Budweiser dripping,

Producing my puddle of regret,

Discarded bottles strewn around,

A ball of fuzz expanding my skull.

Memory of darkened eyes,

Deafened ears,

Stale breath,

Slurred speech.

Twelve hours of labour,

Pockets now barren,

Jelly limbs try to rise,

Like dominoes, they fall.

Daddy had no intention of changing his lifestyle. He was in too deep. The dying sizzle of an oil-slicked pan made my stomach churn.

"Still a stroke waiting to happen," he mused. A newly lit Pall Mall was smoking in the ashtray, waiting for him to finish guzzling his beer. Miller Lite washed along his crooked teeth. Only ninety-six calories, the bottle bragged. He was on his third one. It had been a lazy day.

Ketchup melts into the checkered red of the plastic tray. I swat at a fly insistent on landing on the condiments.

A housefly lives for twenty-eight days. What is sixty years compared to that?

"Mom, what is...carra...geenan gum?"

"Oh, does that have carrageenan in it? Put it down. Grab that one instead."

"What about this?"

"Let me see the label. No, it has canola oil in it."

"Is that bad?"

"It's inflammatory."

"What does that mean?"

"It...creates inflammation. It's bad for your health. Makes you fat."

"Ooh! Mom! I saw a commercial for this! Can we get it?!"

"What's in it? Oh, honey. This has three artificial dyes. Look, there's a naturally flavored version right next to it. It's non-GMO. Put it in the cart. Now, let's go ahead and get out of here. Family yoga is at seven and we still need to pick your sister up from her Konscious Kids crafting class.

------

"Alright ma'am...your total is...$347.62."

"347...oh. Hm. Okay. Can I take this, this, this, and this off? Thanks. Kai, honey?"

"Yeah, mom?"

"Do you see these items here? Will you run back and get the store brand versions?"

"But I thought they make you sick."

"Not this weekend, they won't. Hurry up, I don't want to hold up the line."

"Yes ma'am."

"Oh, and Kai-"

"Yeah?"

"Grab a box of Cheez-Its on your way back. Your father will be happy to see them in the house."

I’m still not sure just what went wrong; in fact, I don’t remember much about last night at all. I’d like to blame God, or fate, or just bad damn luck; but I think the fault might lie somewhere closer to home.

We was just after one last score.

The train from Guaymas to Nogales was supposedly carrying a shipment of gold. Some kind of tribute from the Mexican Republic to the Governor of Arizona, or some such political nonsense. Me and the boys, hell we didn’t care about nothin’ but getting our hands on all that loot and high-tailing it south. We planned on sittin’ on some sunny beach where the margaritas and the senoritas were sweet and plentiful, and that gold could buy as much of both as we wanted.

Bart Myllee and his cousin Dillon got the schedule from a Southern Pacific station master over at Tombstone, before they shot him and left his body for the buzzards. The train supposedly had a dozen Mexican rurales and at least one Federale travelin’ north with the booty in a passenger car.

The problems started when we derailed the damn train. Jim Bernard was our powder monkey, and he blowed the tracks just north of Cibuta. The train derailed alright, but it was goin' faster than we thought, and it piled up end over end out there in the desert, among the sage and saguaros. The Federale had been killed, but the rurales had turned out to be trained soldiers from the Mexican army, and they were a tough bunch of bastards.

After a gunfight that seemed to last forever, Me and Bart was the only two left standin’. Dillon and old Jim was a layin’ dead in the dirt, and all the Mexicans had either been shot or run off. We found the safe all bent and dented, and with Jim bein’ dead, it took over an hour for Bart to finally knock the hinges off it, and he almost lost his left hand in the process. He finally did it though, and turned out the safe was stuffed plumb near full of 50 peso gold coins.

We loaded our bags and dragged them back to the horses we’d staked out in the hills. We filled the saddlebags, mounted up, and rode as hard as we could for the coast.

That was day before yesterday.

We rode them horses damn near into the dirt, and finally finished up in a little seaside fishin’ town as the sun was a comin’ up. We found us an empty barn, and racked out.

Bart woke me near sundown, and we found our way to a little cantina near the wharf. Wasn’t hardly nobody there, but an ugly old painted-up senora who spoke no English, and a grizzled barkeep. I told Bart he should pay with some of the copper pennies we'd been savin’ but he had to go and be a big shot.

He flipped one of them big gold coins on the bar, and the keep’s eyes damn near jumped outta his head. We each grabbed a bottle of tequila and made our way over to the table where the whore was keepin’ house. I do recall she got a little prettier with each drink, but that’s about all I remember.

All I wanted was to head south, get my feet up, and live like a king, or at least a landed gentleman. That was before I woke up in this damned cell. Now my head is poundin’ and I’m alone in this dirty pit.

I looked out the barred window a while ago, and I saw someone hanging by the neck from a scaffold. I think it is Bart, but I can’t tell for sure.

I hope if they are comin’ for me next, they at least get me a fresh rope.

-------------------------

© 2023 - dustygrein

It has been a long debated issue within the Fantastical Studies community as to which species expels the most pungent waste from their bowels. Over the centuries, researchers have narrowed it down to two species: angels and fairies. Angel experts, and even some angels themselves, maintain that their excrement is far worse than any creature as small as a fairy could produce. Fairies have little to say on the matter, and the argument for their flatulence is made primarily by the groups dedicated to observing them.

One of the things that has made this debate so difficult is the odd fact that angel flatulence is unable to be compared to fairy flatulence and fairy fecal matter cannot be compared to angel feces, either. By all accounts, fairy feces and angel flatulence are nearly undetectable while their opposites have been known to clear all life from royal chambers and even large sections of forested areas. Since the two are rarely found in the same places and both are known to be elusive and finicky creatures, it has taken teams of researchers a rather long time to collect the data necessary to determine which is more offensive to the senses. Thankfully, after centuries of research and speculation, The Committee for Fantastical Biology has come to a consensus.

Fairies have energy systems that rely predominantly on air and starlight. Their bodies take in the gases from the air around them and uses them to stay lightweight so their wings do not have to work quite as hard. The starlight is absorbed through their unique layers of skin and gives them the energy needed to zip around the forest. The fairies then supplement themselves with a diet of moss and fungi. The waste from these elements are expelled from their bodies in two ways: their skin and their anuses. Fairies are known to "sweat" a shimmery powder, known in layman's terms as pixie dust. Pixie dust has many uses and is sought after by magical practitioners and "rave kids" for its divinatory properties and hallucinogenic effects. From their bowels comes a small but concentrated stream of flatulence that is highly combustible and has been known to cause forest fires as well as asphyxiation in humanoid species. The gas is expelled in bursts, and due to a fairy's constant turnover of energy, it is consistently released from their bodies. Fairy feces is something akin to rodent pellets, typically odorless, and is usually found within close proximity to flushes of mushrooms.

Angels, however, can process any source of light for energy but sustain themselves mainly on cloud vapor. As the vapor travels through their body, it becomes more dense and exits in a more solid form than which it entered. Angels who are consuming pure, clean clouds are likely to have bowel movements that smell something similar to static and are hot enough to burn through steel. But due to the constant pollution in Earth's air, more and more angels are consuming cloud vapor that is riddled with harmful chemicals and gases. While angels have a very effective detoxification system that allows them go unaffected, these toxins are expelled from the body in sludge-like clumps. Like fairy farts, these toxic clumps are highly combustible and make it very easy to know when an angel has visited Earth.

It is a logical conclusion that due to the similarity in the energy systems and consumption habits of angels and fairies, the two would be very strongly matched in the way their bodies function. However, since fairies still rely on some sort of organic matter to thrive, the official consensus is that the decay and eventual expulsion of used organic matter from their bodies makes their waste more pungent and therefore smellier to more beings. The Officials for Angel Relations have stated that they are divided over the findings, as some angels feel shame over not surpassing the fairies while others are only further convinced of their superiority. There has been no word from the Folks for Fairy Affiliation, but sources have stated the fairies do not particularly care about these results.

The Committee would like to note that in their research, it was revealed angel feces contaminated with toxic cloud vapor can cause cancerous cells in humans. If discovered, please contact the Magical Waste Unit as soon as possible to ensure proper disposal. If you are in the forest for long periods of time, please be sure to bring Committee approved gas masks in the event of a strong wave of fairy flatulence and of course, always check for traces of fairy gas before lighting campfires.

Hello, Writers and Dear Readers.

Some feedback on recent content, and a respectable hangover, fueled the intro in the new video, but, the talent of two inimitable writers to stem from said intro, tied it all together with their ridiculously crystal clear styles and gigantic breaths of steel.

Here's the link.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O79dtRZpsC8

Oh...

And.

As always.

Thank you for being here.

-The Prose. team

Hello, Writers and Dear Readers.

A message from one of our pillars led to a quick welcome to one of our new writers! Link is right here, and right....now:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KPWExA7AAHc

And.

As Always.

Thank you for being here.

-The Prose. team

The first man I ever loved was my dad

He was a small ineffectual man, who drank, sang songs and on his nights off would go dancing with my mom

He also had a red hot temper

A hard working man

Charming

Everyone loved him

I saw the whole world in his eyes and listened to his every word

I was proud to be his little girl

He wanted me to stay small

I wasn’t allowed to eat too much because I might get fat

Like my mom.

‘Must not eat’ I thought to myself.

Carefully calculating morsels of food at 7 years young.

Barely able to stay awake at school and have enough energy for dance

I couldn’t grow taller because I needed to stay small, smaller than his 5’2” stature.

But I grew

Everything grew

My breasts, my hips, my height

I tried to prevent it but nothing worked

A finger down my throat might do the trick

I wanted nothing but to stay his little girl

I could tell things were changing between us

He didn’t want a teenager

I had to stay his little girl

At the edge of 14..

My mom left by provocation and I was told by my dad we were going to live with his new girlfriend and her son

In shock I gathered my things

It was all going to be fine

I just had to trust him

So I did.

Like always.

But it wasn’t

She decided it was her life’s mission to make me small and insignificant to their lives.

Abuse. Neglect. Gaslighting

I spent many nights alone, idol and frozen waiting for him to come home.

Anxiety set in

He was my best friend once and I had no idea what I did wrong

He chose her.

She was tall and looked like a stereotypical stepmother from a Disney movie

All she did was yell and throw things at me

And he let her

Depression set in

It was official

I was no longer his whole world

His little girl

Disdain and anger seethed out of him whenever he spoke to me

Barely looked at me

His words picked me apart little by little

Until I was small and ineffectual

Insignificant

He couldn’t see I was killing myself for him

By the time they kicked me out at 15

In the winter

I had no home and no house left to go to

I was alone, broken, afraid.

Small

So so small

My light dimmed

Used. Abused. Shattered.

He lied to me.

It was all supposed to be okay

So you see, no man could ever break me now

No

I was broken long ago

By the ineffectual man, who stood at 5’2”

My dad

Screaming pierces the red and blue illuminated day. Young innocents sprint to uniforms staying outside while friends turn cold. Some runners have maroon staining their clothes, all have unseeing eyes. As they escape weapons, they are only met with more - fleeing guns to hide behind more guns. Parents cry from relief as they embrace their warm kids. But some are left standing there, an empty space in front of them where their child is supposed to be. More shots add to the chaos. Uniforms shout that the target has been neutralised. Ended by the very weapon that started it.

Hello, Writers and Dear Readers.

Today, we congratulate and read the winner of last week's Challenge of the Week, and announce the prompt for number 231.

Here's the link for the new Challenge, and just below said link, is the way to the video on The Prose. Channel.

https://www.theprose.com/challenge/14126

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YWdUsANVYqY

And.

As always.

Thank you for being here.

-The Prose. team