If you value your own safety and always err on the edge of caution, I implore you to stop reading at once! Be off with you, for your own good, and don’t ever read another line.

From the sound of your silence, I shall proceed:

Now that those of you who remain have all chosen to dance with the devil (and I certainly wish you the best of luck, for I will certainly have nothing to do with the outcome!), I shall consider myself absolved of any concern as to the veracity of my effort in communicating to you the dangers manifest in the following words. This document contains a brief account of an experience related to me by a man who, since meeting me, has fallen gravely ill, so much so that his sight has left him for greener pastures and he remains quite unalterably mute (though, for better and a bit for the worse, his writing mind and penmanship are remarkably acute, and quite worth their respective form of audience, though bleak are the stories from his ageing imagination). As I heard his account, I took careful note of the characteristics of the peculiar man in the story as he was described in the told unfolding of events, and I urge you now to do the same as I recall them for you in the most objective representation any honest translator can manage:

A man tells me that he goes to work every day, seven days a week, as a Security Officer and CCTV Technician, responsible for monitoring and maintaining the closed circuit surveillance system in a 250-unit luxury apartment building. This job is his life as he lives in a small domestic-type alcove adjacent to the security suite, and a loose, 24-7 shift on-call had never given him reason to complain, certainly also not because of the freedom it gave him to set his own schedule and move in and around the building with ease. A heavy wind of trouble, however due, had never blown through the apartment complex, and nobody noticed the black swan perched on the eaves at sunrise.

One evening, as the nightlife crowd outside was shifting from dinner dates to more melodic interests, the Security Officer woke from a late afternoon nap and rolled his eyes over the series of surveillance monitors just as a tall, strikingly handsome man rolled through the revolving door. As he approached the front desk, I’m told, a large stone bird carved out of limestone separated from the wall behind him where it presided over the exit, and plummeted down to the entryway floor, slicing straight down through the doorman’s shoulder on its way. All of this the Security Officer witnessed on the screen. The doorman survived, but unable thereafter to manage any heavy bags or doors, for sure.

What’s more, as has been relayed to me, after the tall man had finished with the front desk, the hotel’s software system immediately started flickering, misbehaving, and eventually had to be shut down to finally clear the line of repeated, unrequested, outgoing emergency service calls. Thereby untethered to his security office, and unassisted by any video feed with the whole system being compromised, the man then tells me, he stalked through the hotel floors trying to find that tall, mysterious man. Not quite sure what to even ask him, the Security Officer started to worry about whether or not confronting him was a wise idea. Perhaps there was something about this tall man, something unspeakable, and sinister, and visually betrayed by his striking appearance and physical confidence. Perhaps coming across him would constitute a proximity breach, and something might come off, or transfer, or infect! him if he came too close, like it seemed to have done for the doorman and receptionist in the front lobby. The Security Officer then tells me that he abandons his plans and then attempts to evacuate the building as soon as possible, his heartbeat throbbing behind his eyes, all the while avoiding where the tall man might be at every cost.

To curtail the rest of the story, this man spent the next six days hiding in various rooms of the hotel, perpetually looking over his shoulder, deathly afraid of accidentally crossing paths with that terrifyingly handsome tall man. It wasn’t until two weeks after that (two weeks spent, undoubtedly, poring over video recordings from the various camera feeds in the front lobby, analyzing every possible frame for as much visual data as possible) that the Security Officer finally mustered up the courage to track down and confront the tall man in the park that stretches along the Welkin River. How he figured out when I would be sitting on that bench, I doubt I will ever know. Perhaps it was his lucky day. Well, perhaps that was crass of me, I apologize.

Needless to say, he found that tall, handsome man he was looking for, and he told him everything that he had seen, everything that had happened, his theories about how it all worked out, and the sleepless week he spent evading his unknowing foe, as well as the trail of misery and desperation he found along the way, all the while as I sat there listening in complete silence. I heard all of this, true, though it wasn’t entirely novel information, and I told him, “Thank you for letting me know,” just as I told the thousands of others who have tracked me down to give me the same message over the years. The man responded with nothing, so I departed from him there.

This all begs the question, then, as to whether or not my delivery to you of the dangers of reading this, and your acceptance and participation therein constitutes a form of interaction between us. Either way, I wish you luck! Though I must admit, I can’t possibly have any influence on the outcome of what may befall you now.

@SmldrngNrclpsy #WRTGPRAC

Another world, a different history. A world recovering from a devastating great war. Their values, their lives are still firmly entrenched in the 1900s even though it is 2019. Diah Stephens, after running afoul of a corrupt magistrate is sentenced to prison. This is his first meal...

Out of the cell, down to the ground floor, through a lot of barred doors, the canteen area was huge. Possibly big enough for five hundred men.

Will picked up a tray and joined the queue. More were joining them constantly as they completed their showers. It took a few minutes but finally, at the front, a prisoner stood on kitchen duty with a ladle and an array of mugs.

Diah watched as each man held his tray out and with a splat, a mound of grey… something. Not even a bowl, just splat, onto the tray. The kitchen assistant picked up a mug, dunked it in a huge vat and put that on the tray too. The line moved on.

For some men, the mound of mush looked a more healthy colour and their mugs vanished out of sight behind the wall.

Finally, it was Will’s turn.

The man behind the counter’s eyes widened and mouthed “Really?” He chuckled.

Diah looked at Will. He was making some odd moves. Tweaking his ear, nodding Diah’s way. He seemed to be twiddling his fingers too. The man behind the counter nodded and when it was Diah’s turn, a spoonful of sugar mysteriously appeared and dropped into his mug of tea.

They moved on, sat at a table and Diah looked at it.

He looked around. He couldn’t see any sign of cutlery. Will took a spoon out of his pocket and started to tuck in.

“Wher”

“Shhhhh!” Will put his finger over his mouth.

Diah sighed and mimed eating his.

Will rolled his eyes, pointed at the spoon and held up a finger. One. Then he mimed grabbing it and shoving it into his mouth.

Diah sighed and nodded. He stuck a finger into it. At least it was warm, whatever it was. He sniffed it, then shoved it into his mouth.

Tasteless gloop. So, not foul, but hardly appetising either, he scooped it up and shovelled it in. Then he took a sip of whatever it was in the mug. It looked a bit like tea but god, what had they done to it? It was incredibly bitter. Even with that sugar, he grimaced.

Will pointed at the tea, then at his chest and tugged on his hair.

Diah sniggered and mimed back. Tugging on a chest hair, a shaving motion and shook his head.

Will chuckled, pointed at Diah’s mug and took a huge gulp of his own.

Diah sighed and nodded, taking a swig. He finished the glop, held up his hand and shrugged.

Will nodded, pointing at a sink on the other side of the canteen, then at the tray, pointing at a rack for used ones.

Diah drained his mug, shook his head in disgust and walked to the rack. He slid the tray in one of the slots and put the mug on the bottom shelf with some others before jogging over to the sink to wash his hands.

Leaving the canteen, finally, speech.

“You did well in there, lad.”

“What was that slop?”

“Porridge.”

“But I’ve had porridge. It’s not normally that colour is it?”

“Didn’t say it was good quality porridge did I? They boil the life out of it.”

“What was all that about in there anyway? Why couldn’t we speak?”

“Think yourself lucky, lad. From what I’ve been told by some who’ve been on ten stretches before, it used to be prison wide until about the seventies.”

“God! Really? Why?”

“Victorian thing, I think. Stop the prisoners from talking, stop ’em from organising riots, causing trouble or passing on their skills to the younger ones, like you. They relaxed that when they realised a lot of the men in prison after the war were just veterans who’d made mistakes, found it difficult to adjust back to civvy life after so long. Besides, it didn’t stop us from talking, as you saw. We found ways around it with a little mime and sign language.”

Ah, a new exhibit!

Is it just me~ or is that Mummy keeping its eyes on me.

What is the Mummy doing in the hallway, anyway?

I look at the Mummy and for a split second- I tell you it’s hands twitched.

Okay, now I’m just going to back away from it and run.

What in the world??

Why do I hear footsteps approaching from behind me?

Don’t look back, then again I know that I’ll regret it.

Eeh!

The Mummy’s chasing me down the hallway!!

No, the exit door is locked.

I’m trapped!

The Mummy let’s out a shrill.

O, my ears now hurt...

My heart is racing..there’s no where to hide from this Mummy.

Why did I leave the tour group and wander off to explore the Museum alone?

Bad move.

The Mummy raised its hands and the last thing I saw was a swarm of scarabs flying towards me.

#TheMummy.

Open your jar of life,

let the sunshine in,

rhapsody of zest

of drunken dew

dancing on your skin,

melting in mouth.

Sunshine radiating

like lemon bars -

a burst of sun

caressing your soul,

whistling flavor buds

kissing roof

of your mouth,

intense chocolate mood.

Tang of honeyed dreams,

taste of warm kisses

lingering at dusk,

pangs of pleasure

as sunshine spokes

stretch arms wide.

Fresh mown grass

on tip of your tongue,

dripping strawberry jam

in burst of flavor

on crustless toast.

Melting joy

tasting like nirvana.

Zing of promise

of purple grapes

embracing the sky.

#Challenge #TasteOfSunshine #pleasurePangs

I sat and watched

the desolation of the night

evolve into the soft morning.

I turned my face to the sun

and saw the shadows

fall like sheets behind me.

The grimness of the past

was but one minute

in my cascading life.

The manner in which

I coped with the past

made the difference

and the tide turned,

the world didn’t end.

I left the bad tremors

in a heap

of nonchalance

and shucked

my caterpillar husk

allowing my

inner butterfly

to soar free into

the pink clouds

of grace.

Sinking under my skin -

a boiling vortex of quicksand -

my faults parch my throat,

gnarled hands squeeze my psyche.

I accept the blame into my soul

knowing innocent mistakes

are meant to be forgiven.

I walk, head held high

into the forgiveness of night,

no longer needing to lament

the past as my missteps dissolve

and slip through my teeth.

#Challenge #CorrectError