Four of our pillars collaborated to make a great piece as one over on Discord. Also, we added another month-long challenge, something in the way of joining a cult to free something pure. Here's that link.

https://www.theprose.com/challenge/14427

Back to a certain fab four and their creation, here's the link to our YouTube, with that piece narrated.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o2KbC54lcyU

Thank you, you four fantastic and beautiful brains.

And.

As always.

Thank you for being here.

-The Prose. team

Is it just me

Or does everything fade

Even those promises

That we once made?

Swept out to sea

Caught in a storm

All those promises

Soon lose their form

& where do they go

These broken words of sweet perfume?

Are they buried forevermore

Lost inside a bottomless tomb?

Who can know?

Who can say?

When we're the ones

Who throw them away

These words are wasted

Meaningless drivel

Pointless sentiment

That can become uncivil

Words are special

They can paint a picture

& should not be spoken

With malicious stricture

Words can build a tower high

& later tear that building down

So use your words with ample caution

Without an arrogant, frivolous crown

Always think before you speak

Don't let your words go for cheap

& most importantly don't make

A promise you will never keep

©CJ

I know nothing.

(Neither do you.)

Not even sure

the sky is blue.

Billions of planets

Spinnin’ in space—

Round & round,

All over the place.

What’s the chance

We’re all alone—

Living our lives

In a neutral zone.

I know nothing.

(Neither do you.)

We’re just chunks

In a time-space stew.

She smiled, stretching her lips upward, as she realized she had reached the glass ceiling. But there was no emotion, no feeling, only a rage that she could hardly contain. The men in the boardroom looked with self- satisfaction as the CEO gave his choice for President of the corporation. They fully realized that they must keep this resounding force down among the women where she belonged. She was beautiful, it was true, and way more capable than the rest of them, but they knew they must keep their good old boy society if they wanted to succeed.

“This is not fair!” she told herself. “They will be very sorry because I will never let them get the upper hand.” The smug gentlemen had no idea of the extent she could make them suffer. How did they ever think she had gotten this far when all the men held her back?

But Lilah went home angry that evening and began to hatch her plan. After all, she had done it before and had never been caught. She always got what she wanted, of that she was certain. She went into her safe and removed the anthrax that she had stored there for just such occasions, handling it carefully with a gas mask and gloves. Using her key to the office, she went in late that night and scattered the poison around the air vent of the boardroom. She called the CEO late that evening and said she was sick.

“Just because I didn’t pick you as President, you don’t have to be a sore loser,” he smirked. “I fully expect you to be there tomorrow to run the meeting because I’m going out of town. That is, if you plan to keep your job!”

Lilah again called him the next morning and said she couldn’t come in. The boss decided to cancel his meeting and go in instead. Soon the powdery fumes seeped into the boardroom, the pompous men began gasping and were rushed to the hospital where most of them died a painful death. The few that survived would never again be able to run a company, suffering physical and mental problems the remainder of their lives.

No matter how much Lilah was begged, she refused to come in to straighten out the corporation. “It’s an unsafe work space.” she said.

But you can’t keep a good psychopath down as she went on to do what she must to open her world to opportunity.

The stranger knocked upon the door,

A creaking, wooden throb,

And someone on the other side

Unlatched and turned the knob.

Uncertainty, a soft, "Hello,"

And, "May I use your phone?"

The person on the other side

Appeared to be alone.

An observation taken in,

No pictures on the wall.

He pointed somewhere down the way-

"Go on and make a call."

The thunder boomed; the stranger stalled

As wires were cut instead.

The gentleman began to sense

A subtle hint of dread.

A conversation thus ensued-

"So what has brought you out?

The rain has flooded everything,

And wiped away the drought.

Say, did you walk, or did you drive?

Why don't I take your coat?"

The stranger slowly moved his arms,

A sentimental gloat.

The water from the pouring skies

Enveloped cloth and shoe.

"Say, would you like a place to sleep?

I'll leave it up to you."

The person on the other side

Discarded his mistrust.

The stranger said his tire was flat,

And shed the muddy crust.

"The phone won't work," he also said.

"It could just be the storm.

Perhaps I will stay here tonight,

To keep me safe and warm."

The patron of the house agreed.

He hadn't seen the wire.

The chilly dampness prompted him

To quickly build a fire.

"You have a name? They call me Ed.

My wife was Verna Dean.

She passed away five years ago

And left me here as seen.

I guess it's really not so bad.

We never had a child.

I loved that Verna awful much,"

He said and sadly smiled.

"No property to divvy up.

The bank will get it all.

Say, do you want to try again

To go and make that call?"

The stranger grinned and left the flame

As to the phone he strode.

Within his pocket, knives and twine

In hiding seemed to goad.

A plan was formed- he'd kill the man;

Eviscerate him whole.

The twine would keep him firmly held;

The knife would steal his soul.

A lusty surge erupted hence;

A wicked bit of sin.

The stranger hadn't noticed yet

That someone else came in.

About the time a shadow fell,

He spun to meet a pan.

The room around him faded out

As eyes looked on a man.

A day or two it seemed had passed,

And when he woke all tied,

The stranger gazed upon old Ed

Who simply said, "You lied."

Reversing thoughts, the moment fled

And Ed said in a lean,

"No worries, stranger. None at all.

Hey, look, here's Verna Dean!"

He looked upon a wraith in rage;

It seemed his little lie

Combusted in a burning fit-

He didn't want to die.

So many victims in his life,

Some fifty bodies strewn.

And now he was the victim; now

The pain to him was known.

The stranger fought against the twine,

And noticed by his bed

The knife once in his pocket left

A trail of something red.

A bowl filled full of organs sat

As Verna poured some salt.

She exited with all of them.

"You know, this is your fault.

We demons wait for just the day

The guilty take the bait

And play with matches one last time-

I simply cannot wait

To taste the death within your flesh;

The venom in your gut.

So now you know the way they felt-

Hey, you've got quite a cut!"

The person on the other side

Removed his human skin-

Before his wife came back for more,

He offered with a grin:

"Say, stranger, is there anything

You'd like to say at all?"

I looked at all the blood and said,

"I'd like to make that call ... "

"It was the best of times. It was the worst of times ... "

Closing the book, I thought of Dickens; I thought of two cities parallel in a universe unfolding.

Laughing , I tossed its well worn rectangular shape onto the couch.

"If I'm going back to London, I'd much prefer Hogwarts," I mused.

Recalled to life

Venomous poison runs all through my veins 

Coursing and pulsing in my heart beat's path 

Bitten and then hunger takes hold the reigns 

Even a dummy could sum up this math 

Fever within as my flesh starts to stink

Sweat pouring down burns and trickles off me 

Thoughts sparse and rare and I can't seem to think

Eyes open wide but now I cannot see

Thirst so relentless my throat cries for aid

Stomach ablaze as I purge my last meal

Look at my hands and the color displayed 

Pale, ashen, rotting in each limb's appeal

Gone now are all of my woes, aches, and pains

Shamble and ramble and call out for ... BRAINS!

#poetry #horror #fantasy #zombie

eyes filling

coffee staining

typing intensifying

I wish I did less

dawn swelling

time slimming

and as anxiety rears its ugly head

I fold in

I laugh not to cry. Life has already left my eyes, and I feel numb. I have cried so many nights, prayed to whatever gods may be for help, for nothing more than justice. We all die, and we all know it. But knowing your exact day and time is… Cold blue nights. You can’t beat death, but you can beat death in life - and I am unconquerable. I didn’t kill those children. Tomorrow is another day just like thousands of days I’ve lived alone in this cell, singing a silent Hallelujah, and trying to breathe. I am tired - I am sick of begging and waiting for the water to drain. I told everybody the truth, but they couldn't deal with it - it is a lion that no one could tame.

Every night, alone in the darkness of my room, I decide to kill myself early in the morning, but I always end up crying on my knees. All the wounds are hidden, behind the emptiness of soul. I am not empty - I swear I am not empty. And I am less always than alive, and less dead than forgive. Twenty more days until my happy ending. They killed me seventeen years ago when they locked me up, and now, now they are just releasing me - setting me free. I miss life, red oaks, and my daughter's smile. I miss her above all. I miss what I will never have. Don’t let your heart get heavy. Don’t let them beat you.

- I am fighting for freedom!

Kiss me, tremble me, and love me,

But you can't write an honest poem

Escape, rain and bombinate me,

But you can't write an honest poem

Listen, cry and drag me,

But you can't write an honest poem

Undress, drown and caress me,

But you can't write an honest poem

Bite, smile and ignite me,

But you can't write an honest poem

Buy, by and bye me,

But you can't write an honest poem

Lie, lure and hurt me,

But you can't write an honest poem

Kiss, moan and be me,

But you can't write an honest poem

Fly, whisper and save me,

But you can't write an honest poem