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Written by Harry_Situation in portal Simon & Schuster

Sympathy From the Devil

Rosemary sat alone on the rooftop of her house with only the clear starlit night to keep her company. She had her arms wrapped around her legs, scrunched together like a constricted ball. The glittered sky reflected off her sad brown eyes as she watched old footage of a man conducting a band on her phone. The man made funny faces to his entertained audience and they laughed. The band obeyed his command with every wave his hand and baton with their music flowing from a rapid march to then eased into a soft lullaby. When the band finished their overture, the man took a bow and gave his daughter, a once brown-haired, younger Rosemary, a big hug. The phone's speakers blasted from the loud applause from the video before she finally shut it off.

Rosemary closed her eyes and rested her head on her arms and knees. The tearful memories of her father pained her heart like jabbing needles. Memories of her father flooded back into her thoughts. She recalled all the fun times they all shared, from going to the movies to attending the greatest and loudest rock concerts. He served as the best music teacher at her school, often considered by many to be the best music teacher on Earth. She remembered when her and her fellow students entered his classroom a different style of music always played on the installed speakers, much to the annoyance of her strict principal, Mrs. Wordworth.

To both her and her father, music was what connected them the most. They both rocked out in the garage with his majestic guitars. Their heads banged back and forth to the thrash metal that he played on his stereo. She remembered that her father always loved musicals out of any movie genre. His favorite was The Rocky Horror Picture Show, to a point she remembered that he dressed as Dr. Frank N. Furter during a costume party at Marcus and his partner's home, and sang all the songs from the flick as the guests laughed and cheered him on.

It was only a year ago that her father passed away from a car accident, due to the careless nature of a drunk driver. She still remembered that day still. She was called into Mrs. Wordworth's office. Her mother, Carmen, was there with her little sister as she tearfully shared to both of them the tragic news. She remembered that she wept for hours inside his office space, located in the basement of the house. During a live tribute on her mother's show, she sang a mournful song and played his guitar to an audience who also wept for him. Yet an empty void had then morphed inside her heart, which continued to grow bigger each day that had passed.

When her mother started dating again that was when they all met whom many considered, herself included at the time, an odd character if not mischievous character. The one they would all refer to as Lu, the devil himself in the flesh. When she and her sister first met Lu, he was the same as he is now. A crude and selfish creature but balanced out with a fun-loving spirit and more gentle side few have seen before. But even after Lu and her mother married she still felt that same void spiraling inside like a vacant whirlpool. It did not matter how odd his antics were or what thrill-seeking adventure she took in the Inferno, that internal pain remained. Tonight, she definitely felt that void again. This time she just wanted to be left alone with her memories and the cool night air.

"Hey there, kiddo." The sound of a familiar voice, and the scent of sulfur, finally got her to raise her head out of the comforts of her arms. She looked to her right and saw her stepfather, Lu the devil, sitting next to her. His hand was gently placed around her left shoulder, his arm kept her close to his neatly dressed suit. A light smile curled along his pale face. He looked onto Rosemary with his now gentle ruby eyes.

"I know why you're up here." He said to her. "You miss your dad, don't you? You know when I married your mother my intentions were never to replace your father, right? We were just two souls who were looking for something to complete them, and we just happen to find one another. Curious how things turn out like that, am I right? And besides, he seemed like a nice guy. One helluva band conductor too. I bet Father's got him directing the holy choir right now."

Rosie didn't say a word. She let out a deep sigh and looked down onto the silent and clear streets of 999 Milton Avenue. Lu sensed his attempts at comfort were failing, not that he was at all an expert at sympathy. He tried to think of something to help mend Rosie's void.

"I know how you feel," He spoke again softly. "Believe me, I really do. I know exactly how it feels to lose someone you hold dear to your heart. If there's something the Bible doesn't mention it's that even the devil had a mother too. I didn't know her well. She passed when I was still small, yet I still remember seeing her smiling face. She had the best smile. So warm, so loving, and so full of life. And her voice, oh man, her voice was truly that of an angel, especially when she sang me to sleep. Mike once told me that she used to refer to me as her morning star."

His smile then faded. Sad, painful memories invaded his thoughts too like an infectious virus. "Then the next thing we all knew, no more mommy. They said they found her dead beside my crib. Not sure what happened, but I can't help but feel that I had something to do with it. Mike always reassured that wasn't true. Anyway, Father locked away any and all memorabilia of hers insider her tomb. He then became distant from all of us, mostly me, after her death. So focused on his work, never gave a thought for any of us. Never spoke of her once. Never looked at me the same again even as I grew.

"I still miss her after all this time. Even with each passing millennia there hasn't been a time where I have not thought about my mother. Oh, there's been so many times I just wanted to see her, hold her, talk to her, and, more importantly, just to know her. It hurts knowing that I'll never have the same bond my siblings shared with her so long ago.

"And you know what? That's okay. That means that her memory will never fade. She'll still be with me until the end of time, just as the memory of your father with stay with you. So it's okay if you still miss your dad. You can miss him, you can cry for him, you can even pray to him. Just know that you never have to be alone anymore.

"You got your mom and your sister. You got your friends at school to be with. You even got Lilith and Scrugs and Mike and all the others down in the Inferno. And, most importantly, you got me. So, please, don't hide away whenever you're sad. Come find us, any one of us, and we're there for you."

Rosemary took his words to heart. The more she thought of her father the more she remembered all the good times they had with the whole family. The memories became too much for her. She couldn’t control her emotions any longer. She cried as loud as she could. Her tears poured out like two rivers of sorrow. She then grasped around Lu's body and held him tighter than a snake around its prey. When she buried eyes deep onto his chest she felt the comforting rhythm of his cold heart.

An empathetic smile drew across Lu's heartened face. His hand brushed along her head as she continued to weep then gently shielded his child with his own arms wrapped around her. He planted a small kiss on her head and rested his cheek on her raven hair, letting her cry out her feelings. Memories of his own mother flowed inside his head, with a single tear leaking from his eye. These two lonesome souls stayed locked in each other’s arms, neither one letting go, both remembering loved ones lost and the love they share together.

"It's alright, kiddo." Lu calmly whispered to his weeping child. "Go on, let it all out. You don't have to feel alone anymore. If you're ever feel that way again, just remember I'm here when you need me. Always."

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Simon & Schuster is one of the world’s leading publishers and we are always looking for fresh new voices. Write a story, chapter, or essay about whatever you like. The 50 best entries will be announced by Prose and read by our editorial staff for consideration.
Written by Harry_Situation in portal Simon & Schuster
Sympathy From the Devil
Rosemary sat alone on the rooftop of her house with only the clear starlit night to keep her company. She had her arms wrapped around her legs, scrunched together like a constricted ball. The glittered sky reflected off her sad brown eyes as she watched old footage of a man conducting a band on her phone. The man made funny faces to his entertained audience and they laughed. The band obeyed his command with every wave his hand and baton with their music flowing from a rapid march to then eased into a soft lullaby. When the band finished their overture, the man took a bow and gave his daughter, a once brown-haired, younger Rosemary, a big hug. The phone's speakers blasted from the loud applause from the video before she finally shut it off.

Rosemary closed her eyes and rested her head on her arms and knees. The tearful memories of her father pained her heart like jabbing needles. Memories of her father flooded back into her thoughts. She recalled all the fun times they all shared, from going to the movies to attending the greatest and loudest rock concerts. He served as the best music teacher at her school, often considered by many to be the best music teacher on Earth. She remembered when her and her fellow students entered his classroom a different style of music always played on the installed speakers, much to the annoyance of her strict principal, Mrs. Wordworth.

To both her and her father, music was what connected them the most. They both rocked out in the garage with his majestic guitars. Their heads banged back and forth to the thrash metal that he played on his stereo. She remembered that her father always loved musicals out of any movie genre. His favorite was The Rocky Horror Picture Show, to a point she remembered that he dressed as Dr. Frank N. Furter during a costume party at Marcus and his partner's home, and sang all the songs from the flick as the guests laughed and cheered him on.

It was only a year ago that her father passed away from a car accident, due to the careless nature of a drunk driver. She still remembered that day still. She was called into Mrs. Wordworth's office. Her mother, Carmen, was there with her little sister as she tearfully shared to both of them the tragic news. She remembered that she wept for hours inside his office space, located in the basement of the house. During a live tribute on her mother's show, she sang a mournful song and played his guitar to an audience who also wept for him. Yet an empty void had then morphed inside her heart, which continued to grow bigger each day that had passed.

When her mother started dating again that was when they all met whom many considered, herself included at the time, an odd character if not mischievous character. The one they would all refer to as Lu, the devil himself in the flesh. When she and her sister first met Lu, he was the same as he is now. A crude and selfish creature but balanced out with a fun-loving spirit and more gentle side few have seen before. But even after Lu and her mother married she still felt that same void spiraling inside like a vacant whirlpool. It did not matter how odd his antics were or what thrill-seeking adventure she took in the Inferno, that internal pain remained. Tonight, she definitely felt that void again. This time she just wanted to be left alone with her memories and the cool night air.

"Hey there, kiddo." The sound of a familiar voice, and the scent of sulfur, finally got her to raise her head out of the comforts of her arms. She looked to her right and saw her stepfather, Lu the devil, sitting next to her. His hand was gently placed around her left shoulder, his arm kept her close to his neatly dressed suit. A light smile curled along his pale face. He looked onto Rosemary with his now gentle ruby eyes.

"I know why you're up here." He said to her. "You miss your dad, don't you? You know when I married your mother my intentions were never to replace your father, right? We were just two souls who were looking for something to complete them, and we just happen to find one another. Curious how things turn out like that, am I right? And besides, he seemed like a nice guy. One helluva band conductor too. I bet Father's got him directing the holy choir right now."

Rosie didn't say a word. She let out a deep sigh and looked down onto the silent and clear streets of 999 Milton Avenue. Lu sensed his attempts at comfort were failing, not that he was at all an expert at sympathy. He tried to think of something to help mend Rosie's void.

"I know how you feel," He spoke again softly. "Believe me, I really do. I know exactly how it feels to lose someone you hold dear to your heart. If there's something the Bible doesn't mention it's that even the devil had a mother too. I didn't know her well. She passed when I was still small, yet I still remember seeing her smiling face. She had the best smile. So warm, so loving, and so full of life. And her voice, oh man, her voice was truly that of an angel, especially when she sang me to sleep. Mike once told me that she used to refer to me as her morning star."

His smile then faded. Sad, painful memories invaded his thoughts too like an infectious virus. "Then the next thing we all knew, no more mommy. They said they found her dead beside my crib. Not sure what happened, but I can't help but feel that I had something to do with it. Mike always reassured that wasn't true. Anyway, Father locked away any and all memorabilia of hers insider her tomb. He then became distant from all of us, mostly me, after her death. So focused on his work, never gave a thought for any of us. Never spoke of her once. Never looked at me the same again even as I grew.

"I still miss her after all this time. Even with each passing millennia there hasn't been a time where I have not thought about my mother. Oh, there's been so many times I just wanted to see her, hold her, talk to her, and, more importantly, just to know her. It hurts knowing that I'll never have the same bond my siblings shared with her so long ago.

"And you know what? That's okay. That means that her memory will never fade. She'll still be with me until the end of time, just as the memory of your father with stay with you. So it's okay if you still miss your dad. You can miss him, you can cry for him, you can even pray to him. Just know that you never have to be alone anymore.

"You got your mom and your sister. You got your friends at school to be with. You even got Lilith and Scrugs and Mike and all the others down in the Inferno. And, most importantly, you got me. So, please, don't hide away whenever you're sad. Come find us, any one of us, and we're there for you."

Rosemary took his words to heart. The more she thought of her father the more she remembered all the good times they had with the whole family. The memories became too much for her. She couldn’t control her emotions any longer. She cried as loud as she could. Her tears poured out like two rivers of sorrow. She then grasped around Lu's body and held him tighter than a snake around its prey. When she buried eyes deep onto his chest she felt the comforting rhythm of his cold heart.

An empathetic smile drew across Lu's heartened face. His hand brushed along her head as she continued to weep then gently shielded his child with his own arms wrapped around her. He planted a small kiss on her head and rested his cheek on her raven hair, letting her cry out her feelings. Memories of his own mother flowed inside his head, with a single tear leaking from his eye. These two lonesome souls stayed locked in each other’s arms, neither one letting go, both remembering loved ones lost and the love they share together.

"It's alright, kiddo." Lu calmly whispered to his weeping child. "Go on, let it all out. You don't have to feel alone anymore. If you're ever feel that way again, just remember I'm here when you need me. Always."
#fantasy  #fiction  #horror  #comedy  #sinsofthefather 
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Written by Rubenkells in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Does it really matter

Couple of years ago there was a significant celebration in the days that went by, after many more years we would party with friends and take a time or two to enjoy some pleasures of life, sneak out with our parents cars and take some boose.

Day counting down quickly as we see the weather change, love growing fast and so many lost on the way, the friends we once knew becoming strangers to the same old routine and the song sang would fade with the scars created.

What would it change if we have everything so perfectly? What would it change if the time went slower than expected? Must we always follow the same principles that was patterned for us?

I don't even care anymore how much I have gotten into the system, the celebration I knew as a child is like a bud in my eyes, now it creates dirts and someday it would close to rest.

Somebody tell me if the fight we had yesterday was needed, tell me if killing one another is necessary, tell me what is it that we truly need? All of which can't be answered because even the man with a sword doesn't know why he owns one.

If our days are flashing light so many would have theirs quenched a long time ago, they would pray they could do something different or even go to the darkest cities so they may glow.

If our days are flashing lights we would cry to the God we once knew, praying we don't fall to the storm and our candles be blown off.

If our days are liquid the dirts we fill our minds with would have covered the very place the good should come from. In our hearts we would not know what it is to love our brother and let no man blame society for this.

Only us would make a difference but what does it really matter? When the youths are been polluted by the same old grey headed bastards called leaders. What does it really matter? When a child in need reaches out and there is no one to help?

Are we even worth the life's we have? Are we?

What does it really matter, someday we all would go to a place of rest and our names written in the sand of time would be stepped on by another.

There is no need to go around creating an enemy who only exist in our heads and kill the innocent because we can't reach those who hurt us.

Nothing really matters.

Happy Birthday to me - Rubenkells

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Written by Rubenkells in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Does it really matter
Couple of years ago there was a significant celebration in the days that went by, after many more years we would party with friends and take a time or two to enjoy some pleasures of life, sneak out with our parents cars and take some boose.
Day counting down quickly as we see the weather change, love growing fast and so many lost on the way, the friends we once knew becoming strangers to the same old routine and the song sang would fade with the scars created.
What would it change if we have everything so perfectly? What would it change if the time went slower than expected? Must we always follow the same principles that was patterned for us?

I don't even care anymore how much I have gotten into the system, the celebration I knew as a child is like a bud in my eyes, now it creates dirts and someday it would close to rest.

Somebody tell me if the fight we had yesterday was needed, tell me if killing one another is necessary, tell me what is it that we truly need? All of which can't be answered because even the man with a sword doesn't know why he owns one.

If our days are flashing light so many would have theirs quenched a long time ago, they would pray they could do something different or even go to the darkest cities so they may glow.

If our days are flashing lights we would cry to the God we once knew, praying we don't fall to the storm and our candles be blown off.

If our days are liquid the dirts we fill our minds with would have covered the very place the good should come from. In our hearts we would not know what it is to love our brother and let no man blame society for this.

Only us would make a difference but what does it really matter? When the youths are been polluted by the same old grey headed bastards called leaders. What does it really matter? When a child in need reaches out and there is no one to help?

Are we even worth the life's we have? Are we?
What does it really matter, someday we all would go to a place of rest and our names written in the sand of time would be stepped on by another.

There is no need to go around creating an enemy who only exist in our heads and kill the innocent because we can't reach those who hurt us.

Nothing really matters.


Happy Birthday to me - Rubenkells
#fantasy  #scifi  #fiction  #nonfiction  #romance  #horror  #adventure  #education  #childrens  #poetry  #science  #philosophy  #mystery  #film  #politics  #spirituality  #news  #culture  #lyrics  #opinion  #happybirthday 
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Write a horror story in 100 words or less. Evoke fear in as few words as possible.
Written by B27321 in portal Horror & Thriller

#Lust

Down

Hell’s Hall

I Crawl

Silent

&

Oppressed

By the

Weight

Gripping

my Chest

To the

Door

of Satan’s

Whore

To Sate

Her Lust

On Bright

Drops

of Blood

Love

Lost

Here Begins

Night’s

Watch

‪#‎B27321‬

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Write a horror story in 100 words or less. Evoke fear in as few words as possible.
Written by B27321 in portal Horror & Thriller
#Lust
Down
Hell’s Hall
I Crawl
Silent
&
Oppressed
By the
Weight
Gripping
my Chest
To the
Door
of Satan’s
Whore
To Sate
Her Lust
On Bright
Drops
of Blood
Love
Lost
Here Begins
Night’s
Watch
‪#‎B27321‬
#fantasy  #romance  #horror  #poetry  #mystery 
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The writer of the best short story from this challenge wins a ProWritingAid Lifetime License, worth $140. Take the terribly-written adverb-laden outline of a story below and use your own voice to make it amazing. Maybe it's sci-fi, maybe it's romance, maybe it's thriller...it's up to you: The door was opened and they looked out. She was very surprised. He looked very worried. They went quickly to find out more. She slowly picked up the object and it all finally made sense.
Written by sandflea68

Blue Steel

Warning: This includes erotica, horror, murder and psychological aberrations. 

She danced her finger along the sharp blue steel of the glistening knife blade. She was overwhelmed by intoxication as the claret drops of blood trickled down her bare breasts culminating at the secret place where it all ended. She lifted one of her heavy breasts to her lips, licking the blood with her elongated tongue in a passion of frenzy. Wafting her thoughts through the inner realms of her subconscious, she grasped that the portal to her psychopathic needs could never be locked again. The first half of her life was merely a practice run for her future. The world was opening up to her like a ripe pomegranate ready to burst as swift veins of excitement coursed through her body. She realized that she could never look back.

Peaking around the corner, the man was mesmerized by her crimson beauty, drawn into her sensual vortex. Heated pink steam seemed to arise from her torso. Unable to resist her magnetic appeal, he meandered toward her alluring seductiveness, sucking the beads of lusty hunger from her wet lips. He became aroused as he ran searching fingers down her slippery body, searching for her center.

Her left hand wandered down his torso as he closed his eyes and moaned. Teasing, she lightly touched him and then withdrew, driving him to desperation. When she had driven him completely crazy, she began to frantically stroke his manhood as he lost himself in the epitome of his ecstasy. Drawing out her right hand surreptitiously from behind her back, she plunged the knife, warm from being pressed against her body, into his heart as she climaxed at the same time, rubbing his blood in erotic circles all over her aroused body. He never uttered another word as she tossed her head and laughed in crazed delirium.

Tracing her lips with her pink tongue, she wiped the bloody knife off with the black tresses of her hair as she glanced down at him, lying lifeless on the floor. With a burst of realization, it dawned on her that this was the reason she had been put on this earth. She would be unable to wait more than a few days for the next encounter as she felt the juices stirring through her loins. This fever must be quenched before it ravaged her body and she lost complete control. With mounting anticipation, she looked forward to the next challenge. There would be many more.

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The writer of the best short story from this challenge wins a ProWritingAid Lifetime License, worth $140. Take the terribly-written adverb-laden outline of a story below and use your own voice to make it amazing. Maybe it's sci-fi, maybe it's romance, maybe it's thriller...it's up to you: The door was opened and they looked out. She was very surprised. He looked very worried. They went quickly to find out more. She slowly picked up the object and it all finally made sense.
Written by sandflea68
Blue Steel
Warning: This includes erotica, horror, murder and psychological aberrations. 

She danced her finger along the sharp blue steel of the glistening knife blade. She was overwhelmed by intoxication as the claret drops of blood trickled down her bare breasts culminating at the secret place where it all ended. She lifted one of her heavy breasts to her lips, licking the blood with her elongated tongue in a passion of frenzy. Wafting her thoughts through the inner realms of her subconscious, she grasped that the portal to her psychopathic needs could never be locked again. The first half of her life was merely a practice run for her future. The world was opening up to her like a ripe pomegranate ready to burst as swift veins of excitement coursed through her body. She realized that she could never look back.

Peaking around the corner, the man was mesmerized by her crimson beauty, drawn into her sensual vortex. Heated pink steam seemed to arise from her torso. Unable to resist her magnetic appeal, he meandered toward her alluring seductiveness, sucking the beads of lusty hunger from her wet lips. He became aroused as he ran searching fingers down her slippery body, searching for her center.

Her left hand wandered down his torso as he closed his eyes and moaned. Teasing, she lightly touched him and then withdrew, driving him to desperation. When she had driven him completely crazy, she began to frantically stroke his manhood as he lost himself in the epitome of his ecstasy. Drawing out her right hand surreptitiously from behind her back, she plunged the knife, warm from being pressed against her body, into his heart as she climaxed at the same time, rubbing his blood in erotic circles all over her aroused body. He never uttered another word as she tossed her head and laughed in crazed delirium.

Tracing her lips with her pink tongue, she wiped the bloody knife off with the black tresses of her hair as she glanced down at him, lying lifeless on the floor. With a burst of realization, it dawned on her that this was the reason she had been put on this earth. She would be unable to wait more than a few days for the next encounter as she felt the juices stirring through her loins. This fever must be quenched before it ravaged her body and she lost complete control. With mounting anticipation, she looked forward to the next challenge. There would be many more.

#fiction  #horror  #murder  #erotica  #psychological 
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Write a short story with only five sentences, and each sentence must have only five words.
Written by nfaulk6 in portal Fiction

Din

The knocking woke me up.

What the hell, I thought.

I sat up and stretched.

There it was again, louder.

I began to shake uncontrollably.

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Write a short story with only five sentences, and each sentence must have only five words.
Written by nfaulk6 in portal Fiction
Din
The knocking woke me up.
What the hell, I thought.
I sat up and stretched.
There it was again, louder.
I began to shake uncontrollably.

#horror  #shortstory  #flashfiction  #amwriting  #FiveWordsFiveLines 
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CotW #66: Write about the biggest lesson life has taught you.
Written by B27321

Ravioli Knights

Infidelity

a Broken Ring,

a Vow

That Means

Nothing Now,

Lies

Like Spread Thighs;

Cottage Cheese For Seasoning.

True

That Should Have Been

Like Glue,

Not

Like Rot

Seven Seasons Dead.

In This Room

I Have Been Held

For the Murders of you

I Thought a Friend

& the Mob Who

Bought It

Trying For my Head.

Just me you See

With a Canned Good

Against you

& Three.

the Misery I With Stood

2 To the Chest

& One Beside the Eye.

Yes,

the 45 Caliber Kind.

to Drain & Die

On This Kitchen Floor

Was Not What I Was Made For.

If I Was to Die

It Was to Be In Battle Sweet

or Between the Legs

of a Lady Riding High.

Not Treachery

Both Foul & Deep.

Luring me With Sex & Song

to the Valley of Sleep;

Having Done

I Went For a Bottle of Beer

& Surprise Who Should I Meet

But 3 Long Shadows

Waiting There For me.

Flash,

Flash,

Flash,

Down I Was InDeed,

Blood Red Agony,

Not a Breath to Breathe,

Pain Bright Dizzying.

Laying There Wondering

If This Was the End For me,

the Vest Had Not Held

& Crimson Was Blossoming.

They Left to Check & See,

To Get the Stuff to Dismantle me.

In the Tub to Bleed

& Then the Cutting;

No, No,

Not For me

As I Slipped Ravioli In a Sock.

First,

I Came to Crush your Skull

my Lovely Little Girl.

Then the Man

Who Came to Gut me Like a Pig

& Then the 2

to Help Move.

It Was Such a Gristly Scene,

Had to Be Burning.

I Will Never Forget

That Night.

Standing Above

Those Broken Things

Screaming Triumphantly

As the Kerosene Burned Bright,

Ravioli Nights

#B27321

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CotW #66: Write about the biggest lesson life has taught you.
Written by B27321
Ravioli Knights
Infidelity
a Broken Ring,
a Vow
That Means
Nothing Now,
Lies
Like Spread Thighs;
Cottage Cheese For Seasoning.
True
That Should Have Been
Like Glue,
Not
Like Rot
Seven Seasons Dead.
In This Room
I Have Been Held
For the Murders of you
I Thought a Friend
& the Mob Who
Bought It
Trying For my Head.
Just me you See
With a Canned Good
Against you
& Three.
the Misery I With Stood
2 To the Chest
& One Beside the Eye.
Yes,
the 45 Caliber Kind.
to Drain & Die
On This Kitchen Floor
Was Not What I Was Made For.
If I Was to Die
It Was to Be In Battle Sweet
or Between the Legs
of a Lady Riding High.
Not Treachery
Both Foul & Deep.
Luring me With Sex & Song
to the Valley of Sleep;
Having Done
I Went For a Bottle of Beer
& Surprise Who Should I Meet
But 3 Long Shadows
Waiting There For me.
Flash,
Flash,
Flash,
Down I Was InDeed,
Blood Red Agony,
Not a Breath to Breathe,
Pain Bright Dizzying.
Laying There Wondering
If This Was the End For me,
the Vest Had Not Held
& Crimson Was Blossoming.
They Left to Check & See,
To Get the Stuff to Dismantle me.
In the Tub to Bleed
& Then the Cutting;
No, No,
Not For me
As I Slipped Ravioli In a Sock.
First,
I Came to Crush your Skull
my Lovely Little Girl.
Then the Man
Who Came to Gut me Like a Pig
& Then the 2
to Help Move.
It Was Such a Gristly Scene,
Had to Be Burning.
I Will Never Forget
That Night.
Standing Above
Those Broken Things
Screaming Triumphantly
As the Kerosene Burned Bright,
Ravioli Nights
#B27321
#romance  #horror  #poetry  #philosophy  #lyrics 
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Continuing with cloudyvision23's original challenge to passionately write about a food, this time choose a dessert, write a descriptive poem, then tag another Proser to continue the challenge. Please also tag me @ruffmiriam in the comments, as well as previous writers of this prompt, so we can all read the final result.
Written by OnyxCity in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Apparently She Just Wanted Dessert

To bake is truly just the greatest joy that I can feel.

In my opinion it’s a hobby that is quite genteel.

And so I set to work on a delightful sticky dough

that will become a most delicious pie crust, don’t you know.

I push and pull and roll and soon the crust is in the pan.

And I have apples, slick with syrup, right there by my hand.

I touch a golden cube of fruit to my tongue – just to taste –

and all at once I cringe and right then spit it out in haste.

“It will not do,” I whisper to myself. “It’s just not right.”

I take instead some berries that I picked the other night.

“Now on the stove you go!” I crow, and cook the bright blue orbs

in sugar that the greedy little berries soon absorb.

Then my preserve is done! So gooey – thick and shiny, too.

A syrupy aroma settles like a morning dew.

With trembling hand I raise the spoon, stained purple, to my lips

and then I shudder violently from head to fingertips.

“I built the walls of gingerbread yet cannot fill a pie?”

I rage and splutter as I throw the pantry open wide.

The walls are lined with jars of fruit from summers long since past.

“Oh, which of you is worthy of my crust?” I cry, aghast.

My eyes take in the peaches, cherries, strawberries, and plums.

I reach out slowly, stroke a jar of rhubarb with my thumb.

And even green tomatoes are considered for the pie

but then I sadly turn away as I know none will satisfy.

The hope of slicing into fresh, warm pie is fading fast.

I longingly caress the silky crust with eyes downcast.

And then – oh, could it be? – I hear a knocking at my door.

A high-pitched voice calls out, and with desire my heart soars.

There at the door a little girl stands with blue eyes so bright.

In bashful tones she tells me of her somewhat silly plight.

She lost her way to Grandma’s house while cutting through the woods.

Might I show her where to go, if I would be so good?

As she talks I look at her, so apple-cheeked and fair.

She wears a bright red riding hood that covers up her hair.

“Why, yes,” I croak, “but first come in and have yourself a treat.

I’ll give you something good that you will surely want to eat.”

Her eyes light up, her shyness gone, though I am old and bent.

She sniffs the air so eagerly, enticed by a sweet scent.

“Is that a pie?” she asks and points up to my waiting crust.

“It will be... Lean in close and get a better look – you must!”

And later I sit down and cut myself an oozing slice.

Each bite is rich and tart and juicy, and so very nice.

“It’s almost perfect,” I remark, “but next time I’ll be smart

and fatten up the filling for some time before I start.”

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Continuing with cloudyvision23's original challenge to passionately write about a food, this time choose a dessert, write a descriptive poem, then tag another Proser to continue the challenge. Please also tag me @ruffmiriam in the comments, as well as previous writers of this prompt, so we can all read the final result.
Written by OnyxCity in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Apparently She Just Wanted Dessert
To bake is truly just the greatest joy that I can feel.
In my opinion it’s a hobby that is quite genteel.
And so I set to work on a delightful sticky dough
that will become a most delicious pie crust, don’t you know.

I push and pull and roll and soon the crust is in the pan.
And I have apples, slick with syrup, right there by my hand.
I touch a golden cube of fruit to my tongue – just to taste –
and all at once I cringe and right then spit it out in haste.

“It will not do,” I whisper to myself. “It’s just not right.”
I take instead some berries that I picked the other night.
“Now on the stove you go!” I crow, and cook the bright blue orbs
in sugar that the greedy little berries soon absorb.

Then my preserve is done! So gooey – thick and shiny, too.
A syrupy aroma settles like a morning dew.
With trembling hand I raise the spoon, stained purple, to my lips
and then I shudder violently from head to fingertips.

“I built the walls of gingerbread yet cannot fill a pie?”
I rage and splutter as I throw the pantry open wide.
The walls are lined with jars of fruit from summers long since past.
“Oh, which of you is worthy of my crust?” I cry, aghast.

My eyes take in the peaches, cherries, strawberries, and plums.
I reach out slowly, stroke a jar of rhubarb with my thumb.
And even green tomatoes are considered for the pie
but then I sadly turn away as I know none will satisfy.

The hope of slicing into fresh, warm pie is fading fast.
I longingly caress the silky crust with eyes downcast.
And then – oh, could it be? – I hear a knocking at my door.
A high-pitched voice calls out, and with desire my heart soars.

There at the door a little girl stands with blue eyes so bright.
In bashful tones she tells me of her somewhat silly plight.
She lost her way to Grandma’s house while cutting through the woods.
Might I show her where to go, if I would be so good?

As she talks I look at her, so apple-cheeked and fair.
She wears a bright red riding hood that covers up her hair.
“Why, yes,” I croak, “but first come in and have yourself a treat.
I’ll give you something good that you will surely want to eat.”

Her eyes light up, her shyness gone, though I am old and bent.
She sniffs the air so eagerly, enticed by a sweet scent.
“Is that a pie?” she asks and points up to my waiting crust.
“It will be... Lean in close and get a better look – you must!”

And later I sit down and cut myself an oozing slice.
Each bite is rich and tart and juicy, and so very nice.
“It’s almost perfect,” I remark, “but next time I’ll be smart
and fatten up the filling for some time before I start.”
#fantasy  #horror  #poetry  #food  #fairtytale 
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CotW #65: Write a story about infidelity. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.
Written by JessicaJohnson

Deception In The First Degree

The shoddy streetlight barely pierces the darkness as I stumble down the old sidewalk to the east side of the deserted warehouse.  It is nearly midnight, and I am still searching for the illuminated door. Beneath my shoes, I feel the sidewalk give way to loose gravel as I continue past more boarded up windows and shadowy interiors. As the darkness continues, I wonder if perhaps I am at the wrong rendezvous point. Or if perhaps Carmen came to her senses and abandoned our tryst before it could ever fully begin. And as these thoughts creep in, I feel a disappointment settling itself behind my rib cage as I continue on into the dark.

But, wait! What is that ahead? I feel my heartbeat skip as I quicken my pace, anticipation flooding my veins. A faint yellow glow is seeping behind a cracked door. I brace myself as I approach and inch the door open. As I peer down the corridor, I see a makeshift table with a lantern sitting atop it. And, leaning against the makeshift table, I set eyes on the most exquisite woman I have ever seen. Carmen is all legs in her strappy heels and short, clingy black dress. As I approach, I watch a slow smile splay across her painted red lips as her blond hair tumbles in waves over her bare shoulders. Her lips meet mine with insistence, sparking instant desire as her arms wrap around my neck. She deepens the kiss as she trails one bare leg down my side, my arousal fully evident between us. As her tongue forces its way into my mouth, I feel a slight pinch and a tingle at the side of my neck. I then feel Carmen slowly disengage herself from the kiss and step out of my arms. My confusion at her sudden halt is consuming my mind. Yet, my eyes are having trouble focusing on the smeared red lipstick on her face. As I try to read her expression, I feel my limbs become heavy, and the room begins to spin. Then my whole world goes black.

***12 hours earlier***

"This is such a nice little place. I can't believe we have never been here before. Jenny from my book club mentioned it the other day, saying we should definitely stop in sometime." My wife prattles on as we sit in a booth at Grandma's Cafe on the corner of 5th finishing our lunch. "The food and the coffee have both been excellent," she continues, still sipping from her mug. On a spur of the moment whim, my wife decided we should venture out for lunch. I'm finishing my turkey club and inserting the appropriate "Mhmm's" and "Yes, dear's" to keep the conversation flowing. Yet, I can hardly focus on any words leaving her mouth.

Across the room, Carmen is sitting alone, sipping coffee and flipping through a magazine. It's taking most of my willpower not to stare at her long legs stretched out under the table in those shorts. Our eyes met when my wife and I entered the cafe, and the ghost of a smile that graced Carmen's lips sent my pulse racing. Carmen and I have actually ate at this cafe before. Earlier this month, I met up with Carmen twice for dinner here while my wife believed me to be working late. We have never ventured beyond dinner, a few lingering kisses, and many inappropriate text messages, but I feel we are approaching a new transgression. Last night, Carmen sent me a message with a photo displaying her full cleavage. Attached to the photo was the one word text of "Soon."

My wife has finished her lunch and excuses herself to the restroom. After my wife disappears from sight, I watch Carmen slowly rise from her seat. As she saunters to the door, she swings by my booth with a smile and a wink as she slides a folded napkin across the table. My hungry eyes watch her leave the cafe before I open the napkin and read, "Tonight is the night. Meet me at the old warehouse on Lincoln, east side, at midnight. Look for the illuminated door. Love, C."

***In the warehouse***

My head is groggy and my neck aches. As my senses slowly drift back to me, I realize I am sitting in a upright position. I attempt to move my arms and legs to a more comfortable position only to find I cannot move them. My eyelids are heavy as I force them open to stare down at my hands, which are bound with rope to each side of a chair. I cannot see my ankles, but I think it's safe to assume that they are bound to the legs of the chair. The panic from my restraints forces me into a more wakeful state as I slowly take in my surroundings and attempt to remember what happened. As I gaze around the room, realizing I am in a warehouse, the pieces slowly fall into place. I was meeting Carmen. I was kissing Carmen. Then I passed out? I must have. But I am still in the warehouse, tied up and groggy. Why?? And where is Carmen?

The room I am restrained in is relatively well lit. And now that I remember where I am, I take slower stock of my surroundings. Across the room from me is another chair, empty, with a small black suitcase sitting next to it. A small bit of rope is coiled next to the chair, and next to the rope is an ash tray with several cigarette butts. The smell of cigarettes linger in the air as if one was recently smoked. To my left, I notice a large table with many photographs spread out across it. And in the far corner of the table, I notice long, wavy golden locks of hair, the exact color of Carmen's hair. The exquisite locks are piled at the corner as if they were a wig...

Yet, my eyes are drawn from the wavy locks to the photographs on the table as I glimpse what appears to be my face. My eyes then move slowly from one photograph to the next, realizing I am in each picture. And each photo depicts me locked in a damning embrace with a different woman. I recognize Miranda in one photograph, and Anna in another. They are my more recent affairs. I recognize Heather from a drunken one night stand around a month ago. I continue to peruse the photographs and recognize Amy, Diana, and Rachel from several months ago. And as I continue to scrutinize each photograph, I realize there are many women who's names I cannot remember. Where did all these photos come from? And who has been taking them?

"Well, hello Martin. So glad to finally see you're awake." I jump at the sound of Carmen's voice coming from the doorway to my right. "I was worried you many never wake from the tranquilizer dose I gave you. You went down a lot faster than the usual, but I believe I injected you straight into the jugular. Intravenous rather than intramuscular. It has a faster, yet more deadly effect."

I watch, dumbfounded, as Carmen steps into the room still in her black dress, yet with her feet bare as her heels dangle from one hand. Her smeared red lipstick has been wiped away. And her hair is clipped short and brown. I glace from her face back to the table with the golden locks.

"Ah, yes. Those golden tresses are a wig. Elizabeth told me you had a weak spot for blonds, as many of these photos on display for you would indicate." Carmen saunters into the room and takes a seat in the empty chair across from me, crossing her legs and lighting up a cigarette. "Now, where should we begin?" she asks, as a takes a slow drag from the cigarette.

A whole string of questions and curses fill my head as I sit bound across the room, but very few words make it past my lips. "Why are you doing this? I have done nothing to you! Let me go!"

"Oh, Martin. Don't you know?" Carmen asks, a glint in her eye. "Your wife Elizabeth asked me to do this. And she can be rather convincing. She actually hired me a couple years ago to follow you, confirming her suspicions about your affairs." Carmen lets this revelation sink in as she takes another slow drag from her cigarette before continuing. "After I confirmed her suspicions, I became her regular contact. Every time she believed you might be having a new affair, I got a call. You both have kept me very busy. She paid me extra to frighten away a few of your lovers that she believed you might be getting too serious with. But the straw that finally broke the camel's back, as they say, was your last affair. I believe her name was Miranda, yes?" In the following pause, Carmen takes my silence for confirmation. Miranda was my most recent affair...

"Yes. I thought so," Carmen continues. "Well, Miranda was a member of your wife's book club, and her seeing Miranda every week was the true breaking point. It was then I got a very different call from Elizabeth." A sinister smile stretches across Carmen's lips as her next words roll off her tongue with foreboding, "And here we are!"

As I stare at Carmen, I realize she hasn't divulged whatever my wife has hired her to do. But I think it's safe to assume I will not like it. "I will pay you!" I blurt desperately. "Whatever my wife has promised you, I will double it if you let me go. And no one has to know about this. Nothing has happened here that we can't take back."

"Martin, Martin..." Carmen muses as she finishes her cigarette and leans over to put it out in the ash tray beside her chair. She then rises from her chair, with the black suitcase in hand, and advances to the table with the photos. She sets the black suitcase upon the table as she gathers up the photographs into a neat pile. "This is a rather shady part of town for you to be out in so late at night, Martin. I believe you probably gave Elizabeth some lie about not being able to sleep and needing to take a drive to clear your head."

I watch with building fear as Carmen opens the suitcase and dons a pair of gloves before she again continues. "A lot of bad characters prowl these streets at this hour. And one of these bad characters has been selling some questionable drugs to kids around town. I have been hired to deal with him also."

My dread keeps building as I hear Carmen assembling something behind the opened lid of the suitcase. "I discretely lifted this from our drug dealer for tonight's special occasion," Carmen states matter-of-factly as she flashes a pistol in her right hand, silencer attached. "As it turns out, this gun can be directly linked to our neighborhood drug dealer through ballistics. And I happen to know he will be closing a deal approximately a block over very soon. Such a shame that you had to witness the deal on your evening drive. Your untimely demise will be quite the tragedy. And our sleazy dealer will find himself off the streets and behind bars for murder in the first degree." Carmen moves from behind the table and positions herself directly in front of me, a sly glint reflected in her eyes. "Two birds with one stone," she states, smiling.

"Please, please, please..." I beg. "Don't do this! I'll do anything! Please!" Yet, at my pleading, her smile only broadens.

"HELP! PLEASE! SOMEONE HELP ME!" I scream. "HELP!!!'

"Your screams are useless Martin. No one will hear you here. And even if they did, they would not dare venture into these shady streets at this hour." Even as the words leave her lips, I know this to be true.

"You won't get away with this! You will go to prison!" I yell, tears stinging the corners of my eyes in a mix of rage and terror as I struggle futilely with my bonds.

"Martin, darling, I have been getting away with this for years," Carmen purrs, her words sending shivers down my spine. I watch as she levels the gun at my forehead, terror fully seizing me as my bladder gives way, the acrid smell of urine filling my nostrils.

"Please..." I plead, tears spilling down my cheeks.

"It's nothing personal, Martin," Carmen states, gun in position. "But your wife has quite the impressive life insurance policy on you. And, as it turns out, you are worth more dead than alive."

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CotW #65: Write a story about infidelity. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.
Written by JessicaJohnson
Deception In The First Degree
The shoddy streetlight barely pierces the darkness as I stumble down the old sidewalk to the east side of the deserted warehouse.  It is nearly midnight, and I am still searching for the illuminated door. Beneath my shoes, I feel the sidewalk give way to loose gravel as I continue past more boarded up windows and shadowy interiors. As the darkness continues, I wonder if perhaps I am at the wrong rendezvous point. Or if perhaps Carmen came to her senses and abandoned our tryst before it could ever fully begin. And as these thoughts creep in, I feel a disappointment settling itself behind my rib cage as I continue on into the dark.

But, wait! What is that ahead? I feel my heartbeat skip as I quicken my pace, anticipation flooding my veins. A faint yellow glow is seeping behind a cracked door. I brace myself as I approach and inch the door open. As I peer down the corridor, I see a makeshift table with a lantern sitting atop it. And, leaning against the makeshift table, I set eyes on the most exquisite woman I have ever seen. Carmen is all legs in her strappy heels and short, clingy black dress. As I approach, I watch a slow smile splay across her painted red lips as her blond hair tumbles in waves over her bare shoulders. Her lips meet mine with insistence, sparking instant desire as her arms wrap around my neck. She deepens the kiss as she trails one bare leg down my side, my arousal fully evident between us. As her tongue forces its way into my mouth, I feel a slight pinch and a tingle at the side of my neck. I then feel Carmen slowly disengage herself from the kiss and step out of my arms. My confusion at her sudden halt is consuming my mind. Yet, my eyes are having trouble focusing on the smeared red lipstick on her face. As I try to read her expression, I feel my limbs become heavy, and the room begins to spin. Then my whole world goes black.

***12 hours earlier***

"This is such a nice little place. I can't believe we have never been here before. Jenny from my book club mentioned it the other day, saying we should definitely stop in sometime." My wife prattles on as we sit in a booth at Grandma's Cafe on the corner of 5th finishing our lunch. "The food and the coffee have both been excellent," she continues, still sipping from her mug. On a spur of the moment whim, my wife decided we should venture out for lunch. I'm finishing my turkey club and inserting the appropriate "Mhmm's" and "Yes, dear's" to keep the conversation flowing. Yet, I can hardly focus on any words leaving her mouth.

Across the room, Carmen is sitting alone, sipping coffee and flipping through a magazine. It's taking most of my willpower not to stare at her long legs stretched out under the table in those shorts. Our eyes met when my wife and I entered the cafe, and the ghost of a smile that graced Carmen's lips sent my pulse racing. Carmen and I have actually ate at this cafe before. Earlier this month, I met up with Carmen twice for dinner here while my wife believed me to be working late. We have never ventured beyond dinner, a few lingering kisses, and many inappropriate text messages, but I feel we are approaching a new transgression. Last night, Carmen sent me a message with a photo displaying her full cleavage. Attached to the photo was the one word text of "Soon."

My wife has finished her lunch and excuses herself to the restroom. After my wife disappears from sight, I watch Carmen slowly rise from her seat. As she saunters to the door, she swings by my booth with a smile and a wink as she slides a folded napkin across the table. My hungry eyes watch her leave the cafe before I open the napkin and read, "Tonight is the night. Meet me at the old warehouse on Lincoln, east side, at midnight. Look for the illuminated door. Love, C."

***In the warehouse***

My head is groggy and my neck aches. As my senses slowly drift back to me, I realize I am sitting in a upright position. I attempt to move my arms and legs to a more comfortable position only to find I cannot move them. My eyelids are heavy as I force them open to stare down at my hands, which are bound with rope to each side of a chair. I cannot see my ankles, but I think it's safe to assume that they are bound to the legs of the chair. The panic from my restraints forces me into a more wakeful state as I slowly take in my surroundings and attempt to remember what happened. As I gaze around the room, realizing I am in a warehouse, the pieces slowly fall into place. I was meeting Carmen. I was kissing Carmen. Then I passed out? I must have. But I am still in the warehouse, tied up and groggy. Why?? And where is Carmen?

The room I am restrained in is relatively well lit. And now that I remember where I am, I take slower stock of my surroundings. Across the room from me is another chair, empty, with a small black suitcase sitting next to it. A small bit of rope is coiled next to the chair, and next to the rope is an ash tray with several cigarette butts. The smell of cigarettes linger in the air as if one was recently smoked. To my left, I notice a large table with many photographs spread out across it. And in the far corner of the table, I notice long, wavy golden locks of hair, the exact color of Carmen's hair. The exquisite locks are piled at the corner as if they were a wig...

Yet, my eyes are drawn from the wavy locks to the photographs on the table as I glimpse what appears to be my face. My eyes then move slowly from one photograph to the next, realizing I am in each picture. And each photo depicts me locked in a damning embrace with a different woman. I recognize Miranda in one photograph, and Anna in another. They are my more recent affairs. I recognize Heather from a drunken one night stand around a month ago. I continue to peruse the photographs and recognize Amy, Diana, and Rachel from several months ago. And as I continue to scrutinize each photograph, I realize there are many women who's names I cannot remember. Where did all these photos come from? And who has been taking them?

"Well, hello Martin. So glad to finally see you're awake." I jump at the sound of Carmen's voice coming from the doorway to my right. "I was worried you many never wake from the tranquilizer dose I gave you. You went down a lot faster than the usual, but I believe I injected you straight into the jugular. Intravenous rather than intramuscular. It has a faster, yet more deadly effect."

I watch, dumbfounded, as Carmen steps into the room still in her black dress, yet with her feet bare as her heels dangle from one hand. Her smeared red lipstick has been wiped away. And her hair is clipped short and brown. I glace from her face back to the table with the golden locks.

"Ah, yes. Those golden tresses are a wig. Elizabeth told me you had a weak spot for blonds, as many of these photos on display for you would indicate." Carmen saunters into the room and takes a seat in the empty chair across from me, crossing her legs and lighting up a cigarette. "Now, where should we begin?" she asks, as a takes a slow drag from the cigarette.

A whole string of questions and curses fill my head as I sit bound across the room, but very few words make it past my lips. "Why are you doing this? I have done nothing to you! Let me go!"

"Oh, Martin. Don't you know?" Carmen asks, a glint in her eye. "Your wife Elizabeth asked me to do this. And she can be rather convincing. She actually hired me a couple years ago to follow you, confirming her suspicions about your affairs." Carmen lets this revelation sink in as she takes another slow drag from her cigarette before continuing. "After I confirmed her suspicions, I became her regular contact. Every time she believed you might be having a new affair, I got a call. You both have kept me very busy. She paid me extra to frighten away a few of your lovers that she believed you might be getting too serious with. But the straw that finally broke the camel's back, as they say, was your last affair. I believe her name was Miranda, yes?" In the following pause, Carmen takes my silence for confirmation. Miranda was my most recent affair...

"Yes. I thought so," Carmen continues. "Well, Miranda was a member of your wife's book club, and her seeing Miranda every week was the true breaking point. It was then I got a very different call from Elizabeth." A sinister smile stretches across Carmen's lips as her next words roll off her tongue with foreboding, "And here we are!"

As I stare at Carmen, I realize she hasn't divulged whatever my wife has hired her to do. But I think it's safe to assume I will not like it. "I will pay you!" I blurt desperately. "Whatever my wife has promised you, I will double it if you let me go. And no one has to know about this. Nothing has happened here that we can't take back."

"Martin, Martin..." Carmen muses as she finishes her cigarette and leans over to put it out in the ash tray beside her chair. She then rises from her chair, with the black suitcase in hand, and advances to the table with the photos. She sets the black suitcase upon the table as she gathers up the photographs into a neat pile. "This is a rather shady part of town for you to be out in so late at night, Martin. I believe you probably gave Elizabeth some lie about not being able to sleep and needing to take a drive to clear your head."

I watch with building fear as Carmen opens the suitcase and dons a pair of gloves before she again continues. "A lot of bad characters prowl these streets at this hour. And one of these bad characters has been selling some questionable drugs to kids around town. I have been hired to deal with him also."

My dread keeps building as I hear Carmen assembling something behind the opened lid of the suitcase. "I discretely lifted this from our drug dealer for tonight's special occasion," Carmen states matter-of-factly as she flashes a pistol in her right hand, silencer attached. "As it turns out, this gun can be directly linked to our neighborhood drug dealer through ballistics. And I happen to know he will be closing a deal approximately a block over very soon. Such a shame that you had to witness the deal on your evening drive. Your untimely demise will be quite the tragedy. And our sleazy dealer will find himself off the streets and behind bars for murder in the first degree." Carmen moves from behind the table and positions herself directly in front of me, a sly glint reflected in her eyes. "Two birds with one stone," she states, smiling.

"Please, please, please..." I beg. "Don't do this! I'll do anything! Please!" Yet, at my pleading, her smile only broadens.

"HELP! PLEASE! SOMEONE HELP ME!" I scream. "HELP!!!'

"Your screams are useless Martin. No one will hear you here. And even if they did, they would not dare venture into these shady streets at this hour." Even as the words leave her lips, I know this to be true.

"You won't get away with this! You will go to prison!" I yell, tears stinging the corners of my eyes in a mix of rage and terror as I struggle futilely with my bonds.

"Martin, darling, I have been getting away with this for years," Carmen purrs, her words sending shivers down my spine. I watch as she levels the gun at my forehead, terror fully seizing me as my bladder gives way, the acrid smell of urine filling my nostrils.

"Please..." I plead, tears spilling down my cheeks.

"It's nothing personal, Martin," Carmen states, gun in position. "But your wife has quite the impressive life insurance policy on you. And, as it turns out, you are worth more dead than alive."
#fiction  #horror  #prosechallenge  #Itslit 
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Abusive Relationship
Written by Tylasmith

This is acting right ............

your words are like swords 

your form fist with your stares 

you press down on my skin 

you leave tattoed imprints 

of pain 

you tear my heart into 

you charged battery against my brain 

you wrap me in your lies 

you tie a rope to my neck and lead me astray 

your an  attention whore

you get inside the brain 

and implant maggots 

that gnaw at my soul 

you presence is like a ghost and lingers on my skin 

you collect my tears and bathe in them 

you charge me guilty in the courtroom 

you manipulate reality 

you drop blood from my heart 

your sorrys are toothfaced 

you push me down into the ground 

you kiss my wrist and pull me into you 

and pat my head 

and tell if I behaved better I wouldn´t be treated this way

you suck on my breast 

suckle down my salty tears and woes 

you crawl in a fetal postion 

when I get up and stand straight and curse your fucking ass out 

you tell me I make the hard times harder 

you toil long hard hours in your room 

laying in the bed 

I pour all my passion in you 

I harvested my hopes in you 

begging you to give me life 

make me feel alive 

all you did was make me feel dead 

I kissed your lips 

and I breathed in carbon dioxide 

I work so damn hard to save this fragile 

story from falling apart 

I wasted my winter break pouring bucket of tears into the phone to get you to understand I love you , But you hurt me 

I built the walls from love sweat and blood 

and tears 

trying so fucking DAMN HARD TO SAVE YOU 

FROM DROWNING ALONE 

so shit I took the rope that you lead me on and tied a break to it 

and sunk deep in the river of pain 

praying you come home and fall into my arms 

and we pull back the seams of the curtain 

and let the love flow in you 

I tried tdamn it 

why the hell wasn´t I good enough 

why did you have to hit me 

and not her 

why did you have to choke me in front everyone  

shit I am sorry that your scared to lose me 

but you already lost me 

your lying next to a ghost 

I fall in asleep in my coffin 

I fall asleep to another lie this was love 

and that you loved me 

I was the butt of the joke in this romance 

a mere jester something to laugh at 

are laughs conjoined and high pitched 

sway and fall in line with each other 

are hands wrapped into each other's part 

I was the actress 

you were the actor 

but what I didn´t know I was the supporting actress ......................

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Abusive Relationship
Written by Tylasmith
This is acting right ............
your words are like swords 
your form fist with your stares 
you press down on my skin 
you leave tattoed imprints 
of pain 
you tear my heart into 
you charged battery against my brain 
you wrap me in your lies 
you tie a rope to my neck and lead me astray 
your an  attention whore
you get inside the brain 
and implant maggots 
that gnaw at my soul 
you presence is like a ghost and lingers on my skin 
you collect my tears and bathe in them 
you charge me guilty in the courtroom 
you manipulate reality 
you drop blood from my heart 
your sorrys are toothfaced 
you push me down into the ground 
you kiss my wrist and pull me into you 
and pat my head 
and tell if I behaved better I wouldn´t be treated this way
you suck on my breast 
suckle down my salty tears and woes 
you crawl in a fetal postion 
when I get up and stand straight and curse your fucking ass out 
you tell me I make the hard times harder 
you toil long hard hours in your room 
laying in the bed 
I pour all my passion in you 
I harvested my hopes in you 
begging you to give me life 
make me feel alive 
all you did was make me feel dead 
I kissed your lips 
and I breathed in carbon dioxide 
I work so damn hard to save this fragile 
story from falling apart 
I wasted my winter break pouring bucket of tears into the phone to get you to understand I love you , But you hurt me 
I built the walls from love sweat and blood 
and tears 
trying so fucking DAMN HARD TO SAVE YOU 
FROM DROWNING ALONE 
so shit I took the rope that you lead me on and tied a break to it 
and sunk deep in the river of pain 

praying you come home and fall into my arms 
and we pull back the seams of the curtain 
and let the love flow in you 
I tried tdamn it 
why the hell wasn´t I good enough 
why did you have to hit me 
and not her 
why did you have to choke me in front everyone  
shit I am sorry that your scared to lose me 
but you already lost me 
your lying next to a ghost 
I fall in asleep in my coffin 
I fall asleep to another lie this was love 
and that you loved me 
I was the butt of the joke in this romance 
a mere jester something to laugh at 
are laughs conjoined and high pitched 
sway and fall in line with each other 
are hands wrapped into each other's part 
I was the actress 
you were the actor 
but what I didn´t know I was the supporting actress ......................
#nonfiction  #romance  #horror  #culture  #stainedskin 
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Juice
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I've done it. I've written 100 reviews for Prose and now I need a break. It's your turn prosers. Write a review for anything (movie, show, book, game, etc.) Be a positive or negative review. Share your thoughts and feelings. Tag friends and share it on social media. Write on, Prosers!
Written by B27321 in portal Reviews

Review; Fuck you

A Review

Of you

Poetic Too

Some Thing

New

Or Tried

&

True

For I

Have

Sent

a Few

Nor Did

you Ever

Deem

Reply

To I

But Cast

me

&

Mine

a Side

To Wither

&

Die

Regardless

Of Strength

Of Rhyme

Or Time

you Don’t

Weigh Mine

a Sure

Sign

you Are

Not

On the

Line

Prose

a Rubber

Dime

#B27321

2
0
2
Juice
19 reads
Donate coins to B27321.
Juice
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I've done it. I've written 100 reviews for Prose and now I need a break. It's your turn prosers. Write a review for anything (movie, show, book, game, etc.) Be a positive or negative review. Share your thoughts and feelings. Tag friends and share it on social media. Write on, Prosers!
Written by B27321 in portal Reviews
Review; Fuck you
A Review
Of you
Poetic Too
Some Thing
New
Or Tried
&
True
For I
Have
Sent
a Few
Nor Did
you Ever
Deem
Reply
To I
But Cast
me
&
Mine
a Side
To Wither
&
Die
Regardless
Of Strength
Of Rhyme
Or Time
you Don’t
Weigh Mine
a Sure
Sign
you Are
Not
On the
Line
Prose
a Rubber
Dime
#B27321
#nonfiction  #horror  #education  #poetry  #opinion 
2
0
2
Juice
19 reads
Load 2 Comments
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