The deepest secret

that I never told

was that I killed a child

when I was thirteen.

She was bright

and dreamed

of space travel

and of inventing fantastic machines.

I yanked her from

her fluffy bed,

dragged her to the living room,

turned on the TV.

I stabbed her eyes

with a steely knife

formed of 

pictures

of sand dunes and 

of tanks exploding.

And I whimpered to her

as darkness

replaced the life that bled from her:

"That is where your daddy is"

I took a gun

and shot her ears

with the cries

of starved children

and the shrieks of vultures

ready to devour.

And I screamed at her

through salty tears:

"It's too late for you to save them!"

Her knees wobbled

somehow still alive

on life support

from the small light of hope

that drove her youthful soul.

And so I mustered

the shred of strength -or fear- left of me,

to explain

in a soft whisper

that some people

lose all hope

that they extinguish their light

entirely.

And at this, her color drained

from red

to white

to blue,

the same colors

as it happens

that her father

could be wrapped in.

I killed a child

when I was thirteen.

I killed a child

and that child was me.

#ProseChallenge #DeepestSecrets

Behind my smiling face sits a very sad boy on whom wishes of love and care yet pushes people out by being sarcastic or zany most people by now think it's just my personality I truly am myself on paper and if you have read my poetry it's always been easy to fake my sadness I got the most tips the day she left me because however sad I feel I replaced it with happiness it's strange but after that day I saw that it worked and I'm not bottling them up i just place them on a page and let them dissolve out of my mind there's a pleasant feeling of care and love that I can't write about anymore writing breaks down my emotions so I'm afraid if I write about love it too will fade

There's a hollowness in me

As wide as the Grand Canyon

Aching with need

Throbbing with pain

Frigid air freezes me from inside out

That man used to sit in my hollow

Kept me warm, kept me full

I almost forgot it was there

Until he stood up and left

Kissed me goodbye and went to Texas

Left me alone here

Aching with need

Throbbing with pain

Frigid air whipping wildly once again

This hollowness hurts

I know the wrong ways to fill it

I'll fill it with whiskey when I get drunk

I'll fill it with white and snort every bit

I'll fill it with green and smoke it out

I'll fill it with every drug I get my hands on

I'll fill it with man after man after man

I'll fill it with women and church and work

But none of these ever fills it for long

There's a drain at the bottom

Of this dark, hollow canyon

And I can't find the stopper

Everything I do to fill it leaks out

Aching with need

What is the right way to fill it?

I'm tired of doing it wrong!

Throbbing with pain

I don't want to be empty and hollow

I don't want that frigid air anymore

I want to feel full and loved

I want to feel warm and safe

I want that hollow to be gone

Good Afternoon, Prosers, 

Most of you will have seen our Copperplate announcement, and no doubt some of you will be left feeling slightly disappointed by the lack of a short fiction result. 

This decision wasn't taken lightly at all. It was one of the most difficult decisions we have had to make as a team, and it was based on the judges' advice. 

However, we want to push you, we want you to strive to keep challenging yourselves harder than ever before as writers. It is with this in mind, that we are rolling over the short fiction challenge and extending it for another two months. All is not lost. At all. 

We had four judging criteria for you, and that was what the judges were marking against when it came to your entries; Fire, form, content, and creative edge. The judges were also looking at the grammatical standards of your pieces, along with formatting. Formatting a piece of fiction correctly is probably one of the biggest challenges a fiction writer has. If you don't get it right, a reader's eyes will be underwhelmed before reading a single word. 

With this being said, here is a new challenge prompt, same prizes as before, and same judging criteria: 

The Copperplate Awards | Short fiction round two. 

As part of our annual writing challenge powered by Prose we are giving the Short Fiction entrants a second chance to wow us. First place winners are blessed with $500 and an iPad, plus bragging rights of being a Copperplate Award Winner! Submissions are evaluated by Prose and a trusted panel of judges based on form, fire, content, and creative edge.

Write a piece of short fiction where a lie is unearthed. Judges will also pay particular attention to grammar, spelling, and formatting.

**For previous challenge entrants: you are welcome to resubmit your previous entry with edits.  

This is your chance to shine, so show us what you're made of. 

Until next time, 

Prose. 

“Hey it’s moving!”

H-E-L-L-O

“Whoa.”

“Ask it something.”

“Ok. Ok. Can you hear us?”

YES

“Told you this was cool.”

“Go on, ask it again.”

“What’s your name?”

B-I-L-L-Y

“It said it’s name is Billy.”

“Hi Billy. Welcome to our home.”

T-H-A-N-K-Y-O-U

“It’s responding again. Awesome.”

“What do you want, Billy?”

P-L-A-Y

“Play? You want to play?”

YES

“Are you a friendly spirit?”

NO

“No?”

“What are you?”

D-E-M-O-N

“It just said demon!”

“I don’t like this anymore.”

P-L-A-Y

“Make it stop!”

“Wait, there’s more!”

R-E-A-D-Y-O-R-N-O-T

H-E-R-E-I-C-O-M-E

“Let’s get out of here!”

9-8-7

“MAKE IT STOP!”

“I CAN’T. THE FIGURE’S STUCK TO THE BOARD!”

6-5-4

“I TOLD YOU THIS WAS A BAD IDEA!”

“SHUT UP!”

3-2

“OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!”

1

“It stopped. It’s over. I think we’re safe now. What’s wrong?”

“B-B-Behind...”

F-O-U-N-D-Y-O-U

#Horror #Paranormal #HarryHorrors