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Written by AmandaCary

A Less Than Average Morning

Jason and Luanne, like any average couple on any average day, enjoyed morning coffee made from a Columbian brew labeled "Breakfast Blend," tasting only slightly of dirt and strongly of chocolate. Luanne preferred this blend because it wasn't particularly strong when compared to other blends she'd tasted, and Jason enjoyed this blend because he wasn't particularly strong compared to Luanne, and this was the blend she complained about least.

This day, however, quickly became substantially less average with the appearance of a rattling thud. This rattling thud was promptly followed by the sound of a substantially less rattling plop. The plop, in turn, was followed by the creaking of their back door slowly opening itself only three feet from the couple's morning coffee position, and thus left Jason and Luanne forced into an appropriate reaction.

In observance of couples upon being interrupted by a rattling thud followed promptly by a substantially less rattling plop, then followed by the creaking of a back door slowly opening itself only three feet away, one could conclude that most couples - with the exception of particularly odd couples who will not be addressed at this time - react in very similar ways depending on their position when encountering said initial rattling thud.

If the couple is listening to music, for example, the male will generally ignore said thud while the female moves to turn the volume of the music down. The female will then proceed with concern and ask the male, "Did you hear that?" He will reply, "Hear what?" She will then respond, "That thud," and he will answer, "No."

In the event that the couple is cooking dinner as a couple, both parties will abruptly stop whatever it is they are doing at the exact moment of said thud, at which time the female will almost definitely begin a question, "Wha--," after which the male will almost definitely put a halt to this question with a, "shh." He is now committed to bending forward slightly so that his head is leading the position of his body toward said thud, and the female will slowly inch toward the male as the male initiates investigation.

In the case of Jason and Luanne, morning coffee was underway, so their reaction was fairly standard with the exception of Jason's inability to walk without crutches. Therefore, the sequence of events would have to be meagerly rearranged to apply sufficiently to this morning that was no longer particularly average.

Once said rattling thud then led to a substantially less rattling plop, initiating the creaking of their backdoor slowly opening itself only three feet away from Jason and Luanne, the couple stalled their drinking of the Colombian breakfast blend in unison. Each furled their brow in surprise whilst placing individual white, ceramic coffee cups onto the breakfast table, then they glanced at one another in a concerning manner.

Being the first to speak in most situations, Luanne, understandably very surprised, was naturally the first to speak in this situation as well.

"What the fuck was that?"

Jason, being accustomed to Luanne's potty mouth used only before her morning coffee was consumed to completion, ignored Luanne's abrasive tone and answered in a manner that indicated he was also concerned.

"I don't know. It was loud, though."

Luanne also felt the need to express what they had both witnessed at the exact same time, regardless of whether it was a particularly productive behavior while attempting to establish the origin of said thud.

"Yeah. It knocked the door open."

Jason, in an attempt to prolong the period of contemplation that would ultimately lead to a period of investigation, asked Luanne the same question that she had initially asked him regarding said thud, although Jason chose to do so in a much less abrasive manner.

"What do you think it was?"

Luanne, growing increasingly curious while still very surprised, indicated to Jason that she felt his lack of urgency may have been underwhelming and that the intelligent course of action would be to quickly find out more.

"Jesus, Jason. Are you just gonna sit there? Go see what it is!"

Jason was accustomed to Luanne's dramatic approach to most events, and therefore agreed nonverbally in the form of a nod and began to maneuver his crutches in such a way that he could quickly find out more, albeit not as quickly as he would were he not incapacitated.

Being less disabled and inarguably more aggressive, Luanne vibrantly excused herself from the breakfast table with an accompanying loud "huff" and, as one would expect given Jason's level of difficulty when traveling by foot, Luanne arrived at the open door way approximately seventeen seconds before Jason.

The object that created the rattling thud, also causing the sound of a substantially less rattling plop and eventuating the resulting creaking door that slowly opened only three feet away from Jason and Luanne, in turn causing both parties to leave their seats and investigate said thud, was lying motionless on the concrete patio. It was wrapped neatly in a white sheet and bloodier than most objects known to cause rattling thuds.

Luanne had an abhorrent reaction to the sight of blood, and in turn felt the need to enlist the help of Jason, who had only just arrived at the doorway. Jason, looking very worried, was hesitant to remove the object responsible for the rattling thud.

"Oh my fucking God, Jason, it's bloody! I can't touch that thing! That's so disgusting! Oh my God! Pick it up and get it off the porch, now! Hurry up, you idiot!"

Jason, seemingly unable to move given his current state of shock and also being very worried, only stood propped by his two crutches and an agape mouth. Luanne, although very surprised, came to the sudden realization that she would be best suited for the removal of the bloody object wrapped in a white sheet that was responsible for said rattling thud, and therefore performed her necessary duty.

"Are you serious, Jason? Good lord, you are such a pussy. Whatever, I'll get it. Ew...this is so freaking gross."

Luanne, although moving quite slowly and despite being very surprised, managed to lift the object quite easily and began removing it from its cotton casing. While the object was still at least eighty two percent concealed, Luanne felt a sense of relief as the object appeared to be a familiar one.

"Wait a second. Is this your- Hey, it's your foot!"

Jason, pleasantly surprised by the sight of his missing appendage, took the foot eagerly from Luanne and hobbled haphazardly with the assistance of his two crutches back to the breakfast table in order to continue unwrapping his foot.

Folded into a perfect square and tucked safely between his large and middle toes, a note was stored for the obvious purpose of explaining the missing foot's reappearance to Jason and Luanne.

"Hey guys, so sorry. Charlie must have grabbed it from the porch. Also, he was hit by a car this morning while he was running around with your foot. Sorry about the blood, I didn't have time to get a clean cloth. This is so awful, but I know you need this.

Call me later.

Love,

Angela"

After picking up the object responsible for said rattling thud and a less-than average morning, then reading aloud the perfectly square and folded note tucked safely into Jason's foot by their neighbor, Angela, it all finally made sense.

Jason regularly left his prosthetic foot on the front concrete porch after mowing in order to avoid Luanne's annoyance at freshly cut grass being strewn through an impressively clean house. When returning with a dry cloth meant to be used as a cleaning apparatus in removing the freshly cut grass from Jason's prosthetic foot, Jason found that the foot was indeed missing.

While Jason was inside searching for a dry cloth, Charlie, Angela's Golden Retriever of 12 years, spotted the foot lying lonely on Jason and Luanne's porch, in turn removing the foot from their custody and taking it for a joyous stroll through the neighborhood.

Passing nearly seventeen houses, Charlie and the foot traveled a substantial distance given the width of the foot in comparison to Charlie's mouth and also considering Charlie's advanced age.

As Charlie crossed the intersection of Mulberry Lane and Elderberry Drive, a passing motorist was caught by surprise by the sight of Charlie carrying a human foot in his mouth, and in turn the motorist slammed on his brakes, causing three cars behind him to swerve into oncoming traffic and/or pile into the vehicles in front of them.

Charlie, distracted by the sound of tires screeching, did not notice an oncoming Toyota Prius in the opposite lane of the previously surprised driver, darted toward the pile up of vehicles, and was struck by the Prius.

The Prius owner, dressed in eco friendly cardboard sandals and wearing home-groomed dreadlocks, understandably sobbed uncontrollably for thirty two minutes before remembering the necessity of calling 911.

911 turned Jason's foot and Charlie into the local police station, where Officer Montgomery contacted the number printed on Charlie's tags.

Angela, in turn, immediately and quickly drove to retrieve Charlie, and inevitably also retrieved Jason's leg. Upset, she felt it more appropriate to write a note and throw the foot over the fence to not only avoid speaking to anyone in a time of upset, but also avoid the possibility of another animal borrowing Jason's foot.

This led to said rattling thud.

After it all finally made sense, Jason and Luanne proceeded to finish their breakfast coffee and expressed concern for the neighbor, as would be expected from any decent neighbor.

"Maybe we should send her a gift basket, Jason."

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Written by AmandaCary
A Less Than Average Morning
Jason and Luanne, like any average couple on any average day, enjoyed morning coffee made from a Columbian brew labeled "Breakfast Blend," tasting only slightly of dirt and strongly of chocolate. Luanne preferred this blend because it wasn't particularly strong when compared to other blends she'd tasted, and Jason enjoyed this blend because he wasn't particularly strong compared to Luanne, and this was the blend she complained about least.

This day, however, quickly became substantially less average with the appearance of a rattling thud. This rattling thud was promptly followed by the sound of a substantially less rattling plop. The plop, in turn, was followed by the creaking of their back door slowly opening itself only three feet from the couple's morning coffee position, and thus left Jason and Luanne forced into an appropriate reaction.

In observance of couples upon being interrupted by a rattling thud followed promptly by a substantially less rattling plop, then followed by the creaking of a back door slowly opening itself only three feet away, one could conclude that most couples - with the exception of particularly odd couples who will not be addressed at this time - react in very similar ways depending on their position when encountering said initial rattling thud.

If the couple is listening to music, for example, the male will generally ignore said thud while the female moves to turn the volume of the music down. The female will then proceed with concern and ask the male, "Did you hear that?" He will reply, "Hear what?" She will then respond, "That thud," and he will answer, "No."

In the event that the couple is cooking dinner as a couple, both parties will abruptly stop whatever it is they are doing at the exact moment of said thud, at which time the female will almost definitely begin a question, "Wha--," after which the male will almost definitely put a halt to this question with a, "shh." He is now committed to bending forward slightly so that his head is leading the position of his body toward said thud, and the female will slowly inch toward the male as the male initiates investigation.

In the case of Jason and Luanne, morning coffee was underway, so their reaction was fairly standard with the exception of Jason's inability to walk without crutches. Therefore, the sequence of events would have to be meagerly rearranged to apply sufficiently to this morning that was no longer particularly average.

Once said rattling thud then led to a substantially less rattling plop, initiating the creaking of their backdoor slowly opening itself only three feet away from Jason and Luanne, the couple stalled their drinking of the Colombian breakfast blend in unison. Each furled their brow in surprise whilst placing individual white, ceramic coffee cups onto the breakfast table, then they glanced at one another in a concerning manner.

Being the first to speak in most situations, Luanne, understandably very surprised, was naturally the first to speak in this situation as well.

"What the fuck was that?"

Jason, being accustomed to Luanne's potty mouth used only before her morning coffee was consumed to completion, ignored Luanne's abrasive tone and answered in a manner that indicated he was also concerned.

"I don't know. It was loud, though."

Luanne also felt the need to express what they had both witnessed at the exact same time, regardless of whether it was a particularly productive behavior while attempting to establish the origin of said thud.

"Yeah. It knocked the door open."

Jason, in an attempt to prolong the period of contemplation that would ultimately lead to a period of investigation, asked Luanne the same question that she had initially asked him regarding said thud, although Jason chose to do so in a much less abrasive manner.

"What do you think it was?"

Luanne, growing increasingly curious while still very surprised, indicated to Jason that she felt his lack of urgency may have been underwhelming and that the intelligent course of action would be to quickly find out more.

"Jesus, Jason. Are you just gonna sit there? Go see what it is!"

Jason was accustomed to Luanne's dramatic approach to most events, and therefore agreed nonverbally in the form of a nod and began to maneuver his crutches in such a way that he could quickly find out more, albeit not as quickly as he would were he not incapacitated.

Being less disabled and inarguably more aggressive, Luanne vibrantly excused herself from the breakfast table with an accompanying loud "huff" and, as one would expect given Jason's level of difficulty when traveling by foot, Luanne arrived at the open door way approximately seventeen seconds before Jason.

The object that created the rattling thud, also causing the sound of a substantially less rattling plop and eventuating the resulting creaking door that slowly opened only three feet away from Jason and Luanne, in turn causing both parties to leave their seats and investigate said thud, was lying motionless on the concrete patio. It was wrapped neatly in a white sheet and bloodier than most objects known to cause rattling thuds.

Luanne had an abhorrent reaction to the sight of blood, and in turn felt the need to enlist the help of Jason, who had only just arrived at the doorway. Jason, looking very worried, was hesitant to remove the object responsible for the rattling thud.

"Oh my fucking God, Jason, it's bloody! I can't touch that thing! That's so disgusting! Oh my God! Pick it up and get it off the porch, now! Hurry up, you idiot!"

Jason, seemingly unable to move given his current state of shock and also being very worried, only stood propped by his two crutches and an agape mouth. Luanne, although very surprised, came to the sudden realization that she would be best suited for the removal of the bloody object wrapped in a white sheet that was responsible for said rattling thud, and therefore performed her necessary duty.

"Are you serious, Jason? Good lord, you are such a pussy. Whatever, I'll get it. Ew...this is so freaking gross."

Luanne, although moving quite slowly and despite being very surprised, managed to lift the object quite easily and began removing it from its cotton casing. While the object was still at least eighty two percent concealed, Luanne felt a sense of relief as the object appeared to be a familiar one.

"Wait a second. Is this your- Hey, it's your foot!"

Jason, pleasantly surprised by the sight of his missing appendage, took the foot eagerly from Luanne and hobbled haphazardly with the assistance of his two crutches back to the breakfast table in order to continue unwrapping his foot.

Folded into a perfect square and tucked safely between his large and middle toes, a note was stored for the obvious purpose of explaining the missing foot's reappearance to Jason and Luanne.

"Hey guys, so sorry. Charlie must have grabbed it from the porch. Also, he was hit by a car this morning while he was running around with your foot. Sorry about the blood, I didn't have time to get a clean cloth. This is so awful, but I know you need this.

Call me later.

Love,
Angela"

After picking up the object responsible for said rattling thud and a less-than average morning, then reading aloud the perfectly square and folded note tucked safely into Jason's foot by their neighbor, Angela, it all finally made sense.

Jason regularly left his prosthetic foot on the front concrete porch after mowing in order to avoid Luanne's annoyance at freshly cut grass being strewn through an impressively clean house. When returning with a dry cloth meant to be used as a cleaning apparatus in removing the freshly cut grass from Jason's prosthetic foot, Jason found that the foot was indeed missing.

While Jason was inside searching for a dry cloth, Charlie, Angela's Golden Retriever of 12 years, spotted the foot lying lonely on Jason and Luanne's porch, in turn removing the foot from their custody and taking it for a joyous stroll through the neighborhood.

Passing nearly seventeen houses, Charlie and the foot traveled a substantial distance given the width of the foot in comparison to Charlie's mouth and also considering Charlie's advanced age.

As Charlie crossed the intersection of Mulberry Lane and Elderberry Drive, a passing motorist was caught by surprise by the sight of Charlie carrying a human foot in his mouth, and in turn the motorist slammed on his brakes, causing three cars behind him to swerve into oncoming traffic and/or pile into the vehicles in front of them.

Charlie, distracted by the sound of tires screeching, did not notice an oncoming Toyota Prius in the opposite lane of the previously surprised driver, darted toward the pile up of vehicles, and was struck by the Prius.

The Prius owner, dressed in eco friendly cardboard sandals and wearing home-groomed dreadlocks, understandably sobbed uncontrollably for thirty two minutes before remembering the necessity of calling 911.

911 turned Jason's foot and Charlie into the local police station, where Officer Montgomery contacted the number printed on Charlie's tags.

Angela, in turn, immediately and quickly drove to retrieve Charlie, and inevitably also retrieved Jason's leg. Upset, she felt it more appropriate to write a note and throw the foot over the fence to not only avoid speaking to anyone in a time of upset, but also avoid the possibility of another animal borrowing Jason's foot.

This led to said rattling thud.

After it all finally made sense, Jason and Luanne proceeded to finish their breakfast coffee and expressed concern for the neighbor, as would be expected from any decent neighbor.

"Maybe we should send her a gift basket, Jason."
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Continuing with cloudyvision23's original challenge to passionately write about a food, this time choose a dessert, write a descriptive poem, then tag another Proser to continue the challenge. Please also tag me @ruffmiriam in the comments, as well as previous writers of this prompt, so we can all read the final result.
Written by AmandaCary in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Mango Me, Please

My delightfully soft little melon

I devour you whole

Feel my teeth pierce your flesh

As they tear

Ever so gently

Into the sweet promises

Of your sun-kissed honey fruit

Melting over my eager tongue

Never resisting my hunger

When you're perfectly ripe

Why anyone would peel you

I could never guess

They will miss the intoxication

You so kindly gift

Asking nothing in return

As your skin tears to set free

Such a divine aroma

Made to weaken

Ravenous knees

I will never mix you into spirits

My love

And never will you shrivel under my hand

Save the sugar for sour berries

And the chili for a blander friend

Lime belongs, darling, to the young and green avocado

But you...

You are perfect just the way you are.

(P.S.: I love you)

((P.P.S.: I mean, like, I really freaking love you so freaking much.)

(((P.P.P.S.: oh my god, you have no idea...)

@Andrometa ... :D

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Continuing with cloudyvision23's original challenge to passionately write about a food, this time choose a dessert, write a descriptive poem, then tag another Proser to continue the challenge. Please also tag me @ruffmiriam in the comments, as well as previous writers of this prompt, so we can all read the final result.
Written by AmandaCary in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Mango Me, Please
My delightfully soft little melon
I devour you whole
Feel my teeth pierce your flesh
As they tear
Ever so gently
Into the sweet promises
Of your sun-kissed honey fruit
Melting over my eager tongue
Never resisting my hunger
When you're perfectly ripe
Why anyone would peel you
I could never guess
They will miss the intoxication
You so kindly gift
Asking nothing in return
As your skin tears to set free
Such a divine aroma
Made to weaken
Ravenous knees

I will never mix you into spirits
My love
And never will you shrivel under my hand
Save the sugar for sour berries
And the chili for a blander friend
Lime belongs, darling, to the young and green avocado
But you...

You are perfect just the way you are.

(P.S.: I love you)

((P.P.S.: I mean, like, I really freaking love you so freaking much.)

(((P.P.P.S.: oh my god, you have no idea...)

@Andrometa ... :D

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CotW #65: Write a story about infidelity. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.
Written by AmandaCary

Silence

(Disclaimer: 2500 words. This is a genre I don't normally write in, and it's a writing style I don't usually use, so critique is welcome as long as you're not mean and make me cry! Thank you!)

-———

When I was a little girl, I had three wishes.

I wished to never own a wire coat hanger, such crude and despicable things made only to wrinkle my blouses and irritate me beyond measure.

I wished for two children, one boy and one girl, who would never feel hungry or want for a single thing.

Above all else, I wished to marry the most beautiful man who ever lived beneath God, and that he would in kind marry me back. And this man would know how to gracefully love and speak to a girl who was deaf like me.

In this moment, though, all I can wish is that none of those things had ever come true.

********

'A splash of cream and two sugars for you. How about a blueberry muffin - on the house?'

Her hands moved gracefully when she spoke to me as if she'd been doing it for years, but I'd seen her with the customers ahead of me. She wasn't deaf.

'You sign?  Very kind of you.  You're not deaf?'  

'My older brother is deaf.  It was the first language I learned to speak.'  She crinkled her nose to top a toothy grin.  'Do sign to me next time, sweetheart, and go ahead and ask for me if I'm not at the bar. Would you like that muffin?'

'Yes, please,' I wasn't sure how to reply, 'thank you very much.'

I'd only been visiting the diner for two days.  My little Nanette had begun public school the week before, so my husband suggested I leave the house and "experience a bit of life," in exactly those words, of course.  Grey was kind to me in that way and pushed me to feel happy with myself.  I always supposed most wives didn't live with the sort of freedom he allowed me, so I took his suggestion.

The place was quaint, nothing to be particularly excited about.  Black and white vinyl flooring and small wooden tables with spindly legs paired with straight backed wooden chairs.  I would have chosen curved backs for the chairs if I'd had the chance, but it wasn't my diner, so I sat and did not contemplate interior design any longer.

Everything appeared to be silent aside from a single white carnation standing as centerpiece atop the table, enlisting the help of a soda bottle to keep it tall, until a thin hand approached my shoulder and caused me to jump from my skin.

Light brown eyes much like the color of raw Mexican honey raised their eyebrows and sat in the chair across from me.  They smiled.  Her teeth were unusually white, but her left canine layered itself over the rest. Her mouth seemed just a bit happier in that one spot than anything on the rest of her face, her nose a crinkle as she grinned. She was pleasant enough, so I smiled back.

'Do you mind?'  She brought her own cup of coffee, black.  'It's time for my break.  May I ask you to keep me company?  Everyone else here looks absolutely boring.' Amused with herself, her eyes widened before giving me a quick wink as she let the tip of her tongue catch in her teeth. A tiny nose once again shriveled into her top lip. She was indignant and cute. I nodded, and her hands spoke, 'What's your name?'

'Marie,' for the first time feeling insecure about my overly-common name, I winked back, 'boring, I know.'

That first day, we spoke for only twenty minutes. Her job behind the cash register was given to her by her father, which explained my own curiosities. It wasn't often one would see a woman in her position, even more unlikely a woman seemingly in charge.

********

Grey was waiting at our breakfast table with Nanette, bouncing beneath red ringlets and eager for a hug, when I returned from my shopping that day. They were patiently awaiting the gossip of a newly free-bird mother.

'How was it?' He signed skillfully despite his usually clumsy fingers. He was a large and abrasive man - clunky but kind, calloused from working the dairy.

We met in a private school for the hearing impaired when we were both nine years old. We had what could nearly be considered an arranged marriage made by two locally prominent families who were lucky enough during the depression to keep some wealth. His mornings were spent milking, but our families made sure to leave us a substantial and comfortable existence. We wanted for nothing as a family of three, and he was a truly beautiful man.

'Lovely! Thank you for insisting I get some air, Grey. It really has been wonderful. I hadn't noticed how cooped up I was feeling.' I planted my lips on his cheek then retreated - our daily peck. 

Gathering a five-year-old bundle of curls into my arms, I squeezed Nanette until she giggled her way loose. 'I missed you, Momma,' she signed with the sweet, stubby fingers of most children her age, although it had no effect on her talent in doing so. Thankfully, she could hear perfectly well.

'I missed you, too, punkin nose.' That nickname always warranted a squeezed nose and a kiss on the forehead, so I gave her just that.

I caught Grey's eyes as he watched us fondly, but something foreign inside of me wanted him to look away. So I changed course.

'I almost forgot. I found this dress shirt for you, dear.'   Pulling the crisp, white-collared suit shirt from my shopping and laying it gently across the cream of the table top, I added, 'I made a friend, as well.  Her name is Lillie.  I think you would approve, darling.' 

********

When I was fifteen, I was given fantasies.  I've never really known how to express that thought properly because they were not dreams I would have imagined myself.  At least, I can't believe I would have.  Not now, not as a mother and a wife.

Before the summer of '39, Miss Gering left the boarding school for a period deemed as indefinitely.  I was quite fond of her, if not most fond of her when compared to the other teachers at the school.  Before she left, she visited my room, and with a playful finger placed atop pursed "shhh" lips, she handed me a perfectly cubed rose-colored box just large enough to hold one pair of shoes.  

'These are yours, now.  Don't let anyone know or they'll take them away.'  She finished her sign with a sweet grin and left a young lady to her own imagination.

Inside the box were small, paper books much like the short detective stories I'd read many times before, and inside those books were sex, love, infidelity, murder - demons and drama beyond anything I could believe people who weren't written into a story have ever experienced.  I spent the entirety of that summer absorbed in a gritty human wilderness, abstract and littered with breasts and blood and passion and pain, and part of me never returned from that place.

Grey and I made love to one another nearly every night once we were married.  He was sweet and gentle, and he touched me in every place that I'd read a woman should be touched, but not even Grey could make me boil in such a way that those tales could.  I accepted as an adult that those stories were simply fiction, and sinful as I was to have indulged in such things, I supposed it must have been my punishment to deal more practically in sex than I'd desired.  

********

The thing about being both deaf and also quite introverted is that you learn how to avoid people, particularly strangers who may feel the need to approach you and speak unwarranted.  

I'd observed that the color blue was less likely to attract attention, and if I wore that as a very obsolete A-line dress coupled with flat white patent leathers, people had a tendency to look right over me without a second glance.  My wardrobe, therefore, was completely filled with blue A-lined dresses hung neatly with wooden dowel coat hangers and white patent leather flats aside from the few straggling garments Grey had given to me as gifts, of course.  

On that day, it was robin's egg blue with a stark white collar, as I was feeling more adventurous and talkative than usual.  It didn't seem a bad idea to put my rusty mouth to use for the sake of a good conversation with an adult, and I'd often reminded myself that I should have felt very blessed to have been given seven years of hearing in order to make it easier for me to communicate without sign.  

With the exception of Lillith, the diner was vacant when I arrived that morning.  The rush of the working crowd must have cleared its way through early.  Or perhaps I took longer to dress than usual.

Regardless of the reason, Lillie was waiting patiently for me with coffee and a blueberry muffin in hand.  Three months of friendship, and she knew exactly what I preferred on Monday mornings, along with every other morning, and always greeted me with her silly crooked tooth standing front and center.  

'How is that you haven't yet been abducted by a ravenous, muffin-crazed, maniacally caffeinated man, Lillith?'   She pouted in retort, and turned her cheek to me as per usual, gracefully accepting my apologies in the form of a peck.

"That gig has been filled," she spoke aloud as she set my breakfast on the bar, pointing towards the kitchen with a thumb. 'How could you possibly forget Hal?' She always referred to her father by his name, and she always laughed as she did - and I always imagined her laughter sounded as beautiful as it looked.

I loved watching Lillie speak to me.  Her lips moved even more naturally than her hands, and her eyes played in unison with her mouth to a depth that I'd never noticed in anyone else.  I'd always only read lips, but I often found myself watching the fine lines around her eyes as she carried on.  She was earthy and playful and even tossed about some deviance that I found utterly charming.  She had a habit of turning her face down as she smiled up at me, as if catching herself embarrassed.  She made me feel powerful in some way that I didn't understand, and I looked forward to this stirring in myself each and every weekday morning.

'I see you're dressed rather loudly today, Miss Marie.' She'd previously inquired about my solid blue wardrobe and I'd explained, so a tease was in order concerning the brightness of today's dress choice.  I wouldn't have expected a thing less from her.

'I was hoping it would help me get through this place without you gabbing my face off, but I'm starting to think nothing will do the trick.  I just have to live with your incessant yapping, don't I?'  Another pout, then a smile, then an odd pause that was very unlike her.  I'd even begun to think I might have finally hurt her feelings.

"Would you mind helping me a little today, Marie," she said aloud, making sure to grasp my wrist and look directly into my face, certain I didn't miss a single twinge.  She seemed concerned, "Hal has to leave early, so I'm by myself to clean up.  Would you mind?  Please?"

'Of course, madam.  Do you intend to pay me?'  The sincerity was making me a bit uncomfortable.

"I do believe I've fully paid you and more in the form of free coffee and muffins, but if you insist we're fair here, I'll be happy to give you kitchen duty every afternoon."  She lifted my left hand from my lap, and a kiss to my middle knuckle suddenly jolted me from my body, "thank you, Marie.  See you in a few hours."

********

The next three hours passed over me like a haze that nothing could revive me from. Not a thought of Grey or Nanette or even scripture could save me from what I knew was coming.

I knew exactly what Lillith wanted just as anyone else who could have been sitting in that chair and felt her lips graze their skin would have known.  I should have run and never come back to the diner. I should have returned home to my picturesque family. The twined and burning thoughts of doing such a terrible thing under the eyes of God - a betrayal of my sweet Grey - turned me filthy.  Horrid.  Disgusted with myself.  

Hot.  Flushed. Electric. Pounding.  I could feel nothing but racing waves washing over every inch of my body.  Into my face, filling my toes.  Between my thighs. 

I wanted her.  

When I walked into the diner, unable to sign, unable to smile, she was waiting for me with the empty cafe drapes drawn as closely as they could be pulled.  The gold of her eyes devilish and consuming as she walked towards me to lock the door, I noticed for the first time the softness at the dip of her neck - just where it met her collar bones - and that's where I kissed first. Every time.

********

The shower floor was cold enough to draw me in like an abyss, covered in vomit and my own fluids, but the release left me in a warmth that I welcomed with overwhelming gratitude. Had I known just how useful a wire coat hanger could have been to me at that time, I might have been friendlier to them. A razor to the wrist is much less forgiving and infinitely more permanent.

Grey made sure my funeral was heavenly despite knowing I would go straight to hell. Had I ever told him how I felt with Lillie, perhaps he would have understood that I had been dead since the day she left me standing alone. Had I not continued being his wife and fallen pregnant with our second child, she would have taken me with her, and he would have never been forced to find the horror of my soul having sucked itself down the drain.

Silence is overestimated by those who been distracted by noise their entire lives. I have felt the ecstasy of moaning travel from a kiss to my toes, and I have seen a heart disassemble itself into pieces and disappear as she looked into my eyes. I have tasted the hatred on a tongue that loved me moments before she learned that I had been lying to her and could never give her what she wanted from me.

And in my silence, I was saved from the sound of my little Nanette screaming as she watched me sobbing and naked in a world of my own, emptying the remnants of myself and of all the thoughts that I could stand to hear no longer.

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CotW #65: Write a story about infidelity. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.
Written by AmandaCary
Silence
(Disclaimer: 2500 words. This is a genre I don't normally write in, and it's a writing style I don't usually use, so critique is welcome as long as you're not mean and make me cry! Thank you!)

-———

When I was a little girl, I had three wishes.

I wished to never own a wire coat hanger, such crude and despicable things made only to wrinkle my blouses and irritate me beyond measure.

I wished for two children, one boy and one girl, who would never feel hungry or want for a single thing.

Above all else, I wished to marry the most beautiful man who ever lived beneath God, and that he would in kind marry me back. And this man would know how to gracefully love and speak to a girl who was deaf like me.

In this moment, though, all I can wish is that none of those things had ever come true.

********

'A splash of cream and two sugars for you. How about a blueberry muffin - on the house?'

Her hands moved gracefully when she spoke to me as if she'd been doing it for years, but I'd seen her with the customers ahead of me. She wasn't deaf.

'You sign?  Very kind of you.  You're not deaf?'  

'My older brother is deaf.  It was the first language I learned to speak.'  She crinkled her nose to top a toothy grin.  'Do sign to me next time, sweetheart, and go ahead and ask for me if I'm not at the bar. Would you like that muffin?'

'Yes, please,' I wasn't sure how to reply, 'thank you very much.'

I'd only been visiting the diner for two days.  My little Nanette had begun public school the week before, so my husband suggested I leave the house and "experience a bit of life," in exactly those words, of course.  Grey was kind to me in that way and pushed me to feel happy with myself.  I always supposed most wives didn't live with the sort of freedom he allowed me, so I took his suggestion.

The place was quaint, nothing to be particularly excited about.  Black and white vinyl flooring and small wooden tables with spindly legs paired with straight backed wooden chairs.  I would have chosen curved backs for the chairs if I'd had the chance, but it wasn't my diner, so I sat and did not contemplate interior design any longer.

Everything appeared to be silent aside from a single white carnation standing as centerpiece atop the table, enlisting the help of a soda bottle to keep it tall, until a thin hand approached my shoulder and caused me to jump from my skin.

Light brown eyes much like the color of raw Mexican honey raised their eyebrows and sat in the chair across from me.  They smiled.  Her teeth were unusually white, but her left canine layered itself over the rest. Her mouth seemed just a bit happier in that one spot than anything on the rest of her face, her nose a crinkle as she grinned. She was pleasant enough, so I smiled back.

'Do you mind?'  She brought her own cup of coffee, black.  'It's time for my break.  May I ask you to keep me company?  Everyone else here looks absolutely boring.' Amused with herself, her eyes widened before giving me a quick wink as she let the tip of her tongue catch in her teeth. A tiny nose once again shriveled into her top lip. She was indignant and cute. I nodded, and her hands spoke, 'What's your name?'

'Marie,' for the first time feeling insecure about my overly-common name, I winked back, 'boring, I know.'

That first day, we spoke for only twenty minutes. Her job behind the cash register was given to her by her father, which explained my own curiosities. It wasn't often one would see a woman in her position, even more unlikely a woman seemingly in charge.

********

Grey was waiting at our breakfast table with Nanette, bouncing beneath red ringlets and eager for a hug, when I returned from my shopping that day. They were patiently awaiting the gossip of a newly free-bird mother.

'How was it?' He signed skillfully despite his usually clumsy fingers. He was a large and abrasive man - clunky but kind, calloused from working the dairy.

We met in a private school for the hearing impaired when we were both nine years old. We had what could nearly be considered an arranged marriage made by two locally prominent families who were lucky enough during the depression to keep some wealth. His mornings were spent milking, but our families made sure to leave us a substantial and comfortable existence. We wanted for nothing as a family of three, and he was a truly beautiful man.

'Lovely! Thank you for insisting I get some air, Grey. It really has been wonderful. I hadn't noticed how cooped up I was feeling.' I planted my lips on his cheek then retreated - our daily peck. 

Gathering a five-year-old bundle of curls into my arms, I squeezed Nanette until she giggled her way loose. 'I missed you, Momma,' she signed with the sweet, stubby fingers of most children her age, although it had no effect on her talent in doing so. Thankfully, she could hear perfectly well.

'I missed you, too, punkin nose.' That nickname always warranted a squeezed nose and a kiss on the forehead, so I gave her just that.

I caught Grey's eyes as he watched us fondly, but something foreign inside of me wanted him to look away. So I changed course.

'I almost forgot. I found this dress shirt for you, dear.'   Pulling the crisp, white-collared suit shirt from my shopping and laying it gently across the cream of the table top, I added, 'I made a friend, as well.  Her name is Lillie.  I think you would approve, darling.' 

********

When I was fifteen, I was given fantasies.  I've never really known how to express that thought properly because they were not dreams I would have imagined myself.  At least, I can't believe I would have.  Not now, not as a mother and a wife.

Before the summer of '39, Miss Gering left the boarding school for a period deemed as indefinitely.  I was quite fond of her, if not most fond of her when compared to the other teachers at the school.  Before she left, she visited my room, and with a playful finger placed atop pursed "shhh" lips, she handed me a perfectly cubed rose-colored box just large enough to hold one pair of shoes.  

'These are yours, now.  Don't let anyone know or they'll take them away.'  She finished her sign with a sweet grin and left a young lady to her own imagination.

Inside the box were small, paper books much like the short detective stories I'd read many times before, and inside those books were sex, love, infidelity, murder - demons and drama beyond anything I could believe people who weren't written into a story have ever experienced.  I spent the entirety of that summer absorbed in a gritty human wilderness, abstract and littered with breasts and blood and passion and pain, and part of me never returned from that place.

Grey and I made love to one another nearly every night once we were married.  He was sweet and gentle, and he touched me in every place that I'd read a woman should be touched, but not even Grey could make me boil in such a way that those tales could.  I accepted as an adult that those stories were simply fiction, and sinful as I was to have indulged in such things, I supposed it must have been my punishment to deal more practically in sex than I'd desired.  

********

The thing about being both deaf and also quite introverted is that you learn how to avoid people, particularly strangers who may feel the need to approach you and speak unwarranted.  

I'd observed that the color blue was less likely to attract attention, and if I wore that as a very obsolete A-line dress coupled with flat white patent leathers, people had a tendency to look right over me without a second glance.  My wardrobe, therefore, was completely filled with blue A-lined dresses hung neatly with wooden dowel coat hangers and white patent leather flats aside from the few straggling garments Grey had given to me as gifts, of course.  

On that day, it was robin's egg blue with a stark white collar, as I was feeling more adventurous and talkative than usual.  It didn't seem a bad idea to put my rusty mouth to use for the sake of a good conversation with an adult, and I'd often reminded myself that I should have felt very blessed to have been given seven years of hearing in order to make it easier for me to communicate without sign.  

With the exception of Lillith, the diner was vacant when I arrived that morning.  The rush of the working crowd must have cleared its way through early.  Or perhaps I took longer to dress than usual.

Regardless of the reason, Lillie was waiting patiently for me with coffee and a blueberry muffin in hand.  Three months of friendship, and she knew exactly what I preferred on Monday mornings, along with every other morning, and always greeted me with her silly crooked tooth standing front and center.  

'How is that you haven't yet been abducted by a ravenous, muffin-crazed, maniacally caffeinated man, Lillith?'   She pouted in retort, and turned her cheek to me as per usual, gracefully accepting my apologies in the form of a peck.

"That gig has been filled," she spoke aloud as she set my breakfast on the bar, pointing towards the kitchen with a thumb. 'How could you possibly forget Hal?' She always referred to her father by his name, and she always laughed as she did - and I always imagined her laughter sounded as beautiful as it looked.

I loved watching Lillie speak to me.  Her lips moved even more naturally than her hands, and her eyes played in unison with her mouth to a depth that I'd never noticed in anyone else.  I'd always only read lips, but I often found myself watching the fine lines around her eyes as she carried on.  She was earthy and playful and even tossed about some deviance that I found utterly charming.  She had a habit of turning her face down as she smiled up at me, as if catching herself embarrassed.  She made me feel powerful in some way that I didn't understand, and I looked forward to this stirring in myself each and every weekday morning.

'I see you're dressed rather loudly today, Miss Marie.' She'd previously inquired about my solid blue wardrobe and I'd explained, so a tease was in order concerning the brightness of today's dress choice.  I wouldn't have expected a thing less from her.

'I was hoping it would help me get through this place without you gabbing my face off, but I'm starting to think nothing will do the trick.  I just have to live with your incessant yapping, don't I?'  Another pout, then a smile, then an odd pause that was very unlike her.  I'd even begun to think I might have finally hurt her feelings.

"Would you mind helping me a little today, Marie," she said aloud, making sure to grasp my wrist and look directly into my face, certain I didn't miss a single twinge.  She seemed concerned, "Hal has to leave early, so I'm by myself to clean up.  Would you mind?  Please?"

'Of course, madam.  Do you intend to pay me?'  The sincerity was making me a bit uncomfortable.

"I do believe I've fully paid you and more in the form of free coffee and muffins, but if you insist we're fair here, I'll be happy to give you kitchen duty every afternoon."  She lifted my left hand from my lap, and a kiss to my middle knuckle suddenly jolted me from my body, "thank you, Marie.  See you in a few hours."

********

The next three hours passed over me like a haze that nothing could revive me from. Not a thought of Grey or Nanette or even scripture could save me from what I knew was coming.

I knew exactly what Lillith wanted just as anyone else who could have been sitting in that chair and felt her lips graze their skin would have known.  I should have run and never come back to the diner. I should have returned home to my picturesque family. The twined and burning thoughts of doing such a terrible thing under the eyes of God - a betrayal of my sweet Grey - turned me filthy.  Horrid.  Disgusted with myself.  

Hot.  Flushed. Electric. Pounding.  I could feel nothing but racing waves washing over every inch of my body.  Into my face, filling my toes.  Between my thighs. 

I wanted her.  

When I walked into the diner, unable to sign, unable to smile, she was waiting for me with the empty cafe drapes drawn as closely as they could be pulled.  The gold of her eyes devilish and consuming as she walked towards me to lock the door, I noticed for the first time the softness at the dip of her neck - just where it met her collar bones - and that's where I kissed first. Every time.

********

The shower floor was cold enough to draw me in like an abyss, covered in vomit and my own fluids, but the release left me in a warmth that I welcomed with overwhelming gratitude. Had I known just how useful a wire coat hanger could have been to me at that time, I might have been friendlier to them. A razor to the wrist is much less forgiving and infinitely more permanent.

Grey made sure my funeral was heavenly despite knowing I would go straight to hell. Had I ever told him how I felt with Lillie, perhaps he would have understood that I had been dead since the day she left me standing alone. Had I not continued being his wife and fallen pregnant with our second child, she would have taken me with her, and he would have never been forced to find the horror of my soul having sucked itself down the drain.

Silence is overestimated by those who been distracted by noise their entire lives. I have felt the ecstasy of moaning travel from a kiss to my toes, and I have seen a heart disassemble itself into pieces and disappear as she looked into my eyes. I have tasted the hatred on a tongue that loved me moments before she learned that I had been lying to her and could never give her what she wanted from me.

And in my silence, I was saved from the sound of my little Nanette screaming as she watched me sobbing and naked in a world of my own, emptying the remnants of myself and of all the thoughts that I could stand to hear no longer.
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Write automatically and describe who you really are, without referencing your physical appearance, job, traits, ethics, possessions, achievements, beliefs or environment. And good luck with that ;)
Written by AmandaCary

Uh...I dunno...

Well, okay then

I enter this with an I Love You

And that in itself may speak volumes

Who I am

Has not even an inkling of who I am

Who is to say I am no one else

Inside the impermanence of body

Belonging to nothing

Or belonging to you

Who

Is to say?

Not I

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Write automatically and describe who you really are, without referencing your physical appearance, job, traits, ethics, possessions, achievements, beliefs or environment. And good luck with that ;)
Written by AmandaCary
Uh...I dunno...
Well, okay then
I enter this with an I Love You
And that in itself may speak volumes
Who I am
Has not even an inkling of who I am
Who is to say I am no one else
Inside the impermanence of body
Belonging to nothing
Or belonging to you
Who
Is to say?
Not I
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Micropoem challenge. In 10 lines, 50 words, show your adoration for a particularly juicy, well-turned, artfully, sculpted, astonishing part of the anatomy. There are legs, bums, and lovely downy breasts, folks, but there are also yummy surprises, say, upon the clavicle, or along the bridge of the nose. Delight me. Tag me. #davidaintgotnothinonyou
Written by AmandaCary in portal Micropoetry

An Ode to Your Favorite Member, @MilesNowhere

A shaft in all its glory

Is no way to

Name this pest

I wake

Girthy smile a'dribblin

Snailing trail upon my chest

I leave

I return

There it is again

Sigh...

(I love you...hehehe...)

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Micropoem challenge. In 10 lines, 50 words, show your adoration for a particularly juicy, well-turned, artfully, sculpted, astonishing part of the anatomy. There are legs, bums, and lovely downy breasts, folks, but there are also yummy surprises, say, upon the clavicle, or along the bridge of the nose. Delight me. Tag me. #davidaintgotnothinonyou
Written by AmandaCary in portal Micropoetry
An Ode to Your Favorite Member, @MilesNowhere
A shaft in all its glory
Is no way to
Name this pest
I wake
Girthy smile a'dribblin
Snailing trail upon my chest
I leave
I return
There it is again
Sigh...

(I love you...hehehe...)
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Written by AmandaCary

Hang me out to die first

Now

Place me carefully

Between your favorite lines

The ones that remind you

Of me

For some reason or another

Paste me flat

Wreck my body

Watch me dry

Let me lie

And just

Forget

You

Ever

Put

Me

There

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Written by AmandaCary
Hang me out to die first

Now

Place me carefully
Between your favorite lines
The ones that remind you
Of me
For some reason or another
Paste me flat
Wreck my body
Watch me dry
Let me lie
And just
Forget
You
Ever
Put
Me
There
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Written by AmandaCary

f a l l e n

by @MilesNowhere & @AmandaCary

core pulse

- - - - - - >

140 BPM

exhale to breathe

white light

red eyes

feeding / feeling

...............it ALL

I stumble and....

thaw

flawed and raw

floored by

gravity's law

lost between space

somewhere......

thoughts won't go

at least......

they shouldn't

not in this place

not at such a pace

that beautiful face

keeping me bound

weight me down

<please>

hold me down

I kiss the ground

at your feet

I am

f a l l i n g ........

I do,

I flail and I fall 'til

The black bottoms through

Suspend in your call while

The Earth makes its rounds

And it opens

Bound at the base

But it flowers

A slow pry to a pop

In scarlets, in violets

All amber in hue

There is you

Wading in rhythms

That I never knew

Riding on riddles

That should never exist

Cradled taught in your fist

I play safe

In your fingers

I kiss the ground

At your feet

I am

f a l l i n g...........

core pulse

----------->

180 BPM

remember?

I dreamt you....

what sweet hell!

water

theres always water

a trickle etched

a half baked sketch

my mongrel masterpiece

of longing

from decay

it wasn't the dream

but the waking

lucidly shaking

in (meta) boots....

of rusted dead roots

the crippling

penance of years

now

breaking away

to dig this tree

I kiss the ground

at your feet

I am

f a l l i n g........

I do,

I remember the sound of your

Heart as it cracked

Under pressure

The static reining of voices

Erasing the fissure

A hard mend was our ferry

To prod us through

And I knew

In an instant

I knew it was you

I had waited

So I kneeled to the distance

A heed in its cue

I pulled stops

Peeled the plaster

Shredding cords to a master

And I watched as you splattered

For this

Splinter frayed edges

Pry fixtures

No more treats for the tricks

Shift your salt through an

Air wave

As you fell into flew

Onto me

Thank you

I kiss the ground

At your feet

I am

f a l l i n g.........

core pulse

----- --- -- -

your history

a page upon mine

into the carbon

of friendly fire

<pfft>

we claim the pyre

perhaps our flame

will mark our time

back to element

we find

our way

dancing as cinders

together alone

together as one

together in always

to the very end of things

where breath

returns to air

and life

returns as grace

to rest in that place

I kiss the ground

at your feet

I am

f a l l i n g...........

I do

Too

I won't catch you

We weren't made for a count

A fire built to braise numbers

Fasten time to a tilt

I will

Fall

With

You

Meld right into your wind

A surrender

My hook looping your skin

Anti-clockwise we'll fail

Twisting backward

For presence

For half-taken tocks

Ticking twice on the kisses

Crush these overturned rocks

Until everything

Stops

And our soul is left

Weightless

And our stitches give in

To our beating

To our One

Now not torn from within

We kiss the ground

At our feet

We have

fallen..........

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Written by AmandaCary
f a l l e n
by @MilesNowhere & @AmandaCary

core pulse
- - - - - - >
140 BPM
exhale to breathe
white light
red eyes
feeding / feeling
...............it ALL
I stumble and....
thaw
flawed and raw
floored by
gravity's law
lost between space
somewhere......
thoughts won't go
at least......
they shouldn't
not in this place
not at such a pace
that beautiful face
keeping me bound
weight me down
<please>
hold me down

I kiss the ground
at your feet
I am

f a l l i n g ........

I do,
I flail and I fall 'til
The black bottoms through
Suspend in your call while
The Earth makes its rounds
And it opens
Bound at the base
But it flowers
A slow pry to a pop
In scarlets, in violets
All amber in hue
There is you
Wading in rhythms
That I never knew
Riding on riddles
That should never exist
Cradled taught in your fist
I play safe
In your fingers

I kiss the ground
At your feet
I am

f a l l i n g...........

core pulse
----------->
180 BPM
remember?
I dreamt you....
what sweet hell!
water
theres always water
a trickle etched
a half baked sketch
my mongrel masterpiece
of longing
from decay
it wasn't the dream
but the waking
lucidly shaking
in (meta) boots....
of rusted dead roots
the crippling
penance of years
now
breaking away
to dig this tree

I kiss the ground
at your feet
I am

f a l l i n g........

I do,
I remember the sound of your
Heart as it cracked
Under pressure
The static reining of voices
Erasing the fissure
A hard mend was our ferry
To prod us through
And I knew
In an instant
I knew it was you
I had waited
So I kneeled to the distance
A heed in its cue
I pulled stops
Peeled the plaster
Shredding cords to a master
And I watched as you splattered
For this
Splinter frayed edges
Pry fixtures
No more treats for the tricks
Shift your salt through an
Air wave
As you fell into flew
Onto me
Thank you

I kiss the ground
At your feet
I am

f a l l i n g.........

core pulse
----- --- -- -
your history
a page upon mine
into the carbon
of friendly fire
<pfft>
we claim the pyre
perhaps our flame
will mark our time
back to element
we find
our way
dancing as cinders
together alone
together as one
together in always
to the very end of things
where breath
returns to air
and life
returns as grace
to rest in that place

I kiss the ground
at your feet
I am

f a l l i n g...........

I do
Too
I won't catch you
We weren't made for a count
A fire built to braise numbers
Fasten time to a tilt
I will
Fall
With
You
Meld right into your wind
A surrender
My hook looping your skin
Anti-clockwise we'll fail
Twisting backward
For presence
For half-taken tocks
Ticking twice on the kisses
Crush these overturned rocks
Until everything
Stops
And our soul is left
Weightless
And our stitches give in
To our beating
To our One
Now not torn from within

We kiss the ground
At our feet
We have

fallen..........
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///// Nightdwellers 'Beginning Line' Challenge (March) ///// Write a piece of literature with the beginning line ‘I DRINK A COCKTAIL OF MOONLIGHT…’ Tag it #nightdwellers #beginningline. http://www.facebook.com/groups/NightdwellersWrites/
Written by AmandaCary

I drink a cocktail of moonlight

But you see

I do not swallow

I breathe

The glow of that rock

It's remnants hushed

To a dust of humbled rays

Boasting the warmth

Of a million lights

Pulled by the touch

Of a blackened nothing

It crawls to the very corners of me

Into each and every crater that craves

To taste these memories of centuries

Traveled by the

Sun

Unknowing

And boiling in her own innocence

Her majesty all but aware

Of the weight she holds over

Countless souls

Who are one in the same

Once filtered through the teeth of time

Softened in broad strokes

And spilled graciously over us

Through this blessing of the

Moon

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///// Nightdwellers 'Beginning Line' Challenge (March) ///// Write a piece of literature with the beginning line ‘I DRINK A COCKTAIL OF MOONLIGHT…’ Tag it #nightdwellers #beginningline. http://www.facebook.com/groups/NightdwellersWrites/
Written by AmandaCary
I drink a cocktail of moonlight
But you see
I do not swallow
I breathe
The glow of that rock
It's remnants hushed
To a dust of humbled rays
Boasting the warmth
Of a million lights
Pulled by the touch
Of a blackened nothing
It crawls to the very corners of me
Into each and every crater that craves
To taste these memories of centuries
Traveled by the
Sun
Unknowing
And boiling in her own innocence
Her majesty all but aware
Of the weight she holds over
Countless souls
Who are one in the same
Once filtered through the teeth of time
Softened in broad strokes
And spilled graciously over us
Through this blessing of the
Moon
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Define what it means to be an atheist.
Written by AmandaCary in portal Religion

I'm Not an Atheist

Nor am I

Christian

Catholic

Baptist

Church of Christ

Pentecostal

(Insert other Christian denominations here)

Buddhist

Hindu

Jain

Muslim

Fondu

Etcetera

Etcetera

Etcetera

I'm probably Agnostic, which I've been informed is the most cowardly and faithless of all belief systems, but I conform to nothing and refuse a label because I don't really care. I hate the very limiting term "belief system."

In turn, I suppose none of the above matters.

In my observation, to be atheist simply means to believe only what can be proven factually and scientifically or otherwise obviously.

I have total respect for that.

It doesn't mean putting faith in theories, as some would misunderstand and use to call flaw to the atheist "non-existent belief" belief system. It simply means understanding what has been proven, which also means understanding that even these things can (and inevitably will) change.

It means a surgeon is given thanks for his twelve-plus years of medical school when he saves your life.

It means exploration into the unknown and (theoretically) infinite universe.

It means questioning everything on the table that is deserving of interrogation.

It means half of the reason (probably more) that human beings in first world countries have the life expectancy that they have today.

It means that thunder is a result of lightening and not a result of an angry dude throwing bolts down from the sky.

It means, before we damn and shake fingers in the faces of all atheists, we may want to thank our lucky stars they exist or we might still be chanting prayers and bleeding ourselves out of fever instead of taking antibiotics.

It means not using an uppercase A when spelling the word "atheist."

And I have total respect for that.

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Define what it means to be an atheist.
Written by AmandaCary in portal Religion
I'm Not an Atheist
Nor am I
Christian
Catholic
Baptist
Church of Christ
Pentecostal
(Insert other Christian denominations here)
Buddhist
Hindu
Jain
Muslim
Fondu
Etcetera
Etcetera
Etcetera

I'm probably Agnostic, which I've been informed is the most cowardly and faithless of all belief systems, but I conform to nothing and refuse a label because I don't really care. I hate the very limiting term "belief system."

In turn, I suppose none of the above matters.

In my observation, to be atheist simply means to believe only what can be proven factually and scientifically or otherwise obviously.

I have total respect for that.

It doesn't mean putting faith in theories, as some would misunderstand and use to call flaw to the atheist "non-existent belief" belief system. It simply means understanding what has been proven, which also means understanding that even these things can (and inevitably will) change.

It means a surgeon is given thanks for his twelve-plus years of medical school when he saves your life.

It means exploration into the unknown and (theoretically) infinite universe.

It means questioning everything on the table that is deserving of interrogation.

It means half of the reason (probably more) that human beings in first world countries have the life expectancy that they have today.

It means that thunder is a result of lightening and not a result of an angry dude throwing bolts down from the sky.

It means, before we damn and shake fingers in the faces of all atheists, we may want to thank our lucky stars they exist or we might still be chanting prayers and bleeding ourselves out of fever instead of taking antibiotics.

It means not using an uppercase A when spelling the word "atheist."

And I have total respect for that.
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Challenge of the Week #58: You are a victim of injustice, write a story about it. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $150. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by AmandaCary

Dear John,

    We spent our end side by side as we should have, but open to nothing, mapping our existence in your cynical glory and nicotine stained fingertips.  My eyes bright and naive in the beginning, drawn to your dark circles and fog and magnetized by what felt like a never-ending, beautiful melancholy of a-minor.

    The first time I found you hanging from the end of a noose, I lost all use of my legs.  I never told you that. Our child in my arms and too young to remember any of it, I dragged you down with one hand, screaming and cursing at you for doing such a horrible thing to yourself and your family.  You were angry with me, and I understood why soon after.  But I would never be the same.

    The pills were next, then your wrists, and after that I lost count of all of the threats, the plans, the attempts that never amounted to anything more than emergency calls.  I did begin a tally of psych visits, however, as my life became a sleight of prescription exchange after exchange.  My evenings turned from a sigh in a glass of blood red Cabernet to praying to God that it would not be the day that the rush hour traffic would keep me so long that you'd have time to finish before I got home.

    I learned when to speak and when not to, and I learned that it was best I didn't express any negativity around you in the event that my words would be the focus of your next attempt to kill yourself.  I knew they had been in the past, as you'd told me, and I began to pick away at all of the parts of me that allowed anything but a smile to peek through at you.

    I write you this, John, not because I want to make you feel guilty or ashamed.  I know you were sick, and I loved being by your side regardless of the circumstances behind what became an ever-watchful eye.  

    I write you this because I spent the last thirty-seven years of our marriage together in a cold well of silence, muffling my own voice in order to keep yours alive.  Every moment I breathed was for the one that you would tell me you were happy in our life together, in your life here, and you felt you had something worth living for.

    I write you this to bury with you because I am numb, and do not know how to grieve a loss that I've waited for over three decades to come.  

    I write you this because I gave myself into you to keep you from going out, but now you're gone.  Now you've left me - no goodbye, no kiss - having died of nothing more than heart failure in your sleep.

   So now I'm saying goodbye to you and your pain, and I will send it with you rightfully so that I may finally let my own take its place.

                                                                                                  Love Always,

                                                            Jane

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Challenge of the Week #58: You are a victim of injustice, write a story about it. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $150. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by AmandaCary
Dear John,
    We spent our end side by side as we should have, but open to nothing, mapping our existence in your cynical glory and nicotine stained fingertips.  My eyes bright and naive in the beginning, drawn to your dark circles and fog and magnetized by what felt like a never-ending, beautiful melancholy of a-minor.
    The first time I found you hanging from the end of a noose, I lost all use of my legs.  I never told you that. Our child in my arms and too young to remember any of it, I dragged you down with one hand, screaming and cursing at you for doing such a horrible thing to yourself and your family.  You were angry with me, and I understood why soon after.  But I would never be the same.
    The pills were next, then your wrists, and after that I lost count of all of the threats, the plans, the attempts that never amounted to anything more than emergency calls.  I did begin a tally of psych visits, however, as my life became a sleight of prescription exchange after exchange.  My evenings turned from a sigh in a glass of blood red Cabernet to praying to God that it would not be the day that the rush hour traffic would keep me so long that you'd have time to finish before I got home.
    I learned when to speak and when not to, and I learned that it was best I didn't express any negativity around you in the event that my words would be the focus of your next attempt to kill yourself.  I knew they had been in the past, as you'd told me, and I began to pick away at all of the parts of me that allowed anything but a smile to peek through at you.
    I write you this, John, not because I want to make you feel guilty or ashamed.  I know you were sick, and I loved being by your side regardless of the circumstances behind what became an ever-watchful eye.  
    I write you this because I spent the last thirty-seven years of our marriage together in a cold well of silence, muffling my own voice in order to keep yours alive.  Every moment I breathed was for the one that you would tell me you were happy in our life together, in your life here, and you felt you had something worth living for.
    I write you this to bury with you because I am numb, and do not know how to grieve a loss that I've waited for over three decades to come.  
    I write you this because I gave myself into you to keep you from going out, but now you're gone.  Now you've left me - no goodbye, no kiss - having died of nothing more than heart failure in your sleep.
   So now I'm saying goodbye to you and your pain, and I will send it with you rightfully so that I may finally let my own take its place.

                                                                                                  Love Always,
                                                            Jane
28
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