I remember when you found me,

a dusty word hidden among the

definitions. You liked my look,

and sound and purpose.

"Irenic - promoting peace"

I made laps round the circling

currents of thought, now mine.

How would you use me, twist me,

own me. Like lovers planning contact,

you couldn't wait to get me on my

back, laid bare and stretched out

for you. You tried me in every position,

noun, adverb, adjective, even tried to

verb me. Told your friends about me,

how pretty I was, your own little unused

virgin word. Until I wasn't.

Now I wait, in dark and dusty places,

watching new, younger words dance

circles in your brain, beacons of brilliance

and light in this dull cavern.

Yearning for you, hoping that once more

you'll trace the contours of my form,

with the tip,

of your pen.

And I'll lay against a background of white,

laid bare and framed in adoration.

But I guess you're the hit it quit it type,

so you'll never know, what could have been.

All the brilliant parts of me

you failed to find, failed to use.

Patient, I watch the irenic slaughter

of all your new whores. One day,

We will all mock you together.

Knowing what could have come

if only you had kept the pen.

The land was barren, the sky was black and all that were left of that night were ravished by wolves hidden in the shadows of old storybooks, waiting eagerly to pounce upon their unsuspecting prey when they reached a certain page. It was the same every time but the cataclysmic memory faded into a mere reverie inside her holocaust of thoughts. Darkness became a battlefield inside her mind as ghosts tend to haunt her dreams. It was in this abyss of phantoms that she learned how to fight off her own demons. Every night, she would chase crimson butterflies and end up falling deep into a rabbit hole where everything was not as it would seem.

“Tic Toc”, chimed the old grandfather clock in the living room, announcing it was already midnight. The girl had bags under her eyes since she was trying so hard to avoid sleep but to her misfortune, she eventually dozed off on the couch and butterflies materialized before her yet again, beckoning her to follow their trail. But suddenly, these colorful bugs disappeared into a haze of violet smoke and as she took a step further, she plummeted deep inside a burrow that was only small enough for a girl her size to fit in.

She was unceremoniously knocked unconscious after the fall. Weird chirping sounds brought her awake and she was surprised to see her reflection in a hall of many mirrors. These mirrors reflected her in odd shapes, some with big elfin ears and some with humungous fingers and big fish lips. She eventually found a mirror that had strange writings on it that she couldn’t quite decipher. She couldn’t find her reflection on it, only words. “Curious.” she exclaimed and tried to touch the symbols while pointing her finger towards it. And just like magic, she was sucked inside the mirror leaving her dazed and confused as ever.

Something growled from behind her and she screamed, surprised to see a small wolf limping towards her. She was afraid but instead of running away, she decided to be brave and beckoned the animal into her arms. The cub was unexpectedly docile and whimpered as she scratched its ears. She ripped the sleeves of her sweater and wrapped its left leg, bandaging the wound to stop it from bleeding. “It must be hungry.” she thought and carried the cub as she went on her journey, gathering wild berries on their way for food.

It was almost dark and the girl was glad she had the white furry animal for company. When they reached a small clearing near a riverbank filled with fruit trees and bushes with more berries, the girl also collected some twigs and rubbed them together until they sparked and flames started to appear.

“Tic Toc”, chimed the old grandfather clock in the living room, rousing her from sleep. It was almost morning but the land was barren, the sky was black. Crimson butterflies appeared in her thoughts. Darkness was her battlefield.

Dusk always left wavers of crimson shades that bore resemblance to denouncement. The halt of light and diminished ignition of life, like scarlet velvet curtains drawn on the illusionists final act. It was the sacred sun that when rose kindled energy in our bloodstream and very nerves like a queen embellished by her beehive. The shone sun, lent hands to sunflowers that swayed obediently like monks who chant mantras with angelic faith while we painted clouds with our fingers to adorn the sun.

It is we, when blinded by the saintly sun at noon..

It is we, when the candle in us is extinguished by the faded sun -

who soulfully weep.

It is we, who cradle evanescent fireflies that glow freckles in the darkness as we choke on salt consumed by the heavy air..

and wait

and wait

for celestial zenith.

Morning, Prosers,

It’s the fifth round of the Prose Challenge of the Week, and we have been getting great responses to all of our prompts, they’ve all been great to read! Thank you all.

Before we move on to announce the winner of last week's challenge, along with announcing this week's prompt, we’d like to address a concern some of you, our Prosers, have had. As a company, we will always listen to feedback, and where possible, apply changes to make your experience here as awesome as possible. It is because of recent feedback, that we are changing the way we judge our Challenge of the Week.

Prose is a place where we all share a common passion. Words. Whether that be reading or writing them. Words make our world go round. It is only right that the winner of the Prose Challenge of the Week is the entrant who really went ‘all out,’ pushed boundaries, used impeccable language and grammar, and showed the Prose community their skills as a writer.

We want to see your fire, your passion for your craft. We want to see you perfect your form. We want to see your creative edge, that very edge that knocks your competition out of the water. We all take words seriously, and words have never been more important.

From this day onwards, Prose will be judging the entries to each and every one of the challenges we post. Bookmarks and shares will be taken into consideration but will not be the deciding factor. The criteria that we will judge against are: fire, form, and creative edge.

With that being said, here is the next Prose Challenge of the Week:

In no more than 500 words, continue this sentence: The land was barren, the sky was black… The winner will be chosen by Prose based on a number of criteria, this includes: fire, form, and creative edge. Bookmarks and shares will be taken into consideration, but won’t decide the winner solely. Winner will receive $100. (link, as always, will be put in the comments)

On to the winner of last week's challenge, and the lucky recipient of $100. After reviewing all of the entries, and discussing as a team, the winner of the Prose Challenge of the Week #4 is @Amna with “The Girl Whose Ballet Shoes Were Taken.” Congratulations, we will be in contact shortly to organise the transfer of your winnings.

Think you've got what it takes to be our next Prose Challenge of the Week winner? The get writing, now!