_______________ A knock on my brain._____________________

_______________There once was___________________________

_________________a closed door.__________________________

__________________Now its open._________________________

____________________There is a box._______________________

_______________________A ribbon comes off,________________

_________________________once tied neatly in a bow,__________

__________________________________ and the lid is off._______

_______________________________There's bubble wrap,_______

_____________________________there's secrets.______________

__________________________The questions come.____________

_______________________I think and think._________________

_____________________I think of excuses. They ask,___________

________________________"was it really a joke?"______________

__________________________Of course not, I think, and,_______

____________________________"do they know?" More excuses,__

____________________________________"my mental health?"__

_______________________________and now the bubble wrap___

_____________________________it's unraveled,______________

________________________________and everything's...________

__________________________________falling apart.__________

Then,__________________________________________________

I realize,________________________________________________

I just need to be led to His path,_____________________________

I look back and see, and wow, it's already there, behind the secrets and worlds influence on me...___________________________________

I was four.

Opi said it was a wake.

He said, "Marushka, we will go and look." With respect, for the dead.

Dead, I knew to be the not-moving.

The dead man was very important. So many people came to see him.

With respect.

Lying there.

"...a Politician," Opi said. I thought that must be something like a Policeman.

An Officer behind the scenes, at some desk, off duty, no uniform. I saw him armed, with telephone. Important.

He had a pin. On his chest, a little flag, over his silent heart.

People gathered. They looked, pointed. One or two at a time, we filed through. The room was small, or it was really the edge of a hall, a corner roped off.

"Did he hang himself?" asked a boy older, more worldly than I.

"Hush! whatever gave you such an idea?!" scolded his Mother.

"...but Mutter..."

"Sh."

And they stepped out of line, an attendant guiding them to the right Exit.

After much standing around and twisting our brims in our hands, it was our turn to walk along the rope.

The box behind it was lifted high.

So high a grown man could lean in and kiss the dead man's cheek.

For a moment it was just Opi, the deadman, and me.

Opi raised me. The man's face was wet.

Tears? I asked. "Spit," Opi whispered.

Now I noticed the man behind, seated, half-covered from viewing by the casket and fancy skirting.

Eating.

He was eating! And he was crying while eating. He tore into day's old bread, and with dirty hand, wiped sobs. The snot mixing with crumb.

Breaking the bread, with himself.

The back of his hand, wiping and caking his stubble, more, and more with each bite. With each wipe.

I could not turn away.

"Opi!," I said, "What is that beggar doing?!"

"That is the Sin Eater," said Grandfather in the smallest voice, as a hand noisily tossed several cents into a metal bowl at the beggarman's feet and pushed another old loaf upon him. I could no longer tell if he was hungry.

It was now the deadman, the beggar, Opi and me.

I knew Sin was wrong. And here was one man eating up a whole Church week of Communion!

"He is eating the dead man's Sins," Opi said as we turned away.

It was then I tasted Shame.

2024 JUN 15

As I lean toward the light

A very small light

From a very small candle

I found in the trash

I can see enough

To finish this assignment

Soon

As I lean toward the light

This dwindling light

From this dwindling candle

My last candle

I feel like the light

Struggling to become more than

It is

As I lean toward this light

I add slivers of wax

Collected from my last light

To keep seeing this light

As my

Resuscitated candle

Keeps seeing me

I want to cast

My skills on the world

Not just my shadow on the wall

I want to be

What others believe I can

Not just the failure

They believe I will become

As I lean into this light

My only friend protecting me from

The darkness in both

This room and my life

I say a small prayer

That I may lean toward it again

Tomorrow

Pilon after pilon

outlines the

under construction

signs amidst

connect the dot

orange neon with

ringed iridescent

reflective strip

as accent to

confusion...

an accident

waiting

to happen

eight hours

downtown

...prevented

by forethought

& route planning

when spinning...

out of control

hooky!

the body rises

& suddenly

the way

looks clear

from above

on landing.

2023 NOV 29

Snip snip

snippety snip...

somedays I read everything

the wrong way

Snippety snip...

I scrap book my fabricated self

for the fortnight

like punishment

is a videogame

outside of life

the motions...

calculable and safe

in concrete...

like there is no other way

no tubing through

no alt key memory card

in the pocket sleeve

no monkey wrenched

in the charred cake

of Marie Anoinette's

individual wrap ready-mades

a dashed dotted pattern...

for me to retrace

a white plastic slicker

cloaked in inner shadow

snip snip...

snippety sniper snip

I sit am bushed

cross hair cut

under the money tree...

washed and weathered

funny the lively sound paper makes

along the littered trail

in my wake.

2023 NOV 17

Congratulations thisisit! What a great write and a thoughtful nod to Sylvia Plath. I really loved that you touched on the little-recognized side effect from simply having too much (good) to choose from: decision paralysis. There is also that unique type of dread that can arise in the midst of it all. You summed it up perfectly with this line:

“There's no way to enjoy all the figs.

And if you don't choose a fig, it drops to the ground and rots. It's too late.”

*chef’s kiss*

Honorable mention entries are from the suspenseful amandabjaworski, the aquatically delightful pretty_archaic, the heartfelt ErJo1122, and the ever-scandalous Ferryman.

Thanks again for everyone’s thoughtful entries; you all continually amaze me with your talent! I hope to see you again for my next challenge <3

Death carried a camera. They got the idea from a culture who believed a photograph captured the subject's soul. And Death thought, sure, why not? Mostly, it worked out great. In certain situations, they could appear corporeally, but still be invisible. They stood, at the Grand Canyon, and looked out over incomprehensible beauty, shared in the awe with all the mortals. Just another tourist.

It was a hot day, well over 100 degrees Fahrenheit, and a number of tourists weren't as careful as they should have been. It was a bit of a hike for a man with a weak heart. Death lifted their long-lens camera, and captured an image of the man. In the view screen, the creased face stared in awe at the scene before him. His eyes were wide open, tears formed as he tried to take in the overwhelming majesty of nature. In the image, the man's face was red, his heart racing with exertion and excitement. Beads of sweat glistened and dripped just below his hairline. He was so alive.

Death looked up from the camera as the man sat on the ground and clutched at his chest. To the other tourists, he appeared overcome with emotion, not an uncommon sight. Then he slumped to the ground, bonelessly, and died. Tourists whipped out their cellphones, a family sent their kids to find a park ranger. A young man whose sun-kissed skin and muscular build suggested he was a lifeguard, tossed aside his backpack and started CPR. Blue-black hair waved silkily forward with each chest compression. His lips formed a perfect bow in his Asian face.

The lifeguard intrigued Death, as they were often intrigued by mortals who fought to delay the inevitable. It’s his time, Death thought. Don't make the old man suffer, let him leave on a high note. But the lifeguard continued on, oblivious.

Death raised his camera again, careful not to release the shutter. The young lifeguard had deep brown eyes, at first resolved, steely, but as the seconds passed, as he gave more breaths to the inevitable, his eyes showed tiredness, resignation, sorrow. Minutes went by, a park ranger arrived to take over, and the lifeguard stepped back, his face showing that he knew the old man was gone. He looked around to see if there was family to comfort. There was no one, the old man was alone. He put his backpack back on, waited until the ambulance arrived. He felt some responsibility for a stranger he'd never met while living, but whose breath he'd shared, whose heart he'd felt under his hands. His eyes were turbulent with emotion.

The lifeguard looked up and straight into Death's camera. Death doesn't have a heart, but something caught in their chest, that look of raw humanity connected to something deep within them. Click. They accidentally pressed the shutter release, and captured that look for eternity. Shit shit shit. It was not this young man's time. They felt the impending death strike zap down towards the lifeguard. With a flick of their wrist they directed it to a small bird flying overhead. The bird, unsuspecting, dropped with a thunk onto the path fifty feet behind the lifeguard. Some tourists recoiled from the dead bird and looked up quizzically.

Shit. The lifeguard was marked for death, and redirecting the death strikes would only delay the inevitable. There was no way Death could keep this man alive for his natural time. Or was there? Death was nothing if not stubborn and patient. Decisively, they split off this embodiment of themselves, Death now partially contained within this body, but still present elsewhere, everywhere, anywhere there is life.

Little Death looked down at his hands holding the camera. Strong, competent hands. The camera felt heavy in them, no longer an instrument of death, just a camera.

"Are you ok? If you don't mind me saying, you look a little pale."

Death was startled by the question, and saw the lifeguard in front of him, looking concerned.

"Yes, I'm new here." Death grimaced, as someone who had experienced all of humanity, he knew that was in the top ten most awkward phrases ever uttered in all of history.

The lifeguard just laughed. His laugh was melodic, infectious. His voice a surprising bass coming from a lean, wiry body. Something stirred in Death, in his belly and lower. Maybe I'm hungry? Distracted by these new sensations, he missed the lifeguard’s next question. "I'm sorry, what?"

"My name is Rich, what's your name?"

"My name is Death," Death said without thinking.

"Dev?" Rich looked slightly confused. That's not what he’d actually heard.

Death just stared at Rich.

"I'm sorry I laughed at you, it's just my way of releasing tension. That poor man."

"It was good of you to try to save him." Death looked intently at Rich, he knew he'd been staring too long to appear like a normal human, but was unable to stop himself.

"Anyone would have done the same," Rich blushed and looked away.

No, not just anyone. Death had witnessed countless deaths, and he knew this level of care for a stranger was not unheard of, but not common. True kindness was rare, precious. But he didn't want to be the one to share this reality with Rich.

"And anyway, it's not like what I did mattered. He's dead." Rich's face crumpled, he looked down and hot tears fell to the hot dusty ground, absorbed instantly.

Death reached out instinctively, gently lifted Rich's chin, wiped away his tears. "It mattered," he said softly.

Rich wept, quietly, but with heaving shoulders. Death reached out and enveloped Rich in a hug, patting his back as he'd seen countless others do for comfort. Rich's sobs subsided, he sniffled. Death sensed another death strike coming in, and diverted it to a small beetle crawling at their feet.

Rich awkwardly stepped back, "I'm sorry, I don't usually do that to people I just met."

"It's ok. It's very human."

"Thank you. Can I ask you a personal question?"

"Sure."

"Are you gay?"

Death threw back his head and laughed. He surprised himself with the joy in his own laugh, light, airy, sweet. No one had ever in all of existence asked Death if he was gay.

'I don't know." Death answered honestly.

"Ok. Do you want to get dinner?" Rich asked.

"I'd like that, Rich."

"Great! Dev?" Rich still wasn't sure he'd heard correctly.

"Dev." Dev said.

For Rich and Dev, the years passed quickly. Dev discovered Rich was a vegetarian, and out of respect for his beliefs, did his best to direct all incoming death strikes to plants and the occasional insect. Rich finished medical school and became a nurse, while Dev discovered others appreciated his photography talents. Particularly portraits. Clients said he really captured their souls in his photos, and he would just smile and respond, "Not anymore."

Dev joined Rich's family for Thanksgiving and they were happy to have him, happy to see how he made Rich happy.

"Where is your family, Dev?" Rich asked.

"Either in heaven or hell." Dev said.

And Rich left it at that.

They loved to travel. Shared with each other the beauty of parks, enjoyed bustling cities. Filled their senses with new experiences and each other. For the fifth anniversary of their meeting, Dev planned a special trip back to the Grand Canyon.

Rich and Dev stood near the spot where they'd met, the view was just as breathtaking as the first time.

"I still think about that poor old man sometimes," Rich said.

"If he hadn't died, if you hadn't tried to save him, we never would have met," Dev said.

"I know, I feel guilty that I feel grateful for his death. I hope his soul is at peace."

"It is," Dev said with certainty. He waved a hand, not in dismissal of Rich's statement, but to divert another death strike to a small weed trying to grow in the cracked dirt. It withered instantly.

Rich knew better than to ask Dev how he knew things like that. He smiled slightly, the quirky things that came out of Dev's mouth were a big reason he'd fallen in love. He reached for Dev's hand, but it wasn't by his side where it usually was. Rich turned around to look for him.

Dev knelt behind him on the dusty ground, holding out a hand with a black velvet box, and in the box was a white gold ring with small diamonds embedded flat into the band like stars. Classy, elegant, practical, sparkly. Rich was speechless.

Dev cleared his throat. He knew this was how many humans proposed to their mates, and not for the first time wondered at how strange humans were and how strange he was for feeling the urge to mimic them when it came to Rich.

"You are the best human I've ever known in the history of humans. When I met you here five years ago, that's when my life began. You make me a better person, and I can't imagine life without you. You make me happy, and I want to make you happy for as long as I can. Will you marry me?" Dev swallowed, he thought he knew Rich, but could anyone ever be sure?

Rich usually spoke before he thought, but now he took his time finding the right words.

"You are incredible, I love how you see into the heart of everyone you meet. I love how you joke with and care for my family. I love the way you look out for me. I love how unique your perspective is. If I lived a thousand years, I'd never meet another person like you, but I'd only want to live a thousand years if you were there with me. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. And I'm only sad I didn't get to ask you first." Rich knelt down in front of Dev, pulled a ring box out of his pocket and opened it. Black gold, with a single black diamond inset into the band. Mystery, simplistic beauty, stark artistry.

Rich and Dev looked at each other, and together said, "Yes."

Not much changed when Rich and Dev got married. Rich saved countless lives, and Dev captured them on film. Dev never got over the thrill of saying Rich was his husband, never got over the thrill of wearing his ring. They lived a full, meaningful life, filled with friends, purpose, family, and each other.

If Rich thought it odd that Dev kept buying houseplants despite being unable to keep them alive more than a week, he didn't say anything, just wrote it off as another quirk.

Years flew past, faster than a raven. Their hair turned grey, then white. Countless plants died in Rich's stead, and Dev never could bring himself to tell Rich the truth. But in all other ways, their lives were open, loving, happy.

Rich didn't get a thousand years, but he got one hundred. Just a few days after they celebrated his birthday, he collapsed, and Dev accompanied him to the hospital.

There wasn't anything left to say between them. Dev held Rich’s hand while Rich slept, and it was enough.

Dev could feel Rich's natural death was almost here, but he wasn't ready. He thought by the time it came he'd be at peace with the natural order of things. They'd made enough memories for multiple lifetimes. But he was having trouble letting go.

He felt another death strike coming in, just a few minutes before Rich's time would be up anyway. Should he just let it strike early? As he'd done countless times before, he reached out to see where he could divert the death strike. His heart stopped when he realized there were only other people in the hospital wing, not a single insect or living plant was nearby to take the strike. And he was too old, to tired himself to reach further. There was no way he would kill another person for Rich. He knew Rich would never forgive him for something like that. Dev realized he would never forgive himself, and marveled for a second at the person he had become, at how he was a better soul. Because of Rich.

In the end, there was no choice. Rich made the world a better place every second he was in it, and Dev didn't want to experience the world without him. With his free hand, he pulled the death strike into his own heart. Rich's name on his lips, he fell onto the hospital bed half on top of Rich, and died.

Rich stirred and felt Dev's deadweight on him, felt his love around him. He knew he was close to death, but even so, tears came for his sweet Dev, and more tears that Dev wasn't able to wipe them away as he always did.

Dev felt someone wipe away his tears. He opened his eyes and looked upon the empty face of Death.

"Oh hi, it's you," Rich said.

Death nodded. In Death's featureless movements, something felt familiar, and a truth he'd hidden from himself floated free.

"You're a part of Dev, aren't you?"

"Technically, Dev was a part of me."

"Was?"

”Yes, but while we collect all souls eventually, Death has no soul to call our own.

”Dev has a soul.”

Death did not respond, just turned to face Dev’s soul, looking lovingly at Rich.

Rich said, “Oh,” and left his body laying on the hospital bed.

Dev and Rich’s souls touched, merged, and with a smile, flashed onto the next adventure.

Death looked at the bodies, looked at the rings, one white, one black, on hands that would never let go. They saw the camera on the bedside table. And reached a bony hand towards it.