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Challenge of Inspiration 4
Use the phrases below in a unique story or poem which begs a rejoinder of some kind from other Prosers. Responses need not be entered directly into the challenge--feel free to compose your response as a regular post, then put a link to it in the comments of the original piece so we can all find it. One winning original entry and one winning response entry will be blessed with a life-changing $10 prize! I know... it boggles the mind just to think on it. ______________Here are your challenge phrases: _______________ Fallen heroes, tempting fate, til it burns, in the eyes of strangers, like foreplay, for all the stars, torn apart, begging for mercy, Stairs of Valhalla, without a fight ____________ For clarity, when I say, "Bon chance, mes amis," that is NOT one of the phrases. **ahem** Bon chance, mes amis!

Tripping Down Memory Lane

I don't know why I get nervous looking at old photos. Maybe I'm afraid I'll miss a memory so much that I'll leave the present to go look for it. Maybe I'm afraid I'll find a memory I tried hard to forget. I look down at the smiling reflection in the photo album and realize I don't recognize her anymore. It feels like I have lived a lifetime between these moments captured on the page in front of me. These fallen heroes were sacrificed for the version of myself that lives today.

I brush my hand over the corner of the album to turn the page, tempting fate and my own illusion of sanity that I've worked hard to build pixel by pixel. There's the little girl beaming on the tricycle her parents saved up for. There's the girl with her new baby sister, their matching, dimpled smiles stealing the spotlight. The girls grow up and their cheeks are no longer pressed together in wide grins. They stand apart with arms crossed and a face that begs their mother to turn the camera off. I look at the space between them 'til it burns holes into my eyes.

In the next photo, the girl is alone, the corners of her lips ever so slightly upturned into a polite hint of a smile. There is leftover adhesive on the page, pictures removed from the girl's story and moments rewritten. Some tape was ripped off a bit more fervently. These are the moments I tried to forget. This page is torn and covered in the ghosts of moments past. I close my eyes and flip it before I remember the darkness that used to occupy it. In the eyes of strangers, this is a monument to destruction. In my eyes, this is a reminder of the turbulence I endured to reach this point in my journey.

I keep my eyes squeezed shut with anticipation, slowly taking in this moment like foreplay. It has been a while since I opened this album, but I know what comes next. There's the promising young woman with the smile that doesn't reach her eyes. Her graduation cap is in her hand. She is surrounded by her family as her peers across the city are drinking champagne with their friends. At the time, she was still holding onto people who were never going to make the final cut in the photo album. Today, I barely remember they were around.

I look at the way my grandmother holds me tightly with proud tears in her eyes. I can't believe I ever traded time with my family for drinks with bad friends. I feel pangs of regret deep in my stomach. Even then, I wouldn't undo it for all the stars in the sky. All of those versions of myself that were built up and torn apart are the foundation on which I've been architecting the best version of myself.

What is the best version of myself? If anyone had the answer to that question, they would be regarded as a prophet around the world. People would flock from far and wide to hear their wisdom — and that's just to get a glance at the lucky fool who achieved enlightenment in the mortal realm. The first person who can answer that question for others will be hailed as a god. Many have tried and failed to answer these questions, but their followers made them immensely wealthy all the same.

Life is entropic. People are chaotic. Time is incomprehensible. We all are born screaming, live begging for mercy, and die hoping for eternal reward or even just the promise of a ceasefire from the cannons of fate. For some, to experience nothing at all is preferable to the mayhem of life on earth.

If all goes according to plan — and naturally, nothing ever really will — then the best version of myself will come to fruition on the last day of my life. Then I will have been able to say that I spent every day climbing up. The Stairs of Valhalla will reveal themselves to me as my existence peaks with my dying breath.

To remain stagnant is to choose to fall. Accepting a descent into mediocrity forces you to collect dead weight on your way down. Choosing to scale the mountain means shedding the old versions of yourself along the way so there's room at the top for the person you're meant to be. I say goodbye to the girl who wanted to fit in with bad friends, the young woman who put everyone before herself, the woman with no self-worth. They lie below me on the pages of the album and in the levels I've climbed below.

They didn't go down without a fight, but in time I understood why they had to be left behind. The little girl who was afraid to look uncool by hugging her sister made way for the woman who cherishes affection from her love. The young woman who felt nothing but despair became the woman who dared to love herself. Some say that moving forward means never looking back. I've found that progress requires us to learn from the pieces of ourselves that we leave behind.

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