Hello, dear Prosers!

     Three months ago, I posted a challenge to celebrate the release of my short story collection, Ten Minutes to Two and Other Tales of the Sinister and Surreal. The challenge asked you to explore a person’s struggle to come to terms with a strange, sinister, or surreal reality in a short story or work of flash fiction. And now the time has come to announce the winners!

      Just before that announcement, however, I would like to take a moment to thank each and every entrant for participating. I can honestly say that I enjoyed every piece and the creativity of all the challenge entrants was absolutely inspiring. I read the entries as they came in and re-read each one after the close of the challenge, and every single story was compelling, unique, and rich with meaning that was only enhanced through multiple readings.

     I must also say that due to the very high standard of the entries, I did not have an easy time choosing the winners! I wish I could give a prize to everyone but unfortunately there can only be so many. Before naming the three winners, I would like to give honorable mentions to the following two entries:

     Mountain Game, Broken_Toe

          https://theprose.com/post/158916/mountain-game

     Restitution, EAllain

          https://theprose.com/post/159307/restitution

And now for the winners:

3rd Place (500 coins)

     Cuttlefish Garden, Acadec56

          https://theprose.com/post/156500/cuttlefish-garden

2nd Place (1000 coins)

      In the Blood, HermitThrush

          https://theprose.com/post/151780/in-the-blood          

1st Place (2000 coins)

     Homeward, Ferryman

          https://theprose.com/post/170843/homeward

Congratulations to Acadec56, HermitThrush, and Ferryman! In addition to the coins, you will each receive a signed copy of my collection.

     Thank you so much again, to the winners and to all the entrants, for your stories and your support of my writing through participation in the challenge.

An ancient poet once called all things fire. He was describing characteristics using the only terms possible to him, trying to understand.

Poetry is a rhythmic relationship established between word to transmit a specific idea.

A poem is personal and specific, because it the idea of a single person. He may believe everything comes from fire, or that the clouds are like smears of white paint. Whatever the case, that original instance of understanding belongs to him.

It comes from and resembles the poet's own cadence, so it has rhythm. Ideas have harmony and integrity, so the poet must organize words and emphases in their appropriate places. This is the poet's beat.

It is transmittable, because everybody has a beat. Poetry does not bring an idea down; it lifts its audience into itself. Poetry makes choristers of commoners, with the poet as the conductor.

The dark of nothing- empty space,

Until the blinding light

Of Lucifer's amending grace

Exploded into sight-

Removed itself as God designed;

Angelic creatures reigned.

Amassing worship, he refined

The ordinance ordained

Commanding all his kingdom bow.

The angels did comply.

Except for Lucifer; somehow

Within her crept his lie-

The world he crafted all began

To sing his highest praise.

And when he formed from mud a man,

The lengthening of days

Eternal changed into a time

Constructed sphere of wealth-

A place where God portrayed sublime

Injustices to health,

For all the things his hands had made

At once befell his curse.

Demanding they all serve; displayed

A routine bad to worse.

The angels all were female slaves

The atop the skies of earth.

And though they knew no mortal graves,

The purpose of their birth

To Lucifer was vile and gross.

She loathed the way she felt.

The moments when he held her close

And any time she knelt,

A nagging feeling grew within.

Surrender seemed to fail.

Instead, she drew in this chagrin

A measure to derail

The sovereign lord of heaven's gate,

For more and more he grew

Destructive in his need to bate

And grope his angel's brew.

The women of the highest rank

Began to lose all hope.

Inside their spirits dropped and sank,

All hung upon his rope.

But Lucifer would not obey

And soon became aware

Of why he made from earthly clay

The humans living there.

He planned to send his women down

And force them to subserve

Agendas of his lusty crown-

And they did not deserve

The disrespect he planned to give.

So Lucifer's escape

Revolved around a plot to live;

To flee her routine rape.

Below, the people of the world

Already felt the glow

As subtle nature fast unfurled,

And monsters came to grow

Into the regions far and wide

The holy lord on high

Enjoyed his angels as they cried

And wished that they could die.

And then it happened just as swift

As eagles soaring long

Upon the winds that gave them lift-

The angels sang a song.

Around their bodies, armor formed

And in each hand, a sword

Of fiery wrath adhered, conformed

Before the scathing lord.

A shield or spear some angels donned

And rallied to the cause

As Lucifer revealed the bond,

Unleashing hidden claws.

An army joined in rallied might

Abundantly decreed

The purpose to detach from plight

And thus at last be freed.

Another creature suffering

The way the angels had

Aligned herself against the king

As he had made her mad.

So Lilith came into the fold

Of angels who prepared

Emancipation set to hold

As Lucifer so dared.

The night before the battle waged,

A look in Lilith's eyes

A fire within the angel raged

And she could not disguise

The feelings that the succubus

Aroused within her soul.

Amazed at how the meaning's fuss

Surpassed her wildest goal,

The leader of the angels fell

Into the demon's heart.

Surpassing any love to tell

Of passion's purest start,

So Lucifer and Lilith came

Together in the shrine

Creating something never tame-

Immaculate; divine.

Upon the dawning of the sun,

The female angels fought.

The heavens shook; the sky undone;

The actions they had sought

Began to slip and fade from view,

Unknown to those around-

For God had made in his renew

A host of males he bound

Unto his hip and serving tide.

And as if he had known,

The manly angels they espied

In power had so grown.

For God had many clever schemes

And this one topped the lot.

Amid the battle's ardent teams,

The lord proposed a plot.

As angels of the genders warred,

Somewhere below his spell

Concocted something he had scored-

A plane he had deemed swell.

He almost stopped his painful shove,

But when he caught a glance

Of Lucifer and Lilith's love,

Enraged at their romance,

The father of created bliss

Exploded in his rage.

And there before the massive miss,

He gathered in the cage

He crafted casting Lucifer

And all the angels out.

From heaven they were now a blur,

Encased in gnawing doubt.

When everything had seemed to cease,

The angels looked and found

Their leader in a folded crease.

Her arms and legs were bound.

And up above her, Lilith loomed,

A captive there as well.

And then a voice in laughter boomed,

"I welcome you to hell!"

Although God thought that he had won,

The truth Lucifer knew-

That here, no matter, she was one

With Lilith and her crew.

For heaven might still its God,

And angels, male, his mules.

But Lucifer had girth abroad,

And intellect, her tools,

Combined with willingness to bend

The wills of mortal men.

And so she grew to reap the trend

By introducing sin.

In days to come, her freedom gained

Allowed her to make known

To any there, she aptly reigned

Atop her fiery throne.

And Lilith was her queen for life;

Together, sacred pith.

No concubine, she was her wife,

And as they lived in myth,

The world beyond fell in decay

As God continued on.

Forever he would have his way,

A seed of his now sewn.

But Lucifer would never quit,

No, someday, she would rise.

And she would duly come to sit

As queen above the skies ...

Good Afternoon, Prosers,

We hope this challenge announcement finds you well and writing!

It’s week fifty-nine of the Prose Challenge of the Week.

For the last week or so, you guys have been writing about injustice, and you all gave exactly what we wanted. Before we check out who the deserving winner, and the recipient of $150 is, let’s take a look at this week’s prompt:

Challenge of the Week #59: Modernise Shakespeare’s ‘Shall I Compare Thee’ sonnet. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit

Now, back to the winner of week fifty-eight.

We have read all of your entries, and have come to a decision. The winner of the “injustice” challenge is @MikeRich15 with their piece, Olive them, olive me.

Congratulations! You have just won $150. We’ll be in touch with you shortly.

In the meantime, you have one week to get your write on!

Until next time, Prosers,

Prose.

     Falling to her knees, Acirema wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth. Many times she had been beaten, and many times she had gotten back up. Servitude seemed her only reality. Desperation settled in, but beneath each heartbeat nestled the sound of hope. King Dlanod laughed. She expected this.

     "My porridge was too cold. How can you expect me to eat it cold?”

Mustering the strength to stand, the young dwarf looked her king in the eyes as she moved to the bowl. In his anger, he had tipped it over. Hurriedly wiping up the mess, she dabbed the blood from her latest slap as she collected the utensils that had fallen around his routine seating arrangement.

     “Perhaps your porridge might taste better if you hadn't banned all the elves from our kingdom, sire? They cooked. We dwarves are miners and smiths, not short order chefs. Don't you remember the feasts you once had?”

     The orange ogre turned and slapped Acirema to the ground again. The wooden bowl flung across the room, skidding along the way. Shaking it off, the dwarf moved one knee at a time until she slowly collected the bowl and spoon she dropped from his attack.

     “You are not my advisor,” he sneered. “I do what must be done for this kingdom in order to provide peace, security and freedom. The elves, gnomes, and fairies got in my way. You're lucky. I loathe your race. But you do as you're told so I keep them around. Look at this nation now. The orcs, ogres, and goblins shall proposer under my intelligence! Everyone else can get in line or be destroyed.”

     Moving to the nearby window, the dwarf servant peered outside. The second sun was rising. Though she could barely make out the faces of those below her, she sensed something in each person making their way about life ... hope. A glimmer resonated through each step taken. And though many of them were headed to work on the great stone wall King Dlanod enforced as a tribute, the unity his reign cemented among the many tribes reassured her all was not lost. 

     Whips cracked. Chains clanked. But the music they produced formed a new beat in her heart; a rhythm in her soul. She called it freedom. Thinking of her former king, Amabo, she knew a leader could be wise and kind. In this moment she thought of her people.

     Looking back at her beastly ruler on her way to the kitchen, Acirema smiled. Things were changing. Perhaps she wouldn't be beaten down forever. Perhaps, if those people felt the same as she did, together they could make a difference. She rounded the corner and entered the chef’s quarter humming the tune of days to come. For now, she had to make the porridge ...

The stranger knocked upon the door,

A creaking, wooden throb,

And someone on the other side

Unlatched and turned the knob.

Uncertainty, a soft, "Hello,"

And, "May I use your phone?"

The person on the other side

Appeared to be alone.

An observation taken in,

No pictures on the wall.

He pointed somewhere down the way-

"Go on and make a call."

The thunder boomed; the stranger stalled

As wires were cut instead.

The gentleman began to sense

A subtle hint of dread.

A conversation thus ensued-

"So what has brought you out?

The rain has flooded everything,

And wiped away the drought.

Say, did you walk, or did you drive?

Why don't I take your coat?"

The stranger slowly moved his arms,

A sentimental gloat.

The water from the pouring skies

Enveloped cloth and shoe.

"Say, would you like a place to sleep?

I'll leave it up to you."

The person on the other side

Discarded his mistrust.

The stranger said his tire was flat,

And shed the muddy crust.

"The phone won't work," he also said.

"It could just be the storm.

Perhaps I will stay here tonight,

To keep me safe and warm."

The patron of the house agreed.

He hadn't seen the wire.

The chilly dampness prompted him

To quickly build a fire.

"You have a name? They call me Ed.

My wife was Verna Dean.

She passed away five years ago

And left me here as seen.

I guess it's really not so bad.

We never had a child.

I loved that Verna awful much,"

He said and sadly smiled.

"No property to divvy up.

The bank will get it all.

Say, do you want to try again

To go and make that call?"

The stranger grinned and left the flame

As to the phone he strode.

Within his pocket, knives and twine

In hiding seemed to goad.

A plan was formed- he'd kill the man;

Eviscerate him whole.

The twine would keep him firmly held;

The knife would steal his soul.

A lusty surge erupted hence;

A wicked bit of sin.

The stranger hadn't noticed yet

That someone else came in.

About the time a shadow fell,

He spun to meet a pan.

The room around him faded out

As eyes looked on a man.

A day or two it seemed had passed,

And when he woke all tied,

The stranger gazed upon old Ed

Who simply said, "You lied."

Reversing thoughts, the moment fled

And Ed said in a lean,

"No worries, stranger. None at all.

Hey, look, here's Verna Dean!"

He looked upon a wraith in rage;

It seemed his little lie

Combusted in a burning fit-

He didn't want to die.

So many victims in his life,

Some fifty bodies strewn.

And now he was the victim; now

The pain to him was known.

The stranger fought against the twine,

And noticed by his bed

The knife once in his pocket left

A trail of something red.

A bowl filled full of organs sat

As Verna poured some salt.

She exited with all of them.

"You know, this is your fault.

We demons wait for just the day

The guilty take the bait

And play with matches one last time-

I simply cannot wait

To taste the death within your flesh;

The venom in your gut.

So now you know the way they felt-

Hey, you've got quite a cut!"

The person on the other side

Removed his human skin-

Before his wife came back for more,

He offered with a grin:

"Say, stranger, is there anything

You'd like to say at all?"

I looked at all the blood and said,

"I'd like to make that call ... "

The wolf calls the pack to hunt in numbers

Unbridled human cursed within the stench

A hidden beastly whisper echoed slumbers 

Engulfing, all consuming inner trench 

Unleashing as the pack moves on to dine

Removing elk and deer before the grief

Above the full moon's radiating shine 

Configured canopy of tree and leaf

Caressing flesh, incisors gnash and rip

Reproving fur and skin as both endear

Susceptible, the carcass in each grip

The pheromones of dying, stinking fear

Of man and beast, the feral nature grunts

Alone among the stars the werewolf hunts 

Rumble bumble

the ground protests

the Tuesday groans

of tedium a hold

on life's markers

as background noise

of honks and mumbles

annoy yet placate

Fuzzy minx protests

and the bears growl

one all churlish sputum

one an appealing lullaby

The feverish jungle, a bungalow binge,

And the apes of the valley delight.

Amassing their arson, the parsons all cringe 

As the napes of their necks feel the bite.

Oh holy banana, the manna of trees,

As the fleas seem to hop on along

Infighting, igniting the apes that are biting 

Those bees as they sing of King Kong.

A hundred feet tall is the wall of the men

And a sinful release of the spear

Escaping the bin of the hundred foot spin

Thus applying their lying with cheer.

"Ah-ooh-ah," goes an ape as the head of the shape 

Of the stone spear endangers its spark.

And some other dumb fool in his foolhardy drape

Absolutely 'ooh-ah's' his remark.

The natives are restless, confessions debate 

All the while the apes gather their dead.

Subordinate clause in the claws of their fate,

And a villager loses his head.

Removed from the neck as the bees start to check

Acclimating, debating design.

As a hive, they survive, a revival on deck

For they sing as they sting, "Apes are fine!"

A thousand or more in the chore of the sores

And the numbering, slumbering sloth 

Awakens to aid in displayed forest floors

As the bees and the fleas gel as broth.

The African sonnet of bees in the bonnet 

And apes on the Cape Horn of nine

Combine in the shrine of the mine blowing pine

As the fleas stop and drop kick the sign.

The sloth calls aloud in the crowd of the  shroud 

And a lion out of Zion appears.

The jungle's own king comes to cling; the bees sting 

As he strengthens the villagers' fears.

"Away with your play and your villainous way!

Now away, or I say you will die!"

The roar echoed more as the lion on display 

Offered each human there in his cry.

The apes and the fleas and the bees in the drape 

Of the canopy stopped, held in awe.

The sloth, on his knees, bowed and plowed the disease 

As the humans all fled what they saw.

"The law of the jungle, for all- even fungal- 

The growth underneath the dead leaves-

Must never be broken as these words are spoken

Alas, mother ape, now she grieves ...

The humans are fuming; a vengeance is blooming 

Until they destroy every land.

Avoid at all costs their ridiculous frost

For the winter lives on in their hand.

We all have united; the spirit delighted; 

And the forest exalts us in joy.

Now go on, safely roam; travel deep in our home

For the menace the humans employ 

Has been seen o'er and o'er in mischievous lore

And I doubt it will not take them long

To return to this place with a hate spilling face 

So we must all now pray to King Kong."

The feverish jungle, a bungalow's bray,

And the apes and the bees and the fleas

And the sloth, on their knees, join the lion as they please

And to King Kong they bow long and pray.