Every year on their anniversary he would buy flowers;

A dozen begonias, her favorite.

He would book a table at the same restaurant;

Italian, small and quiet.

Year after year it was the same perfect night.

He would arrive first, flowers in hand;

"Jones table for two".

A bottle of Barolo and the chicken piccata;

Tiramisu for dessert.

Year after year they remembered.

On the 50th anniversary he arrived, flowers in hand.

"Hello Mr. Jones, table for two?"

He smiled sadly, and pulled from his satchel;

A framed portrait of his wife.

"Jones, table for one".

My grandpa passed away from cancer when my mom was only 19, and her 8 younger siblings were between the ages of 17-2. My grandma was often asked how she could make it alone. She always replied, "I'm not alone; I have my children and God with me. With God, all things are possible."

And she was right; God made a way for her and her children. Times were hard sometimes, but working together, they were able to overcome everything.

Nearly 30 years later, Grandma still has God with her, and now she has 9 children and their spouses, and 35 grandchildren (with more on the way) and 2 great grandchildren to walk by her side.

My Grandma is a cheerful, hardworking, wonderful woman who is an inspiration to all around her.

Sometimes, near their wedding anniversary or my grandpa's birthday, I see her eyes and know that she's missing him. But at these moments we gather closer and stronger together to support and comfort her.

Congratulations thisisit! What a great write and a thoughtful nod to Sylvia Plath. I really loved that you touched on the little-recognized side effect from simply having too much (good) to choose from: decision paralysis. There is also that unique type of dread that can arise in the midst of it all. You summed it up perfectly with this line:

“There's no way to enjoy all the figs.

And if you don't choose a fig, it drops to the ground and rots. It's too late.”

*chef’s kiss*

Honorable mention entries are from the suspenseful amandabjaworski, the aquatically delightful pretty_archaic, the heartfelt ErJo1122, and the ever-scandalous Ferryman.

Thanks again for everyone’s thoughtful entries; you all continually amaze me with your talent! I hope to see you again for my next challenge <3

No-thing new was ever undisturbed

wringing from the sole to soul

the cold cradle rocking,

the papers say it's hard to let go...

of the hysterical,

known and unknown.

Comfort/Disturb me challenge @RosemarieThorn

Hello, Brilliant, Beautiful Writers:

A piece by one of our masterminds and maestros waits below the message in this letter to you all, after a sentence that says, "Here's the link."

Here's the link.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SO0-38LJTEM

And.

As always.

Thank you for being here.

-The Prose. team

"We have forgotten how to be good guests-- how to walk lightly on the Earth as its other creatures do."

~ Barbara Mary Ward

Vienna, Austria

May 14th, 2005

"Thank you, Mercy." The ageing man responded to the nurse. The falter in his voice had still not recovered from the peculiar events of the previous month. What had brought around the unexpected transformation in the great and proud Mr Aldrich Hunter was unknown to most. How could such an arrogant, power-hungry beast be so humbled over a few mysterious days? But everyone knew it had something to do with Nixie. Phoenix Landskein. His bombshell of a second wife. Unlike Mr Hunter and his son, she never returned to the mainframe, and no one knew where she was.

Neo Hunter took the chair on the other end of the fine dining. The table was older than the portrait of the Mona Lisa, spanning nine feet and carved with fine, intricate details from head to toe. The delicacies were not abundant enough to cure the hunger of an entire state anymore. Only what was required was served, and nothing went to waste. Neo ensured that was the case, and no one had any objections to raise. Perhaps it all had to do with the generational transfer of authority from father to son, most people believed.

But Neo Hunter knew better. Neo Hunter knew firsthand what had brought around the radical transformations in the Hunter household. It had everything to do with Mrs Phoenix Landskein, his enigmatic stepmother.

Sighișoara, Romania

April 9th, 2005

That bitch. Neo Hunter rolled down the haystacks piled so high atop one another. How could she? Neo always knew Phoenix Landskein was up to something, but everyone refused to believe him. But with hands tied against a coir rope and rashes of his allergy presenting themselves on his pale skin, Neo knew that was his best chance to prove his suspicions right before everyone. Phoenix Landskein was a gold-digger bitch.

Vision yet to be stable, Neo raised himself to stand, gaining support from his elbows and knees. The whole world spun around him, dizziness almost throwing him into another long daze. But Neo was desperate not to lose consciousness once again-- he slammed himself against the wall in the hopes of steadying his composure, his head held tight between his arms to squish some sense into him. Neo felt his throat ache and his entire frame sweating, leaving his body devoid of moisture. He needed water. Lots of it. Quick breaths. Long breaths.

The barn doors opened with a rasp to reveal before him a courtyard left unchecked for years prior. Ferns and rust had reclaimed all the fences and adornments once white and lustrous. Hints of a winding path leading to an old estate hid beneath the extensive flora consuming whatever men built over its natural state. The tall stone manor at the end of the road-- made almost entirely of stone and iron-- was all too familiar for Neo Hunter. It was his childhood home.

July 1986

The nights were the hardest. So were the days, but the newfound solace of jabbering strangers at school offered Neo an odd comfort. Was there a name for the fear of dinners? But it wasn't the food that scared him. It was what came with it. The people. His family. Every time he heard his name being hollered from downstairs, every step he took towards the dining room-- it all took an act of courage.

Gripping silences. Heaviness in the air. Neo often attempted to not let his cutlery touch the dishes, to not produce the slightest noise so that his parents wouldn't notice his presence. He only left the table once his mom disappeared into the kitchen and his dad to the porch.

But some days, even his silence could not save the tumults which were to befall. Sometimes, it was a hair in the soup, sometimes a tad amount of extra salt in the bacon. But his father's outrage always shook the entire cabin to the core.

Neo never looked at his father when that happened. He looked at his mom. How her eyes were shut, and a lonesome tear caressed her folds. How her palms clutched the dress she was wearing. Before long, when his father disappeared into another room, Gaia always asked Neo to go to his room. And there, he would sleep to the muffled cries of his mother in the place of lullabies, pillows tight against his eyes and ears to tuck himself into dreams where everything was alright.

April 9th, 2005

The rashes grew bigger and redder with the passage of every minute. Unable to find anything sharp and steady, Neo headed to their old kitchen, hoping to find something to free himself. But it was empty. Hollow. The fire and aura had long settled into smoke and filth. That was when he heard a cry from the floor above. Father. Rushing atop the stairs, Neo shouldered open the doors to their old bedroom.

"Finally. You're awake." Phoenix Landskein was a woman of stature, or at least she possessed the charm of someone alike. There she stood, at 5"7', holding what seemed to be a leash made of the creepers from the grounds-- stains of red embellishing the light green of the stem. His father lay on his chest atop the busted cot, his bare back adorned with streaks of blood as he struggled to flee his chains. His restraints were not coir, but cold iron, leaving him zero chance of escaping the onslaught.

Phoenix walked up to Neo, stopping only a few inches away. Neo wanted to back up, but the notion of her kicking him down from the foyer persuaded him to keep his ground. The whip safe in her right hand, Phoenix stared right into his soul-- her green eyes threatening to claw out his deepest fears. In the end, a smile. She took his arms and twined her palms around the coir ropes, only for the yarns to magically untangle themselves, freeing him from its clutch. She passed the leash to his hands, whispering to his ear, "Careful."

As Phoenix strolled down the stairs, Neo ran to his father to help him escape. He needed something to break the chains apart, and soon upon his search, he found all the utensils from their old kitchen on the bedside table, spread neatly on a wet towel. And while picking up the hammer, Neo noticed how his rashes had faded into his skin, no longer inducing an allergic reaction.

But before he could carry his father out somewhere safe, Neo felt the temperature rising around him. Fire. He walked faster only to nearly slip over the stairs, losing the clutch over his father. His rather plump figure tumbled down the stairs, and for a moment, Neo was afraid he had marked the end of his father's life. But the day had other intentions, not a life being lost, though the stone-cold manor collapsed in on itself, leaving no reminiscence of the world Neo once knew.

Vienna, Austria

May 14th, 2005

Putting his father to sleep and piling a heavy blanket atop his fragile frame, Neo walked out of his bedroom to the cold verandah. Phoenix Landskein was never found after that day. Even the most capable investigation teams couldn't gather a clue as to where she was. And the non-cooperative silence of the father and son only led to more and more suspicions and never a proper answer.

But whenever Neo brought around a change in his father's allocation of wealth for the better, the trees and animals seemed to bow before him. The sun seemed to shine brighter on the days' Neo had felt his best. And on the days when Neo felt despair, the clouds taught him to let his tears fall. And whenever he reminisced about his mother, he felt the air tug him into a warm embrace. The leash no longer had the stains of blood, but it bloomed and flowered in the courtyard of their home.

Neo knew what had happened to the Hunter household. It had everything to do with Mrs Phoenix Landskein.

#####

I struggled with writer's block for a long while in between, and I'm sure a lot of people out there has the same issue. I'd never been much of a pantser and had always leaned to more plotting tendencies, and thus reading upon and listening to a lot of storytelling theory and experimenting with a lot of techniques, I'm figuring out an outline to help me with the task. It's not rigid, it's arbitrary, it's constantly changing, and it helps me gain more insight into the stories I want to write, and helps me explore what all I could incorporate into them. And I thought this could be somewhat helpful for someone out there too (: So, I'm sharing the outline I used to write this story here, and... hope it helps!

Outline: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1l0Rc2EuvqCKDFnmw-Z6wv5yXSWdZTDa9aqVUS51F28o/edit?usp=sharing

*****

Shoutout

[cuz it feels like a wholesome thing to do (: Also, these will be some of Prose's best, so keep an eye on them (:]

The Evil Series by @Danceinsilence

The Evil Series by @Danceinsilence feels like an episodic thriller with its division into separate books and parts. Featuring a team of cops with the primary focus on a divorced female law enforcement officer and single mother (with the most adorable son), Janis Baker, this series really justifies its title throughout its course... Trust me, no matter how humane a person you think you are, you'd root for some of these characters to suffer the most-brutish-deaths possible... The evil is constantly on the rise and the saviors are on a never-ending effort to keep the streets clean. Sacrifices, serial killers, assassins-- An over-arching threat, loved ones to protect-- this series will not give you a break! Do check it out!

*****

Instagram: (Um, I'll edit that in later...)

The world around me comes into view, but I must still be dreaming. My floral print comforter replaced by…hay? That can’t be right. Except it is. I close my eyes shut and open them again slowly, still here. I can remember strong hands wrapping around me and throwing me, hard. A piece of cloth covering my eyes and a pinch in my arm, they must have injected me with something. But who’s they. Regardless, I seem to be alone now so time to get my bearings. Mental check, my arms and legs are very bruised and there’s a crick in my neck, but nothing seems broken. Ok, good. Then the panic sets in…my mom.

We had just finished dinner at this small Italian restaurant near the house and were walking home. Me, my mom, and Richard, my stepdad. Stepdad seems odd since they’ve only been married about two weeks, but they had been dating about a year and it was expected. Just then, my stomach drops and the world around me feels blurry. I can recall Richard walking towards me when I was grabbed and thrown into a car. An SUV. A black SUV. I try to remember the little details keeping my mind on when I get home, hopeful that they can be used later to find the people responsible. I remember screaming help to him before one of the hands was covering my mouth, but he didn’t help. At first I was scared that he would also be grabbed, I mean who were these people? But he wasn’t grabbed. In fact, he was calm. If I’m not mistaken I think I remember a smirk.

But I must be remembering wrong. Richard works in finance, or insurance…or…banking, honestly I never paid too close attention, but he had a boring job. Definitely not someone that would have access to… thugs. It’s seriously the only word I can think of, and I know it sounds ridiculous, like I’m in some old-timey crime movie, but the point stands. Richard is a 9-5, suit wearing, family man with IBS. There’s no way he’s responsible for this. Whatever this is. Yet the image of him walking towards me with that creepy look on his face stays plastered in my mind.

I try to stand, slowly. Despite my many bruises, I manage to get to my feet and move around pretty easily. I think about the first time I tried to ski. I was with my friend Matt who had been going forever and I may have smudged the truth about my skiing knowledge. Long story short I rolled all the way down the mountain and was bruised from my chest down. When I hopped right up the instructor at the bottom had warned me that although it doesn’t hurt now, it will tomorrow. As I look down at my black and blue arms I know tomorrow will bring much more pain. It’s weird what you think about when you’re in traumatic situations.

I look around. There’s a rake-looking tool and some wooden stick up against the wall, and hay, lots of hay. A barn? I don’t know if I’ve ever actually been in a barn. Maybe when I was little and mom took me to some sort of pumpkin patch. Mom. I try to remember where she was when we walked outside, she must have been right next to me, right? Did someone grab her? I feel sick.

I’m on the verge of hyperventilating when I hear a moan coming from outside. A horse, or a pig? I truly know nothing about barn life. The moan again. This time it’s more distinct, a woman. Mom! I run outside. She’s lying on her side and there’s a nasty gash in her forehead. I drop down next to her. “He lied.” Suddenly I can’t find words, but apparently she can. “He said that we would never be involved, but he lied.” I swallow. “Richard? Involved in what?” There’s tears in her eyes, but she doesn’t let them fall. “I got us away. We should be safe here for now, but they’re going to come looking for us." Who, who is coming! I want to shout, but she is drifting back to sleep. I have no idea what's going on and my mom is in some sort of psychotic daze. There's a house next to the barn and I see a light on inside. On one hand I could be walking to doom, but on the other, if I don't get her a cold rag or some water soon...I walk up the porch steps and knock on the door.

I can feel the itchy ends of bone-dry straw eager to poke at my unexposed skin like merciless needles jabbing into my body.

Ah, needles. That sounds awfully familiar. I slowly crack open my eyelids and flinch at the burst of sunlight streaming in from the cracks of the wooden walls. The walls are a faded red and whatever bit of paint that’s left is peeling off like an ancient banana.

My fingertips are starting to tingle, and I can already move my toes, but I still can’t feel the rest of my body. Must’ve been injected with some sort of tranquilizer.

Sigh… I should’ve known having a nice and peaceful candlelight dinner with her was too good to be true. Even thinking about her leaves a bad taste in my mouth. The a-hole didn’t so much as give me a second glance for the first few months of her wonderfully convenient marriage to my wealthy father, but all of a sudden she flashes a smile in my direction and offers a freshly cooked homemade meal?

It’s not like I’m a complete fool. It’s just that I’ve always had a soft spot for home-cooked meals. They remind me of my real mama, the one who laughed like an angel, the one who found time to take me out even after a long, exhausting day of work, the one who showed me her love with every fold of the dough that magically turned into steaming hot, soft and chewy dumplings that made me feel warm inside out. She had the most comforting gaze, with those soft, brown eyes. Even when her gaze was sharp, the kindness behind her eyes shone through. That’s probably why my father chose to marry that ungrateful wench after we lost her. It’s all because she has my mama’s eyes… even I must admit they bear an uncanny resemblance, but I still think they also look nothing like my mama’s because they hold absolutely no warmth within them.

Aw s***, I can’t cry right now, I gotta make it outta here first. I’m starting to feel something rough tightly wrapped around my wrists and ankles and I feel stupid that I’m only just now realizing that I’ve been tied up. How long have I been here?

I still remember how I foolishly slurped up those soft and chewy noodles with exceptional gusto. Just as I had begun to raise my head to thank that woman, I caught a sinister grin plastered to her chalky face, and my eyes started to droop. Rough hands grabbed me from behind and dragged me across the floor, out the door, and into a musty old car that smelled strongly of cigarettes. The last thing I saw before I completely blacked out was her silhouette gradually enlarging as cloth blocked out the rest of my limited vision and I felt a sharp pinch jab into my right shoulder.

At last, the door of this wooden box I’m trapped in is slowly creaking open, and there it is again: her crooked silhouette coming into view.

“My, my, what have we here?,” her sickeningly sweet, honeyed voice slithered out of her mouth and trickled into my ears like poison, “Your eyes really do look just like hers…”

I let out a weak croak, “Whose?”

Her mocking expression suddenly shifts to one of crazed obsession, full of deranged possessiveness, “It’s a shame, really. As beautiful as they may have been, these eyes were already old when I first got them. It’s about time I got a new pair.”

Then it finally clicked. But I could do nothing to stop her as she lunged forward and dug her fingers into the only light left in my world.

From my peep hole in Mamma's belly button I could see the ocean of light within a dark circular surround. I'd like to think she has her bikini on and we're going to the beach. The one with the hillside and the swings and the thrilling slide. I love the homey sound of the water, the sifting gold of the sand, the windblown seagulls... Through this periscopic lens I can catch glimpses, every day, of my future, that which I am destined to forget. It usually happens at dawn and at twilight. The curtain lifts, and my peak into the outside involves mostly a view to and from the bed. It's dim and quiet, much like the womb I'm in. Except when we go into the water! Then my little room becomes an apartment. But today is different. The pattern is off. this is not the locker room. There's a man all dressed up in white. Ugh I hope that's not Dadda.  I'm starting to feel really lightheaded. It's scalding bright, and I hear clicking noises to the left and right, some clanking, and a persistent monotoned dialogue of voices I don't recognize. Whatever's coming through the placenta tastes bitter and I'm getting drowsy. I'm going to take a nap. Then I think I'll practice swimming again with Mamma when she gets up.

05.31.2023

Newly married Mother & Significant Other Barn Burning CotW CCXXVI

@Prose (Thanks Amanda B. Jaworski for the Challenge Prompt!)