So, I am stalling--

Here on this broken stone road

Afraid of what ifs--

Stalling out, and up

The road a ways I see you,

Stood still and quiet.

Up the road a ways

You are there as if waiting.

Not stalling like me. 

Ways I cannot see

Take you where you need to be--

No stone roads guide you!

You are your own road. 

Un-stone, unbroken. 

"Leon!!" She was doubled over, puking her guts out into a garbage bin after too much alcohol and not enough cocaine. San Fran was much colder at night than the valley. It's the death that rolls off of the water, the wind that kicks up the smell of urine from the sidewalk, the sky scraping metal buildings. The homeless have an aftertaste when they pass you by.

Leon walked down the dark alley, reached out for the back of her neck and warmed her skin with his cold hands. "Let it out dear, just let it out."

Sabine smiled, mouth wet with saliva. "Take me to the ER, that demon wormed his way into my gut."

I admit:

a counterfeit spit split hypocrite

shit

the armpit

of America

dimwit misfit unfit

for motherhood

pity, isn't it?

Boy, do we have a treat for you lovers of all things spooky and Halloween-ish. We have been lucky enough throw a whole bunch of questions at Emily Swallow; some stupid, some not so much. You may know her as Amara from Supernatural; but she is so much more than that...

P: You are in a time machine that lands in a dystopian era with no books or TV, what do you say to them?

E: I'd be relieved no one would shame me for not being caught up on Game of Thrones

P: What would be the one book you recommend our community read before they die and why?

E: A History of the World in 10 1/2 Chapters, by Julian Barnes...it is fiction, history and essay rolled into one, is thought-provoking, challenging, and just plain silly. Barnes writes each chapter as a self-contained short story, but there is a through-line if one would like to trace it. It asks so much and yet not much at all of its reader...it's up to you to decide how much meaning to ascribe to it!

P: Describe yourself in three words

E: Curious, impulsive, wanderer

...

Read the rest of this epic interview on our blog site www.blog.theprose.com

The walnut tree in the yard was old.

My mom hired a lumberjack, who

Would later arrive with a quite bold

And slightly annoying attitude.

He started with the smaller branches,

So we could portion the wood later

On, when he would be done with the job.

I was crying, because I missed the 

Old walnut tree. And its flying leaves

Encircled me, the last embrace, both

Comfortable and anonymous: meek.

What I did not know, that feeling,

The little hymn of broken leaves, which

They muttered in my ears was simply: change.

Good morning, Prosers,

It’s week forty-one of the Prose Challenge of the Week! Last week saw you all writing about drunken one-nighters. We had shed-loads of superb entries to read, so thank you everyone.

Before we find out which one of you takes the $100 prize, let’s take a look at this week’s prompt:

Prose Challenge of the Week #41: Write about change through chaos. The winner will be chosen based on a number of criteria, this includes: fire, form, and creative edge. Number of reads, bookmarks, and shares will also be taken into consideration. The winner will receive $100. When sharing to Twitter, please use the hashtag #ProseChallenge

Get writing, now.

Back to the winner of week forty. We have read all of your entries and thoroughly enjoyed every single one. There can only be one winner, however, and after much deliberation that winner is, @Mel with her piece “Just another face.” Congratulations to you, we will be in touch shortly to arrange transfer of your winnings!

That’s all for this week, here’s to a week filled with all things Prose!

Until next time, Prosers,

Prose.

Prowling the alleys of rhymes,

Captain Hook spins a bloody yarn,

fantasy unfurled like Jolly Roger flag

when open sea and sky met

old salt’s mischievous half smile.

He was not a buffoon when it came

to booty of shiny doubloons.

Pirate seadog told his tale

of a ghostly harbor

of lost phantom ships-

The bilge be suckin’

and me mateys

be dancin’

with Jack Ketch,

at the end

of their ropes.

A tale of too

much grog,

three sheets to the wind,

and blaggards pillagin’.

Me mates be stealin’

a buccaneers’ wench,

be throwin’ her to the hold,

crackin’ Jenny’s teacup

in battened down hatches,

be raisin’ kill devil

to the blustery sky.

Me tars be ravagin’ fair wench

when blimey, me saw

clipper ship be pursuin’

yonder to east.

Shiver Me Timbers!

Heave to, I be yellin’

Weigh anchor

and hoist the mizzen!

Soon me ship

be death vessel,

gathering souls

of me hearties

to walk yon plank.

Avast, me phantom

ship now be restin’

in Davy Jones’ Locker.

Dead men be telling

no tales

but be shark bait

ten fathoms under.

Stop taking it out on me!

I'm sick of the click-click trigger,

Of your sickness. Your sadness.

You're bitter. Your hateful lines

Lies, you force me to tell on paper.

Your tears turned ideas spilled as ink,

As I bleed for every word you spit.

It's my blood you draw, my end.

I am the one drained empty,

By your empty drain of boring,

Repetitive strain. I'm sick. As are you,

With nothing left to gain from it.

So use me... but not for personal gain.

Use me and make something great.

Or else throw me at the wall,

And let my death be a creative fate. 

let me drown

drown in your fingers

drown in your kisses

each feeling now lingers

I long for you

fingers, hands and lips

I long for the pressure

on top of my hips

it might sounds crazy

my wish to drown

insanities likely

when you've got me all wound

so drown me now

in your delectable touch

drown me in pleasure

it'll be such a rush

drown me with fingers

that dance over skin

drown me with hands

with pressure they pin

they press in closer

your getting me high

I'm drunk on your touch

you're making me sigh

your hands they glide

over my delicate skin

the skin on my neck

I turn on and you win

so drown me in you

in fingers, hands and lips

drown my in you

digging into my hips