Both of us already gave up on the “where”.

Recently, the “how” no longer matters.

In fact, only the “why” became of any concern for the “when” was an inevitable as taxes.

“Lisa, I am still cold. Can you warm me?”

“Don’t speak. We have very little oxygen remaining.”

“But I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to die alone. Lisa, are we every going to…”

I gave her a reassuring “Shh” like my mother once gave me at Rene’s age. Soft and sweet. Almost a whisper. The kind of “Shh” where the adult has to stay brave so the child will remain calm. At least that is what I hoped for. I mean, besides the rescue I could not believe would occur. Such curious words; hope and believe. Almost synonyms. Almost worth caring about.

I refocus when I hear my companion sobbing softly.

“Rene, let’s play a game. Don’t tell me, just think real hard. What color is your hair? If I guess correctly, tap me twice on my hand. If I guess incorrectly, tap me once. Would you like to play?”

If felt two light taps from her left hand on my right hand.

Since our predicament, I think I have become Rene’s surrogate mother. I can’t see her and she can’t see me, but I believe her to be no more than eighteen. Compared to my age of fifty-one, I understand why she would want a surrogate mother. If I were in her shoes, I would.

Even before today, my thinking dominates my speaking. I can conduct entire conversations in my head solely as a series of monologues or diatribes. I say conversations, because I think for both participants. This could be a left-brain right-brain thing with vocabulary alien to my duties as a court stenographer. Under the circumstances, this will have to suffice. No grammar police here.

Rene’s sobbing slowing is becoming crying and I am powerless to prevent any further emotional response. So I go back to thinking.

Maybe I am here because of a clearing house of court personnel who can identify a specific suspect who committed a specific crime prior to a specific court date. Maybe someone, from my less than sordid past, believes I know more than I am willing to say. My age permits a host of possibilities with smart money on the former.

But, what I cannot understand is why she is here. Rene should have her whole life ahead of her.

She wears no wedding or engagement ring and her vocabulary still suggests attendance in high school. She should participate in proms, graduations, weddings, and baby showers. She should get to see Paris and Milan. Whatever sin I may have committed, I am positive Rene was not an accomplice, before or after the fact. The only word that comes to mind is “innocent”.

And I may never have enough air left to understand her role today’s events.

“Are you a brunette?”

After what seems an hour, I feel a single tap on my hand.

I want to roll over to make use of any light to comfort this child. But I can’t. The wooden ceiling is low and moist. I know water is seeping (maybe dripping is a better word) in. Cold water. The kind you encounter when below the frost line. If we do not succumb to hypoxia, we will to hypothermia, or drowning.

“Are you a blonde?”

I have rattled my brain for more time than I believed we would have. We should have died already. My research in late-night trashy black-and-white films suggests people in these conditions lose track of time quickly. How long is “already”? Can I think of a way to stave off the inevitable?

Rene taps my hand once. This time, however, her hand remains in contact with mine. I allow it to remain. I begin hearing her humming a faint nursery rhyme. I could order her to remain silent, but she shares in my difficulty, so why not its scant resources? I wait patiently until she finishes the entire song.

My choices are now one. “Do you have red hair?”

This time I wait even longer than before. I am having trouble feeling my legs. Prolonged contact with the cold water has numbed them. Rene must also share in my discomfort although she does not speak of discomfort, or of anything else.

She should have given me two taps by now. I foolishly allow a few minutes for her to think. By now I know what has happened but will not accept what has happened. Her hand is colder than mine. By default, I am now warming her.

And I wait again for those two taps.

And for something new to think about.

Or, for just one tap.

Or, for anything to think about.

Yes, there's intimacy

and then there's the times you

get naked and drunk

and cuddle in bed

and tell each other things you'd never

tell sober

“Last time I got so drunk,” she

said, “I got my hands on

a poster with

a missing child and called the

number

and got under the blanket with

the phone,

started crying and said,

'Daddy, daddy, I miss youuu!”

It fucked up the guy who answered

the phone but... my crying

was genuine.

I really felt everything I've said.”

He just laughed

and hugged

her tighter

There would be no closer intimacy

than this

***

INSTAGRAM:

https://www.instagram.com/bogdan_1_dragos/

Hello, Writers and Dear Readers.

Last one from the original Prose. studio, before the road meets us. Here's the link.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zN8tEeNZX8A

And.

As always.

Thank you for being here.

-The Prose. team

of course,

it's not easy

If it were easy

everybody would've done it

But this... this required courage

above all. It required guts. It

required an overdose of

nonconforming

And today was the day

that proved he was just the right man

for it

Often

the right man is the insane man,

the soul who dares to

be the revolutionary who goes against

the system

Dammit, everything was in

place. The cards were dealt and all bets

placed. The muse was

caged and ready

to be milked

"Here I go," he said, ignoring the knocks

and the shouts coming from

beyond the sturdy door

of his office

The nonbelievers were trying to

reach out to him

fools without vision

like his mother and his wife

and mother-in-law

and the children

Oh, they demanded to know for what reason

did he suddenly decide to

quit his high-paying job at the law firm

to start a career as a writer

what fools

"Darling, what about the mortgage?"

"What about your retirement funds, you idiot?"

"What about the kids' college debt?"

"Have you gone completely mad, for

Christ's sake?"

Yes. Yes, I have.

One has to be mad to write. But still,

no matter how mad a writer is,

he still doesn't hold

a candle to the nine to five

salary man, does he?

***

INSTAGRAM:

https://www.instagram.com/bogdan_1_dragos/

AUDIO READING:

https://soundcloud.com/user-937736610/have-you-gone-completely-mad

She doesn't want to see

people

on the weekend

only her

cat

She gets drunk by herself

and then rummages through

her books

and reads the last pages

of several romance novels

and starts crying

When she cries

she holds the

cat's head like

a goblet

and clasps its ears with

her lips

and sucks on them,

making the poor

animal uncomfortable

And if the cat

runs away

she gets really sad

She writes positive

affirmations on

pieces of paper she

rips from

books

GOD IS MY SUPPLY OF LOVE

IN GOD'S NAME, I AM LOVE

THERE IS ONLY LOVE

LOVING ITSELF

AND THAT'S ALL THERE IS

then she eats the

papers

or crumples and

shoves them

deep between her

legs,

strengthening her faith

in the power of

the word

eventually she

falls asleep

and dreams of an

umbilical cord floating

through space,

seeking to wrap itself

around a planet shaped as

a baby's head,

wanting to strangle, to

crush it

but it never

succeeds

Eventually she awakens

and starts

writing poems

***

INSTAGRAM:

https://www.instagram.com/bogdan_1_dragos/

I can see it

clearly

even though the napkin is

folded and crumpled

around the small things

it covers,

I can see on it

a drawing of a dragon

with flowers for horns

it pokes its

forked tongue at me

and winks

also its eyes

have long lashes

“You listening?” she says

shaking the

fist that holds the

napkin

I can no longer see

the dragon drawn

on it

“What?”

I say

She proceeds to open the

napkin and

reveals a few small, white

pills.

“Forget what they taught

you in school. Despite

all they said,

the nerve cells of the brain

can actually be regenerated.

It's been proven.

An' you can do it

with these here beauties.

C'mon, take one.”

“What?” I said. “I didn't

know my nerve cells

are damaged.”

“That's because your

nerve cells

are damaged,” she said

“Damn...”

“No, seriously. They have to

be. It's because you

spent so many nights

awake. That shit

kills neurons more than smoking,

drinking, and hard drugs

combined. You

probably have just

a handful left.”

“Damn...”

And she asked, “What's

47x6?”

“I don't know.”

“What did I ask you

two questions ago?”

“Shit, I can't remember.”

“Do you even care?”

“Nope. Not really.”

“Your brain's a graveyard

of neurons, boy.”

“Is it really that bad?”

“D'you still write?”

“Yeah.”

“Then it's really that

bad.

Take one of those

pills. Here.”

She grabbed one with her

fingers yellowed

from cigarette smoke

and handed it to me

Perhaps the fact that I

took it proves

I've not that many

brain cells left. I don't

know.

I don't know why

they're so

important in the first

place

Honestly,

at this point all I'm

worried about

is losing soul cells

Now that would

be a tragedy

But the wink of the drawn

dragon from

the napkin

proved I wasn't quite

there yet

Thank God

***

INSTAGRAM:

https://www.instagram.com/bogdan_1_dragos/

THIS POEM READ IN MY VOICE:

https://soundcloud.com/user-937736610/soul-cells

Hello, Writers and Dear Readers.

In today's vid, we feature a powerhouse of talents. Here's the link.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2nzWrxbdvDU

And, as always............

Thank you for being here.

-The Prose. team

everywhere you go

it's the same

all the big shots,

the people who made it,

athletes,

entrepreneurs, artists,

and so on

they all tell you

to dream big, to set high

goals and then

trust the infinite intelligence

of the universe

while you just do your

part of the work

he thought he was

surely not

the only one who

tired of it

but he applied the methods

"When I was young and

poor," said one

of the big shots

on TV, "I used to walk into

the most expensive

stores in the city

and I would try out the most

expensive clothes. I would

take them into

the fitting rooms

and put them on

and just look at myself in

the big mirror, trying to

capture that feeling

of already having what

I desired. Trying to see

myself actually

owning those

fancy things."

It was excellent advice

He followed it. Only

he didn't just

try out the

expensive clothes. He added

a twist of his own

into the mix.

"I'm too intelligent to be

able to fool myself," he

said to himself

in the mirror

in the fitting room. "I can't

cause my mind to

believe that I actually

own these clothes. I get the

thought, but not

the feeling. The only way I

can also feel what I think

is if I do something to

my body as well."

So he did it

Took his penis out

and started rubbing it there

in the fitting room

while wearing the

super expensive clothes. Now

he was the CEO having

sex with a super model

There was both

thought and

feeling involved

The manifestation was

surely just

a step away. It was coming

just like he

was coming

inside the expensive

pants

He then took them off

and put them

back on the

shelf

and walked out,

feeling like he accomplished

something

The big

dream

was closer to reality

than ever before

***

MY IG:

https://www.instagram.com/bogdan_1_dragos/

THIS POEM READ IN MY VOICE:

https://soundcloud.com/user-937736610/to-bring-the-big-dream-closer

How many years do I have to live

without regular utilities like

natural gas back on for heating,

or having the water turned off for days at a time because he “ forgot” to pay the bills.

How long do I have to live with substandard living conditions?

I honestly don’t know how to get out of this. I have no source of income,

my family all have their own lives and homes and are not willing to take me in. I think I’m worthless since I can’t contribute financially.

I have an active application for disability that is ongoing and I’m waiting for that.

I just feel so lost and crazy!

I can tell my depression is worse,

I feel like I’m in Hell!

Fallin', tripping, and flying,

Trying to get a grip on reality,

As you fall into a swirling blue portal

The mind starts spiralling,

As flowers engulf your vision

Sensation hits your body like water,

Tapping the beach on the shoulder

Not an utterance of discontentment,

Just crashing into nirvana

Then the ground appears

As if it was always there,

Your vision clears but there's a filter,

Like you are dreaming,

Seeing turquoise fields and every species of tree,

As you walk around slowly,

Touching and breathing in everything

Fruits don't have any bruises,

The snapdragons smell delicious

Your senses are hazy but still working,

It occurs to you that this is like Eden,

But a tad different,

There's an artificial element,

You are here but you don't exist

A mirage, a faultless illusion,

Kingdoms built from delusion,

Of a perfect experience,

An idea plucked from your head,

Plop! An orange falls onto you,

Breaking the rumination,

Whilst you let paradise consume your existence,

Stepping away as you let go of your suspicion,

Your body lays on the ground

Broken beneath the apple tree of an orchard

Forever sleeping, living in a dreamland.