"I want to hear you say it again!"

"I wanted a friend. I wanted a friend . . ."

"I wanted a friend for life. A rainy day friend. A friend who walks in when all others walk out. You only have a single hour remaining to have all of this memorized."

"Couldn't I just shorten it? She would know, but the rest of the congregation wouldn't. Besides, everyone knows Sara is much smarter than me. They will forgive me."

"You're right. The congregation, the guests, the families, even Sara will (eventually) forgive, but none will ever forget. You and Sara went over these vows for the better part of four months now. She has them memorized. You should too."

I had my doubts about Jack. He wants to marry Sara and Sara has always wanted to marry Jack, but, I think the closer these two get to the wedding, the more questionable the wedding will actually become. First it was Jack's last two ex's and their last ditch efforts. Lisa wanted Jack for herself. Linda didn't want Jack with Sara.

Then, I had my doubts about Jack. Sara and I have been friends for years so she asked me to help Jack straighten-up and fly right. I took it upon myself to learn Jack's vows and make him learn them also. I wasn't here as the best man to accept failure. However, I wasn't going to babysit Jack forever.

Eight more attempts to browbeat a man who shouldn't require browbeating.

I gave up when he asked for a "line", interrupted my recitation of the vows, and answered his cell phone. I knew it was Lisa. If it was the last minute, it was always Lisa.

The guests heard that song. Then they listened to that question. If Jack was going to cut and run, it was now.

He did think about it though. Maybe twenty seconds is nothing for some people, but for an anxious bride and 120 guests, twenty seconds is an eternity.

Then came the vows. Sara went first leaving not a dry eye in the house. I read what she wrote and lip-synced it as she spoke. No one who feels this much deserves this little. Perhaps Jack had been playing me for the fool. Perhaps he had his vows at the ready.

Perhaps pigs fly.

Either way, Jack, offering the last of his stale boyish charm couldn't make it past the fourth word. He whispered to me for help. I gave him exactly what he wanted. Although, what I offered, was not in the hushed tones he anticipated.

“Sara. I wanted a friend for life. A rainy day friend. A friend who walks in when all others walk out. You are that friend. You offer me your hopes and dreams and desires for the life you want me to both receive and protect. Only a friend extends this proposition. Only a husband accepts it. I promise to be the man you want, the partner who will grow with you. I vow to be the faithful husband who will love, honor, and cherish you, forsaking all others, on this journey, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.”

The Minister waited until the commotion ceased before speaking.

Not to the guests. Speaking only to Sara.

"I can change the name on the marriage license during the kissing of the bride."

The term, "Best Man" has an origin associated with the friend of the groom during a time when the groom needed help stealing a young woman away from her family to be his wife.

Today, it is now a contest of sincerity.

I had too much rice in my hair to think about that today.

Porcelain bodies flung against a cold, white wall.

Frail and silent voices, drowned out by the wind.

Oh Savagery, whom will you take from me today?

Hopeful voyages, onward to reclaim our humanity.

An exposed heart, still beating, feasted on by a dozen of leeches.

Oh Lust, what will you take from me today?

A room filled with eyeless faces, profiles barely human.

Apparitions of Hadean origin roaming aimlessly between dimensions.

Oh Despair, whom will you take from me today?

Valiant spirits erased with one violent strike.

Abominations hunted down and slaughtered.

Oh Hatred, what will you take from me today?

Nobody is safe.

Nobody is beautiful.

Nobody will hear.

Don't you dare run, don't you dare die. What are we supposed to do?

Who will guide us?

Who will save us?

Who will kill us?

Don't you dare speak, don't you dare fall silent. What are we supposed to do?

running on empty,

i drop my bags at the door--

i'm sprinting to reach

the edge of the moors.

leaving behind

the blue lights and turning off the screen,

i want to go to a place

where i can lay in fresh green.

where the wind whips

romantically

and the birds sing

just for me,

i'm running on empty

and i can't wait to leave.

First, I'd love to thank all of you for participating in the Feather Project writing challenge. We've received a great deal of stories this go around and we're looking forward to exploring what you've all created. Now that all stories are in, please sit tight, results will be coming soon.

Best of luck to all participants, and happy reading to those that get to read.

Love is complicated

Love is being friends with your ex because you’ve lost too many people to let another person go

Love is when he apologizes

Love is when I forgive him

Love is when his words are still my favorite compliment - to be intelligent and intimidating and beautiful

Love is when I break his heart

Love is when he lets me

Love is finally moving on

Love is letting me know that he‘s still listening

Love is sending me an article on how to learn Russian because we’re allowing ourselves to have inside jokes

Love is learning how to be friends again

Love is.

Fattening or flattening?

How can one really say

Eyes dazzled and dizzied

The same story every day

Fattening or flattening?

Or both at the same time

A squabble among gods and men

An illusion truly sublime

Fattening or flattening?

Queries my pinstriped foe

Settling into the wall as I quarrel

Where on earth did they go?

Fattening or flattening?

The pattern laughs in my face

How I wish they'd let me out

And free me of this place

Endless flowers only are given to the dead,

A symbol of guilt from the people who should have been there for them,

When they were living,

But now all they are doing is crying,

It seems kind of ironic,

That you were silent when they were crying and falling,

It's a fickle thing,

These emotions that people are using,

Because if you love someone,

You don't let them suffer alone,

They are a fragile piece of glass,

That could break from another hit,

But you never noticed until they shattered,

Their souls couldn't handle it,

Yet at the funeral,

Everyone else acts as if they are the victim,

And even in death,

People still try to get something from them,

The deceased,

Or use the situation for attention,

The flowers are for themselves,

Not the deceased one,

The real victim.

Good morning, evening, or afternoon, writers and dear readers:

We are in the process of getting the newsletter feature revamped, as well as a whole bunch more on the app. The winner of the challenge is posted on our YouTube channel, so please go check it out, like, subscribe, all of that really helps the app!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hsZduGn8Rkk

Picking the money maker on this one was tough, and I mean tough. But, one had to be the one, you know? Up to me, I'd have cut multiple checks and called it a numeration of best entries.

New CotM coming soon! As always: Thank you all for being here.

-The Prose. team.