Burning in the chest,

The blood has not stopped flowing,

before the last beat.

...

"What did you do?" Lana stepped into the door frame and leaned against the jamb.

"What do you mean?" Tom's tone was innocent enough, but his demeanor was too rigid.

"There was a...disturbance."

"What like the neighbor playing music too loud, or cats fighting, or-"

"You know what I mean."

Lana stepped into the room and looked around. When she walked in between Tom and the tv, she really knew he was hiding something because he didn't protest. Not that she didn't already know. He tensed up and stared ever more intently at the screen.

She stepped over to him and leaned down, staring at his profile. His eyes were wide and his lips were pursed.

"I will find out what you did....somehow. You know you're not supposed to use it. For anything."

"I'm sorry, I don't know what you mean."

"It's my work, Tom!" She yelled as she stomped through the house examining everything she could with the temporal radar.

This went on for the better part of the afternoon.

Finally, her voice rose from the kitchen indignant and vindicated.

"Oh you mother fucker! Are you serious? I'm pouring it out!"

Tom ran to the kitchen to stop her.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry" he blurted out as if they were a single word.

She held two beer bottles next the the sink. Bottle openers ready and glared right through him.

"Why?"

"I just wanted cold beer for the game and realized I had left it out after we got back from groceries. I'm sorry." His eyes were pleading. "Please, please, please."

"If I let you have them, you will never learn."

Tom pouted on the couch during the 3rd quarter debating getting more beer or missing part of the game. It seemed hardly fair he should have to choose.

I haven't been on here in a while.

Just going to write some free flow thought shit, I guess.

I told my friend Kyle about this site. I met Kyle at work. We hit it off pretty fast. Found out we like a lot of the same things, and have the same sense of humor.

Found out that Kyle liked to write. So I told him about Prose.

I hadn't been on here since I told him. Thought I would come on today to see if he had ever joined. He didn't, I guess.

Kyle died. They sent us all home.

I had wanted to stay at work. I had a lot to do and it's nice to take my mind off of things. I wanted to focus on something else that was productive and not mindless.

The Teams calls started early. The first one, I initiated to be fair. My boss was asking me how I was and my answer was too complicated to type. Maybe it still is.

Lot of well-meaning people wanting to talk to me and I don't know, offer comfort with varying degrees of success.

I have a tip for you guys when it comes to comforting a grieving person: don't offer your belief system to a grown adult. I'm 40 and I've got it well figured out for myself and don't need to hear about your Lord and Savior. I guarantee I've heard some iteration of your beliefs before and I don't give a shit.

On top of feeling like shit for not contacting my friend when we both had time off this last week and I could have seen him, I don't want to have to politely listen while you wane philosophical. He is dead and gone and doesn't know shit anymore and isn't haunting anything.

And that fucking sucks because he knew a lot when he was alive.

Kyle was smart. And funny. He was cynical but in a hilarious way. He was fun to talk with and listen to. He had really great stories. He was dreadfully honest and always himself and he did not care what anyone thought, but cared how they felt.

And he is dead and I don't know how many days he's been dead and I don't know why he is dead and I am afraid like so many people I have lost before I will have nothing left of them but memories and I wanted to read his stories. Why didn't he come on here and write?

Whatever I'm done.

And yes I'm keeping "wane" on purpose because to wax means to grow and repeating worthless platitudes only grows my contempt.

Now that I think of it, I do need to change my profile pic. But here goes anyways.

The one I have currently is a micrograph of naegleria fowleri. At the time that I chose it, I was going through a phase where I was particularly afraid of it. Although it is extremely rare, it is also has an extremely high mortality rate and there is next to nothing that doctor's can do to help you once it's inside your brain.

Although it's found primarily in fresh water and thrives in the heat, it has been rarely found in supposedly "clean" water sources, such as water parks, wells, pipes, hot water systems, etc.

Where I live now, it has not been found. So it is much less of a concern. But with global warming, who knows?

I don't think about it much anymore though. It used to seem like it was on the news all the time a few years ago. People got it and died just from swimming; in freaking water parks of all places. And people were worried about the pee.

If you like swimming and you live in a hotter state, wear nose plugs.

My heart's been broken by more than a few people and in a myriad of ways. Once even with who I thought was my best friend. I've survived it, so it must not have been that bad. I had started to let that pain harden my heart, but then I met my husband and he softened it. I'm very happily married now to the love of my life and I wouldn't change anything.

You'll find no cynism here any longer. It was worth it to be vulnerable; it will always be worth it. Even when one of us loses the other. Besides, without love and pain, what is the point of life? You're just existing without those things.

I know it hurts. I know it does. Thank you for listening. Please listen a little longer.

I know you're looking for a way out; you're looking for relief. You won't get it this way because relief is a feeling and you can't feel anything when you are dead.

But, I have some really good news for you. Most people who want to commit suicide, don't. Your chances of surviving is high.

I know what you really want isn't to die, but to be free of pain. You feel out of control and this is your way to get it. Other people can help you get that control and help you feel better and you don't have to die. A lot of us have been where you are and have survived and we can teach you how to survive to, and even thrive. You have the ability within you to overcome it.

When someone wants to kill themselves, it's because their coping abilities are outmatched by the pain they are feeling. It has nothing to do with being strong, okay? Almost everyone has felt like killing themselves at one point. And again, most of them survive.

We are going to help you get more coping abilities so that your pain, in time, will be outmatched by your ability to cope with pain and get through it.

Just promise me that you will think it over and you won't kill yourself tonight. I will stay with you, but promise me you will be alive tomorrow morning.

P.S. this is hard to do one-sided because most of it is actually just listening to the person.

I think it depends on what you're looking for in entertainment. Do you really want a story? Do you want an opinion? Do you care abour grammer and spelling and punctuation?

As far as the latter goes, I am on the side of proper spelling and grammar. But I also understand that language evolves. The concept of proper spelling and grammar is a newish concept actually and I think that maybe if you consider it with that historical context, it helps take that bit of medicine that maybe a lot of people don't care about it so much anymore.

I prefer it. It matters to me and people like me. It matters when you write a book or resume or editing an article, still. I appreciate that. I am a word nerd. I correct people and I don't care if they think I'm pretentious. It's not that I think they're dumb, but it does bother me, I think because they are uneducated when it comes to writing. And if writing is a medium you are using, please do so correctly, or as correctly as you are apt.

On the one hand, some people say that's classist. On the other hand, you don't very well let someone say that 2 + 2 = 7 and not correct them, do you? You don't get to math "your own way" and not have people tell you you're bad at math. Why is it different with language?

But, on the other hand, modern English doesn't look anything like old English or even middle English. Our ancestors spelled phonetically, if they could even spell at all. Thank you, Gutenburg.

But yes, I will say emphatically and unapologetically, poor grammar and spelling is distracting. And if you do not take the time to get it right, I will not take the time to read what you want to tell me. So tell me verbally, because you're a poor writer at the outset and it's not fair to me, the reader that you ask me to decipher what you are trying to say. Communicate your way, but have some respect for your audience.

As far as story creation; well, I love a good world setting and something character driven. Usually, I need to care about at least one character in the story. For me, for a story to go from good to great means a character arc. a rich, interesting setting and a plot that might play with expectations, or have a satisfying ending. I like some humor mixed in to break up sad or heavy stories. I like a character I can identify with. I like not always knowing that there will be a happy ending. I like creative takes.

But not all of those elements are important to everyone. And that's okay. Some elements are more important to others, depending on what you need from the story.

So yes, it is highly subjective and it's easy to see why.

I couldn't read the Twilight books, or the Davinci Code. It doesn't mean they were bad; they were just not for me. I love anything by Jack Vance, but his characters are often challenging; but his rich, imaginative settings pull me in. Peter S. Beagle's characters are easy to identify with and his plots are very creative. Piers Anthony's wordplay is positively delightful and the way he has built the world of Xanth is unique but masterful. Each book builds from one to the next, but you can read them out of order and independently, and that is not easy to pull off. Especially with such a rich, complex world like Xanth. But not everyone agrees with me on these.

Like a painting, it's all in the eye of the beholder. And that's okay.

I have no doubt that it's true that fear is probably our most ancient emotion. It's a feeling that exceeds our species and is found to some degree - I'm certain- in every animal. It keeps us alive.

The fear of the unknown might have began with man, who could imagine things beyond what was laid in front of him. An animal that can imagine anything is something spectacular in my opinion, because he can affect his surroundings like no other animal in the world. I digress.

But with that vast imagining, come fears and anxieties unfelt by our primal brothers.

It has lead to a milieu of other fears, (I would challenge anyone reading to look up): xenophobia, astrophobia, thalassophobia, chronophobia, achluophobia (or nyctophobia if you prefer), noctiphobia (related to the latter two), wiccaphobia (probably) and of course, and most naturally - thanatophobia - the fear of death. I would argue that it is probable that most if not all phobias really do stem from not knowing. Since phobias are most effectively cured by exposure and understanding of the stimulus causing the phobia- I think that argument has some merit.

I also think that we can fight and even conquer these fears.

As an atheist, the fear of death had gripped me like no other fear has. In the past.

Not so much now, and there are a few reasons.

First and foremost, it has been replaced by an even greater and deeper fear: the fear of loss. Losing those you love and rely on is the heaviest feeling. When you really love someone, you cannot ever replace them. Ever. They are just gone. Not to be so downcast, but that is exactly what grief is. And there is no worse thing, in my opinion. (And yes, I know it's because I make it that way for myself, but I am stubborn in this thinking.)

Secondly, I view death in unremarkable terms.

It is a thing that happens to all things that live; we are all food for another.

I imagine that dying is a lot like being born in reverse. I imagine that being dead is a lot like it was before we were even alive. I don't know anything from before, and I won't know anything anymore after.

This doesn't scare me. But I also don't want to be taken away from the people I have and the people who have me. I don't want them to be sad after. Not that I would know about it.

What bothers me more is not having enough time: there is never enough and I am greedy for it. I wish I did believe in something after. It sounds beautiful; but it sounds also like a fantasy. It's just that time wouldn't matter if it were true. But I don't suppose it is. All well.