I hobbled onto stage. I groaned as I grabbed a hold of a rail in front of the microphone. “I feel like Michael freaking Morbius before the bat-serum,” I said. “Welcome to the announcement everyone! I ran my first marathon today! Why? Easy. I’m a masochist. What was that, Nick? Are you sure? Is there a second definition. Yeah, I mean the second definition, you sicko. Anyway, how are you guys? It’s May, and I am finishing the April challenge. Sorry for how late this one was. I’m tired and hurting, so I’m going to jump right into this, is that okay?

“In third place, The Power and Its Victims by ThatGirlAJ. It was a really fun read! Super creative. I enjoyed every second of it. Hopefully Sally learns her lesson.

“In second, we have Unplanned by Rosemandle. It was very heart-warming. It makes me smile every time I read it.

“Our winner won by a long shot. I want to read a book by this contestant. The story was magnificent. They didn’t hold back, either, so it was a ‘long’ post for Prose. Which is good, because we have a lot of short little stories here. I was hooked from the start and was sads to see it end. Our winner is… ME! Wait, I used that joke before. Oh, I see. There have been some technical difficulties. Although I may be listed as the winner, the true winner of Pen to the Paper this month is KoconutLatte with their post The Shaman!”

The crowd cheered.

“I’m serious, man. If you ever publish a book, hit me up. I’ll be your first customer.

“There were a lot of excellent posts this time, some of my favorites being by Uschibear, AlisonAudrey, Sanjana_S, and Raybug63. I suggest that those of you who like looking at the posts to check them out, and most of the others as well!

“Sorry for the low effort post this month. I’ll be back soon with a far better, much funnier Pen to the Paper 21!”

I wasn't thinking it a minute ago

But now I am

& I can't stop

I keep spiralling

& spiralling

& I can't stop.

"Anything else, dear?"

Sabrina politely refused Mrs Taylor's offer with that sweet smile that could only belong to her. It was that gracious giggle that made the young lady famous in town, even when she rarely appeared down here. Her house is somewhere near the woods, the young boys say. It was the sole thing her father left her with, says the older fellas in the armchairs. And yes, to have stories told about you can be exciting. But not always.

"Oh, and I could use a broom, Mrs Taylor. The old one leaves more dust than it sweeps."

And that was the moment when everything changed. Mrs Taylor, who had been busy totalling all the prices despite her poor mathematical skills, gazed up at her in shock. The young boy, fiddling around with the worn-out bicycle tires, stood still as his tires rolled down the stairs to the harbour. The senior gentleman, busy scanning the papers beside her, no longer cared about the headlines. Clearly, they just beheld the beginnings of the forthcoming big news in town.

Even as Sabrina left the store, no longer wearing her adorable smile, she could feel the stares. How can someone feel those eyes? She doesn't know, but those eyes pierced right through her skin. The broom stood projected out of her little jute basket, and no one hid their suspicions as she walked to the edge of the town. Sabrina could hear the faint whispers amidst the cacophonies of the busy street. And for some reason, she knew they were talking about her.

Sabrina walked a little faster, feeling a growing sense of uneasiness clawing about her insides. Unfortunately, this only adds to the suspicions of the piercing eyes. She could now hear their breath. Perhaps if the town was quieter, she could have listened to their heartbeats too. Soon enough, she could hear the footsteps following her in stealth, closing in for the day's prey.

And before Sabrina could restrain herself, her legs took off, attempting their best to carry their keeper to the safety of her home. The jute basket slipped off into the gutter, soaking her favourite cookies in the swamp. But she couldn't care any less.

Of course, the home could not keep her safe. But sometimes, it seems to be the solution to everything. Returning home. But in those nefarious eyes, it was no longer a home. It was a coven. And Sabrina, a witch. Their prey. The one to burn while they relax and watch.

********

"Burn her." There never was much Sabrina could do. Apparently, the young man, whose love she refused, had seen her cooking potions. Smoke billowing out of her little coven. And another little girl who had seen her in her nightmares. All she could do was beg, and she did. But the men took the decision for the Gods, and how could she prove them wrong?

The young man was smirking as she got carried away by the relentless guards. The little girl sneaked behind her mother, unwilling to listen to the pleads of a witch. One day, they might take her away too. She doesn't know. In the name of God, they say. How could one kill an innocent girl in the name of God?

She doesn't know, but as she felt the fire melting her skin, she realised it. Her father loved the legends of the lost kings and their declining realms. They perch helplessly on their thrones when the Wicked takes over. In the name of the King, they say. But the King would have long lost his hopes on bringing happiness back to his kingdom. He just shuts his eyes and says it's dark. Sabrina wouldn't blame him. There wasn't much he could do.

Even as the young lady could feel Life doing its best to hold on to her, she was perplexed. Who was more terrifying? The King or the Wicked?

########

I got a long explanation to make, haven't I? *innocent lauughter* Well, to start off, I am in college! As if that justifies everything XD Well, I messed up. I guess that's pretty evident when it's about me *facepalm* But yeah. Well, technically, life messed up way better than I did this time around, so I guess I did okay XD Anyway, I will try to come up more often from now on. And yes, this story will (from now on) hold the record of the fastest story I have ever written ^-^ It took me about... an hour? An hour and a half? Well, definitely not a week or longer, as it normally is XD I hope you guys like the story. Missed you all too much!!! Warm hugs everywhere ^0^ <3 <3 <3

#fiction, not the last part (:

Attention, booklovers! This is Chacko Stephen, your personal entertainment companion. And welcome to Book3, where we discuss everything novel. Let us hop right in!

So, this is how it works. It is simple. We introduce three new books (which I plan to read soon...), describe the plots, and pick a favourite from the previous article. Trust me. This will be fun! And perhaps, you will find your next big read up here!

And to be honest, this is not the best list out there, but we have some gems lined up here tonight. Without further ado, let us get into it!

1. Welcome to Nowhere (Elizabeth Laird, 2017)

Genre: Fiction, War.

Plot: Twelve-year-old Omar and his brothers and sisters were born and raised in the beautiful and bustling city of Bosra, Syria. Omar does not care about politics - all he wants is to grow up to become a successful businessman who will take the world by storm. But when his clever older brother, Musa, gets mixed up with some young political activists, everything changes . . . Before long, bombs are falling, people are dying, and Omar and his family have no choice but to flee their homes with only what they can carry. Yet, no matter how far they run, the shadow of war follows them - until they have no other choice than to attempt the dangerous journey to escape their homeland altogether. But where do you go when you cannot go home?

And I was desperate for a leap out of my comfort zone! When I read the plot, it suddenly struck me that I had never read anything that features;

One: The plights of immigration.

Two: Any of the Arab Nations (except once in Inferno where they visit Hagia Sophia)

Three: Something that focuses on Muslim characters.

That’s a terrible lack of diversity that I can see in my reading habits! And when I thought about more of these lacks, I was surprised by the number of items I could come up with. It is about time that I start exploring these new realms... (And the book is described in the first person, so I felt it could help me a bit with my current project. It did.)

2. The Rise of Wolves (Kerr Thomson, 2017)

Genre: YA, Mystery.

Plot: Innis Munro is walking home across the bleak wilderness of Nin Island when he hears the chilling howl of a wolf. But there are no wolves on the island - not since they were hunted to extinction centuries ago. He decides to investigate his island home and accepts an ancient challenge: he who jumps the Bonnie Laddie’s Leap wins a fortune. As the wolves rise from the darkness of history and long-buried secrets resurface, Innis’ adventure truly begins ...

Well, there was a more specific reason why I chose this one. I was planning on writing a novel set in Scotland somewhere in between all this time. (Nope, I didn’t write it. I didn’t.) And I wanted to know as much as I could about Scotland and the Scottish before I began. And as you might notice, the next pick is also set in Scotland!

And there are wolves! But no, that wasn’t the primary reason. (It is more like a secondary one...) I also figured out that even as a teen, I had never explored many YA novels before. So, I went for a YA pick, and why not wolves and teens?! It is always fascinating! Except for Twilight, perhaps...

3. Farewell Tour of a Terminal Optimist (John Young, 2017)

Genre: YA, Contemporary.

Plot: Quick-witted, sharp-tongued Connor Lambert will not take it any longer: the bullying, the secrets, the sympathy. He has been dying from cancer for years, but he is not dead yet. He is going down fighting.

Forming an unlikely friendship with fellow juvenile delinquent Skeates, the pair stage a breakout and set off on a crazy tour across Scotland -- dodging the police, joy riding and extreme partying -- to find Connor’s dad, an inmate at Shotts prison.

But Connor’s left two things behind -- the medication he needs to keep him alive and the girl who makes living bearable. A fresh and bold debut novel-- full of heart, guts and raw emotion. Farewell Tour of a Terminal Optimist is a brilliantly funny, thrilling exploration of friendship, identity and mortality populated with witty, sharply drawn characters.

Yep, I needed something messed up. And this one was satisfying the criteria splendidly! I mean, what could be messier than two crackhead teenagers out in the open? They don’t even have to break out of something here. Trust me, I know!

And it’s set in Scotland! It’s a beautiful country. I mean, I don’t have very high expectations with this one, but I think this will be a fun read.

And that’s it! That’s the three I am about to delve into for the time being. (Well, I might have already finished one of these and almost finished the other two, but let’s just say I didn’t. That’s not the concept of these posts...) Since this is the very first in the segment, I don’t think this was (It isn’t) the best way to present the books, but I will come up with better ideas next time! I assure you that!

Since this is our first edition, we don’t have a favorite book from the past article. But we will have one next time! I do have some lovely books in the next list! Do let me know which one among the three caught your interest! Anyway, this had been Chacko Stephen, your personal entertainment companion, and we will see you soon with another segment of Book3. Now, grab your novels, play some music, sit back and enjoy. Happy reading!

########

I actually had plans to put out the next chapter of Has Anyone Seen Jo tonight. But then, this week didn’t really pan out the way I thought it would *facepalm* I am sorry. But then, I thought I will pull this one up now. I had it in my drafts for a while, so I thought this might be the perfect time to put it out there! Hope you guys enjoy it, and perhaps, actually find something interesting! And I assure you that I will come up with a refined, better version next time ^0^

Lots of love,

Chacko Stephen

#nonfiction, or is it?

Being seperated from your Husband is a difficult thing. If someone hated , or strongly disliked them, then why not just divorce him. So there is something obviously keeping you together. Yes, religion and strong belief in God and the marriage vows. For me, the passion and drive keep me going to work towards being back in my marriage and where we belong, together.

Alright. Let’s take this step by step.

The first question is when: When did Jo go missing?

It was somewhere between 11 and 12 in the night.

The second question is where: From where did Jo go missing?

It was from her bedroom.

The third question is how: How did Jo go missing?

I zoned out for a minute, and she was gone. Therefore, we shall draw the first conclusion that she must have sneaked out by herself. It’s an impossible window for an abduction. The odds are too vague.

The fourth question is why: Why did Jo sneak out in the middle of the night?

Unclear. Jo’s mind works in strange ways. I told you-- she is the dumbest there is!

The fifth question is who: To whom could she have gone?

That brings us to the suspects. I have two doubts.

One: Mr Derrick Watson. Eighty-year old (Neighbour). Short white hair. Black eyes. Dark brown complexion. A little plump.

Two: Ms Elizabeth Bennett. Ten-year-old (Friend). Shoulder-length brown hair. I don’t know, strange eyes? Beige complexion. Petite.

The final question is what: What can I do to find her?

Darling, you have no idea what I am capable of. Before the sun rises in the east, I will bring Jo back home. And no one will ever know a thing. Let’s set out, shan’t we?

I rise from the bed, aiming for the windows. I will need a view. A broad one. If Jo is somewhere out in the open, I need to know. If that’s the case, I am sorry, lads. The story might end quite sooner than you anticipate.

But no. Jo might be dumb, but my hovering presence around her could have brought around some change. But before we move on to the suspects, I need to collect some evidence. I cannot gather direct testimonies from the neighbour or the friend. They will never even be able to sense my presence. I need to ask someone pure of heart. And I think I have already found the perfect witness.

There she stood, above the hill. The only one in the whole region. She glistened in the moonlight, and her tender leaves shone in the darkness. She must be old. Dozens of years must have passed since her birth. She must be wise. And standing above the hill, she could see every last thing that transpires on the island. The fairy tree.

I glide through the windows, taking the first step in the quest for Jo. To be honest with you, reader, I don’t think our journey together will last that long. The moment I reach her, our adventures might conclude before they even have the chance to begin. And to be furthermore honest, I can’t really see why I should care about that. I hover, close to the grass, steadfast on my way. Nothing can stop me, and nothing will.

“Ow! Watch where you are going, stupido!” The voice brings me to an immediate halt. What is that? A little squeaking creature. Is it a rat? But rats rarely keep their pureness of the heart for long. I need to know the answer. “Who is that?” I ask aloud.

And in all fairness, the owner of the feeble voice surprised me. A tiny blade of grass! How dare a piece of nothing raises its voice against a guardian angel? “What is your name, little thing?”

“Graham.” The reply nearly cracks me up. It must have been no more than a few days old. Such a feeble, childish voice with the name Graham? “Who named you, squeaky?”

I see how irritated and disturbed the arrogant little thing becomes. Speaking against a guardian angel with such temper, he must be taught a lesson. And his reply cracks me up again, “God did.” The determination and confidence in his voice are too silly! Considering that his answer is one born out of zero wisdom and knowledge, I feel pity for the thing.

“God,” I laugh, “God named you? How relevant do you think you are for the Great Lord? You are nothing but a tiny, trivial piece of grass. Your life is meaningless. It lasts as long as one day when the cattle bite you off your roots to satisfy their hunger. Or perhaps, a little storm. How dare you even say his name?”

The determination and confidence I saw early in his eyes are long lost. Is he crying? All it takes is a little monologue, and he realises his worth. How could these beings be so absurd? I can see him struggling to hide his tears. How melodramatic! Jo was the same. She couldn’t even handle the least of insults-- Breaking down in an instant. I wish the children were given more wisdom.

“You are not an angel. You will never be one.” How pathetic! As much as I want to laugh it off and stick to my goal, I feel this rising need to let it know its value, “I am one.” Without another word, I continue my path. My valuable time is not to be spent arguing with worthless things. I have to find Jo, and I have to do it soon. And so, for the time being, I am avoiding the whimpers of the little one behind in my path.

#fiction

We squeezed round the table eight friends all from school

Four sat on dining chairs, four sat on stools

Our fingers all touching the glass in the middle

Instructions agreed, no one to fiddle

Ouija boards are not to be played

It’s serious stuff where contacts are made

Is anyone there we hear Paul say

The glass edges forwards and stops at the J

We all ask in unison does anyone know

The glass moves sideways and stops at the O

Alan breaks rank and runs for the door

The glass bangs the table, Alan falls to the floor

I’m stuck to the glass I hear someone say

The glass just ignores him and moves to the A

Someone starts crying with fear, it is Ben

Wind whistles past us as the glass stops at N

Ian’s dog starts to bark and gives one monstrous roar

As an old ladies photograph falls from the wall

We manage to escape leaving Ian alone

The last words he screamed – Please no Aunty Joan

- Alan’s death was recorded as death by natural causes.

- Ian remains on the police missing persons list to this day, they have never found his body!

©Julian Race 04/09/2021

Twitter @JulianRace1

Disclaimer: The following content is for entertainment purposes only. It is strictly not personal. And mostly, unreal.

P.S: Change dialect to Indian English for a better experience. Don’t know how? Just add more yaars and dudes at random places. And most importantly, make sure that no ‘R’ can ever be silenced. We, Indians, believe in equality when it comes to relevant things like these. When it’s irrelevant like gender, sexuality or something, it’s adjustable.

Your Radiance,

Some of you might not have understood the person I just addressed. Well, it’s a long story. If you would like to know, stick with me here. I will explain.

Far, far away, in the distant land of Odisha, where every day tends to be festive (without pretty much reason), a young girl was born. Her name was Smruti. No, yaar, I am just kidding. Her name was Smruti Swarupa Mahapatra, and as far as I know, her name could be longer! Like, Smruti Swarupa Mahapatra something, something, something.

But you might still be wondering why I would address her as ‘Your Radiance’. Unbeknownst to most, Smruti is not an ordinary young girl. She is a queen in a faraway land, where mighty dragons soared the sky and wicked sorcerers performed their rituals. Now, their realm is in total disarray, and according to the prophecy, only the runaway queen can save their kingdom from their menacing enemies.

And where is she? Well, you can see her roaming through the empty streets of Odisha at midnight because sleeping during nights is not fun enough. And then, she sleeps through the noons since it’s entertaining after a heavy lunch. Oh, sorry, dude. Not a heavy lunch!

If there is one person she loves most in the world, it’s herself. She takes the term ‘self-love’ to a whole another level! If you could quickly snatch her phone away and check her gallery, half of the pictures will be herself. Half? I doubt that too. It could all be herself, with one or two exceptions.

But it’s not as bad as it sounds. The queen also spends a long time giving good advice to people who require it the most. It’s so helpful for broken people like me. Her advice can be as philosophical as ‘Just be yourself, and everything will be alright!’ to ‘Why don’t you take photos of yourself?’. I mean, like, that’s an integral part of your life! You have to take pictures of yourself and frame them across your room. So that you can later be Charles Darwin 2.0 and prove that humans are going back to monkeys.

But you could still be thinking, why ‘Your Radiance’? Why wasn’t it ‘Your Majesty’ or Your Highness’ or something? To be honest, I don’t know, yaar! She can be compulsive about things without any reason. I mean, she is still a teen, and it’s totally understandable, right? No, it’s not. Why? I will tell you.

She is certainly not a teen.

She is manipulating her identity. I can be very sure of this. Why? She is too mature for a sixteen-year-old, dude! I have seen her contemplating things that regular people don’t even think about in their sixties!

I think she might have had an existential crisis the day she was born! She might have been thinking, “Oh, I have a life now. But it’s so worthless, yaar. What am I supposed to do down here on Earth? What is the purpose of my life?” And everyone must have thought she was crying as usual babies do, but no! She was going through an identity crisis right there, right then! That’s how complicated she is!

Ah, I am sorry, Smruti. I didn’t mean any of this, okay? It is purely for entertainment purposes and fulfilling your challenge, okay? Oh wait, I didn’t tell you about that one, did I? She created a challenge asking others to roast her! See, crisis! I mean, like, what sort of misogynistic person would do that on a random morning? It will be like, “Oh, I am feeling so bored! What will I do? Oh wait, I got an idea! I should ask everyone to say negative things about me! That would brighten up my day like it’s summer!”

I mean, seriously? If she asked everyone to say ten positive things about her, I could have understood that. I mean, I would have struggled to do that, but that’s understandable. But “Come on, everybody! Make me feel worthless!” is not something everybody says on a fine morning! Not everybody, but Smruti Swarupa Sakthi Ranjan Mahapatra! I don’t know if that’s a part of her title, but I think she will be alright with that. If I could do the same, I would have named myself ‘Chacko Is A Horrible Name, Mr Stephen’.

I mean, who doesn’t like long names? As a matter of fact, everyone in Odisha has long ones. It will be fun if their teachers want to punish them. They would hand their students a sheet of paper and tell them, “Go write your name a 100 times.” It would literally keep them occupied for hours, and their hands would be all sore by the end! Dolores Umbridge would be proud!

And when I say this, never think that I am any better, okay? We also have quite the alphabet system! It literally feels like that game where you help Mickey find the way out of the maze. If Ariadne in Inception knew Malayalam, she would have surprised Cobb solely with every last one of our letters. That’s how mesmerising it is!

And do you know that game where you have to draw something without taking the pen off the paper? We invented that! We have letters like “eru” that looks like the rough plan of a theme park joyride! You can’t even find where it begins! It’s basically a loop! And the best part is that it gets worse!

Anyway, back to Smruti! As I said, she is too complicated for me to explain. I might be able to go on for days and describe other things like her family reunions that can be announced as district festivals and her love of writing. But I have already crossed a thousand words, and I am unsure of the word limit here. To be honest, I am more afraid of whether the queen will decapitate me and then stitch my head back, give me life, and kill me again. This could be the last time you might read one of my posts. Pray for me, won’t you?

Lots of love,

Chacko Stephen.

I am just going to say #fiction so that she doesn’t go far too ruthless in coming up with methods of execution (:

The sound of a hundred birds wafted slowly in the air as the sun rose gently from far behind the distant mountains. They flapped their wings, singing a sweet lullaby and moving in choreographed melody, their feathery plume shimmering in the arching rays. The benign breeze swept over the somnolent springy turf and skimmed through the waves of the river. Darkness surrendered to the verdant hues of gold and a brilliant blue loomed in the skies like a bizarre sorcery. The birds disappeared into the clouds, their calls fading away adagio.

Tranquil waves kissed his feet as he sat on the pier, mesmerised by the mellow crack of the dawn.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he said to his daughter who sat next to him on the dock. “You know what, Grace?” he said, his eyes averting from the ether, “this reminds me of the day when you were born.” His cheeks welcomed a warm smile as his grey cataract eyes filled slowly. Wrinkles adorned his face like layers of clean muslin. His hair wasn’t combed, his face wasn’t shaved and his clothes were all puckered. He had a visage that had seen more of youth than age.

“It happened at this hour,” he said drawing his breath “in the dulcet December, when the indolent sun rose late, and dawn lined the horizon in faint yellow. You never troubled your mother even then.” He let out a chuckle and turned towards Grace. He wished she would say something but she remained silent, like a sundial in the shade.

“Have you noticed the sparks of sienna fires that burst and flew up when blown?” he smiled “That’s how your eyes were when you first opened them. Your hair was a shade of taupe brown, just like your mother. Oh, Grace, I have never seen her happier.” He rubbed the side of his cheek with the back of his fingers.

“It is odd, is it not?” he sighed “how fast time flies, how swift things happen.” He paused to draw a breath, trying in vain to control his tears that rolled down his cheeks effortlessly.

“I know it’s going to be a beautiful place,” he wrapped his arms around her and held her tight for one last time. “You’ll get to see your mother,” he bit his lip and shut his eyes tight as they waded towards the shadows of the willows. Tears squelched on his lashes when he opened them. It wasn’t dawn anymore; perhaps it will never be, he thought.

Sitting on his knees, he opened the urn, scattering her ashes into the river. They seeped through the water and vanished in seconds. He longed for someone to cradle him into their arms as he broke into hysterical tears.

“I’ll meet you there, Grace” he gave out a sigh, almost a whisper, barely emotionless. He brought his legs close to his chest as a warm pallor spread on his face. A vacant expression fathomed to be a smile took shape on his face as the word escaped from his mouth—“Sayonara.”

It is odd, is it not? How fast time flies, how swift things happen.

Just because you illuminated the blue icon is a vain way of covering up the real issue or are you so far stuck up yourselves that there really isn't a glitch, you choose who get's the illumination. Say's it all for me and all the supporters that liked this post, you've shown yourselves up to be what you really are and what you really think of all Prose writers!

In reality, I do not think any new features should be added to Prose until the features they already have are de bugged and work as they should.

For example, although I have only been a member for about a year I notice that a number of winners of challenges do not always get the blue illumination tab depicting a win. It is not that someone else gets it, it is because there is a known glitch in the system which Prose are not in any hurry to fix.

If someone wins a challenge and the challenge setter states the win will be decided by the number of likes, this is when it happens and is not when the challenge setter chooses the winner!

This glitch does not happen on all challenges so you will see the blue tab but they are aware of the problem.

It is because of this glitch that I do not post any work here, I use another site that works to ensure the recognition is given to challenge winners.

Until enough people support and lobby Prose to remove the glitch, this will continue.

The blue tab is a motivational nudge to continue to improve as the writer is attracting the likes and re posts which enabled the writer to win the challenge.

You do not have to support this posting but at least you know there is a glitch that needs sorting out.