Good Afternoon, Prosers,

We hope this challenge announcement finds you well and writing!

It’s week fifty-eight of the Prose Challenge of the Week.

For the last week, you guys have been rewriting the creation story, and you all gave exactly what we wanted. Before we check out who is the deserving winner and the recipient of $100, let’s take a look at this week’s prompt:

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

Yes! This one is for a longer duration and for more $, so get yourself writing, now!

Now, back to the winner of week fifty-seven.

We have read all of your entries, and have come to a decision. The winner of the “creation story” challenge is @madbeyond with their piece, Out of the Blue

Congratulations! You have just won $100. We’ll be in touch with you shortly.

In the meantime, you have one week to get your write on!

Until next time, Prosers,

Prose.

Yes, we blinked and it happened again, dear Prosers. It’s Friday. And what a day it is, as it’s the time of the week that we get another Proser’s information. Confession is not betrayal. What you say or do doesn't matter: only feelings matter. Yep, I quoted 1984. 

Anyway, this week we get to meet one helluva guy that if you don’t know on Prose, then you really should. It’s @MarkOlmsted

P: What is your given name and your Proser username?

M: They are one and the same - Mark Olmsted. But I do have a slightly interesting story about my name. I am half-French, and my mother named me after my grandfather, Marcel. But my dad was afraid I would be teased for sounding “foreign” (it was 1958), so he made sure it was spelled “Mark” was on my birth certificate. When I grew older, I started to use “Marc” for all my writing, even using MarcOlmsted.com as a website. 

When Facebook came on the scene, I friended another Marc Olmsted, who turned out to be a fairly prominent San Francisco poet. He eventually told me he was starting to get asked at readings how prison and HIV had affected his work (audience members had googled him and stumbled on my history.) So I offered to switch back to my legal spelling permanently, and even gave him my website. I didn’t really mind – it ends up being easier to use the same spelling as the one on your license anyway.

P: Where do you live?

M: Hollywood, California.

P: What is your occupation?

M: I transcribe movies and TV shows, as well as edit film subtitles. (They come to me in English, but they often are not perfectly translated or have grammatical or spelling errors, so I fix them.)

P: What is your relationship with writing and how has it evolved?

M: I majored in screenwriting at NYU Film School, and that was my focus for 15 years. I came very, very close to getting a movie made, but two directors died on me in a row and I took what turned out to be a very long break. I then switched to magazine writing, and edited a national publication for gay men. Then I stopped working because of HIV, and got into drugs, but did keep writing poetry. In 2004 I spent 9 months in prison, and wrote letters home rather prolifically. They formed the basis of my memoir, Ink from the Pen. After my release, I blogged extensively, both personally and as a journalist. I got a M.A. in Creative Writing in 2013, and my Master’s Thesis was a screenplay, The Exiled Heart. Through it all, I have always written short stories, the best of which are in Lost and Found in the Prose Bookstore.

P: What value does reading add to both your personal and professional life?

M: They say a good writer is a good reader, and I think this is true. But it’s also a challenge for me to read as much as I’d like because I often feel I should use that time to be writing. (I’m 58, and way behind schedule!) That’s why I do most of my non-internet reading on the stationery bike at the gym. It’s amazing how many books you can read in a year just by devoting 90 minutes a week to it.

P: Can you describe your current literary ventures and what can we look forward to in future posts?

M: Completing Ink from the Pen was huge for me, and I’m trying to find a literary agent to shop it to traditional publishers. I will keep adding pieces to my other three books in the Prose bookstore, and will continue work on the prequel to Ink – which documents the long and gradual arc of mendacity and addiction that lead to my incarceration.

P: What do you love about Prose?

M: Well, first the community – it’s amazingly supportive. I have yet to post anything that does not get read and commented on favorably – which I also try to do for others as much as possible, particularly the Poets in Prison.

But it is the bookstore that has put a great anxiety of mine to rest. I have finally found one repository for all of my eclectic work. If I get hit by a bus tomorrow, I know my work will live on forever on one bookshelf on the internet. And if I never write a bestseller in this lifetime, who knows, I may become a sensation in some Star Trekian world of the future, where a vast intergalactic computer scans literature from the previous 3000 years for every reader’s taste.

P: Is there one book that you would recommend everybody should read before they die?

M: The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde. It is a perfect book.

P: Do you have an unsung hero who got you into reading and/or writing?

M: My fourth grade teacher, Miss Mitchell, assigned us to write a short story as our semester assignment. I was pretty sure after finishing mine: The Black-Framed Letter (about the French underground – which amusingly, I thought was actually located underground), I knew I was going to be a writer.

P: Describe yourself in three words!

M: Funny. Clever. Compassionate.

P: Is there one quote, from a writer or otherwise, that sums you up?

M: “It wasn't until late in life that I discovered how easy it is to say, 'I don't know.'”

–W. Somerset Maugham

P: What is your favourite music, and do you write or read to it?

M: Movie scores – Alexander Desplat in particular I really love to write to. And of course sometimes you just have to take a break and dance to Marvin Gaye.

P: You climb out of a time machine into a dystopian future with no books. What do you tell them?

M: I’d ask for a pen and paper and start writing one, of course. (Everybody must say that.) I suspect I’d call it: “The Super Brand-New Testament.”

Of course, I might have to teach them to read and probably re-invent the printing press, so it could take a while.

P: Do you have a favourite place to read and write?

M: My computer is in my bedroom office. As a matter of practicality, it’s the only place I write. But I like it fine because I have a horrific case of A.D.D. and need to check Facebook, Prose, and Twitter every 7 minutes.

P: Is there anything else you’d like us to know about you/your work/social media accounts?

M: Read everything I post on Prose and like it. Retweet everything I post on Twitter (@marquismarq). Follow me on Facebook and slavishly comment on every post, only saying worshipful things. And buy my book. Lots and lots of copies.

Well, you heard the man! Follow him! Read him! Adore him! Seriously, go check him out, you won’t be disappointed. Get those eyes opened up to stuff you may not know about.

And again we implore you: we want more Prosers for this feature, so if you like it, then please suggest people, and even volunteer yourselves. Prose wants you to feature in future Friday Features. So c'mon, get busy and get in touch on paul@theprose.com

We have all heard the story of Adam and Eve, and how God said " Let there be light" And there was light. Or maybe even how the Greeks believed how there was chaos and somehow Gaea, the earth, was born. However, what if I told you a different tale. One of fear and courage, of love and hatred. 

It all started with darkness, there was nothing. Nothing you ever do will let you see how dark it was. For millions and millions of years there was nothing in this darkness, it was quiet. But one day there was a girl, her name was Maeve. I will even let you on in a little secret, that was me.

I was alone for many years, wondering in the darkness. I saw no one and nothing. It was very lonely. All I did was walk, looking for someone, or something. But there was nothing. 

But then, one day, there was something. A little glint of light that looked as if it was going to be blown out at any second. It was the one thing the darkness hadn't devoured. I took that light and I expanded it, made it so it over took the darkness. 

Inside the light, there where many worlds. I did not know what I saw doing at the time but I created a whole galaxy. 

I took favor to one of the little planets, it was rather new looking and quite nice. So I created man. I made him so he could love, trust, and so much more. Man was perfect.   Yet, I saw the Man was lonely, like I was so many years ago. So I created a Woman to keep the Man company. 

But doing all of this.. it used so much energy and I gave up some of my spirit, my life so others could live. I fell asleep for many, many years trying to recover. I entrusted my creations to do good in their world and cherish it.

But when I woke up, I realized all the darkness hadn't gone away. Just because I brought back the light, doesn't mean the darkness faded away. The people I created ruined this world I gave them. They value money over another's life. They are not the kind, good  people I left many years ago..

So I have decided to use the rest of my life force to close the light that I have opened. I abandoned them and they strayed for their path. I will close of the light and wipe everything clean. In hope, that maybe, another little girl will wake up in that darkness I experienced so long ago. 

Please..

Please take me away

Please take me with you

Please take us away.

But I can't..

I can't go away

I can't go against my father

I can't have you.

But I need you..

I need your heart

I need your touch

I need your body.

But its forbidden..

It's forbidden for me to have you

It's forbidden for me to want you

It's forbidden for me to need you.

But I don't care..

I don't care what they say

I don't care what they think

I don't care about them.

But they control us..

They control our lives

They control our thoughts

They control our actions.

But this is love..

And you are mine

And I am yours

We are for eachother.

Fuck their rules

Fuck what they say

Fuck everything and everyone

Fuck the world.

What matters is us

Let's run away

To a place far away

Where they will never find us.

I know you love me

You've said it over and over

You wish things were different

You say you can't lose me

So prove it..

The choice is yours

Take a chance on me

Take a chance on us...

She puts on a smile for all to see,

She hides the truth all too well,

She hides herself, waiting to break free,

To break the walls of her shell..

No one knows the way she feels,

For her voice is all too weak,

What's inside she may never reveal,

For what she feels, she may never speak..

She acts all tough,

But inside she is falling apart,

As her life is all too rough,

For the most damage takes place in her heart..

All too many times she has been hurt,

Now none shall gain her trust,

She is now the outcast.. the introvert,

Everything she cares about is crumbling to dust..

She is not the little girl she once was,

She learned that everything isn't as it seems,

It wasn't possible to just hit pause,Everything is falling apart at the seams..

See..

I don't want to see anything

I close my eye tight

I don't want to see him swing

I don't want be apart of this fight.

Hear...

I hear so much screaming

I try and block it out but I still listen

I pray to god I'm dreaming

I've turned this closet into a prison.

Feel..

I feel scared, sad, angry and more

I can only run and hide

I've made peace behind this door

I can't say I haven't tried.

Silence..

Finally all is quiet

Another day comes to an end

I have to open the door and try it

This isn't all just pretend.

....

It's different then before..

Blood litters the floors..

Broken glass lays everywhere..

It was another fight with his wife...

This time it was about his "whore"..

This is what he's been asking for..

My parents are truly a horrible pair..

But it's all just another day in my life...

Family. Friends. Brothers and sisters. Mother and father. All of them, gone. All gone because of the council. They think whatever they want is the Law. That whatever they says goes.

Here there is no trial. No way to see if you are innocent. No way to help you. If the council thinks you are guilty then you are the one blamed. There is no way to be saved. There is no one to help you. Or in this case, there is no one to help me.

All I can do is write this small journal entry for someone to find. Maybe this will be lost or throw away. Maybe it won't be read for years after I'm gone. But someone needs to know how everything happened. What it is actually like to be the one blamed for a crime that you never committed.

It doesn't happen how the council says it does. They say that the "traitor" is removed from their home and is taken to the council for a fair trial to see if they are guilty and what their punishment is to be. Well that's all lies, all of it. Here is what really happens.

I was sitting at the dinner table with my mother, father, two sisters, three brothers, and my closest friend. Abruptly the front door was kicked down and troops poured into my living room. The head of the council walked in and claimed, "Huntsen Walker is here by pronounced a traitor for the murder of a fellow council member. He is to come with us so we can prepare him for the death sentence."

I remember everything after that seemed like it happened in slow motion. First my mother stood up and started yelling at them. The head of council slapped her and all hell broke loose. My father tackled the head of council, then after him my brothers and friend started fighting back. My sisters went to help mother, while I was froze in fear.

My father, brothers and friend were thrown on the floor next to my mother and sisters, guns pointed to their heads. "He was with us all day, it isn't possible!" my mother shouted. "He has the right to a trial in front of the council!" My brother older yelled.

The head of council ignored my family's pleads and whispered something to one of the troops before exiting the house. Every troop had a gun pointed at my family's head. All of a sudden, without any warning, they all pulled the trigger. All at once my family and closest friend fell to the ground. Dead. I was pulled out of the house, unable to move or fight back. I couldn't believe what I had just witnessed.

That brings you to now. Me writing a letter to you, the reader, whoever you are. I have heard the men guarding my cell talk about how I am to die. They say how the council wants to make an example out of me. They want to show that not even a 16 year old boy can escape the "Law".

They say I am to be thrown in the Arena with the city's "Beast". Usually hundreds of people come to watch. None of them would stop to help. They just cheer like it's some kind of sport. The only time I've ever gone to one is when it was mandatory to go. That rarely ever happens but it happened when I was a small boy. For years I had nightmares about that beast. I have no doubt this is going to be mandatory.

I hear people coming so I think this will be the end for me. At least I will be with family. I never got that fair trial we were all told people got. I never got to say goodbye to my family before they were killed. So many things I didn't get to do before I was blamed.

~Huntsen