turning left, look into their turn as they pass in front of me. I don't know them. They don't know me, but for that rare moment in time, our paths narrowly cross; and there I am, grinning ear to ear, flipping each of them the bird as they continue on their commute. I just enjoy their facial reactions. No one can possibly foresee it. It's shocking, invigorating, comical, for them and for me. The thing that upsets me is when they clearly see me, but have no reaction at all. Those are the ones who sadden me. It's as if someone randomly flipping them off while grinning is just par for the course. Those are the dead souls, the downtrodden, the serial killers. I pray for them; and when the light turns green, I remember their faces. All of them.
The Adventures of Huckleberry Hoo
Hello, Writers and Dear Readers.
On the channel today, we feature a legendary mind from the pages of Prose. I've been waiting for this one. Here's the link.
He's your huckleberry.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tFU8lqjcy8Y
And.
As always...
Thank you for being here.
-The Prose. team
Unraveling
I pull my head back with intent to scream,
Silence rings out, I burst at the seams.
A battle is raging inside my mind,
But on the outside, I appear just fine.
If you look closer you will start to see,
The truth that is painfully unraveling,
An internal deafening scream,
That won’t be heard only seen,
Pain that will not surface for relief,
Programmed to retreat,
It is tormenting me,
But a smile is all you will see.
Everything remains
I sit, sipping my coffee. Briefly, I peer around the large screen in front of me, and look out the window. I watch a small robin lands on the concrete walkway. I wonder how many times its landed there. Is it happy? I look up at the clouds, slightly overcast, I think. Maybe 75 degrees? As I'm trying to decipher the weather, a person approaches the door. Ding-Dong, the buzzer at the door shrieks as the glass door opens.
A tall, slender woman with jet black hair and a long red dress walks in. Her dress has a slight wrinkle on the left hand side, but I don't pay too much attention to it. Behind her a little girl follows, taking shelter behind the woman.
"Hello!" I say in an upbeat voice for the hundredth time of the day. I'm even surprised by how shrill and annoyed I sound.
"Hi, we're here for an appointment," the woman says in a dull tone. Her voice is rough and grainy. I notice dark circles that swirl around her eyes, and something tells me it has to do with the kid.
"Okay, and who is the appointment for?" The question is automatic. I have become so used to repeating it that I don't even have to think anymore. I'm a robot, what am I even doing here?
It's a question I've too often pondered. Why don't I leave, I'll ask myself. It's not like there's really anything in Vermont for me. I could pack up tonight, be gone tomorrow. I could go to New York like I'd always hoped, and get a job at a restaurant until I make it as an actor. You know, I think I might do it. Wait, what if I can't make it? What would my parents think if I left everything I've ever had behind. I can't go, I'm making a living here. I have an OK life!
Just like that, it becomes a passing thought. It gets pushed completely out of my head, and I return to work. "It's for Cassie" she mumbles. Leaning close, she whispers "she has to get a tooth out, the poor baby!"
I scroll down the page on the giant screen until I find Cassie. 11:45 AM, CASSIE ROGERS, I click on it, and the name becomes highlighted in green. "She'll be fine," I absentmindedly respond. "Okay, she's all checked in. Please just sit in the waiting room and her name will be called out soon."
The woman lets out a dissatisfied grunt, and returns to her daughter. I find my eyes wandering back outside. Slightly overcast, I think. A robin lands on the concrete, and I wonder if it's happy. A person approaches the door, and everything remains.
