Well, another entirely uneventful week in the world has flown by and brought us blinking blearily at this fresh Friday. That means just one thing. We focus upon a Proser and find out what we can about them. This week we head to Illinois to meet up and question (without torture) a Proser that goes by the name of @JessicaJohnson

P: What is your given name and your Proser username?

JJ: My given name and my Proser username are one and the same: @JessicaJohnson. Rather boring, I suppose.

P: Where do you live?

JJ: I live in rural southern Illinois in a small town surrounded by farming fields, mostly of the corn and bean variety.

P: What is your occupation?

JJ: My occupational title is Medical Laboratory Technician. I work in a hospital lab running various tests on blood and other bodily fluids as ordered by doctors and nurse practitioners.

P: What is your relationship with writing and how has it evolved?

JJ: My love for writing arose from my middle school days and an English teacher who introduced me to poetry. One of the first poems she had our class read was The Arrow and the Song by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, and I remember wanting to write something as beautiful and flowing as I found that poem. This teacher encouraged me to write and experiment with different forms of poetry, and I have been writing on and off ever since. As I moved on to high school and college, writing became a form of catharsis, and my writing moved to darker subject matter. Writing became a coping mechanism and a release. Today, my writing doesn't stay stagnant in one genre, but rather drifts between the darkness and the light.

P: What value does reading add to both your personal and professional life?

JJ: Oh, how I love books. And reading itself is invaluable. Professionally, reading is essential. The medical laboratory field is a constant flux of change with new diagnostic tests and testing methods to keep up to date on. Personally, I have always loved to read. There is nothing quite like getting lost in an authors words and being transported to their world. To quote George R. R. Martin, "A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies...The man who never reads lives only one."

P: Can you describe your current literary ventures and what we can look forward to in future posts?

JJ: I have always been a recreational writer, writing about whatever inspires me. Mostly, my writes were for my eyes only until I found Prose. I have, however, been working slowly on a project or two with the idea to publish in the future.

P: What do you love about Prose? Prose is great!

JJ: The community here is exceptional. Everyone is so supportive, offering encouraging words and helpful criticism. I've never stumbled upon a writing community as encouraging and as kind as Prose. I also love the massive amounts of talent here. I believe my writing has improved with my time spent here, largely due to the incredible talent that is so free flowing on these pages.

P: Is there one book that you would recommend everybody should read before they die?

JJ: I could never recommend ONLY ONE book. Of the classics, I would recommend Bram Stoker's Dracula, Robert Louis Stevenson's The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird. I would also recommend everything I have ever read by Edgar Allen Poe. There are many other classics I have read that I enjoy, but these are my favorites. Of the more modern books, I would highly recommend Easy by Tammara Weber (I have read it multiple times) for the strength and message of the story. I would also highly recommend The Inheritance Cycle by Christopher Paolini, a group of 4 epic fantasy novels that weave a captivating tale of elves, dragons, magic, and all kinds of other awesomeness.

P: Do you have an unsung hero who got you into reading and/or writing?

JJ: My grandma helped instill my love for reading. I remember as a kid sitting on her lap and having her read my favorite stories to me over and over again on a very regular basis. 

Also, the above mentioned middle school English teacher would fit this response for her inspiration and encouragement.

P: Describe yourself in three words!

JJ: Contemplative. Quiet. Curious.

P: Is there one quote, from a writer or otherwise, that sums you up?

JJ: I can't think of a quote that sums me up, but this is one of my favorite quotes: "We've all been sorry. We've all been hurt. But how we survive is what makes us who we are." -Rise Against

P: What is your favourite music to listen to, and do you write to it?

JJ: I enjoy just about anything in the rock n' roll genre of music, but I love hard rock, alternative rock, and metal. Recently, I have been listening to a lot of Butcher Babies, Bullet For My Valentine, Halestorm, and In This Moment. But I must also mention my longtime love for these excellent bands: System of a Down, Disturbed, Tool, Breaking Benjamin, Slipknot, Audioslave, Rise Against, Marylin Manson, Chevelle, etc. I do have the occasional softer side that enjoys classical music, or perhaps some Taylor Swift or Katy Perry. But, mostly, in the words of Halestorm, "I like it heavy." As for the second part of this question, I don't generally write to music. However, music has many times inspired me to write.

P: You climb out of a time machine into a dystopian future with no books. What do you tell them?

JJ: Tell me how this happened! I have a time machine, and we are going to amend this atrocity!

P: Is there anything else you’d like us to know about you/your work/social media accounts?

JJ: The only other social media account I currently have is a facebook page under my name. I don't promote much of my writing there, but you are welcome to friend me if you can find me.

Thanks SOOO much to Jessica for her time. Follow her, engage with her and read her words.

Meanwhile, c’mon guys. We’re running out of Prosers, so if you like this feature then please suggest people, even volunteer yourselves. Plus, if I (@PaulDChambers) has sent you some questions, then please answer them and send ’em back! If you have and have yet to see the fruits of your labour, then chase me on paul@theprose.com

Prose wants you to feature in future Friday Features. Get busy.

Sometimes I need to create my feelings into verse

To look my turmoils in their face

I go to a concealed location

Writing is my secret place

Composing poetry is my passion

A mixture of emotions to embrace

Using my pad and pen

Writing is my secret place

Making rhymes with imagination

My ideas I wish not to erase

Recording my unknown sentiments

Writing is my secret place

Sketching my affections into poems

I take my journal to a sacred space

Veiling my mind from the world around me

Writing is my secret place

We are all born 

With a dream to change the world

To shake up this messed up morale

And we all make an impact 

No matter how small 

We just hope that it won't be hurtful.

To change one person's life

To be their one and only

To be spoken of for years

In reverence

To be loved to the end 

To be kissed on the head

To have flowers surrounding your gravestone.

Upon the ashes of war, we built our city of glass –

Transparent and beautiful, light reveling free

With see-through walls and see-through doors

To strip secrets bare, exposed all to see 

Rainbows bounding in light, endless and more

With the royalty’s signature, counting decrees

We turned home into a hawk eyes watching

With little glass grass and shining glass trees

They said lies had initially torn us apart;

Things we kept hidden had caused us the war -

No privacy; goodbye nurtured rebellion,

Clear sight of all allowed orders restore

Upon the city, of all could see through

least to those close, unmarred in our eyes

but of some things we wished to un-see,

Of the ugly in all, no wretched disguise

When the light bounced it soon burned

Yet in the distance became distorted

The castle towers beaming far far away -

Images unknown contorted

Hardened clear logic lacks empathy;

We melded skin into paper see-through

And in the mirage built on this land

Our heart began to turn glassy, too.

Saturated and devoid of color,

It’s a gorgeous city skyline sight

But it’s oh so very cold here now

And our eyes burn from the light

We see everything that doesn’t matter

Yet of insight importance we lack

So do us a favor and take that hammer,

Smash us to dust with a shatter, crack

I love writing when I'm broken. It doesnt matter how messy or horrible the piece is. Most of my genuine pieces are messy, raw. They don't rhyme or have any type of structure. But the pieces where I pour my heart out, where I write it so fast I wonder how the words even came to me, those are the pieces I go back to all the time. Those are the pieces that heal me. Those are the pieces I'm hesitant to share. I'm not hesitant to share them because they make no sense and are kind of terrible but because I feel like a piece of my heart is on paper. Sometimes I wait for bad things to happen because there is no drug in the world that can numb my pain like writing. I lust after that type of numbness, its better than being happy. Feeling nothing at all, feeling like your heart is empty for a short time. There is no hate, love, or despair. For a few moments I just exist. And that feeling of just existing is a feeling I cant get anywhere else. 

I closed my eyes as his steps echoed closer and closer: The clank of his golden-heeled shoes, the rotten-peach grin. I could feel his hands at my shoulders, at my sack-cloth shirt, pulling me up. I coughed, looking away. 

He handed me a cup of wine. If it was laced with poison, I would die. Usually this job is honored, but not sought after. Mine was neither of them. I was treated like dirt and forced to risk dying every week. 

I took a sip of the wine. Its bitter sweetness stung my tongue and burnt down my throat. The King watched anxiously.

My eyesight blurred slightly. Everything slowed down, then sped up. I heard an angry roar as I fell to the ground. 

I closed my eyes as he held my face in his hands. 

"Toby.... I never told you.... you're my son..."

His face disappeared in shards of gold and red as I fell into oblivion.

From a schoolyard row over a classroom scowl.

To the touch of arousal in hidden rooms of adolescent carousal.

To a plane dropping bombs on fanatics citing psalms.

To a monk gaining light after a lifetime's dark fight.

Some say ying,

Some say yang.

Some say joy,

Some say pain.

But the battle never stops.

And balance be the judge.

And grey be the king.

Whilst acceptance the key.

To the path in light drenched in peace.

Upholding the law we always knew to be true.

A drum so maternal,

Eternal,

Yet lost in our youth,

To hear its beating once more,

To bust down the door.

For come seek the tribal call.

Come inhale the smouldering lie,

Of a world sick on death.

For in us are kings,

Queens of this dirt.

For we are the future.

Yet we are the hurt.

Locked shores, horns,

Sands soaked in blood.

Forgive us our brothers.

As we redeem our sin.

Forgive me young you as we venture within.

We see it.

Me you.

We lead unto harmony.

We feel it.

You me.

There's an atom in our armoury,

Too.

The world is cold 

You'll soon find out

By the time you're old

You'll be left out but 

Hey

Keep dreaming

Someday you'll see 

The world anew

In shades of red and green and blue

You never saw before 

But where will I go 

If I don't believe in heaven?

Where will I go 

If I only believe in Hell?

It doesn't seem fit to send me there

I've already had my fair share

So I hope people like you 

Can dream...

Watch the people on the street get shot

Watch them bleed red with battles they fought

What says their life is worth less than yours?

Watch kids your age die from disease

Watch as warm hearts freeze

Watch everyone turn their back on me

But 

keep dreaming 

See the gap that's in our world

The ones who have everything, and the poor

The ones who suffer everyday 

For their words

And you're lucky to have a dream

Because the world is not so clean

I never saw it as bright as you

But

Keep dreaming

Keep dreaming

Keep dreaming.