Good judgement, they say

comes from experience, which

as everyone knows

comes from making poor choices

Therefore in order to improve myself

I take my leave

I have places to go, although

where I'm not sure quite yet

but they call desperately

alluring with prospects of the unknown

courted danger only later realized

to learn from my mistakes i must

first understand what challenges i face.

for wisdom does not come with haste

and i will not be stagnated, just

berated with the sting of pride.

i have no stomach to burn others on a pyre

for the selfishness of one's own desire

and my mistakes are meant to grind

against my consciousness until the shame

burns so wicked and deep i can't even keep

my head up for the love of you. the price is steep

for mistakes that i repeat, with no one to blame

but me.

this is the secret to mistakes,

and learning from them with haste.

to think of others instead of greed;

you'll find that you change quite willingly.

The learning path diverges at

reward and punishment,

where light and dark, quite simply, are

reflections of desire.

The lessons forged with molten ore

doth wound before they're healed;

mistakes must burn short of an urn-

insight requires pain.

So grueling roads I seek, for Oh!

those scars will mark my growth

and mar my skin from deep within,

lest I forget my sins.

Note: If I sponsored a challenge, I would conclude it with posting a winner before forever disappearing forever from Prose.

I would ask Hillary the Hare if the evidence she has on Trump the Tortoise is just another press release of her own foiled ACME coyote scheme that she would have gotten away with if it had not been for you meddling kids.

The friendship was a sword fight.

Deadly, sharp enough to draw blood, and neither side was willing to back down.

Her weapon of choice was the katana, slick and fast.

His weapon of choice was a cutlass, sharp and determind.

They clashed more than they were in a truce, constantly sticking swords in each other's backs and turning blind eyes. Refusing to throw up the white flag, and so they continued to spar and bleed and run each other into the ground.

They had underlying respect for each other, although they would never admit it. Until then, they attacked and retreated and strategized to avoid losing. Even when they won, they were never quite truly victorious. The battles raged and they clashed, as they hoped for a truce that would never come.

Finnian leaned his head against the rough bark of the tree behind him, the light fading quickly around him. He could picture the look on Abbott’s face as he had said he liked him, too. Heart quickening, he shook his head. They could think about relationships when Abbott was cured.

He began to worry as they neared the hour mark of Abbott going inside, biting his lip.

He couldn’t hear anything that was going on inside, and he didn’t like that. He thought

about putting his ear against the door, but he also knew that Abbott had wanted to do it

on his own, and he didn’t want to violate Abbott’s wishes. He just had to keep telling

himself that Abbott was fine. He was fine.

He stood, dusting off the dirt from the bottom of his cloak, and began to pace back

and forth, clouds of dirt rising from underneath him in the dying light every time he

swiveled back and forth. Running his fingers through his curls, he suddenly wished he

had gotten his cloak back from the jail. The temperature seemed to be dropping rapidly,

bringing goosebumps to his bare arms.

He turned to pace the other direction and found himself staring into violet eyes,

creased at the corners with the telltale sign of a wicked grin.

“Hello, Finnian,” O’Leary said. “I’m so glad to meet you properly. Let’s have a little

talk, no?”

Finnian couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. He needed a weapon, but he was empty-

handed. Think, think…

O’Leary laughed. “Of course, the only correct answer is yes. Otherwise, I’ll kill you.”

He shrugged matter of factly, purple fire beginning to spark along the hem of his robes.

“I don’t think we want that, do we? Besides, it’s not you I want. So if you want to live,

stay quiet and do as I say. Otherwise, you die along with your boyfriend. It’s your choice.”

Abbott sat in silence as his life crashed down around him for the ninetieth time that week. He blinked slowly, staring at Eleanor.

“I… I’m sorry. I don’t think I heard that correctly. Did you say you cannot? Because if

that’s what you said, then I’m about to lose it.” He took a heaving breath, pressing his

fingertips onto the table aggressively. “I did not walk here for three days for you to tell me

some sob story and then say you can’t help me. I’m dying here. Cut me some goddamn

slack, Eleanor, or get the hell out of my sight.”

Eleanor remained stone faced, shaking her head slightly. “I cannot undo the curse.

There’s nothing I can do. I’m sorry.”

Abbott couldn’t hear over the waves of fury crashing down upon him, filling his ears

with the buzzing of rage. He fought to keep his voice steady. “If you can’t help me, why

the hell did you bring me here?” He began to stand from the chair, raising himself over

Eleanor, staring down upon her unmoving face. “Did you just want to have storytime or

something? Because you could have easily told me you couldn’t help me three days ago and

let me spend the final days of my life happy. Instead, I walked my ass all over this

kingdom and back for you, and for what? For what, Eleanor?”

She pressed her lips together in a thin line, no emotion showing on her face

whatsoever. “He needed you here. All I want is to be free, Abbott. I hope you

understand.”

Understanding dawned on Abbott’s face. “Him? O’Leary? You lured me here for him?

This was a trap all along. I should have known not to trust you, you absolute-”

She interrupted him, her composure breaking slightly. “I knew you would be upset.

Please understand that it’s nothing personal-”

“Nothing personal, huh?” Abbott could feel his shoulders stiffening and shaking from

suppressed emotion. “If it was nothing personal, you wouldn’t have lured me here. You

know what he wants to do to me. I should have known better.” He squeezed his eyes

tight, a headache forming behind his forehead. “I’m too blind. And you’re a liar.”

If Eleanor would have had eyes, they would have surely teared up by then. “Abbott.

Please listen to me. This Alastair isn’t the man I knew. I’m stuck here until he’s gone. One

way or another, I’m going to get my freedom. It doesn’t matter what it costs.”

Abbott swallowed down the fear. “It does matter what it costs, because it’s going to cost

me my goddamn life, Eleanor. I’m going to die. He’s going to kill me, Eleanor-” His voice

broke as the volume rose- “He’s going to kill me and you’re just going to look on and do

nothing. If you’re my mom, then I’m glad we died before I had to grow up with you. I.

Hate. You.”

He spun on one foot, Eleanor protesting quietly behind him, and threw the door open,

shouting a frantic warning out to Finnian. “He’s here, Finn!”

But he was too late.

Finnian saw Abbott throw the door of the hut open, screaming something he couldn’t make out, and he began straining against the ropes of violet fire that held him to the single tree in the middle of the clearing. He couldn’t let Abbott die. He couldn’t let him die. He had to protect Abbott, but he was entirely useless- bound to a tree, a gag over his mouth, nothing more than a bargaining token.

He was some twenty paces away, but even in the dying light, Finnian could see the

pain on Abbott’s face- but he didn’t seem surprised, as though he already knew what he

would find. Was this a trap all along?

He struggled against the ropes, but they began to compress tighter, sliding around his

body like a living snake. He couldn’t breathe- they were constricting his chest, and he was

beginning to hyperventilate on top of everything.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see O’Leary standing completely still, a matching

whip of purple fire seemingly sprouting from his hand itself. Waiting for his prey to step

into the circle and seal his fate. It was only a matter of time.

Abbott moved forward on silent feet, freezing at the edge of the clearing, which was

almost perfectly round. It still radiated that sense of magic, but Abbott still wasn’t too

sure whose side the magic was on. He just had to hope that it would come to his defense.

If it took O’Leary’s side- he was surely dead.

But he was going to die either way. If he was going to go out, it would be in a blaze of

glory, saving Finnian and taking O’Leary down. If he entered the clearing, O’Leary

wouldn’t leave. He would make sure of that if it was the last thing he would do- and

chances were, it would be the last thing.

He took a single step into the ring of trees, the sound returning as he trod on the

leaves. He crossed the clearing to the single sprawling oak in the middle silently, his eyes

fixed on O’Leary. He could see Finnian struggling, bound to the tree, and his heart felt as

though someone were stabbing needles into it. He knew one thing, though- O’Leary

would not lay another hand on Finnian if Abbott was there. Abbott would have to play

the hero one final time.

The seconds seemed like hours before he was standing in front of O’Leary, less than a

pace away. Neither made a move- a single violet whip crackled in O’Leary’s hand,

dropping sparks into the grass, where they fizzled out from the evening dew.

The tension was so thick that Abbott could have cut it with his knife, which he

removed from his waistband casually, but kept at his side, waiting for Alastair to break the

silence. He would not give in. He would not show fear. He would not speak first.

Minutes passed before O’Leary sighed. “Not talkative much, are you? Although, you

never have been- unless strangers come into the shoppe. Then you run away with them,

eh? Fall in love? I see how it is.”

Abbott set his jaw, staring at Alastair over the top of his vision. He knew that the man

would spit straight insults at him, toying with his emotions. He knew how O’Leary

worked. He also knew that he could not react. He couldn’t let O’Leary get to him. He

refused.

“I was somewhat of a romantic myself, as I’m sure Eleanor told you. I owe this all to her, of course. You were so desperate to talk to her that she was able to lure you in here. I’m not sure why, besides the fact that you’re hopeless.” He laughed cruelly, the noise ringing in Abbott’s ears.

Abbott ignored his former master, which he would have never dared to do before, but something else was lining up in his mind. Alastair didn’t know why he had come, which he guessed meant he didn’t know about the curse. Interesting...

“I know you found my little paper, Abbott. And I’m sure you were able to figure out what it meant. Even though you don’t act like it, I know there’s a brain in there somewhere.”

Abbott’s fingers twitched around the knife, but he forced himself to keep his hands at his sides.

“I need you to know that it’s not you, Abbott.” He paused, cocking his head as though

he were listening to a small voice on his shoulder, then broke out in a smile. “Oh wait. It

is you. You need to die.”

Abbott’s jaw was beginning to ache from clenching his teeth together, but he made sure

he stayed quiet.

“I need your abilities, Abbott. I need your power. I need to have what you have. You

have absolutely no idea what kind of magic lies inside of you, Abbott. You have no idea

how to use it. I do. It’s only natural that you give it up to me. It’s not my fault that

requires your death.”

The words slipped out from between Abbott’s teeth. “You know why I have that

magic?”

O’Leary raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Tell me. I’m curious indeed.”

Abbott took a deep breath. “You’re my father.”

The grin slipped off of O’Leary’s face. “It can’t be,” he muttered to himself. “There’s

no… I didn’t…”

“Your wife gave me life. My parents couldn’t have kids. She used the soul of your

stillborn baby to create me. Our powers are one and the same, Alastair. We are equals in

every way, but I will always be better than you. Why, you might ask?” He drew himself up

to full height, the green glow coming into his eyes, but it wasn’t a vision. It was the magic

rearing its head against O’Leary, refusing to be held captive by him anymore. He could

feel the clearing humming along with the powers inside of him.

“Because I am the better version of you. We went through the same things, Alastair.

You came out of it a villain, bitter at the world, filled with hate and spite and rage. I’ve

taken all that I dealt with and used it to build myself up, to make myself stronger. I know

that I am not the same person I used to be, and it’s all thanks to you.”

He could see O’Leary’s flames falter, flickering slightly, but they sprung back stronger

than ever. He furrowed his grey brow, and with a flick of his whip, Abbott was entangled,

bound like Finnian, who struggled out of the corner of his eye.

Abbott didn’t move, though. He lifted his chin as O’Leary roped him in, staring him in

the eyes defiantly.

Alastair snarled down at him. “You will pay, boy. I am no father of yours. I don’t care

what Eleanor says-” he spat the name out as though it were a swear word- “but you are

not my son. You never have, and you never will be.”

Abbott took in a shallow breath, baring his teeth. “Good.”

“I will take your powers. You will not fight me anymore, or I will kill your little

Finnian.”

He squeezed his free hand into a fist and the ropes around Finnian tightened further.

He cried out, his back arching into the wood, as his vision dimmed.

All the anger seemed to flood out of Abbott and puddle at his feet at the sight of

Finnian in pain. He knew that O’Leary wouldn’t hesitate to kill them both.

“If I give myself up, will you promise to let him go? I mean it. I want him set free, and

I want you to promise never to harm him again, or anyone in his family.”

O’Leary seemed to consider this. The whip twitched around Abbott’s body, his knife

dropping out of his hands and onto the leaves below with a soft whisper. Alastair stared

down at it, leaning to pick it up and tossing it in his hand, the light glinting off the silver

blade.

“I remember this old thing. I thought I took it away from you a long time ago. I

should have. It certainly gave me a slight setback.”

“Alastair.” Abbott tried to keep the urgency out of his voice as Finnian’s head fell to his

chest out of the corner of his eye, his curls falling over his face.

“Ah.” He turned, snapping his fingers. The ropes loosened slightly, and Abbott could

see Finnian take a deep breath, blinking his eyes dazedly.

“I suppose. If you give yourself to me, the boy will be set free.”

Abbott swallowed. He was going to die anyway. He just had to take O’Leary down with him- and he had a hunch that burned in the back of his mind. He just hoped that it was true.

“Fine. You have a deal, then. Just…” His voice broke. Damnit. He didn’t want to show

emotions. He would die with a stony face. “Make it quick, okay?”

Finnian was still stirring, his lips an odd shade of blue that sent shivers through

Abbott’s spine. Alastair followed Abbott’s gaze, his pulse thumping in his ears. It was

finally happening. He was going to be unstoppable.

He began to walk over to the tree, dragging Abbott along with him. Two fingers

reached out and lifted Finnian’s head from his chest as he blinked heavily. “Wake up, lad.

I want you to see this. I want you to remember this. Forever.”

“Please,” Abbott begged. “Just get it over with. He doesn’t need to-”

Finnian held his own head up, his eyes widening at the knife in Alastair’s hand, then

moving to Abbott, bound. A small whisper escaped his lips. “No…”

“Oh, but yes.Your boyfriend here has agreed to give his life for the promise of your

freedom. What a sweet little thing.”

Finnian’s mouth moved, but no words came out. “No. No. Abbott, please. No. Please.”

Abbott raised his head, avoiding Finnian’s gaze. He couldn’t bear to look.

“ Abbott. Tell me it isn’t true.” He took a heaving breath, his wrists straining against the

ropes. “Abbott.”

Abbott didn’t respond. He couldn’t open his mouth without screams coming out.

“ABBOTT.”

He shut his eyes tight as O’Leary spun the dagger in his hand. “I think it is only fitting

that I kill you the same way you tried to kill me, eh?”

“Abbott, please. Oh gods. Don’t. Don’t go. Abbott. Please. I thought you loved me.

ABBOTT.”

His heart pounded in his ears, his vision red through the slits of his eyes.

“It all comes full circle, Abbott. Finally.”

Finnian threw his head back as he arched his body, smashing into the tree with a

hollow thud. “Abbott. You can’t- don’t- please. I need you. Let him go!”

Abbott lifted his head higher as the knife approached his throat.

“You want quick? I’ll give you quick. It is the least I can do.”

Finnian was begging, the tears flowing down his face freely. “Please. Please stop. Please…

I can’t-”

Abbott felt the knife touch his throat, the silver crisp and frigid against his throat. He

opened his eyes one last time to see O’Leary staring down at him, a smile on his

weathered face.

He exhaled. He was ready.

Alastair pulled the knife across Abbott’s throat in one quick motion, slicing open the

flesh along with Finnian’s heart.

The ropes around Abbott dissolved and he fell forward, collapsing to his knees, before

his whole body hit the ground, lying on his side in a puddle of his own blood.

“Abbott. Abbott. Oh gods, Abbott. I’m so sorry- I- ABBOTT!”

Abbott’s body twitched once, twice, three times, then fell still. The whole world

seemed to freeze in that instant.

Finnian let out a guttural scream that should have awakened the dead- but it was

useless. Abbott was gone.

He lifted his head again and again, slamming it back over and over and over into the tree, waiting for the pain to end. Waiting for the darkness to claim him again. But every time he closed his eyes, he saw the sight in front of him- Abbott, laying on the ground, crimson spilling over the dead leaves, staining his cloak. Mingling with the earth.

Alastair stood over Abbott in a sort of disbelief. It had happened. He had done it. All

that was left was to take the boy’s powers for himself.

Abbott’s eyes were open, staring into nothing, but the green glow gradually began to

fade from them. Before the magic could be released into the world, Alastair knelt at the boy’s side, turning him over onto his back. The entire front of his neck was covered in sticky blood that gushed out of the wound. Alastair leaned over, placing his lips to the boy’s throat.

Finnian screamed again until he gagged, his voice horse. He couldn’t feel his body. He knew tears and snot and blood were covering him, but it felt as though he were watching from the sidelines, or perhaps going with Abbott. That would be nice.

Abbott’s blood slid down Alastair’s throat, warm and thick in his mouth. He could taste the iron, the metallic flavor on the tip of his tongue, the flavor that he lived for. He drank until Abbott’s neck ran dry, Finnian looking on all the while.

He had stopped screaming and instead stood in shock, his face drastically pale, whimpering. He couldn’t even raise his arms to wipe the snot from his nose, the tears from his face. Abbott wasn’t dead. He couldn’t have been. And if he was… It was all Finnian’s fault.

He had given his life to ensure Finnian’s safety. He couldn’t believe… he couldn’t believe that Abbott had been so angry with him just hours before, but willing to die for Finnian anyway. Any hope of a future had burst into violet flames, the trademark of O’Leary. He wished he could just die, join Abbott. But he wasn’t brave enough.

Alastair got to his feet slowly, crimson liquid still dripping from his mouth. He looked over at Finnian and gave him a slow smile, his teeth stained red from blood. Abbott’s blood.

Finnian could feel the bile rising in the back of his throat as he screamed unintelligibly again, this time at O’Leary. There were no words for what he felt, just pure, animalistic rage.

O’Leary simply laughed, flexing his fists. He closed his eyes, the clearing seeming to hum again, and then green strands of light began to make their way up Finnian’s bonds, twisting around the purple ropes like intertwining snakes.

Alastair stared down at them, proof that the ritual had worked. He could feel the buzzing inside of him as his own magic joined with Abbott’s, all becoming his own.

He leaned down and clapped Abbott’s lifeless body roughly on the shoulder, the boy’s head lolling slightly from the touch. “You did well, boy.”

Too many tsunami tears have been shed here. It’s over. Though the corona virus has ended and life continues, everything is different now. I’m standing before an ocean of tears in California and I want to drown in the waters. At this point, my only wish is to take my last breath on earth and join my daughter in heaven.

“It’s OK, Mama, I’m still here for you,” I hear her say, “And so is Dad.” Laura is speaking from beyond the rainbow now and she’s blocking my movement. I can no longer run into the waters to kill myself and I am unable to run away from her. Her blue eyes look into my greens, as her spiritual auras comfort my crying soul.

“You know I’m still your little Princess, mom,” she giggles.

She walks with me in spirit, to the beach house I’ve rented to be alone, as I reach for her hand and I am with her. I’m in the now of the moment, standing in the same house I rented three years ago when she ran away from me and my death wish is disappearing.

“You can’t give up now, mom.” Laura whispers, as if saying it out loud makes it unbearable for her. My saving sunshine girl is explaining that even angels cry when someone they love is hurting as much as I am. I’m in awe of every word I hear as I listen intensely to my gifted daughter speak.

“You haven’t really been alone at all.” She speaks with a heavenly smile that fits perfectly with my longing for companionship and I breathe her in.

Lord of mercy, my daughter was only 17-years old when she ran away from home though. Once she took off, I never saw her alive again. A full year passed before I even heard her voice on the phone. It was the year of 2017 and her last words to me were, “I’m ok. I’m sorry I waited so long to call you, mom. I was just afraid you’d be mad at me and I couldn’t handle it. I can’t talk long now anyway. I’ll stay in touch. I promise.”

Of course, the dreaded call comes in the wee of the morning two years later, as I lay awake in my Capitola home missing her. Drug addiction has taken a toll on this young 20-year woman who cannot hear the music anymore. All of my daughter’s bittersweet songs sift in the wind and blow away. She dies in the alone of a lonely shell that has broken her.

She is dead now, gone forever, and I, Brenda, am a 40-year old widowed woman on the verge of insanity. How can I possibly find happiness without a living husband or a child to love? Danny’s fatal heart attack killed him eleven years ago and my sweet baby girl passed away from a heroin overdose in 2019.

A short time later, the corona virus enters mankind to upset the world. At this point, my faith simply disappears into the air and I crumble into nothingness. There isn’t much left of me when the virus plagues America and my hometown is hit hard. The only thing I can do is to roll up my sleeves and help to save others.

I am a much needed professional nurse in our local hospital, with a decade of experience and I’m willing to take on the world. I immediately begin working 12 hours on, 12 hours off as a Nurse in San Jose and witness death everywhere. The days turn into weeks and months of exhausting work and there’s a 40% pay cut to go along with it.

The end of SARS-CoV-2 is an unexplainable, mysterious miracle that makes every road Elm Street. Some say that God, Himself simply uttered the words “be gone” and the virus was no longer. The remaining year of 2020 is finally over the worse and the nations are rejoicing. There is a healing in the universe that runs deeper than words could ever say and gratitude is unmeasurable.

Not for me though. Maybe for me, it’s “post stress syndrome” or an inability to truly appreciate that the crisis is over. Perhaps it is a guilty conscience I have, it being I did not get sick and die when so many others did. Many of my co-working nurses passed away through this ordeal and I cannot count how many patients we tried to save and failed.

Though my beloved daughter sits with me in the beach house now, I know she isn’t really there. I’ve merely borrowed her from heaven for a short while and she will leave me again. She intuitively knows I feel this way and she adamantly disagrees with my opinion.

Don’t I know that I, too, am merely passing through, from the earth places I live in to enter my very real home in heaven? Can I not look through the transparent eyes of time and see the clarity of my worth? Laura’s eyes are the color of the sky she has traveled above and over. She’s telling me that her questions already have an answer that reached through me on the day I was born.

Life goes on and, one by one, we’ll pick up the fallen pieces and build another bridge somehow. Our mourning cities and towns will cry out loud for as long as it takes to repair broken hearts and find laughter again. My daughter tells me the answer to our question is in the pearl of life that every hand holds.

“I won’t walk into the ocean,” I finally say to her, “I will continue to work as a nurse and polish the pearl everyday. Everything and everyone I have lost through this crisis is a light that shines through me.”

“That’s right,” Laura beams, “and may the candle never burn out.”

I, toilet paper.

Trees bend and are slain for me, for I am almighty.

Excrement is conquered with my touch, for I am heroic.

Queues expand and swell - 6 feet maintained, of course - for my treasures are desired.

Every square perfectly folds into a stack in the hand, for I am flawless in design.

Dripping noses are soothed, for I am soft and absorbant in my 3-ply perfection.

Humans - save those with bidets - need me, for I am boundless in my utility.

Stacks of me are hoarded into washroom closet shrines, for I, toilet paper, am precious.

I am toilet paper, God Of The Afterlife For All Human Excretions.

He knocked at the cottage’s door and waited for a response. The door slowly creaked open.

It was late in the night, and he could barely catch a glimpse of the owner of the cottage. He smiled and asked if she didn’t mind helping a passerby.

The door opened further. He stepped inside her home and froze in place when he saw her face. She panicked and blew something toward the guy’s face. Whatever it was, the stuff knocked him out at first contact.

After a little while, he slowly opened his eyes and stared at the many skull faces peering at him. What kind of town had he stepped into?

One of the skeleton beings asked, ‘‘What is a human doing in our home?’’

‘‘I’m sorry, father.’’ He looked at the lady who had opened the door for him. She did not look quite decayed as the others.

Her father sighed. ‘‘How did you get here young man?’’

I tried to move from my seat, but failed to even move an inch. There were no ropes tying me down. This was rather strange. I explained to the patriarch that I was simply passing through this town. My plan was to head to the cave of wonders to dig for some treasure there.

The folks gasped. They shook their heads and turned to look at me as if I had said something wrong.

‘‘No humans that find themselves in the cave of wonders ever come back alive.’’ I gulped. Ha, maybe this old fella was just trying to scare me away from all the riches.

He seemed to reach into my mind and carried on to warn me not to wander off in search for treasure from the cave. I gave a slight nod.

As soon as the old guy walked away, I was able to move and get back on my feet. Before I could head toward the door, a hand landed on my shoulder.

When I turned around, the last thing I knew I was staring at something that was swinging back & forth. The next thing I knew it was morning and I was in a different place, a town that had no skeleton folks. It was a little too quiet and calm for my liking.

When I tried to think how I got there~ my mind seemed to be spinning in circles, trying to fit in pieces to a hard puzzle. Ah, guess I may have had a round of drinks, more than my body could handle, last night. Right? Whatever happened last night, I might never be able to recall all the details, or events ever again.

#CaveofWonders

Sunday.12th.April.2020~.