Coming back to conversations, loosely related: her upbeat tone into the psychiatric ward's payphone: I need to invest in healthy relationships.

Seeing the Instagram post of her sister-in-law's wedding. I wasn't invited. When the sister-in-law had asked me how I was doing, back when you could meet for a friendly brunch and ha ha mimosas all around, I stared at her engagement ring, smiling like a savage promise and that I would never have that happiness, and told her I was doing, just great, thanks so much for asking. No exclamation point. It's beside the point.

When I had told Stephanie I was going to get better in the hospital, there was some pause on the other end of the line, like a polite grasp at what I could possibly mean. It couldn't be true. It also didn't seem true, just hours later, when she showed up with her fiance, at the psych ward, to see me. I sat in glasses and pajamas, the pity obvious, as it always is and will be, behind their pretending eyes. How are you, she asked. I don't know, I said. There's someone here who thinks God watches us and will ask him to be the second Jesus.

If you're getting confused as to who the fiances and sister-and-laws are in this story, that should be fine. It's great, even. My little regard, at least back before Covid, for engaged and married "young" people was rife. I interchanged all of them in my mind, a little merry-go-round of Perfect People And Their Perfect Relationships. Cause for vomiting. When Stephanie had tried on her wedding dress, I stood in the photos, wearing sneakers and a baggy flannel shirt. I looked chubby.

Shortly after these photos, I stood in my room, having been dumped by - shocker - a guy I really, really liked. I took out a blade. Am I not good enough? Why? Is something wrong with me?

But of course there was, is. Something unfixable, and very, very wrong.

His name was not Jared, but that's what I'll call him. When he told me he was seeing someone else, in a coffee shop that I thought had been just another date, I stared at him for so long that I could see his face fall. I have never before or since seen the realization so slowly cross someone's face, or perhaps it was in slow-motion, that the ending the conversation was not going as planned, and there was no way out but to stumble upon some extremely sorry, bullshit conclusion.

I went to Urgent Care and asked for bandaids. They called the cops, and I sat in a sterile room, with emotions far from that, explaining that work has been overwhelming, you know the feeling? They did, and they told me to take care of myself.

I haven't, before or since.

At the end of the day, I wasn't invited to that wedding posted on Instagram. I will always be the girl, with a greasy face in glasses, being wrong, about everything and everyone. I will forever be estranged from my sister Stephanie, who told me that I am not my disease. However, this is far from true, and always will be. I have not been hospitalized for the last time. I will go again, and again, to the ward of second Jesus'.

While all the girl's of the world try on their wedding dresses, I am in a white hospital gown, a virgin to romance.

Why, hello there. It's been a minute or two.

We are making this announcement via Prose, versus the newsletter, due to a pending change in software. Hang tight for now. In the interim, and cutting to the chase, you may recall that last month's premium challenge prompted you to write an alliteration. The longest alliteration's author wins $50. Drumroll. Here are the editor's picks:

a day in the life, by CatLady1:

https://theprose.com/post/427767/a-day-in-the-life

(MAG)PIE, by Mnezz:

https://theprose.com/post/424476/mag-pie

An Acrostically Alliterative Abomination., by EstherFlowers1:

https://theprose.com/post/426293/an-acrostically-alliterative-abomination

swan songs, by WhiteWolfe32:

https://theprose.com/post/424050/swan-songs

and

Samson, by rlove327:

https://theprose.com/post/424020/samson

And the winner is...

...wait for it...

The Thalassic Thaumaturge: The Task To Trap Them., by CompassCreates:

https://theprose.com/post/427877/the-thalassic-thaumaturge-the-task-to-trap-them

We are about to message you requesting PayPal info to send your earnings.

In the meantime, this month, enjoy a $500 prize times existentialism:

https://theprose.com/challenge/12275

Let's keep it a glorious week, everyone. Until next time,

Prose.

My name is Harper and in six months I am going to die.

I know this because I paid for the privilege. You can do testing for anything nowadays, and apparently your expiration date is one of them.

I had money to spare, I was bored, and yes, I foolishly thought the test would tell me some distant faraway age like eighty-two or maybe even one hundred and two. When I found out my expiry date was in six months, I began to have a really, really bad case of buyer’s remorse.

I went through quite a lengthy denial period, where I thought I could go through the rest of my life pretending that if I just do things exactly the same way and not change anything I would conveniently forget and everything would be fine and dandy. (This was by far my favorite coping mechanism. But it didn’t last. Eventually my anxiety bubbled up and exploded like a shaken champagne bottle.)

Next came an obsessive, defiant, planning phase. Everyday I would think of elaborate plans to avoid death like I could somehow scheme my way out of it. I mean, theoretically, it seems doable. Plane crash? Don’t go on a plane. Car accident? Just stay home all week. Heck, heart attack? Pop three baby aspirins and hang out in the hospital lobby, right next to the crash cart ready to wave a big sign that says “I’m having a heart attack.” Unfortunately the test didn’t provide the cause of death, just the exact time, so I couldn’t really plan in specifics.

Eventually all the planning became incredibly exhausting and I settled into a kind of defeated acceptance. My plan was still not to actively put myself in a situation where I could die, I was not quite ready to submit to my annihilation, but if I somehow still find myself in that situation anyway, I figured I should really work on trying to be okay with that.

So then I commenced on a hedonistic three months where I blew half of my life savings and did literally anything I could think of. I ziplined through the forests of Peru, skydived over the French countryside, drank the best wines and indulged in rich Italian food, snorkeled off the shores of Bali, shopped with abandon while perusing the streets of Tokyo, London, Dubai…

You get the idea.

The most pathetic part of this whole thing was that I didn’t have a family to spend my last few days with. Or close friends, really. My impending death would not be filled with earnest mourning and last minute tearful proclamations of love and reminiscing. Oh sure, my funeral would be packed, but nobody would miss me, not really. As an orphaned twenty-two year old who inherited too much money at an early age, not only was I kind of an entitled asshole, I also haven’t really lived yet. I haven’t fallen in love or had kids, wrote that great American novel, won a Pulitzer, or experienced any of that syrupy sweet stuff life is supposedly made of.

Anyway, that’s why I’m hanging out in the hospice ward.

My friend here is Lucas. He is twenty-nine and has end stage heart failure from hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. He described it as his heart being too big - literally but I suspect it's also an accurate description of him figuratively. I befriended him five months ago when I found out I was going to die. And no, surprisingly, he does not have any wisdom to impart about acceptance and healing and the meaning of life. He is very not okay with his young, awesome life being cut short, thank you very much.

He did have some useful information for me though.

“It’s quite experimental.” Lucas warned in an ominous tone.

“Obviously.”

“They usually only accept terminal patients… you know, because of the ethical issues.” He eyed me warily. “But in your case, they made an exception.”

He was adorable. He said that last line like a late night infomercial. Or maybe a used car salesman.

“This is not some elaborate black market scam to harvest my organs, is it?” I raise an eyebrow at him. “I mean, no offense, but you look like you could use a new heart.”

Lucas had to grab his oxygen mask after laughing so hard at that one. The nurse at the station gave me a dirty look.

After Lucas recovered he looked me in the eye. “How much do you have left?”

“Time? Or money?” I joked. The look on his face was not amused. I cleared my throat. “One month. And as you know, money is not an object.”

“Well, one month can give you… at least eighty years in virtual time. So pretty much a whole lifetime, if you decide on it.” Lucas shrugged. “Once you jack in though, there’s no going back. Your clock will end as scheduled and that’s the only way out. Also, it’s totally immersive, so you won’t even know you’re in virtual. It will be like… you’re in a dream but you don’t know you’re in a dream.”

“So I would really believe everything was real? Like I would grow up to be ninety years old and I would actually think I lived all those years even though really it will only be one month?”

“Mostly, yes.”

“How many of the other people will be real?”

“Most will be computer generated. You might meet some real ones, if they are in the same time dilation settings as you. There are very few people with the resources for a whole month, you know. Most people can only afford one day.”

“So there’s a chance that I will marry a program?” I furrowed my brows. “And then if we have kids, they will also be programs?”

Lucas cocked an eyebrow. “There’s a high chance, statistically. Like I said, there’s only a few real participants at any given time. Not that it would matter to you, you won’t know the difference.”

I thought about this. Would it really bother me if I didn’t know? I bet my computer generated kids would be adorable.

His expression suddenly turned serious. “There’s something else. It’s rare, but there are a few cases of people noticing little things not quite right and they become increasingly convinced they’re in a simulation. Which of course is true, but when you’re jacked in and you’re not completely sure if you’re crazy or just being paranoid, it can be terrifying. They call it Simulation Induced Paranoia, or SIP.” He paused. “Participants become really…. distressed.”

I chewed on this for a second. “I still want to do it.”

He looked surprised. “Really?”

“I really don’t have anything to lose.” I replied nonchalantly, like I just decided on a dinner entree. I should probably be alarmed that I was acting so cavalier. Lucas wasn’t exactly giving a stellar sales pitch. Then again, it was true, I really had nothing left to lose. I’ve done what I could with my twenty-two years. Might as well have another lifetime to try again.

Lucas stared at me for a moment then sighed. “That’s the thing. The longer you’re in virtual, the higher the chance you might experience SIP. Remember, Harper, a month is a lifetime. The chances are very low of course - less than 1%, the virtual worlds are very meticulously programmed after all. But if you experience SIP, there’s no cure, no safe word, you’re stuck until your clock runs out.”

“I already decided.” I said resolutely. Once I’ve made up my mind on something I was usually unshakable. It was one of my many flaws. “In fact, let’s do it tonight. I want to get my whole lifetime, not a year less.”

—

Everything was too bright, the sounds too loud. I wanted to scream but I couldn’t. Jacking in was a very jarring process, it felt as if all my neurons were firing up all at once. Somehow I felt tremendous pain and the heights of delirious ecstasy simultaneously. Like I was feeling every possible thing all at the same time. There was a terrifying moment when everything went black, and for what felt like an eternity but was probably only a few seconds, I truly wholeheartedly believed I was actively dying.

Maybe I was supposed to die on the table during the procedure. Or maybe I really did unwittingly offer to have my organs harvested for the black market. Damn it, I probably caused my own death in my extreme efforts to avoid it...

I blinked twice. The room slowly came into focus.

“Hey, sleeping beauty.” A familiar voice.

It was Lucas. But also, it was not Lucas. He did not have his portable oxygen tank close by. His lips did not have their usual bluish tint. He looked… healthy.

Everything came back to me at once.

“Oh shit, Lucas. That was nuts.” I shook my head, clearing the cobwebs. “That felt too real. I really felt like I was in there for twenty-two years.” I checked my watch. I’ve only been in Virtual for twenty-two minutes.

He chuckled, swiveling back and forth on the expensive office chair I bought him for Christmas last year. My boyfriend never could sit still. “You’re a champ, Harper, you were the one who wanted to push the time dilation to a year per minute. I was worried pushing it that far would compromise the world building, but your mind was amazing at meeting the program halfway to fill in the gaps. You made yourself a rich orphan, really? Money is no object? Hah!”

I disconnected my neurojack from the surgically implanted access port behind my right ear. That rich orphan stuff was my subconscious free at the wheel. I didn’t intentionally decide on it. I turned back to Lucas. “Why did you add all that stuff about Virtual in there, and SIP? Don’t you think that was a little too… meta?”

Lucas suddenly broke into that grin that melted my heart so many years ago when we met during undergrad at MIT. “Well, since you wanted to put the expiry dates into the program so people would know how much time they had left, I thought, what the heck, why not make it interesting? Why not make a virtual game in Virtual?”

I was not amused. Lucas had a penchant for bloated code and unnecessary side doors. Also, for not telling me about an adjustment until after he has done it. “That’s messed up. You should have run that by me. The expiry date was a suggestion from the beta testers and we all agreed on it. We didn’t agree on putting the game into the Virtual Universe as a side door..” I paused. “Also, what if I didn’t jack in? I would have died in a car accident or something?”

Lucas turned back to his computer and typed a few lines of code. “I had carbon monoxide poisoning ready to go, but I was prepared to improvise. And anyway, I didn’t actually think you would gravitate towards the game during the beta test, I just put it in there as an Easter egg of sorts. I figured most clients would only think about jacking in when they were close to their expiry dates, if they do at all. But on second thought, maybe I should take it out of the programming, it’s too much work to keep up.”

I jumped off the table and stretched my legs. My entire body felt stiff like I haven’t used it for months. “Yea, take it out. You’ll have enough work as it is when we start accepting our first commercial clients next week. We have four people scheduled on our first day which I already think is too much.”

“We’ll be fine.” Lucas was now typing more purposefully. “That reminds me, I need to finish debugging this before Monday. Do you mind picking up dinner?”

“Sure.. from that new Thai place again?”

“Sounds good.”

I smiled as I gave Lucas a quick peck on the cheek before I grabbed my purse to pick up the take out. Everything was going well for our start up. It was hard to believe that only two years ago Lucas and I were broke PhD dropouts who took a leap of faith building Virtual from our one bedroom Boston apartment. And now… well, let’s just say our first official month in business is projected to generate six figures in profits even after subtracting overhead. Mid six figures. And as soon as we open up our second and third facilities the growth would be exponential.

To top it all off, I was pretty sure Lucas was planning on proposing to me next week on my birthday. I saw a charge from some jewelry company on his credit card statement while I was doing some filing last month. Judging from the amount, it could only be an engagement ring. Lucas never would have spent that much on a piece of jewelry otherwise.

I sauntered out of the elevator from our high rise office with a pep in my step. The weather outside was just the right amount of sunny. Even the Boston air didn’t feel as suffocatingly polluted. Yes, everything was going well. Perfect, even. I eyed a meticulously trimmed bush suspiciously as I walked by. Maybe too perfect.

I felt a sudden stab of panic. The smile dissipated from my face.

Oh no.

The band stood on the sinking deck

Playing music but nothing too sad

The last of the lifeboats were over the side

The situation was bad

The waiter brought the band a drink

Which they thought was rather nice

But the cello player who was rather posh

Had the audacity to ask for ice

The water reached their waist line

It was getting rather cold

Of all the times to lose his hat

The violin player was bald

The ship it is unsinkable

Ships engineer was sure

Shouting above the mania

Whilst waving the ships brochure

The ship it tipped up on its stern

They were almost in the sea

Without a worry for themselves

Played “Nearer My God to Thee”

© Julian Race 02/06/2021

Twitter @JulianRace1

Welcome to another edition of Roundtable Wednesday.

For those of you who are here for the first time, the first Wednesday of each month, Roundtable Wednesday highlights a writer on Prose so that other Proser’s can be aware of their work and perhaps take an interest in their style of writing. Plus, it is also a good way to increase your base of contacts when connected to each other. A dear friend of mine here, Sharonda Briggs has often said that Prose is Family. With that being the case, we all sort of look after one another.

But keep this in mind—there will come a time, a day, where I will knock on your door to invite you to become a part of Roundtable, and trust me—it’s painless.

But for now, I want to introduce a good and wonderfully engaging person with a heart bigger than the planet, one whose humor is about as honest as it can be, and always has kind words for other writer’s that come not just from his gut, but his heart as well. And I do believe, by his photograph above, we can now see the face behind the words. I present to you, Chacko Stephen!

**********

Can you shed some light about yourself that other people here can get a feel for who you are?

My name is Chacko Stephen, very similar to my username ^-^ I am 18. I am from Kerala, India. I just got out of school! And I talk a lot and rarely come to the point. It’s one of my most distinctive features (: About my family, I have two elder sisters and a wonderful mother.

Writer’s write, it’s what we do, but what do you see as your strong point, or motivation to write?

I love stories. I have always loved them! It’s like, entering a whole new world with people you’ll never meet, places you’ll never see and circumstances you’ll never face (if you’re lucky, of course, ^-^). It’s an escape, in a way. You get to live as someone else, relishing their sweet memories and understanding their concerns. It’s wonderful! It’s amazing!

The very first thing you ever wrote, if you remember it, how did it come about?

My first story… Pardon me, I have a very weak memory, XD But I do have a slight idea. So, there was this day when I was quite young (4-foot max). And um, I was supposed to be learning. Apparently, I wasn’t ^-^ And then, I don’t know why. But I told my sisters that I watched a new movie! And then, I... improvised XD I made a horror story out of nowhere. But surprisingly, it turned out really scary. (Even I loved it ^0^) And they thought it was an actual movie! That was a big proud moment! But thinking back, I technically didn’t ‘write’ it...

Who are your favorite authors and please; give us a few names?

Dan Brown. He is definitely at the top of my list. It’s just, he writes stories that are very, very close to our reality, and it’s something that I absolutely love! [And his death scenes are the best (:] I also love JK Rowling (her worldbuilding is just out of this world!), Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (Sherlock and John were my childhood idols), Marie Pope Osborne (Magic Tree House is the best ^0^) and also Suzanne Collins, JRR Tolkien, and Charles Dickens...

Any favorite songs/artists you listen to that set a tone for you when writing?

Uh, I have lately come to realize that I am not a ‘song’ person. I mean, I do love listening to songs, but I can live without that too. That’s not exactly very clear XD But I am in love with instrumental music, you know, soundtracks like slow, sad violin or keyboard tracks and things like that. I am a fan of soundtracks! I mean, I love music when they can create scenarios in my mind, anything at all. It might be a lonely person in the rain, a happy person dancing through the streets, a brave soldier fighting, knowing that she/he would lose. Anything! I did find a song really interesting a few months ago. The Curse by Agnes Obel, from her album Aventine. It’s a live session. It’s too beautiful, almost enchanting!

I can find a link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j1wgaFJ0750

Do you have any literary work on tap for publication, or have you been published?

Never ^0^ I mean, I have a very long way to go! I have just begun writing, and I am still a newbie here. I still have to improve my language, descriptions, imagery, and well, basically everything XD But I have improved a lot this year. It’s hopeful. Since joining Prose, I have changed a lot, as a person and as an individual who loves to write. (I dare won’t call myself an author XD) And if possible, hopefully, I will be able to do that one day. I do have some lovely dreams *chuckling* ^0^

Is there any one particular book you have read you would recommend others to read?

Angels and Demons! Or perhaps, The Lost Symbol. These are some of the books that helped me learn about writing a lot! The plot-building is brilliant, it’s too realistic, and the thrills are enough to keep you on the edge of your seat for a very long time! There is this chapters-long part in The Lost Symbol that I read without a breath! It’s really good. And Deception Point is also a great read!

When you aren’t writing, what do you do that pays the bills?

I am not earning yet. Um, my family covers most of my expenses. I mean, it’s something I would love to change as soon as I can. But work culture among students is not exactly promoted around here. That’s actually one of the reasons why I joined Prose. (: I mean, I used to participate in a lot of quizzes, solely for the cash prizes. ^0^ But when the lockdowns commenced, the quizzes were all gone, and I was desperate to find something else. So, I turned to creative writing. It’s a long story ^-^

Why did you join Prose and how long have you been a Proser?

Alright, I get to complete my story, yeah ^0^ So, the first thing I looked for was writing competitions, and they were way beyond me! Then, I found some writing platforms, but um, something was missing in all of them. So, I didn’t sign up anywhere. Then, out of nowhere, I found a link to the $100 challenge in Prose! Trust me, I love earning, so I didn’t even think twice ^0^ I mean, of course, my entry was a drastic failure XD But by the time the challenge came to an end, I met some people up here, and I knew this was not where it ends, and I stayed ^-^ Now, it’s been almost a year, and it’s one of the best decisions of my life (:

When you hear the term “less is more” … what is the first thing that comes to mind?

Less is more… I was about to say, “Less work and more results is fantastic!”, but no… I think when there is less talking and a lot more conveyed, that is a connection that you want to keep in your life. The ones in which when the entire group is having a laugh, and you look at their eyes, and something is shared between the two. Disclaimer: I am not talking about love here XD I mean it doesn’t have to be love. It could be a parent, a sibling, a very good friend, or even a stranger. A smile never hurts anyone (: And I am very lucky to have some of those connections in my life already ^-^

Are there places as far as social media accounts, perhaps your own website you would like Proser’s to be aware of where you can be found?

Yeah, yeah, I am up here. I mean, this is where I mostly am. I have a mail and a Quora account. Alright, social, yes. So, I am on Facebook and Instagram, as of right now. And when I say that I don’t really know how these things work, I am being very honest ^0^ I plan to start accounts on Twitter, Pinterest (I have heard that it’s interesting), and some others at some point in the future. And a YouTube channel, perhaps… Most probably, with my friends, and that too is in the future. Yeah, I think that’s it. These are mostly plans… I am planning to have a very... social... future XD Plus, I am on Reedsy now. There is a $50 cash prize thing (:

Favorite hobbies?

For the longest time in my life, I never had a hobby! I used to read a lot, but once I shifted schools, that decreased a lot. And then, I started writing! And now, I have a lot of hobbies! I either learn something new (It’s currently ‘stock market’ ^0^), or play the violin (unfortunately, my neighborhood wants me to stop. I wouldn’t blame them XD), and I love to walk (but it’s lockdown), and read (that’s still working, yes), and I write! I also talk a lot, now it has shifted to chatting, but yes ^-^

What is the single most thing you like?

Talking and listening! Good conversations! People! I think that’s the best way to describe that. I love meeting new people, and staying in contact with good old friends ^-^ And then, there’s planning (I absolutely love planning) and organizing (My mom thinks I am OCD. She is kind of sure about that) and public speaking and teaching and being a good friend, above all ^-^

What one thing do you really dislike?

Anything that divides people. I am against racism, sexism, casteism or whatever they call it… I would like to live in a world where everyone thinks that we are human beings. It’s that simple. Not the skin color, not the gender, not the religion, not the sexual orientation, not their economic condition, but humans! I have actually never understood why it’s so hard to accept. I mean, each person has the right to choose the way they live, as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone else. We should learn to embrace everyone for the person they are. And if someone’s against that, we are having a very long conversation, fella!

With Covid surrounding us, what advice would you want to share with people?

Well, um, wear masks, use sanitizers, try not to go out as much we can! And come on, we have all desired for this time in our lives. And now that it’s here, never waste it. We don’t need that regret in our life. Learn something new, message old friends and others, clean the house, read, write, play, spend time with your loved ones, do the things that you have always wanted to do. These might be dangerous times, but this is the best time too. Don’t leave a regret...

If you could offer up one piece of advice for other writer’s, what would it be?

Keep on writing! Unleash your creativity monsters! And writers’ block does not exist! It’s the same as the feeling to sleep after the alarm. You really don’t need it (: If you are finding it hard, open your laptop (writing device or notebook, well, you get the thing, right ^-^), start typing (or writing) what you feel. Trust me, it just goes with the flow! And if possible, set aside an amount of time for writing every day. It really works ^0^

Lastly, your favorite quote?

I have tons of them, and I don’t remember any XD There is this one by Julia Roberts (I don’t know who that is). I found it on Quora, and it struck me really well.

“You know it’s love when all you want is that person to be happy,

even when you’re not a part of their happiness.”

I found it beautiful. I don’t know why ^0^ And I have some surmised quotes that I made for myself, of course, XD

“Be excited about the littlest of things, be happy in the saddest of times,

and always keep a smile on your face.” It’s kind of like my motto XD

And of course, “Some things are worth the wait.” <3

**********

Thank ye kindly for being our guest this month on Roundtable Wednesday, Chacko. This was both a treat and a refreshing read, and I wish you nothing less than the best for you and the life you will grow into.

Now, as always, I have pulled something Chacko has written on Prose. Like those before him, he has no idea which piece I use, but this gives you an idea of his writing and I strongly urge you to read more of this young man’s work.

One slight pity to this—Chacko left prose for a time and in so doing, a lot of his work was deleted, so there are many things written he did that cannot be found and enjoyed.

Chacko isn’t one for writing a vast amount of poetry as many on Prose do, but nevertheless, what he does write can be witty, sad, serious, fictional, and introspective.

Enjoy this read.

Deciding The Category Love Belongs To

As much as I would love to say, heart, his literary brother brain, prevents me from doing so. Well, biologically, he is right. So, I am helpless. The heart is an organ which pumps blood throughout thy body, says Google.

Love. It’s the purest emotion. And I am still unclear on the word choice right there. Why is it pure? Why can’t it be the most beautiful one? Why can’t it be the most emotional one? I am finding it extremely difficult to adjust with pure.

Well, as a Science student, let me consider the scientific aspect of pure. A pure substance is something that contains only one type of particles, again says Google. And upon deliberation, we can conclude that it might not hold anything else but love. No hatred.

No anger. No distress. No sadness. Nothing else but love. Now that makes some sense.

But now, as a human, let me consider the experience side of love. I have found most of my friends to be lovers. Yes, I am a teenager. And quite wonderfully, I found a mixture of emotions in every one of them. So, Science seems to collide with Psychology here. Now, this is taking forever. So let’s try to conclude, shall we not?

So, we have considered various aspects of love. And each one of those gave us different answers. So, let’s conclude that love is related to a very famous expression in Mathematics. It is not defined.

More correctly, it is for you to find.

The birth of a child

The start of a new relationship

The first day of work

Buying your first car

Moving into your new place

Waking up one more day.

Odd colored smoke flew across the ceiling and slowly collected on the center of the stage. Everyone stared in awe as it slowly formed a person. From behind the curtain, I saw a thick, human-shaped cloud. "That's my cue," I said, jumping through the curtains, breaking the smoke apart in the process. The audience gasped after watching what appeared to be me forming out of a cloud.

"Alrighty, ladies and gents," I said. "Who's ready for some announcements?"

Cheers erupted from the crowd.

"Figured. Don't know why you are here if you're not interested. Anywho, let's start with an honorable mention. Change things up a bit. If ya don't like it, we'll go back to how it was, yeah?

"JesseEngel's story, Seeing the unseen, was an enjoyable retelling of a missions trip, if I'm not mistaken.

"In third, we have TCCOH's Stolen Package. This was a funny read about two kids stealing a… well, go find out for yourself!

"In second, we have GLD's No Plan, No Future. I found it well written, relatable, and enjoyable.

"And, last, but certainly not least (in fact, it's most), we have Fire by HelenaTherese in first! It was beautifully written, and it left me wondering, 'What comes next?'

"Thank you, everyone, for coming out this afternoon! I'll see you next month!"

It has been a while since writing a story on Prose, my eyes are not what they used to be and to be honest, just never found inspiration from any of the prompts that suited my writing style.

I suppose this is quite a strange prompt really from Prose, but hey, who am I to criticise?

The best outcome of it is that it has prompted me put finger to qwerty keyboard and write a short story of one of my many escapades in France which from how I see it, should fall into the guidelines of this prompt.

The house we owned in France was edged, land wise by our nearest neighbour, Christian, whose farmhouse was some 3 km’s away. Christian would wave at me and my wife as he passed along the public lane in his trusty old Ford tractor leaving a cloud of black diesel smoke behind him.

One Sunday, we were having lunch alfresco with a couple of French friends Patrick and his wife Blandine. We were about to sample our third bottle of wine each, when Patrick asked if we had heard of the French pass time of cloud spotting, which for those uninitiated in the art form is staring at the clouds and finding shapes that look like objects, people, babies, dogs etc. We told him that we had and that obviously the English had stolen the idea from the French at some point in history. Still staring at the sky, Patrick indicated with his left arm that he had spotted a puppy which we assumed was his contribution and commencement of the game. My wife pointed at another cloud and said look, there’s a tree. I was looking around the sky and frankly couldn’t make a shape of anything. Worm shouted Blandine pointing at the remnants of an aeroplanes exhaust that had passed by earlier that morning. After taking another large gulp of wine I heard Christian’s tractor coming along the lane in our direction. Still scouring the sky, I waved at Christian as he passed without taking my eyes off the sky. The aroma of diesel fumes filled the air before rising into the sky dispersing slightly with the light breeze. Come on Julian shouted Patrick impatiently, the wine’s effect making him slur slightly. With all my might, I scrunched my eyes together and there it was, as clear as day and right above us. Bob Marley I shouted pointing at the shape of the diesel fumes above our head and there are the Wailers to the left of Bob. I couldn’t help but start singing Buffalo Soldier...... It appears I won the game as Blandine quickly changed the subject leaving Patrick nodding his head in agreement at the vision in the sky.

Christian’s tractor had turned at the end of the lane and from the plumes of smoke was heading in our direction, down our driveway. Suddenly, from out of the smokescreen, Christian came bounding over the lawn and kissed all the ladies four times on each cheek in that French custom of greeting and then proceeded to shake mine and Patrick’s hand. Julian said Christian putting his hand on my shoulder and gently coercing me away from the table and the others so he could speak in some privacy.

His Breton dialect was always difficult to interpret and on this occasion was not helped by the garlic snails he had eaten for lunch causing his breath to almost singe the hairs on my ears as he spoke. When he had finished speaking and I had managed to gulp in a garlic free inhalation of his body odour which for a split second was a welcome relief, I noticed that he was staring at me intently, waiting for an answer. I thought for a few seconds and once I had deciphered what I thought he had said, I weighed up the pros and cons of what I had mentally translated from what he had asked.

Cava he asked impatiently? After several moments of thought and in my best guttural French replied Oui! Demain he pressed? Oui, demain matin, tomorrow morning. With a satisfied grin on his face, he shook my hand firmly and left as quickly as he had arrived; his hand waiving his au revoir’s to Patrick, Blandine and my wife.

With another Bob Marley and The Wailers taking shape above our heads, Christian disappeared down the lane.

As I took my place back at the table, an air of anticipation was apparent and the baying crowd before me wanted to know what all the secrecy was about with Christian. As I had been asked to “ferme le bouche” regarding the agreement, I could not reveal what it was I was speaking about with Christian. However, not wishing to ruin the atmosphere of what up until now was a very convivial lunch, I quickly thought of an excuse that fitted in with the body language that everyone had witnessed and said, well Christian is going to cut the field next to our garden the next day and had said that it would not be too much of a chore for him to run our lawn over with his machine while he was there. His only proviso being that I arrange for my wife’s underwear to be on the washing line at the time of cutting as it made rather a boring job that little more interesting. Thankfully, Blandine, Patrick and my wife found the request more than amusing and their laughter passed over the need for further interrogation.

As with all lunches in France, lunch turned into an afternoon session of drinking and well more drinking really and before you know where you are, the evening aperitif hour has arrived, and out comes the kir royale’s and salty nibbles.

The offer of a traditional 5 course French evening meal was declined by Blandine and Patrick as it would “interfere with the natural flow of drinking”. However, this did not stop them requesting the wine list!

Following the conclusion of two bottles of Saint - Emilion Grande Cru, and a bottle of Premier Cru Champagne to liven up the liver, Patrick wandered off to check the functioning of our fosse septic by way of using our loo whilst my wife and I hastily carried out a stock check on our fast depreciating stock of wine. After ten minutes and several “raising of glasses”, I noticed through the one remaining open eye that Patrick had not returned. Fearing he had collapsed or fallen asleep on the loo, I unsteadily traced his steps to find that he was not in the loo! I noticed our bedroom door was open and fully expected to find him spread eagled on the bed, but no. I saw the sliding glass doors which led to the patio and the garden were open and I could hear faint singing in the distance. When I reached the end of the patio, I could see Patrick hanging washing on the washing line in the garden.

I shouted to him and asked what he was doing. He replied but I could not understand what he was slurring. As I approached him, I could see he was hanging underwear on the washing line. Pour demain Julian, pour demain he slurred. With both of us unable to stand, more because of us laughing than through the effects of the drink, we both sat on the grass to recover. After confirming that we were not “pompette”, we both managed to stand on all seven legs, we decided to leave the other non conforming legs where they were and made our way back to the house.

With the effects of the day’s drinking waning, yes, it is possible to drink yourself sober ish, Blandine and Patrick decided they should make their way home which was a relief because we were down to our last bottle of alcohol which as it turned out was cooking sherry, but I doubt anyone would have noticed anyway!

The following morning I was up and dressed with the lark. Bolstered by several strong cups of coffee and my pacemaker beating at double time due to the caffeine intake, I loaded up my van and made my way to Christian’s house.

On arrival I was met by Christian who was holding two glasses of red wine which is another French custom in the morning. After handing me a glass, we chinked the glasses together and downed the rather rough cloudy looking liquid with one body dithering gulp. Chateau du Boite Julian juste le Chateau du Boite! I must admit that cheap wine from a box is not my first choice of morning drink but the warmth I felt as it settled inside my stomach eased my slightly fuzzy head and changed my opinion of wine in a box somewhat!

Alors said Christian leading me over to the rear of the barn. He stopped suddenly and stood open armed as if presenting someone. Along the edge of a dilapidated old fence was a mound of old stonework and an attempt at a concrete footing obviously thrown down during the aperitif hour with not a spirit level in sight. Ici une mure, he continued, il commence ici et fini ici. He said pointing down the line, une metre cinq haute ok? Thank the lord he spoke in French and not Breton! So he wants a wall, to border his land at this point and to end at the bottom of his yard some 40 meters away and one point five meters high I thought to myself. Cava Julian, vous et comprenez said Christian unsure if I understood what he wanted. Oui Christain oui je comprende. I asked if he was still having trouble with his neighbour and he spat on the floor, stamping the guttural sticky mess into the mud, voisans, merde! Surely not I said in reply, but the hatred in his eyes said it all. He was absolute in his feelings, his neighbour was shit!

Over the next week I merrily plodded along, building the wall to the strict instructions as laid down by Christian. The neighbour of Christian with whom Christian was in dispute, came to look at the work whilst Christian was away from the farm on his tractor. He could spot the plume of smoke in the distance indicting Christian’s position at any point ensuring his safety. Michel, the neighbour who was friendly with me was laughing and rubbing his chin as he looked at the wall. Tres bien Julian, vous etes une macon du premiere classe. I thanked him for his comments and asked why he was smiling. He just shrugged his shoulders and smiled again, Vite, vite he said before disappearing to the safety of his land border. Blimey, I’m going as fast as I can I thought.

I must admit, in those days my eyes were a natural spirit level so the need to use one was only to confirm what I already knew and that was the wall was as straight and upright as it could be. These day’s unfortunately, the eyes are not that sharp!

On completion of the wall, Christian insisted I celebrate with a bottle of homemade cider or Domestos as I called it. It was as cloudy as a pea souper in London in the 1960’s. Michel, the neighbour had kindly waited for me to complete the works before opening the pig shed doors, something I was grateful to him for. However, the stench hit us like a barn door slamming in your face and the aroma coupled with the homemade cider, strangely made the whole bouquet more pleasant, even palatable! We drank to the weather, and each meter of stonework that had been laid. He even christened the wall by spitting a fizzy cider laden mouthful of spit which caused the spittle to froth up as it hit the stonework. An empty cider bottle followed it and smashed against the top course of stones. Time to go I said to Christian and packed up my tools and made my way home.

The next day I was woken by four cords of oak logs sliding from Christian’s trailer onto our car parking area. I heard a thud; something had hit the glass sliding doors of the bedroom. I pretended to be asleep for fear of finding Christian standing outside the doors with 2 glasses of Chateau du Boite or worse still wearing my wife’s underwear on his head. I waited until I had heard the familiar sound of a tractor engine start then its “put putting ”diminish as he drove into the distance.

I got out of bed and pulled the curtain to one side to see what had hit the glass doors, and there on the ground was a bottle of homemade cider and a dead rabbit its eyes still open as if gazing across the garden. Payday had surely arrived. I looked at the mound of oak sitting in our car park but could not face the toil it would take to stack it all in the woodshed.

Three days later, two blisters and several splinters later, I had almost finished stacking the wood when a Renault 4 skidded to a halt in our driveway. The door flew open and Christian jumped out waving a letter and swearing in both Breton and French and sometimes in Brench when he mixed up his dialects! Julian, Julian what have you done he shouted angrily! I took the letter from him; it was a letter from a Notaire including a map of the land registry stating a wall had been erected in such a way that the boundary had been breached between Christian’s land and his troublesome neighbours land. We climbed into the Renault 4 and Christian drove us at some speed and it has to be said with very little regard to other road users. We screeched to a halt near the offending wall which was a relief as I thought we were going to hit it! I checked everything regarding the wall’s construction and it was to the exact specification that Christian had demanded. Christian said that the wall breached the boundary at approximately 30 meters leaving 10 meters on his shit neighbours land. I looked at the concrete footings which Christian had laid himself and the wall fell well within the footings. I pointed out this minor detail to him and alarm spread across his face. What I witnessed next was both bizarre to say the least and most alarming. Christian’s face blushed to a bright shade of purple as his blood pressure mounted within the confines of his skull. The purple darkened to damson, I was fully expecting him to turn into “The Hulk” at any second. He then proceeded to punch himself in the face repeatedly whilst jigging about like a boxer in the ring. Jab followed uppercut followed by a haymaker, the sheer force of which, spread his own nose across his face and he went to the floor like une sac du pommes de terre. He was scrambling to get up as if in his mind he was trying to beat the count of ten by some imaginary referee. Not wishing to interfere, I was leaning against my masterpiece of a wall watching in sheer amazement and have to admit, amusement at Christian’s actions. Christian lay flat on his back, his attempts to stand up diminished as exhaustion set in. His eyes were closed and blood ran from the side of his nose down his cheek and into the orifice of his ear. He was motionless now, so I called out his name, but there was no response. I went over and shook him, but he remained motionless. By the edge of one of his barns I could see a bucket of rainwater and like in all good films emptied its contents over his head. The black mud in the bottom of the bucket followed the clear rainwater leaving Christian’s head covered in rotting leaves. A not too rotted oak tree leaf was expelled from Christian’s mouth as he coughed and spluttered back to life, wiping his eyes clear of the stinking black sludge. Merde he shouted as he scrambled to his feet and ran in double quick time to the outside tap.

Fully cleansed, with one swollen eye and lips to match, we walked back to the offending wall. We inspected the length of it and came across a pile of yellow plastic pegs approximately 10 meters from the end of the wall. I asked Christian what the pegs were and he shrugged and said that they were old land markings someone had put in the wrong place. I checked the map from the Notaire and it was exactly where the boundary had been breached and clearly where the wall entered the shit neighbours land. Did you remove these when you laid the footings Christian I asked? Yes he said, they were in the way of where I wanted the wall.

After a brief discussion and pointing out the fact that he was liable to reinstate his neighbours land by removing the offending 10 meters of wall within 3 days or face a court order, Christian negotiated another two cords of wood, this time stacked neatly in the woodshed if I could assist him with his plight.

Luckily, Christian’s wide footings were enough to contain the modification of the wall and the offending section was demolished and rebuilt with a gradual curve to the left which was not out of keeping. Michel made an appearance to check the wall when Christian was not on site. He eyed up the wall as I put the final top stone in and said “exact Julian, exact” before leaving.

When I returned home, I explained the situation to my wife over an aperitif and said that Christian would be putting two more cords of oak into the woodshed in the morning. Will he want my mother’s old knickers on the washing line when he does it she asked only I had forgotten I had them and brought them to France by mistake, they were meant to go to the recycling centre in her old suitcase and must have found their way into the removal van. They were under the bed in our bedroom, I’m glad we found a use for them, mother would be pleased!

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As an aside I just found my spectacles, they were down the side of the chair. Well I hope this story fits the prose prompt of the longest alter....... SHIT, the prompt says alliteration not alteration, sod it I’m entering it anyway!