here is my rage: clinging to the negative space of my body like a desperate lover.

and here the blood of the sunrise, pacifying

your ache for violence. you hold down the flesh of the world and

i’ll hold the knife that spills salt. say the word and i’ll do it.

beg for beauty and i will slice the world clean open. beg for violence

and i’ll put on my finest dress. the terror and the allure,

two figures that only intertwine in the stories,

two lovers that only watch each other from across the room. here,

they want each other dead. here they leave your throat bruised purple.

and here my fingers like pink painkillers to strip you of your fury.

through your window a body clings to a body and nothing more. the flesh against flesh, but then the crime scene, the intersection of love and gore at war. i could forget this.

walk away from these scarlet-soaked vexations. there is a journey my limbs

need to take without me. would you stand there and let the fever choke you?

or would you run away from this burning body of mine alongside me?

take away my anger and you have a body. take away my body

and you have a wildfire. if you’re going to flee,

turn your back so the heat warms you one last time.

I am attaching a link to Part I here so that it might be easier to access: https://theprose.com/post/395655/something-wrong-part-i

Hope you guys enjoy it!

*****

"Something's here."

"Can you see what it is, kid? Don't be scared. We are locating you. We will reach there in no time. Now, tell me what it looks like." Michelle followed her standard procedure, though she wanted to do something more. It was a little child on the other side, or at least she sounded like one. It could be one of those stupid nightmare calls, but something inside her refused to believe so. "I think it's a lady, and she is, she is going to kill me." The kid was breaking down now, and Michelle could not let that happen. No matter what, the child was not supposed to do anything that could turn out wrong; grave wrong.

"Now, don't cry. Just stay on the phone. Can the woman see you? Are you hiding? Just stay wherever you are. We are coming. I am coming." Michelle heard the beep sound; the call was over. Now, it was up to her to spare that little child. At least this time, she got a more accurate location, 32nd Stratford Avenue, Collegeville, Pennysylvania; A 2 km ride. At her maximum pace, she could get there within four or five minutes, and yet, it might not be enough.

Michelle shouldered her way through the doorway and sprinted down the stairs; She had to be quick. At the ground level, she halted to check if there was someone else neglected in the station other than her. The news of the rampageous Community Hall Strike had reached her a few hours ago, but she hoped at least one soul to be left-back in the station. The protest took a wild turn today; the campaign members had already crossed the farthest extremities of patience. They could not wait any longer in peace, they had to protest, they had to react, and that had left her all alone in the station the exact day when she desperately needed someone.

Her concern grew even higher to have found the parking lot void of any form of transportation. All the squad cars were gone; they did not even leave one out. Suddenly, she heard a booming voice from the direction of the protest ground; it was turning even more violent. She hoped everyone was alright up there. That's when the thought struck her, where was Richard?

Richard Bowen was Michelle's senior officer; he was always with her, right from the start. The previous week outrage in the campaign left Richard with a broken arm, and that implied he was somewhere in the station itself. All of a sudden, Richard emerged from the garage near the parking lot. He was a stout man in his mid-fifties, mostly bald, except for the silver hair on the sides, and now, he had a plastered arm. Michelle ran up to him. "Richard, we need a car, we need something, anything."

Richard was stunned witnessing Michelle out of breath, panicking like never before. But still, he gave a decent explanation to her request, "They took all the cars. Red tried to kick newbie out of the mission, and the kid came to me. I felt pity for the boy. It was his first out. So, I let him take the new car." He paused, "Where are you going now?"

Michelle had no time for an explanation, but it was her only way out. She described everything as prompt as she could, and Richard listened patiently, his demeanour stagnant throughout the description. "Wait, 32nd Stratford Ave?" Richard intervened for the first time. "Yes, the 32nd. Why? Is there a problem?" Michelle could not deduce what struck Richard about a specific address 2 km distant from them.

"Mich, the 32nd Stratford Avenue is abandoned. No one's in there."

*****

There is this one last chapter, which I will try and finish as soon as I can. I haven't yet edited that portion, that's why I didn't upload it this time. I am really sorry, guys. Plus, I got some school work to do. So, it 'might' take another week. I hope you guys are alright with that. And, I have some happy news to tell everyone once I upload the last chapter. I mean, it's happy news for me. To be honest, I am not exactly sure whether it's supposed to be good news or not yet. I think I need might you guys' opinion with that. Anyway, thank you for the support, guys! You are all so kind. I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

#fiction

‌It was a quite night, the clouds thinned and the moon shone through. I leaned against the window, looking at the bright moon. With my mind full of thoughts of love, I plucked the strings of the veena, producing a complex fascinating melody of your favourite Raga. The soothing sound was lingering in the air, etheral and magical, like any heavenly music. My lips took the shape of the cresent above as I thought, “Music, the connector between us, can only save me from this overwhelming lovesickness”.

Still, I member you have told me that the moon in the clear night sky is stunning. Therefore, every sleepless night, I stand by the window looking at the sky. Am I sharing the same moon with you?

The dispatch station was the dullest and most constricted space in their entire Collegeville office. The sole source of light was the monitors, whose blue screens were taunting their eyes for whole days; The frequent cases of migraine were only one of the counter effects. The ones with dispatch duty were considered more unfortunate than the ones with the actual investigation melodrama. And being alone in there, it was precisely one of the most magnanimous nightmares of the newbies in the force. And today, it was Michelle’s turn for measuring her tolerance.

Michelle leaned back on her chair, stretching her arms and legs, drained by the hectic workday. It was once her fantasy and aspiration to become a law enforcement officer. Now that the little girl had attained her wish, Michelle discovers herself in a question, whether it was the right choice. A cop for three years, her journal did not turn out how she expected it to be. The dispatch duty was growing more and more tiring as the days went by, and the fraudulent calls were on a spiking rise. She felt a surge of frustration mounting inside her.

Michelle brushed back her short messy hair on the sides, trying to relieve the burden of her head. She had an off-brown complexion, supporting her straight brown hair. Raised by a single mom, she was daring to tackle any endeavour, no matter how challenging it was supposed to be. And it was that same profound attachment to her mother that shoved her down into a dark abyss when she was gone. But, Michelle climbed back up in a few months, back on the trail to pursue her desire to become a police officer. And she did achieve her goal, but was it worth it?

All her thoughts dissolved instantly with an incoming call. The monitor before her had already begun pinpointing the caller’s location; the index was heading two kilometres south to Stratford Avenue. Michelle drew a quick breath and pushed the slider to receive the call. “911, what’s your emergency?” She inquired. Her deep, husky voice escaped her throat, once more in the day. Today, she was all alone in the dispatch duty, and the absence of a companion had fixed her in muteness the entire shift, except when the calls appear. It had been long enough since she last heard own voice.

But Michelle could not hear anything from the caller; It was so quiet. She could not even obtain a clue to find what was going on. Silent calls meant either two things- no danger at all, or immense danger. Suddenly, the caller hung up. Michelle gazed up at the monitor; the precise location was still not recorded; she needed more time to get a shorter radius. She slipped off her headphones and shoved her hair back, confused.

What was she supposed to do? Should she anticipate more information? What if it just was another fraudulent call? But what if someone is indeed in peril? She had to do something, and she had to do it quick. Quick decisions are the rule number one in dispatch duty; she could never forget those words. It was the opening speech she attended on the day of her appointment; the proud moment.

Michelle decided that she had to go and check; she might obtain more information on her way. Michelle could not think of a better option. Each second could save a life, and each second could kill one. She had no time to rethink. She leapt off the chair, grabbing her navy blue cap from the nearby microphone, and her pistol from the drawer. Michelle assured there were enough bullets if at all she was to fire them; Affirming exactly the six she had never unloaded, she locked the gun into her leg holster.

Exactly when Michelle seized hold of the doorknob, the signal chimed again. She spun around swiftly and launched the slider up, leaning over her chair over the gravity of the circumstances. “911,” Michelle needed something this time, anything, anything at all. And her expectation did come true, just not in a way she was assuming it to be; the caller sounded like a little girl. But her words were more than adequate to rush Michelle’s adrenaline like never before, “Something is here.”

*****

After a long time, I was able to come up with something. Thank you so much, @The Dreamer, for this challenge. Hope you guys like this one. I wrote it up as a single post for the challenge, but it ended up too long. So, I divided it into parts. Hope it’s still alright. Lots of love!

#fiction

I.

Day after day, hiding under the

Waves that barely cover us,

From prying eyes,

That look for something

To reveal to the world,

Something that will bring us down

From our towers of gold.

II.

Tricking our minds into believing

That once again, we are happy.

Twisting and shaping our minds,

Like wax, into different shapes

And different forms.

Frantically searching for something

That is not there.

Crying into the darkness,

But there is no one there,

And no one listening.

III.

Distractions of temporary ecstasy.

The people come running to us,

Looking for a share of that temporary joy.

But, its gone too soon, there is nothing left,

Nothing left at all.

They turn away, looking for that joy,

Looking for a reason to stay but there is no reason!

Why should they stay if there is no joy,

Why should they stay if we only push them away and then

Beg for them to stay, beg for them to come back.

But they leave, not once thinking about how we will live.

Not once thinking about how we are just waiting for this opportunity to explode.

How if they stayed, we would be freed from these ropes,

But they don’t consider it.

They leave us trapped in our own minds,

In our own thoughts,

That poison our whole beings.

We cannot run anymore,

We cannot hide.

What is left in life to live for,

Who is left?

IV.

The words are blurry on the pages in front of us,

Life is just a blurry page of stories,

Of photographs, of memories,

We live in the neverending world of the stories

Of the people who have lived and died,

The people who have contributed their own stories,

To the blurry page I can never read.

We spend our time analyzing these stories over and over again,

And while this is happening we become the stories,

We become the dusty photographs that are stored in the attics of old houses.

We become the memories passed down generation from generation.

We will all become stories, we will all become a part of that blurry page,

We will all become only a memory and then not even that anymore.

V.

It happens over and over again, the excitement of a new season,

Carving pumpkins, raking leaves,

It happens every year,

preparing for the holidays, new clothes, new food, new lives.

And then it’s over.

The pumpkins lie rotting in the backyard, forgotten by everyone,

Despite how much we loved them, just weeks before.

Does anyone else find it scary, how humans give up things like that so easily?

Does anyone else find it scary how we forget these things,

How we move on and then repeat those things, over and over and over again.

Everything in this world has a pattern, a schedule, a routine,

That it follows, no matter what, am I the only one starting to feel like I’m stuck?

Stuck in the routine of life?

We fear death, not knowing what's there,

Thinking we are going to be stuck while watching something over and over again,

But am I the only one starting to feel like I am the living dead?

Watching the same things happen over and over again,

Watching history repeat itself,

Watching as people say the same words over and over again.

Watching the same routine of life, of a day

Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner.

Birth, Preschool, Elementary School, Middle School, High School, College, Work, Marriage, Retirement, Death.

Over and over and over again, I feel so trapped.

And I don’t know how to escape.

When will it end, and how will it end?

Who will be the first to break free of the ropes holding fast to our minds.

Who will be the first to break into the safe that holds the key to our freedom?

Who will be the first to break free from this neverending routine that has us trapped

Inside our own minds.

I write this expression, with a lesson, on being suppressive.

In a world where it matters, life matters, love matters, and hate matters.

To have a heart would mean you care, even through your cold stare, distant glare.

We know you were just playing a part in destroying my heart, ripping it apart- from the start.

My love is no longer your lesson. Free from you has been a blessing!