Dear Everyone

I just found out

Aliens are amongst us

With tentacles, tails

Cat ears and lizards too

My Presidency's gone

Job done

And we're screwed.

There's a hole in his head.  Edges

jagged, leaking puke green puss;

a terminal infection.  Odors linger

in stagnant air, an aroma of deep

fried skin and perforated bowels.

Good morning, Prosers,

It’s week forty-five of the Prose Challenge of the Week! Last week saw you all writing about being held captive by the person you stalked! We had shed-loads of superb entries to read, so thank you everyone.

Before we find out which one of you takes the $100 prize, let’s take a look at this week’s prompt:

Prose Challenge of the Week #45: You’re on death row for a crime you didn't commit. Write about it. The winner will be chosen based on a number of criteria, this includes: fire, form, and creative edge. Number of reads, bookmarks, and shares will also be taken into consideration. The winner will receive $100. When sharing to Twitter, please use the hashtag #ProseChallenge

Get writing, now.

Back to the winner of week forty-four. We have read all of your entries and thoroughly enjoyed every single one. There can only be one winner, however, and after much deliberation that winner is, @AmandaCary with her piece “Dear Diary.” Congratulations to you, we will be in touch shortly to arrange transfer of your winnings!

That’s all for this week, here’s to a week filled with all things Prose!

Until next time, Prosers,

Prose.

"Mommy, is that you?" my daughter asked, as a woman stood before her.

"Yes," the woman said, then pulled her in for a hug. "Will you come with me?"

My daughter nodded and walked away, hand in hand with the apparition resembling my dead wife. I just stood, and watched.

If I had tears, I would not have shed them. I listen to you two giggling beneath the sheets. I debate whether I should step back or wither to dust as I think of what could have been. Still I wonder...how can you be loving her as my body lays crippled in the closet next door?

I don't understand why you had to play that game. A simple, I have no feelings for you would have done well. Instead, you brutally stabbed me in, not just my back, but my heart.

But trust me, I have no hurt feeling... really... I don't. I know my place. You said it clear as I laid, slowly dying, on the kitchen floor.

Just because I'm not in pain by your act doesn't mean I'm not plotting inside. Like how you whispered in my ear, I was useless when I was alive. Now I can do whatever I want, and be invisible to your eyes. I have plans for you.

My soldiers are ready; an army made up of the other gals you have murdered before me. It was just "luck" I found them still wandering around the house still moping from your betrayal.

I've put the power back into their souls.

Don't underestimate us now. We are no longer the girls you once threw around.

First we'll ripple the curtains... then break a plate that hangs a little too close to the edge of the counter.

If still you don't realize your mistake, the real fun will begin. Sending chills down your spine and screaming into the night will surely send you running. We'll stalk throughout the house, banging windows, and slamming doors. Dare you turn around? The knife you killed me with will be pointed to your chest.

But murdering you is the least that I want. Torture to insanity is where successful revenge lays.