My hands hold hers as hers had held mine

Many times before.

A little girl crying;

Getting picked up from a nasty bicycle fall.

Now looking down and crying again

At the bed which holds my precious grey haired Granny.

All of my memories flooding my brain.

All of hers gone years before.

I sing her favorite song,

Waiting for the switch to flip 

And acknowledge my presence.

Sing, sing, sing, sing, sing.

A squeeze, a tear; she knows I'm here.

A smile, a squeeze, I know she's gone.

Her pulse and breaths continue 

All that's left of a once vibrant, beautiful woman.

I'll stay with you, dear Granny.

As you were always there for me.  

Still beautiful

Inside an ugly disease.

Note: This is actually a song I wrote some time ago for my father when my grandmother passed away. I thought I would share it here.

Heaven, you've opened up your door

To the loveliest angel

You've ever seen before

She's with you now

And father, you haven't let her go

She's gone to a place

Where she can look down below

And watch over you

Brother, do you remember how

We'd walk next to her

With our eyes on the ground

Hunting for gold

Well now you know she's up above

Eyes looking down

Heart still full of love

I can feel her in my soul

Her wisdom in the morning breeze

Her strength within our bones

Her light above the tallest trees

Her soul within our soul

Mother, do you remember well

The wisest of words

She'd always tell

There's nothing she didn't know

And father, I know you miss her so

But she's with us all

She hasn't let you go

I can feel it in my soul

Her wisdom in the morning breeze

Her strength within our bones

Her light above the tallest trees

Her soul within our soul

Her vision in our eyes

Her kindness in our hearts

Her words within our minds

Her soul within our soul

"Wow. Ok so it's going to be like this then? Ok fine. You know what? Screw you. I don't need you, screw you. I've been trying to make this work for what feels like ages and...and I'm just done! I'm done trying! Does that make you happy you piece of s***? You're full of crap I don't even know why I care so much. You took everything from me, that's all you do isn't it? You just take, take take, take. And I'm just supposed to expect nothing in return? I HAVE NEEDS! I JUST WANT SOME DAMN RESPECT! IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK? IS THAT TOO MUCH TO FREAKING ASK? I want you to respect me, I want you to respect my money. I worked hard for that s*** ok? Who are you to just take it like that? And I ain't ever getting it back am I? Do you enjoy taking advantage of poor girls like me? Makes you feel real good about yourself doesn't it? But you ain't no human, you're a machine. You have no heart. You freaking got no heart! And you just looked too damn perfect and I believed in you. I believed in you. I could've picked another, but I picked YOU. I just feel so betrayed...I feel cheated, lied to, and...rejected. Screw you ok? Screw you!"

I watched in a sort of awed silence as the girl shouted all sorts of abuses, ending in a swift kick. When she looked like she was about to cry I finally interjected, "Ma'am, you know there's another vending machine upstairs right?"

"But it's out of the Nacho Cheese Doritos! Besides, this machine already took my money and is STILL saying that it has rejected my payment. UGHHH I just wanted some Doritos...."

In the town, seeing was limited, and the lovers never opened their eyes.

In an attempt to get people to focus on the essential and also to appease the blind, the mayor has decided to limit the time to stay with your eyes open - allotting each person one hour to open their eyes, per day. Early every morning, people come out of their houses and walk with a white cane down the street. While most of the rich have guide dogs, she and I always walk arm in arm. When she stumbles, I hold her tight and hear her smile. I learned to hear her. We walk until we reach the main street, stop for a moment on the sidewalk in front of her workplace, and then we kiss. When we kiss, we are as blind as any other lover in any other town.

At work, in my barbershop, I do haircuts blindfolded. And when someone knocks on the door, I open it without opening my eyes. And instead of writing, I record my poetry. During the day I always miss her and sometimes the days last for months and the months last for oceans. But generally, I think I am adjusting well to the new law.

In the evening, I run home. I have nothing to spend but time on her. And I want to sing her all the songs she makes me dream of. And light comes and goes and comes again, and everything with my eyes closed for all I want it to see her.

I enter the door, kiss her and proudly say I still have my sixty minutes to admire her. When I open my eyes, I see hers closed - and I know she has used up all her time looking at somebody else. So I sit, looking at her, memorizing each and every corner of her face - and for 60 minutes I love more, and for 60 minutes I inhale everything I need to survive the next day. After that, I just sit alone and cry the whole night with my eyes closed.

Well, that's an interesting question. I could inform you that I'm a fifteen-year-old Caucasian Jew living in India with loving parents that are Indian and Chinese. But I think that may be confusing, so I'll start from the beginning.

I guess my life sounds like something out of a book or maybe really poorly written fanfiction. I've been told that. And I guess it does. I'll let you decide for yourself.

When I was born, my biological parents didn't want me. So they got rid of me. Correction- my mother got rid of me. My father kept me for the money. What money, you may ask. I'm going to leave it at the fact that I was raped at a young age and forced into abuse throughout my elementary years and it was through these actions my father found a method in which he could supplement his income.

Eventually, my father was found out and I spent time my sixth and seventh grades in an orphanage. Then, through a series of foster parents, I found myself with a loving mom and dad who were from different cultural background each (Chinese and Indian respectively). My parents are loving and accepting, going so far as to allow me to maintain my beliefs. So here I find myself, a Jew living in a Hindu home with Chinese and Indian parents.

Moving on to me, I'm a happy person. Really, I am. I love to eat ice-cream (pistachio is great!), I love to write mystery novels, and eating ramen noodle in my pyjamas. I love writing POC (sure you couldn't tell) and would be more than willing to answer question anyone has in regards to different cultures. I have begun to found a loving family here at Prose (shout out to @infiniteflame, @cursedlove, and @chimericalmark- you guys are seriously amazing). I look forward to growing as a writer and learning alongside everyone in this loving community!

Love,

Samara Mehta

Frank had always done his job the right way, finished his work on time. He had never gotten into arguments and had gone to church every Sunday.

So he was not expecting to hear what Peter told him.

"Such an unpleasant situation. I'm afraid I cannot allow you to pass. It pains me to have to send you Below, but I have no choice. This place is reserved for the best of your kind. Yahweh's rules. I'm truly sorry."

And then Frank felt his phantom limbs leave the ground as he plunged towards Hell at the speed of light. He felt his soul stringed and stretched like melted cheese, like a light wave being sucked into a black hole.

Then darkness. He was still now, though he felt no ground beneath him. He could sense only emptiness around him.

Suddenly, from the void, a voice spoke to him. It was deeper than anything meant to be heard by human ears, but the voice penetrated him and resonated through every fiber of his soul. Every word seemed to last an eternity.

"You do not belong here.

This is a place reserved for the worst among you.

You carry no evil, no hatred.

No fears to feed from, nor any hopes or dreams to drain you of.

I have no use for you.

Be gone."

And so rejected from both Heaven and Hell, Frank was left to wander through the spiritual realm. He journeyed for thousands of years, searching every corner of limbo for a place to rest his soul.

He encountered Anubis,Thoth, and Ammut, and they judged him and weighed his heart.

But they could neither welcome him nor condemn him, for his heart contained nothing inside of it and was lighter than the feather, Maat. Thoth had never recorded an event like that before.

He met The Enlightened One, who meditated in empathy for Frank.

But Frank could not be reincarnated, for the way he had led his life had not been good, but it had not been bad either, so any new manifestation of Frank could not be anything greater or worse than himself. And coming back as your past self is prohibited for mortals.

Enlightenment was even more out of the question.

He reached the bank of the River Styx but did not have a single obol to pay for passage, so Charon could not let him step foot on his ferry.

He tried to become a ghost, but even that he could not be, for any mortal must have a strong purpose in life in order to remain attached to the physical plane.

So, aimlessly he wandered for many more centuries, barely existing as little more than a long lost memory. It was not much different than how he had existed in his physical form, and Frank realized he didn't mind limbo so much after all. Limbo was not good, but it wasn't bad either.

And that suited Frank just fine.

Another one in the mail today. “Thank you for your interest in our stupid magazine. We read your material carefully, but decided it is not what we are looking for right now. Best of luck elsewhere, wanker”

At one point, he had started to collect rejection letters from possible employers, editors, publishing houses, production companies and magazines. The letters had really piled up over the years, and he simply couldn´t throw them away. Each one was significant, a testament of an era, marking a closure for a particular dream. Each one of them had built his character, and made him slightly more bullet-proof.

You simply tell yourself there´s a million reasons why that person rejected me. Maybe they hadn´t had their breakfast, or were going through divorce, or suffering from hemorrhoids. Is that self-delusion or self-esteem, hard to say? But over time, you build up courage to try again.

Once you have dealt with the shame and self-doubt, “what was I thinking, they have real writers”, you move on and decide you don´t suck. The more rejection you get, the less it stings. And one day, your blood pressure will not budge a single digit upon reading. It´s a shame really, he missed the thrill he used to get. In fact, what´s the point of this, if you don´t even feel it anymore.

Oh, another one just popped in his email. The editor of something saying, “thank you for giving us a chance to read blah blah”, and continuing saying something about “payment”, and “working over the details over the phone”…wait, what?

He put on his glasses and read again, from the beginning. This one was different alright. He couldn´t work it out. It seemed that this publishing house wanted to, not just to publish his story in a collection, but also pay for it. This did not compute? That´s like being invited to a party, and be paid for attendance. Why didn´t it say anything about this “not being a good fit for us”, or apologizing for “not being able to give more detailed feedback”?

He checked his calendar, and double-checked this was not opposites-day. It was not the 1st of April either, the sender was not asking for his credit card number, and the email address seemed valid.

This feeling he was having, was something else. What was this? There are a million courses, books, and support groups that help you deal with disappointment, but not a single one to help you with accomplishment. What to do, when the proverbial balloon doesn´t pop, and there is no sad trombone for soundtrack? High five someone? Yell out “Yoo hoo” while shooting two pistols recklessly in the air? Open a bottle of champagne only to spray most of the content on the ground? He didn´t know, and it felt amazing. It seemed he had a lot to learn after all.

I thought the sun was bright, until I saw her.

Well, not her specifically, but the golden heart around her wrist. It was a beautiful Tiffany bracelet, as I would come to know, and it's owner was a girl with the ironic name of Tiffany.

I entered English class just like any other day of my normal high school life, but after I sat down, she entered after me. Immediately, the room got ten shades brighter. It was like someone opened a window, or knocked the ceiling off of the school.

And of course, there was the bracelet.

I couldn't stop staring at it. It's rich glow perfectly matched her shining blonde hair. When the teacher introduced her to us, I could only stare in awe. How could I be so lucky as to experience an angel on earth?

I know what you're thinking: this girl was nothing but a cliche. Maybe you're right. But at the time, how could I have known? I was so drawn to her warmth, her easy laugh when the teacher made a joke, the way her golden heart dangled as she raised her hand. She may as well have cut me open and stuffed me with summer air.

As soon as class ended, I hurried to introduce myself. Standing next to her was like being wrapped in a warm blanket. I mentioned her bracelet, and she told me it was from Tiffany. When I laughed, Tiffany joined me. She looked into my eyes and asked if I could show her around the school. With a face like hers, how could I say no?

I spent the day introducing the sun to the minor planets in our school's galaxy. With the way they all gravitated toward Tiffany, I knew my time was limited. How can a meteorite compare to the center of the galaxy?

At the end of the day, I almost ran to the lockers where I had told Tiffany to meet me. I was going to walk her home so she wouldn't be lost in her new town.

For some reason, I thought we had a connection. After only one day of having her in my life, I wrongly assumed that she was mine. There is no way to catch a honey-yellow canary once it has flown off. Why did I expect that I could?

I rounded the corner, and suddenly turned to ice. A football player had her in his arms against the lockers. She giggled, and a bubble of warmth grew around them. I wasn't in it. Icicles grew inside my heart, mercilessly piercing it. I knew better than to get involved in something like this, and yet I still did.

They broke apart for a moment and she turned and looked at me. I ran. Far, far away from the summer breezes, yellow wings, and sunshine galaxies. I ran with the image of a golden heart burned into my mind.

Once upon an afternoon dreary,

While I pondered weak and weary,

On the cold hard metal of the bus stop bench which makes your rear sore.

I imagined a life where the bus came a stopping,

Stopping timely at my bus terminal - open doored.

"Tis not this day" I muttered "No bus waiting open doored"

Only this cold hard fucking metal bench and nothing more.

                   Every morning in order to attend my first class, I am forced to take an isolated winding path.I hesitate every time I approach it, something about the shape causes my senses to heighten. It is paved with a peculiar dark sediment blacker than tar. Each curve is careless and lazy as a snake's slinking body. On this particular morning, I hesitated as always. A feeling in my gut held me back from trespassing onto the walkway. As I hesitated, the world began to move in slow motion as I witnessed a boy take the fatal step onto the slick black pavement. He was unaware as his gate slowed, each step harder to take. Eyes wide he looked down and panicked as one foot had been engulfed in a slimy substance. I watched on as he tried to free himself, but the wild curves of the dark road began to roll and writhe. The boy sank lower and lower as the substance climbed up his wriggling body.  I stood still as I witnessed the last strand of hair atop the boy's head smothered by the black ooze. My heart hammered as the creature, now satisfied, slithered into a nearby bush. Beads of sweat now slipped down my face as I fled frightened out of my wits. The next morning I dropped the class.