Prose Challenge of the Week #6
Morning, Prosers,
It’s a brand new week, and a brand new Prose Challenge of the Week.
We are absolutely stoked as a team to see such fantastic entries; the quality of your Prose is absolutely superb!
So, without further ado, let’s get you writing more awesome pieces.
Here is this weeks challenge:
Prose Challenge of the Week #6 - In no more than 1000 words, continue this sentence: “Until now I’d lost all hope…” The winner will be chosen by Prose based on a number of criteria, this includes: fire, form, and creative edge. Bookmarks and shares will be taken into consideration, but won’t decide the winner solely. Winner will receive $100.
Onto the winner of the last challenge. The only downside of you all writing so well, is that it makes it even harder for us to judge. We’ve deliberated, and have made our decision.
The winner of Prose Challenge of the Week #5 and $100 is: @SilentLife, with “Blue to Black”
Congratulations to you, we will be in touch within the next day to arrange the transfer of your funds.
Just before we close this announcement, if you’d like to get your hands on $500 and writerly swag, you have less than two weeks left to enter The Copperplate Awards, so what are you waiting for?
Here’s to a super creative week!
Prose.
Losing Posture
"Ben, are you listening to me?" I hear Dr. Roberts say. He snaps his fingers to try and catch my attention. "Did you hear what I just said?"
I turn to him. He always carries a slight scowl on his face, but now the scowl is more prominent. He takes off his huge and thick glasses and rubs his face in exasperation. Then, in a moment of epiphany, he asks, "What are you thinking about, Ben? You've been staring at the walls while I'm trying to talk to you for a while now."
I sigh, almost worn out even before I begin to speak. "Well," I begin, "I've been staring at these boring and dull white walls because they are a canvas for my mind, a blank page for my imagination to roam free on." I see him begin writing down notes on his notepad. He nods at me, and I continue. "I was thinking about how we all will die and eventually will have nothing to be remembered by. Sure, great men are remembered for their courage and nobility for generations, but they too will one day be forgotten. Since that's the case," I look dead into his small eyes, "then why bother with many of the things we do? It's all futile and worthless. Like me. At least my dad thought so when he left." I look down at my shoes, which are dirty and worn out from endless days of wearing them. "And I thought about why and how people can be so passionate about many of the things they are. What about movies makes Steven Spielberg care so much for them? What about music made Beethoven want to be a composer? What about the universe intrigued Einstein so much that he wanted to study it? I don't know, nor do I think I ever will..." Then I look back up at him, and he's still frantically scribbling down notes.
Finally, he puts down his pen and looks at me again. He begins to fiddle with his thumbs, almost nervously. "Yes, while we all will die, there is still meaning to be found in life. We all have a purpose, Ben, and just because you may not have found yours yet doesn't mean that you are without purpose for your life. Secondly, feeling disinterest for things in life is a very common symptom of depression, one that many people face. Men like Spielberg, Beethoven, and Einstein did what they did because they loved their work, and they all had a vision of a better world. They wanted to help leave the world in better shape than when they found it."
"Bull!" I spit out. "No one's that noble. We all are monsters inside. Selfish and greedy monsters who think of no one but themselves."
He's taken a bit aback by my response, but he quickly gains his composure and says with the most sincerity I've ever heard in anyone's voice, "Well, I don't quite believe that. I understand why you think that. You've been surrounded by people like that all of you're life. Your father left you and your brother. Your mother neglected you and your brother. Your brother then left home the moment he could. You needed someone who loved you and would let you know that you mattered. But no one ever showed you that. And I'm sorry. I truly am. It breaks my heart to see children, adolescents, and even adults who never realize how much they mean to the world." Tears begin to swell into my eyes, but I fight them back. "You are someone. And you have the ability to change the world. Always remember that, okay?"
I nod as I try and keep myself from crying, but it's no use. I break down and begin crying, right then and there. I release everything that's built up inside of me for the past sixteen years. Dr. Roberts walks over and puts his hand on my shoulder, assuring me that I'm okay and that he's there for me.
After what seems like forever, I can't cry anymore, and I look up at him. He smiles a bright smile down at me, and I say, "Thank you."
"Don't mention it. It's my job." Then he looks up at the clock on the wall. "Well, it's five o'clock. Time to go."
I stand up and begin to leave the room. "I'll see you next week."
"And I'll see you then." He puts his hand out, and right before I shake it, I come in and hug him. He's warm. I've never really hugged anyone before, though, and it feels nice. It feels better than what words could ever express. Then I leave his office, walk out of the building, and get into my car.
While on the way home, I stop by the hospital and pull into the back and up to the dumpster. Then I open the glove compartment and pull out an old revolver. I take it and open the car door. I walk over to the rusted dumpster, check to see if the round is full, and then dump all of the bullets out into the dumpster. Then I toss the gun in there as well. I walk back to the car, get in, close the door, and begin to drive away from there.
pretender pretender, who’s the next contender?
he pulls up his jeans
as night begins to fade
he leans in to say goodbye
with a kiss on my face
he fumbles and falls
as he makes his way out
i mumble to the walls
phrases i wish i could shout
i hear his car sputter to a start
as he drifts away
with him he took my heart
why can't i make him stay?
something's missing in my chest
as much as i wish it was the absence of breath it's just where love's been taken and not returned
his blind smile and frigid words
have left me burned
i wait for evening to come
so i can forget i'm not the one he loves
I’ve got nothing left to say
there are words
buried beneath layers of concrete tucked between my ribs in the place you used to be
words I cannot even begin to speak
their pronunciations long forgotten
words that could translate the Braille of my
scars into poetry
words that would make tragedy a beautiful thing
these are the words I used to sing
but they're lost now
to the streams of sorrow that erupted at the realization that beauty doesn't transform pain it simply masks it
and I was sick of being a masterpiece of sorrow
I'm still so goddamn sick of being put on display
as the one who made it
cause I sure as hell haven't arrived safely and my flight was shit but thank you for asking
so polite
so careful
as if I'd shatter I'm already coated in cracks but one tap might send me from unique to catastrophe
and you might have to recognize that some never leave rock bottom
I live here
and throwing down a stone like "it gets better" never helped me climb I'm being buried by your confidence and boys who think love means leaving when things get messy and girls who say I'm a shitty friend anyways cause every time I open my mouth the only thing that comes spilling out is silence because I've burned the pages of words that used to explain my decay
not that you'd want to read them
I was never any good at this
How do you know?
How do you know something's wrong?
When words
Say you need to be unique
But actions and unspoken rules
State you have to be normal
You have to fit in and don't dare to be different.
When it's no longer about who you want to be,
But what they want you to be.
And because they came before
they must be always right.
And because we are young
We must always be wrong.
When people hurt and hate and get away with it
Because it wears the guise of
Religious beliefs and political opinions
Law is to keep us safe
Religion is to give us faith
Safety shouldn't hurt us
Faith shouldn't frighten us
That's how you know something's wrong.
When a girl says she's "not like other girls"
Because she has been taught to believe that all girls are the same
Because she has been cultured into feeling being a girl is shameful
And being "like other girls" is the worst thing in the world
When girls can wear boys' clothes
Because men are powerful and superior
And it shows she's strong
But heaven forbid a boy wear a dress,
"He must be gay!
He's a freak!
Oh! Woe is me!
He must want to be a woman!
How weak! How shameful!
Doesn't he know that women are inferior?"
When certain people have to feel uncomfortable in their own skin
Because somehow your body is meant to define who you are.
I shouldn't feel uncomfortable in my own skin
My body is not me!
This body does not make me a girl nor anything else!
Gender is non-binary, Gender is fluid!
I should be able to be me without being mocked!
But I can't, so I hide.
I've hidden for far too long and it's time to break free.
For all of us to break free.
Cast off the chains! Tear down the walls!
We don't have to live in prison anymore!
But these four walls are all we know.
We were born within them and we'll die within them
Because we are so afraid of the unknown.
What if it's ugly?
But what if... it's beautiful?
