[1]

B(ecause)L(ove)U(susally)E(nds)

I'm that hue again

Imbued by tears lost on wind.

Tears that paint our sky.

[2]

BeforeLonelinessUsurpedEarth

Blue shades would twinkle

Turquoise shone a tone so bright,

Mistook for sunlight.

[3]

BeholdLifesUniqueEnchantments

Blue eyes can't surmise;

The Blue hue of our water

Makes seen Blue the skies.

(1)

The buzzing of my phone drills into my brain like a diamond-tipped engraving tool. It takes about three tries, but I finally manage to find it on the bedside table and drag it under the blanket. I try to see whose name is on the screen, but my right eye won’t focus, and the left one refuses to even open.

How much did I drink last night, where did I go, and who did I go there with?

Always the same three questions, and the first two are always gone into the black hole of gin and bad choices.

I force myself to sit up. I peel my left eye open, and thankfully the right one tracks along. As I focus them together, the phone stops buzzing and the words I hate appear:

3 MISSED CALLS. As I read it, the 3 becomes 4.

I think her name was Karen. Or Kora… or maybe Coral? Shit, I don’t know for sure.

I open the call log, and squint. Fuck! Gil was an okay partner, in small doses. Unless he called and woke me up. I know I have to call him back, but he’s gonna wait a few minutes; I can’t remember ever having to pee this badly.

As I’m getting up, the sheet pulls off the corner of the mattress, curling up alongside my pillow.

Where the fuck is my pillowcase?

A bass drum begins to beat loudly behind my eyes, before settling into a small set of bongos, being played by an angry 5 year-old. I wince and stretch, my back making sounds that are more like cracking knuckles than I’m comfortable with. At least it helps my head a little; the pounding behind my eyes eases slower and duller into the space between my sinuses and my ears.

I stumble toward the bathroom, and without warning, the coffee table I use for a TV stand jumps out and slams itself into my right shin.

Ow! God Damn it!

I finally make it to the bathroom, and have no more started peeing, than the phone starts going off again. Of course, the sound makes me jump a little, and I spray the seat. It’s gonna be one of those days.

I manage to wipe the seat off with a single pass of toilet paper, then turn and wash my hands. I make the mistake of looking at my reflection, and I have to splash my face with water. I’m getting too old to keep doing this to myself.

Yeah, like you’ve never told yourself THAT one before.

I dry my face as I walk back to the bed and grab my phone. I swipe the circle on the phone, and a small hologram of Gil’s face appears, floating just above the screen.

“Jesus Christ, Mac! Put some clothes on!

I realize with some chagrin that my phone is in full-vid mode.

Who the hell was I on the phone with last night!?

“What the fuck do you want?” I ask, swiping the vid mode button, making just my face appear in the small monitor box in the corner of the screen.

“Thank you. You look like shit, partner.”

“Gilbert, old buddy, if you called and woke me up to act like my mother—

“Shut up. We got a case. It looks like he’s struck again.”

“Fuck! I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

“Why don’t you jump in and out of your hydro, and meet me at the scene?” His voice sounds like scratchy condescension. “Trust me, you need it.”

“Fine. Send me the address… and buy me a coffee on the way.”

I hang up before he can respond. Heading to the bathroom, I dry-chew three aspirin and start the shower.

All right, you son-of-a-bitch. This time, we are gonna nail your ass to the wall.

(2)

The 305 is always full this time of day, but it’s still faster than trying to take the surface streets. As I wait for my turn to load my car into the tube, I grab my folder tablet and pull up what information we have on Phantom.

It isn’t much.

The MESH system has been live now for 10 years, and according to the party line, everyone in the country is in the system. Certainly everyone who uses a bank, pilots a vehicle, receives deliveries, or attends school is registered, as are all babies born since the Universal Identification and Registration Act was passed and the MESH system was turned on. The UIRA also made MESH registration mandatory for all prisoners, immigrants, and those in the military and federal services.

The upside of MESH is that it has reduced crime exponentially, and usually makes my job easier.

Usually.

In fact, until this Phantom appeared, and the bodies started piling up, I’d had one of the best solve rates on the force, and being part of the Syntonago Police Department, means that is a big deal. We process more crimes every day than most monocities see in a week. The megabuildings are bad, but tough times are always worse in the big sprawling cities.

The case file is pretty thin. We’ve found 31 bodies, all over Syntonago, and we don’t have much more than the victims names and MESH profiles. I swipe through the list, unable to find any kind of pattern to them all.

Come on Mac, you can do this. There has to be a pattern in here somewhere.

The jolt of my vehicle being tubed up breaks my concentration, so I turn off the screen and close the folder. According to the dash, I have four minutes until insertion, then twelve minutes on the 305 before ejection and deposit at Fullbright station, about 3 miles from the alley where the latest victim was discovered.

I need a vacation.

Don’t get me wrong, I love being a detective in the SPD. Having everyone cataloged and identifiable by any and every vid source in the country means it is very rare for someone to get away with any crime, let alone murder.

Or 32 murders.

Somehow, this Phantom has done just that. The vics started showing up about two years ago, and the MO is always the same. The bodies are found in blind spots, and there is never any sign of anyone coming or going in the vicinity. Some of them have been found between businesses, with full vid coverage at both ends of the alley.

This guy, this Phantom, seems to be invisible to vid, in spectral bands ranging from infrared to ultraviolet, including wavelengths humans couldn’t see.

Eventually, he is going to screw up, and I plan on being there when he does. As my vehicle accelerates for insertion into the 305 stream, I close my eyes and try to relax; maybe this hangover will evaporate. They usually do.

Except when they don’t.

(3)

The biggest drawback to MESH, is it has made investigators complacent. Budget cuts mean the few of us who are left pull a lot more cases. Even though 90% of crimes are solved by pulling up a DCR MESH report, it still leaves a lot of cases to be worked.

Usually, solving a murder case is just a matter of tracking down those who are scanned on vid near a scene, and there is almost always DNA that MESH can use to identify and track down perpetrators in real time.

Not this Phantom though. He has never shed a drop of organic material at a crime scene, nor have we ever found any forensic evidence to tie anyone to the bodies.

Hopefully today will be the day we do.

dear prosers, proseters, prosettes, proseteronõs and prose-gentlemen and prose-ladies, boys and girls and other animals. i have lately not taken part in much that was going on in this glorious , creative, fruitful and supportive assortment of brilliant artists and wordsmiths that have graced the scroll of this wonderous yet quirky website. SHAME ON ME!!!

i neglected much of what went on here, and allowed so much of the remarkable work that was created here to slip by my awarness. it is certainly not because it did not matter! so much of what is written here is enthralling, enriching, edifying and empowering. it is a shame of insurmountable magnitude that i was not able to keep up with all that was written here, poem essay or prose.. i know that i need make no explanations, and shall never make excuses (never to friends) , but feel that i must, as that i received so much encouragement from you , my friends and feel that i gave so little in return. truly this is a real mark of deep friendship and love; an unquestioning , unwavering support, while anticipating none in return. such are my friends here. and i am such an ALIEN, to only think of this in these terms and not enough in terms of the creative splendor shown in this website. perhaps the problem with being in such proximity and overlap between personal need for exchange and the greater need to simply appreciate the marvel of the work here is such that a period of absence has driven me to such distress. i hope it will pass and that i shall once again regain my objectivity and enjoy enough spare time to involve myself in this fantastic group of people and appreciate their work.

but lets get mushy, shall we? i intended to name this article 'lumps of sugar', were i referance something that @estherflowers1 wrote.

the lumps of sugar were suposed to represent outstanding writers that i know and enjoy in this website. it's a crude metaphor and a terrible way to express my appreciation and admiration to my fellow Theprosedotcomniks who are truly great writers. this falls apart though, because how could i name some as lumps of sugar. what would it make the rest?

perhaps strategically placed honey? or jam? (yes! jam in tea! try it!!) . maybe pastries?

enough! we don't need this dribble! everyone here, even the occasional robots that comment randomly, is amazing.

here are artists that are commendable . i want to point out that in no way are they alone . i just happen to know and love their work , in this magnificent league of giants.

@estherflowers1 is one of the very first prosepeople whom i have had the audacity and temerity to share articles with here. i admire her poems greatly. her style can be zany at times, but it never wants for depth, joy, wit, brilliance and innovation. she occasionally tries writing longer texts, and they are fantastic and if you manage to get an argument with her you are in for a treat. i will never agree with her attraction to star trek or Dr. Who, but it is the best sparring one could ever get. (i am hopeful she will start an an argument after reading this..). of course few people are as encouraging of works published here. i have a suspicion that she enjoyes writing words of encouragment as another way to tease her vast expressive range.

@finder has been guiding people here on prose for as long as i have been here. she has periods of remarkable productivity, where she writes amazing stories or poems, and other times she is less present. i think these phases indicate great transitions in her life and fuel her writing with powerful , very emotional experiences. moreover i think finder is one of the most supportive of new members of this site. her encouragement is something i always appreciate and cherish.

@huckleberry_hoo is so funny and i enjoy reading both his stories and essays. his intellect is fierce and its amazing to see how he picks apart ideas and carries them on.

it's just fun to read his opinions and his participation in the philosophy prompts is cruicial to the success of our inquiry.

i wonder how he'll react to the whole lump -of-sugar thing...

@fudo is ahead of his time. his ideas and humor are inspiring and he is so very supportive of other writers . it's hard to keep up with this guy; we get a fleeting glimpse of articles and stories he writes. the way my work with the cannibals is, i get reading in stolen moments between my lessons. i do not know why he deletes his work and it is sad, because i must have missed so much. please do not delete....

i think all will agree with me that @uschibear makes amazing challenges and posts. she is remarkable in her writing and is so supportive of other members.

I shall not dare forgetting @whitewolfe32, @danceinsilence , @handsoffire @sharondabriggs, @mnezz @bonnieboo @tooldtocare @rlove372 @dctezcan @ramonlcamino @jimlamb @valiantraptor47 @ceh4255 @eugenpetrascu @thewolfeden @bogdan_dragos @undermeyou @tw @lexicon and @sandflea68

so to all who are joining i just want to sttngthen your hands. you came to the right place if you want to improve your writing, get positive criticism , and read the phenomenal work done by this varied group. participate in challenges as you see fit, or create your own posts in freedom. you will find much encouragment and growth here.

Sometimes Chaos makes mistakes and keeps them coz she finds them cute.

Order balks. He knows the stakes;

The reason'd truth she must refute

To stumble in her ardent ways...

It's all a phase, he deems, a craze;

A bit of grit she needs possess in order to become refined...

So he lets her keep the blind;

The spot of madness in her soul which grows and shrinks a knowledge hole.

If he could choose he'd pay a toll to step within her gaze...

Chaos forms a warming haze:

She plants a purring fur embrace;

A kiss upon a startled face;

A carefully embroidered lace,

A teapot short and stout...

Order stares. He loves her maze;

She shimmers as the shining lakes,

And laps up what the sky forsakes.

With each new rain she drinks then aches.

It sizzles him with doubt...

One day they touch, not knowing how,

He crests within her, sea to prow.

They forge a bond and chance a vow

To seep their vigor out.

And when they're done and spent and gone

A bit of wet will still live on

To plague the next automaton

Who stumbles from the drought.

At first it seems simple;

your mindling doth shrimple

upon the extravly bonanza.

your innards berumble,

your will starts to trumble;

you're shamadebabbledyanza.

The scent titilaches you

as consciousing bakes you

into a deraved sort of slappy.

yet clupped in the bend

is where foul-weathered friend,

so you end guiltipaciously zappy.

The problem with life

is that it keeps on going after the happy ending

and going and going,

and the suffering always comes back.

The evil queen survives her fall

and returns to steal away your dreams

with black magic and poisoned apples;

the skulls and daggers

always hidden under beds,

under clothes in dresser drawers,

in the dark corners of basements and attics,

the places in your mind you never clean

so they’re shrouded in cobwebs,

tormented by mice and rats

and the vaguer things in your imagination,

dark monsters hiding in closets

with the skeletons.

I live to be able to speak as I will. But sometimes freedom to speak can have someone killed.

To carry an opinion on a matter of consequences. Can lead to devastating circumstances.

If a silent note was carried through a mind of being seen, it would have saved all of the souls that were lost in between.

Yet, deep down inside someone had to be heard. To change history, to create sanity, to make sense of what is absurd.

For that we tip our hats to all of the brave orators in our country today. Stand, Speak, and continue to Evolve us in an American way.

Much as I hate

Relying on cold calculators

They keep me company

And don’t ask for much

The not so silver screens

With their artificial lifeforms

Fill gaps in a vacant space

That would otherwise collapse on itself

White noises whispered at night

Mingle with voices in my head

Overcrowding in a thick skull

I can never bring myself to cut the cord

It would only leave me lonely

In a mute world that no longer sings

They switch on and I forget

That someday there is an end

Everything forever sliding downhill

They give me something to do

Too busy for anything now

All time is occupied

Shunning silence

Disregarding the quiet

Pretending not to hear

When I’m being called back

They execute time quick and easily

Exterminate echoes of emptiness

Spreading through my life

Like pests in a decaying house

Things I’d rather kill than face

So as much as I hate it

I lie

Down each night

Asleep with some machine