When I was a kid, there was a Life Cereal commercial with a cute little boy named Mikey. In the commercial he is at the kitchen table with his brothers who won't eat the Life Cereal, "because it's supposed to be good for you". The brothers pass the bowl over to Mikey, assuming he won't eat it because, "he hates everything". Mikey surprises his brothers and eats the cereal, and they say to him, "he likes it, hey Mikey!"

Years later, when Mikey became a teenager, an urban legend arose that Mikey died. The cause of Mikey's death was that his stomach exploded because he ate Pop Rocks and washed them down with soda...SILLY!!!

I am round

I am flat

I am super thin.

I taste good hot or cold.

I go well with other things.

You can pick me up or I can be delivered.

Choice is yours.

What am I?

when you fell asleep at my house,

i traced my finger down your cheek

over the freckles sprinkled across your face

over your hidden dimples

over your sweet cherry lips

i leaned down,

feeling your breath on my cheek

your soft lips parted

and it took all i had

not to kiss you.

because we're just friends,

you and i,

we braid each others hair

sleepover every other day

whisper velvet secrets

but you smell so sweet

and when i look into your eyes,

i forget to breathe

your dimples

were they left by the deep kiss of an angel?

at school when you run to him

and he kisses you

you look at him with your soft doe eyes

i clench my fists

my fingernails dig into my skin

until they draw blood

you're so cruel

when will you realize?

that you torture me

with your smile

and

your

dimples

I had everything.

Some had nothing. Or very little, at least.

But it makes no difference. My master spreads lies, anything, anything at all to reap souls into the Throes of Doom. The ones that matter here are that villains are either born or created.

Villains are not created, except when they choose so. The petty mortals crumble under the influence we pound into them from every direction...ah yes, we are very good at this business. I've handed out a good few magic rings in my day.

And I know villains cannot be born. I was created before the world even began. I watched it come into being. I was created good. In fact, if I'm not mistaken, the mortals are too, only they have deep flaws in their nature, courtesy of my master's brilliance, of course. I was there, you see. I listened, I heard the most powerful of us all sing, and knew, one day, when I could, I would go. I had chosen.

So many tell you, 'you chose poorly.' I mean, I know. Have I? But there is no turning back for me--a couple from our ranks left and a couple joined but now the cut off has come. The fates of us and our brethren are sealed.

As for me, (my favorite subject) I had grace, I had status (the most powerful of all the Ero'a) I sang amid the stars with my old master, the lady of music. I was perfectly content. I had a family, I had friends, including the boy who became the prince of all of those upstarts, I even had a beautiful girl.

Buuuuuuuuuut the most powerful of us sang, offered us a place in his rebellion, and I accepted. I left everything behind and now every one else has what I don't have. Even the mortals have gifts we pure spirits lack.

Destruction and mocking to the Maker, since we cannot hurt him directly, but we sure as hell destroy his creation. Oh, and his creatures too--those little mortals have a choice, and we make sure they make the wrong one.

- Mordred

True, she was new to our family and she has a strong position as my stepmom. But I have a strong intuition and her vibes were toxic. Yes, she was beautiful and soft spoken and my father loved her. But I could tell that her intentions were going left! I watched her from a distance. She never looked directly in my eyes. No, I didn't call her mom. One night she brought home something called Amsterdam. The name alone sounds like torture. In a joking way she convinced my father to give us each a little shot glass full. I don't drink, it affects me funny. My father begged for me to drink it to be social with her. So we did. When I woke up, i I was in my neighbors garage sore and tied to a chair. I saw a very blurry stepmom and my neighbor was about to perform what looked like surgery on me. I heard a noise that sounded like a drill for dentistry. Still blurry, I saw her lean forward at my arm. I felt a stinging pain that felt like a needle. I just knew I was doomed. I felt this pain for about five minutes. Terrible, terrible pain. The whole time I was wondering about my father did they torture and killed him first. My neighbor bandaged me up and untied my hands and body. My father walks out. I said, "What the fudge!" Suddenly, my stepmom removed the bandage. I looked at my arm. I saw a huge tattoo of my mother's face on my arm with the words "I will love you forever". My father said now she will always be around. I couldn't for the life of me understand their tactics but I gave them an "E" for effort. It was the best gift I could've ever received. I cried, then I smiled.

Hello, Writers and Dear Readers.

We are proud to announce our new method for picking our poison, so check the YouTube video beneath the link for our Challenge of the Week CCXXVI right after this message. In today's video, we congratulate last week's winner, who wrote a hell of a piece to take her fella out to lunch, should she decide to do so.

-Hope your long weekend means a short hangover.

https://theprose.com/challenge/14041

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

And.

As Always...

Thank you for being here.

-The Prose. team

After many hours, many long dark hours, something like consciousness returned, and I began to try to make sense of what had happened. They are still cleaning scrubbing the floors and ceiling from our remains. i was a mess.

I recall in my teens crying into pillowcases, whenever something grave would happen, fearing that God was finally taking my death wish seriously and issuing it always at the worst possible moment, when things were starting to go alright... But then it dawned in the morning, that it was only farce, construed to make one pathetic and humbled in hindsight. As it be, we know not what we want, but blunder like mules in the dark with our shadow burdens along the pathologic. While I pulled my soul together, following the most recent pyrotechnics, I saw that you read my letters by the firelight... and cried. Though no sadness contained therein... to be sure only a sharing of thoughts. All four binders in one night! I was truly impressed.

The pages add up night after night of letter writing. I was delusional, even then; i appreciate your leading me back to my essay in Prose on evil. Haha! that bit about having snapped long ago, or long before, made me laugh out loud at this self, and as luck would have it, the irony of life. You've been examining iron fists lately yourself.

That is the box.

I had a fantasy. Yes i. I went behind the Iron Curtain. I wandered the Old City, a place I vowed not to go back to, though it was not me who had been there before. So, notion in itself, this a great breaking of barriers. I spoke there with one renown Alexander Luria. I had always thought that having stores of miscellaneous knowledge readily at hand (as to names, numbers, dates, events, whatnots of historical significance) were hallmarks of high intellect and in any case utilitarian in conviction to build an argument in conversation... he blah-hah-ed it as mnemonics (memorization requiring applications that even the average might attain results in...). The vagueness of my thinking he applauded as leaving room for doubt and inquiry (he was a neuro pathologist) and reminded me that in last materialization i was born in the year of the Solidarity Movement and Postmodernism, fragments which had drilled into my psyche the importance of "having a concept." I was comforted for an undefined moment. But I walked away from our tête-à-tête over thé with a fire under foot none the wiser, staring into my calloused palms seeing no concept... only empty hands.

You see how pragmatic my imaginings! i quote Voltaire: "Everyman is guilty of all the good he didn't do."

Failing to act, failing to act that is the phantom spur of the artist. And yet, i recall the wisdom underscored in the sacred texts:

BG 4.18: Those who see action in inaction and inaction in action are truly wise amongst humans. Although performing all kinds of actions, they are yogis and masters of all their actions. The Bhagadava Gita, Chapter 4, Verse 18.

That must be why i am so committed to understanding the wasting of Time.

A thing which i know we are beyond. Thx for transcribing thoughts with me <3U

--Adolf Hitler

I know a guy who has a dog. He says his dog is trans. Seriously. He's been in the tree business for a long time. He's not a landscaper... he's an arborist. I've known this guy and his dog since said dog was a puppy. The dog has a penis. Boy dog. Arborist, however, gets angry if you don't accept that his penis-toting dog is a girl.

I heard, recently, a man made an observation, roughly saying: If you're 18 and you think you're actually a member of the opposite sex, you have a mental illness; while, if you're 8 and you think you're a member of the opposite sex, your mother has a mental illness.

Let's talk about dogs, in comparison to cats, in their relationship to people. Cats are, for lack of a better word, lame. Dogs, however, are cool. When you come home to a dog, the dog greets you at the door, thrilled to see you, ready for camaraderie, eager to please. When you come home to a cat, you wonder if the cat is even there. At best, the cat looks to see who opened the door, but keeps its distance as apathy and distrust both outweigh curiosity. The simplest thing, calling your pet by name, should elicit an act of loyalty... like, showing up. Dogs will come when called; cats may or may not care that you're speaking at all.

Dogs are easily trained, even by lay people, to perform simple tricks. Patient dog owners can teach them more advanced tricks. Cats are also easily trained--they can sit, roll over, play dead... oh who am I kidding? I can't even type this with a straight face. You need the patience of Job and a blow gun to get a cat to learn it's not allowed on the kitchen counter.

With dogs, playtime is anytime. Fetch, run full-speed with no apparent goal, learn new tricks, go for a walk... anything that involves wagging a tail, dog is ready. Cats are bit less playful--their playtime is really just practicing at killing something for fun and leaving its corpse behind for someone else to deal with.

Dogs are great protectors. If someone strange approaches your home, the dog will let everyone, including the stranger, know that something is amiss. If overseen by a cat, the house is fair game. The cat will likely stow itself away under a bed, and this hiding space will commonly be used whenever a stranger comes near, or if friend drops by, or a neighbor, or someone who also lives in the house.

Dogs are used in police work, search and rescue, handicap assistance, and in multiple government agencies including those countering drug smugglers and human traffickers. A cat will climb a tree, then find it's too scared to climb back down the same tree.

I know, you're thinking these comparisons aren't totally accurate. There are instances where cats have attacked people or animals who threatened a family member. Some cats can do wonderful tricks. Some greet their people at the door when they come home. On the flip side, some dogs are useless as guardians. Some dogs hide when people visit. Some little inbred Chihuahuas will bark at someone they've lived with literally their entire life. These exceptions prove the rule. A cat that comes when you call it by name... cool cat. A dog that does not come when called... lame dog. A cat that does tricks... cool cat. A dog that does not do tricks... lame dog.

In short, the coolest cats are the most like dogs; and the lamest dogs are the most like cats. They each have their idiosyncrasies. They are so common within their respective species that they are well-known to pet owners everywhere--not set in stone, just common traits. We love them regardless of their individual traits. We accept them for what they are, even if they suck and don't come when we call.

What's the difference between similes and metaphors? What little kid, at play in a swimming pool, would shout out using the simile, "I'm like a shark!" when he or she plays as such? Wouldn't happen. It would always be the metaphor, "I'm a shark!" Most people recognize that, regardless of the confusing metaphor, the child isn't actually a shark. Some people, however, are confused by metaphors--they think the child truly believes the shark thing. They think it's cute and encourage the child to be a shark all the time if that's what they want. Others may be convinced that the child actually is a shark trapped in a human child's body--the result of a rare mistake made by God. In unique cases, the parents of a child, with extraordinary swimming skills, will have fins surgically grafted onto the child's body (because that is the only logical thing to do) and demand that everyone who does not acknowledge the child as actually being a shark is guilty of some sort of hate crime.

Some people see gender roles and demand that they mean absolutely nothing. They believe that stereotypical activities associated with gender shouldn't even exist in the minds of contemporary human parents. They insist that physical appearances are the least reliable means of determining sex. Those same people will then witness a little boy playing with dolls and pour every ounce of energy into transforming that boy, mentally and physically, into someone who looks and acts like a girl, contradicting everything they hold to be true about appearances and gender roles.

There is an awesome and unique beauty in finding a cat that acts like a dog, but no matter how much it acts like a dog, it will never, ever... ever, ever, ever... be a dog. We do not need to graft dog features onto an awesome cat just because it satisfies our need to have something that acts like a dog also look like a dog. Let's just accept that some cats act like dogs, without demanding that those cats actually are dogs stuck in cats' bodies and we have to surgically alter them in order to satisfy our desire to have things fit into the categories we despise.

The arborist doesn't do work for us anymore. Why? Because we refuse to play his ridiculous game with his male dog, and he won't do business with anyone who doesn't accept his fantasy as reality. He was mad. He said he doesn't understand why people won't accept "her" for what she is.

"This is hypocrisy of the highest order. Why should eight billion people in the entire world be forced to change their hearts, to accept your false reality, when you, alone, couldn't even bend to accept true reality?"

It may be the single most dangerous attitude to have ever been instilled into the minds of a generation: "And you don't have to change a thing, the world could change its heart." --Songwriters: Warren Felder / Andrew Wansel / Coleridge Tillman / Alessia Caracciolo