I lay in the grass, the sun shining on my face. When a shadow crossed my face, I opened my eyes expecting to see clouds. But no, just another fleet of B2 Spirit Stealths rising up from from the horizon and moving east in absolute silence.

Tranquil hushed giant stingrays swimming effortlessly in formation through the clear atmosphere above casting brief welcome cooling shadows reminiscent of the eclipse of the sun that passed this same way incompletely brief but significant dimming the sun cooling the temperature just a bit last summer. Such events I'm told panicked primitive populations here into preemptive suicides bloody sacrifices getting a jump on the will of the gods.

It gets hot here in summer. Not many places around to find relief. The drive into town with the AC fan turned up high tunes playing not worth the time trouble expense. Dollar Stores dialed down too low making me shiver when passing the frozen food case. Not many trees around here. Little breeze. The flat landscape dominated by fields of growing crops. Scientists say the oppressing humidity come from the growing grain giving off their breath making me world sticky. They say too that cow farts will eventually kill us all.

For now I'll settle for the momentary passing respite provided by the tranquil floating fleet now disappearing on the eastern horizon. I lay back in the grass, the sun shining on my face considering if and when our world will end.

I was ten when my granny died and I realized two things: one, some who walk among us are dead and two, only I, at least in my town, could see them.

It started on a Tuesday in the summer. I had been enjoying my summer break from school. Granny and I were driving home from the the store when it started raining really hard. Granny never liked driving in the rain, she told me how much she didn't like it every single time.

I don't remember much except we reached that turn Granny always said people always drove too fast on. I saw a big pair of headlights, glowing like a monster's eyes.

Then it all went dark.

I woke up on the grass, cold and soaked from the rain. The car was upside down. I couldn't see well but, I still could see Granny. She was still in the car, hanging upside down in her seat. Her beautiful silver hair that was usually tied up into a bun was undone. That's what I remember. Her hair, so messy and wild. I'd never seen her like that before.

I tried to scream but no sound came out. I was so scared I just started to run.

I didn't stop running until I was standing in front of my house. There was a police car in the drive way and two officers were just walking down from our porch. Mommy was on her knees in the doorway. She was crying so hard. I'd never seen her cry like that.

I thought about hugging her but I was scared to find out what made her cry like that. So instead, I just went to my room. I threw myself onto my bed and sobbed until I fell asleep.

When I woke up, that's when I saw her.

Granny was sitting at the end of my bed. Her hair was tied up and perfect again. She was smiling, just like I remembered her always looking.

I wiped the tears and snot off my face and sat up. "Granny!" I cried, "I thought you were gone. I was so scared. I saw you. You looked...." "There, there, sweet pea," she cooed softly. "No one else can see me, but I wasn't quite ready to leave you yet."

Every day after that, Granny would visit me. She taught me that seeing spirits isn't scary. They're just people who aren't quite ready to leave yet. She'd take me on walks around the neighborhood like we used to, but now I could see people I couldn't before.

Granny would tell me about them.

"That is Mr. Robertson," she said pointing out an older gentleman sitting on his front porch. "He isn't ready to leave his wife. I think he's waiting for her."

We passed the school yard and Granny told me about Miss Eileen. "She used to be a teacher here before you were born. She's still trying to help the kids."

One day I saw a lady kneeling by a garden. "That's Mrs. Tildwell," Granny said. "She tended that garden for twenty years. She's worried no one will water her tulips."

Granny explained it all. Some people move on to the next life easily, but others aren't quite ready yet. Heck, she said some of 'em don't even know they're dead.

At night, after our walks, I'd go in my room and think about all the things she told me. I couldn't believe some people didn't even know they were dead. How could they not know?

Mommy would come into my room sometimes and sit where Granny usually sits. "She can't be gone" she'd cry. I tried to make her feel better but nothing I said or did seemed to help.

"Granny," I said one day, "Mommy really misses you. I try to talk to her but she just keeps crying. I don't know how to help her."

"I know," Granny replied, patting my head. "Sometimes it takes the living time to move on, too."

On the fifth morning after the accident, Granny came into my room like always but this time something was different. She looked worried.

“It’s time,” she said. “Your mama left early today. But there’s somewhere you and I need to go.”

I didn’t ask where. I just followed.

The town seemed quiet, no one was outside like normal. She took my hand and led me into the cemetery.

That's when I saw the crowd. There were so many people. All of my friends from school, my neighbors, even my teacher. Everyone looked so sad. Mommy stood in the front wearing a black dress, crying into her handkerchief.

And then I saw the photo. My fourth-grade school picture from last year.

“I don’t understand,” I whispered.

“You weren’t meant to stay,” Granny replied softly, placing her hand on my shoulder. “I'm only here to help you let go.”

"But Mommy..." I pleaded. "She's too sad. We can't leave her all alone."

"I know, sweet pea. She'll always love you and miss you, but in time she'll heal. Now we need to go on."

I shook my head. “No. I wanna wait for her. At least till she starts to feel better."

Granny knelt down beside me, face to face. “Are you sure? The next place will be wonderful and we'll be together. Your mama will join us when it's her time. "

"I'm sure, " I replied confidently.

That was forty-seven years ago. Mommy never did fully heal. But she got better, like Granny said.

Still, I waited.

But today, I get to take her hand the way Granny took mine and we'll move on.

Together.

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"You have to understand." That's what I told the man across the table from me, as I lifted my cuffed hands up in a plea. "You're getting it all wrong."

Everything about the entire case wrong.

Was I guilty? Yes.

For what? Not what they were charging me for.

In the back of some hick backwater town, I was just James Madigan, the adopted son of Martha and Buck Hodgins who took me in on account of my gambling afflicted father who sold me off on a bet before Buck bought me off the man.

I could have become whatever my buyer had wanted, but Buck had been determined that if he couldn't buy me off of him, he'd certainly beat the man with an inch of his life and take me by force, and that's how I ended up staying with them.

I grew up, skipping pennies across the town's wishing pond, a beautiful porcelain statue carved by my crush's mother, Margarette Farnsworth, hoping to God one day she'd love me before she told me that she wanted to marry a real business man. An entrepreneur, and so I left home a year earlier than Ma wanted, to set out to the city to figure out what that really was.

Now, on the first day on the streets, I quickly realized a backwater boy like myself had no business in the city. Then, on the second, I realized that no one was willing to trade for much of anything if it wasn't cash or coin, and I'd spent up all my money on stale bread and low grade cheese enough to realize how bad the folks out here had it until a man saw me, and hit me up for a job.

He said his name was Paul Smith, and that he was an 'entrepreneur' and that he could teach me all about it, so- Like the dumb youth I was, I followed him.

I followed him down into a back alley, thinking he was a bit shady, and that at any moment he might have a lot of boys waiting for me, to beat me up to pinch any penny I had left, but no, instead, he showed me to this tiny little crumbling apartment sandwiched between two great big newly constructed buildings. Ones made with that... Stucco stuff, or whatever he called it with iron wrought fences in front of the steps up to the door.

And there, he showed me something amazing.

He was quite inventive, really. It astounded me how a many could understand science and nature and manipulate nature into something more refined and pure without a second thought, or wondering how what he made wasn't going to outright kill him, but he'd done it! He had successfully developed the first miniature rotor engine, featuring a three stroke sequence that could change its timing on the variance of the quality of the fuel.

It was phenomenal! And nothing else was quite like it!

He quickly set to work, bringing me around to the 'science' sort of part of it before quickly jumping straight into teaching me how to shave down the brass plates he was using to create a sort of gasket between the two metal surfaces. And for a time, probably around three months, I worked diligently replicating that machine to see how quick we could get down the process of potential production.

I was sure it'd work out until one day he came to the workshop in a hurry, said, "Something was wrong" and that we needed to can the entire shabam. I didn't like it, and we got into an argument before he told me two men had followed him back home for the last week, and that it was time to close it all up or else we'd risk something worse than a failed production take off. We'd risk... death.

I don't know what it was about it, maybe it was the way he said it all so desperately, like he was pleading with himself to just give up, but I could tell he was distressed. And so I worked all night with him, sabotaging my progress, breaking it down, and tweaking all the plans to make sure the machine didn't work right in case anyone broke in.

Then it all went quiet.

Radio silent I guess you could call it, in a sense. Until about eight months later.

There was a wild thump in the house, downstairs, and I'd woken up with a startle to find that Paul was missing from the shared mattress we occupied. And I jolted up from the bed to go out to find him before hearing something I probably ought to not have.

"You stole my work, Paul!"

"I did not!" he argued back. "The invention details were mine! I started the plan on my own! The only thing you did was suggest that instead of a paper gasket, that we use something else! I developed the brass gasket on my own, and the rest of it from there was purely me!"

My stomach lurched, and I watched as the brown-haired man scrutinized my friend, my employer, and the man who taught me everything I knew before he launched at him, grabbing him by the throat until the two of them were fighting, hands on one another and throwing each other to the ground, thrashing and rolling across the floor.

I launched myself down the steps to help Paul, really, I did, but no sooner that I got up closer, did I notice that the man he was wrestling wasn't quite... right.

He had this... This sort of golden glow in his eyes, really. In eyes that looked black as the night, and only when I tried to shove him off of Paul did Paul finally pop up, and jerk back away from him as I let the man go.

"You won't touch me again!" he shouted at him, his hands shaking as I crossed the room to stand by my employer's side.

"T-That's right! You go off now! Find somewhere else to be!" I shouted, joining into the fray, hoping to scare him off, but the man stared at us, and then- like he was amused, he smiled before he broke out into a fit of laughter, and it terrified me.

It terrified me to think that I would have plunged my dinner fork into his chest. That after that, he'd subsequently punched me to the side, knocking me off my feet before I was grabbing a slab of steel from the work bench as he descended on Paul.

And then- like a bad dream, I'd smashed my employer in the face with it, missing my intended mark before the stranger turned on me, and I'd watched him rip that fork from his chest to wave it at me, telling me that as much as that thing 'tickled' that the next few hours of our lives would be ones I'd never forget.

Ones that Paul would forever remember as his last moments in the after life, if there was one, and then we descended. Down... down, down. To hell.

He'd dragged me to the fireplace, damn near tossing me in, and no matter how much I strained against his grip, kicking and thrashing, he treated me like I was no more than some small school boy, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. He overpowered me without measure, shoving my head down near the hot coals as Paul descended on his back, punching and beating him, but it didn't do a damn thing. It didn't do a damn thing.

And then he shoved me completely in, holding me in as I tried to shove my way back out to no avail as I felt the coals start to melt my shoes, breaking fire into my clothes and slowly igniting me.

I remembered screaming for help.

I remembered being so terrified that I begged to give him anything he wanted. Anything! And then... a shot rang out, from behind him before I saw Paul standing near the front door, gripping a fire arm before he slowly fell to his knees in defeat. And then he told me we were screwed.

He told me that as he looked up at me and told me that the man he just killed to save my life.... The one who was committed to watching me die a slow death over dying white hot coals was none other than the son of a man neither of us could match.

And so... here I was, sitting in the police station, blamed for Paul's murder and the murder of John Dillinger, because we couldn't evade the two men that had originally been following Paul after we packed up.

They'd found us, and slit Paul's throat while I went out to get us breakfast. And when I returned, the police were already inspecting the hotel, closing in on me without much outlet until I was here.

I helped kill John Dillinger, but I didn't kill my boss. Paul was my mentor, and the best man I'd ever met... but I'd be going to jail for his death. Heck, I'd be going to jail for two.

the wisdom gained

is that it all is behind you

you'll never have a choice again

can't won't moments gone past away

self evident factual actual

breaking through conspicuous

sagging thin skin blue veins pulsing

for everyone to see every move you make

your dying body a drag

on your thoughts gravity pulls

downward consistent persistent &

your mood cannot help but follow

I am an ardent believer in rules, standards and guidelines. These are important components of the framework supporting the society I want to be part of. Ambiguity from open-ended interpretations is the grease that coats the slippery slope which leads to chaos.

Without criteria to guide us, we’ll find ourselves on this irreversible, angled trajectory, doomed for an existence of regret. Our once vibrant and lush and hopeful landscape will be replaced by a dystopian topography, the result of our dismissive attitude towards the importance of descriptive compartmentalization.

With that said, there are always gray areas that push the boundaries of common sense. At the risk of contributing to the fraying of humanity’s moral fabric by ignoring what’s in the Oxford dictionary, with regards to the tomato debate, I am compelled to spurn the botanical definition of a tomato being categorized as a fruit and refer to the ruling of Nix v. Hedden.

John Nix’s company used steamships to import food from the Caribbean and Europe. In order to avoid the 10% surcharge levied on importing vegetables in accordance with the Tariff Act of March 3, 1883, Nix argued that tomatoes were fruit and not subject to this additional cost of doing business.

The case was ruled on by the Supreme Court in 1893. The Court unanimously disagreed and found that the tomato is a vegetable based on the idea that it is most often served during the main part of a meal and not as a dessert.

Although this particular incident of spurning scientific data may have been the impetus that led us to the current state of anarchy we are now teetering on, I have to agree with the fine judges presiding over this case 132 years ago. What was reasonable to these robed gentlemen back before the invention of the mousetrap rings true to me in 2025.

Is a tomato considered a fruit or a vegetable? Here’s my humble, supportive argument reinforcing the legal precedence that refuted conventional science. If I went into Dairy Queen, would I be shocked to find out that tomato was not a Blizzard option? The answer is: “Nope.” Strawberry? Absolutely. Blackberry? Sure. Banana? Yes. But tomato? I would not be surprised by this omission at all. Nor would I feel so slighted that I became a community organizer/activist to boycott DQ until corporate included tomato on the menu.

I also wouldn’t stroll into a Baskin Robbins expecting to be served a cup of turnip sherbert or a double scoop of celery cheesecake with sprinkles in a waffle cone.

I understand by definition, a fruit is the result of a ripened flower and contains seeds while a vegetable makes up a plant’s roots, stems and/or leaves, but I can’t envision a world where picking up a quart of Blue Bell’s limited-edition flavor: Southern Tomato Cobbler was an option.

A tomato belongs on a burger, converted into ketchup or with its adopted vegetable siblings in soups, side dishes and salads. Fruits are for ice cream-based concoctions. In my mind, such a differentiation brings order to an otherwise disheveled universe.

Now I have to reflect on how I feel about the acceptance of mincemeat pie not containing actual meat.

(FYI, I feel like an anarchist because I’m categorizing this submission as Micropoetry. Just saying.)

Friends,

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In the spirit of transparency, we plan to use this revenue to accelerate our software engineering to eliminate bugs and drive innovation. Some features in our backlog (in no particular order) -

-a Shuffle button allowing you to see a random selection from the ~1M posts that live in Prose.

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And lots more. If you ever have a feature request, or have experienced a bug with your Prose. experience, feel free - as always - to email info@theprose.com and we will get back to you quite quickly.

We love you all and are excited for this next chapter in the story.

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Prose.

Hey pops what's it like to chase the dragon?

"What like doing heroin?"

Yeah that too

"It's like...

Do you remember the first time you discovered as you kids call it

“jerking off”? The verrrry first time you ever cummed?"

Of course

"Okay and you did it again and by the third or fourth time it barely even felt good and took a long time"

Yeah and it's never quite almost made me pass out since then either.

"Well there you go.

Wait a while and it might get close but even then it won't be what it was.

Plus Heroin Dragon chasing can kill you, give you the type of hepatitis that only comes from someone else's shit getting into your veins AND if you're lucky, another dragon chaser you were thick as thieves with will rob you blind during one of your blacked out adventures to help you bounce off the rock bottom that eventually you fill with food, useless hobbies, and wishing you'd waited until you had a life worth losing prior to losing everything that made you who you were and destroying the tools that could've helped you to become someone worth-"

Is that why I feel so bad after masterbating?

"Son, you feel bad after masterbating because you lied to those little souls in your balls that you let drive your actions and murder them for quick pleasure that you had to to fantasize doing the real thing for so that they'd cum out and give you that quick dopamine hit that had you just saved, would be a child or a bit more energy to go about your day with and not just ruining all those socks me and your mother work hard to put on your feet."

But all the religions that don't do… masterbate, either wind up being barbaric terrorists or are known for like fiddling little boys n shit.

"Watch your goddamn mouth young man! Yes, 9/11 was done by those who likely were convinced virgins would await them upon their suicide missions success and had they not been so horny from decades of suppressed semen-"

And the priests who touch little boys?

"If Priests have the discipline to not secrete their semen by hand then they should also have the discipline to not fuck anyone or anything so i-*

Mom's too old to have kids so does that mean you guys aren't-

"Your mother is a conservative woman who..."

Do you masterbate ever?

"Son, I'll tell you this one time and then let's both hope we forget it.

I wait until my testicles, balls, HURT; and then when you kids are gone or zonked out from melatonin equivalents

I then will marinate until your mom finishes flossing mouthwashing then say Her prayer for those 100s of millions of sperms that while not getting a chance at one of her

your mother's eggs, will wind up in her belly together and fighting the good fight to make my breads seem like loaf within loafs.”

Dad, what the-

"No don't even start. Your mother and I waited a long time before finding each other so the first time I ever 'busted a nut ' or whatever you whiteknucklingheads call it these days, was when I knew it'd be with the person I'd be in spending the rest of my life or the remainder of their’s with.

Buddy I came so quick I'm pretty sure I didn't even break her hymen.

Waited the whole pregnancy after that before going back in- the explosion, dam breaking flood that happened was more painful for me than her and so even though again neither of us had fun, it too was successful

again she was pregnant."

Jesus Christ dad why ar-

"If I have to tell you one more time to watch your words boy you're gonna be watching my idle hands put the fear of God back into ya!

….

……Where was I?"

You were telling me about the times you first came inside mom and-

!!!*Whack*. The boy felt like the holy spirit itself must've been what smacked him because he saw nothing heard nothing just felt the pain that steered him into a different more pain free direction.

That's my bad. I do remember that is what I was informing you of.

Welp go ahead boy get me back so I can go on.

___After a few moments and insisting he hit him back for this misunderstanding, the boy finally does give in and let the power of spite compel him.

The father stares at him blankly

"You mean to tell me, a man hits you without proper reason, tells you to hit him back, begs you! and that's what you got?

Now look here

like this!

And this!

One more time!”

The father had just properly demonstrated on the boy's sister who had walked mostly unnoticed through the room to go outside with friends waiting at the front door.

_

"That's how you hit somebody back who's done you wrong boy!

Why can't you just get things right the first time or second even...

Look

your sister's crying!"

"Why's he such a dumbass daddy?"

"Honey, if I knew that then I wouldn'tve made your mother get all those DNA tests they send to our door now would I? Now go to that same door and yell to your friends you'll come find them when you're allowed to come play okay?"

The daughter slinks off telling them just that before going upstairs to the powder room to go hide brother's mistakes that caused fresh blemishes.

"Can't have her going out like that having people think we're some kind of abusive household huh champ?" He pats the kid on the back so hard his boy tries secretly checking if one of his teeth are loosened some.

That wife of his comes in from the kitchen smiles first with a tray of cups, ice, and a fresh lemonade held so highly in esteem that one outside this family might think it was what Adam and Eve was alleged to have saved just for them, all consequences for it be damned.

"What are we up to this afternoon boys?"

…………..

"Don't look away from your mother when she's talking to you!"

The boy looks at the mom smiles and takes a lemonade glass

"I was just telling him about

how holding in certain urges gives a man energy, and-"

"Oh did you tell him how we were 2 for 2 and that-"

Yeah and how you didn't even lose your highman until the pregnancy

The mom and dad both look at him, smiles gone

"Did dad tell you that cutting someone off to say what they're about to say is why little kids used to be seen and not heard?"

The kid thought heard needed to be updated to "hurt" but bit his lip with the tooth he really thinks is a little loose now

"Honey tell this boy the next sock that stands at attention on its own is gonna be used as.."

Wife finishes his trait of thought

"A murder weapon for the second time? Yeah my sweet little angel killing your first borns, 2nd borns, 100th borns week after week and wasting it them into perfectly once good footwear is... Sinful, shameful, downright wasteful."

Wasteful?

"The vitamins minerals protein alone that make up the-"

Husband stops her

"Honey that's not quite the message I'm trying to teach the boy."

"Well he obnoxiously didn't grasp that it's souls he's stealing in exchange for some quick devil derived tingles-"

Husband finishes her trait of thought now

"Or he did grasp what he was doing and just didn't care enough to stop!"

The mom gasps covering her mouth in disgust before looking to the son for, something

The truth is, they were right. I don't care that it's souls I'm trading. It's those 'souls' that are driving my urges and it's those souls alongside being at a boys only private school that make any girl that I see become much more tolerable

Much more..

These souls aren't that much better off waiting for an egg anyway. 1 maybe 2 of the near billion each ejaculation MAYBE will get to latch on to that egg, maybe all things considered without even considering her… variables.

If survival of the fittest exists with alive animals and always has then it must also for the precursors right?

Dad may think waiting to first let the boys (and girls) out until with that forever person waves the plane in is the best, the only way to go about things

I however am of the hardened cloth that

him waiting THAT long means the 'fittest' may be unable to make it

and so

the way I do it makes the fittest and or at the least the smartest of the sperms

have little competition cum time for actual attempts at reproduction!

Yes I'm aware that this means me, who is arguing what my father did to get ME here

therefore be able to even have an opinion on the matter was wrong adjacent

Had he did

what I do

I wouldn't be here.

Or,

I would be here but with a better

with a fitter and or smarter frame because I happen to have the thought sperms, AREN'T souls

but a collection of vessels, transportations, for the soul.

1 soul max per ejaculation and

In my opinion

ANY soul dumb enough to get tricked into sending out its trojan horses (spaceships really, Trojan spaceships since under my microscope they appear to be vehicles and Trojan condoms are, as a side point, a terrible name for something meant to NOT impregnate somebody; Trojans snuck into a fortified area disguising themselves as the transportation of the past in statue form and sperms are transportation of the soul so Trojan condoms are what, a disguise for impregnation either from poor quality or someone poking holes in it? Annnyway)

Sperms are like an RTA bus and there's only so many stops a soul/bus rider gets before the next patron, soul, bus rider gets a shot.

The boy chokes on his own tongue from active use

“Oh shit, did I say all that outloud?”

He looked over his parents to the stairs and foyer where his sister's terribly done make up had no chance of hiding her slack jaw that he was tempted to throw one of Mom's shaved cubes at.

The boy tries defending himself for all the things he blastphemied outloud unknowingly

The boy continues his thouhhts out loud since nobody else wants to fill the deathly silence

“Guys if abortions are sinful nay murder, then why would God design humans to accidentally have an abortion via wet dreams that we cannot control, or even pre-jaculating from holding hands, kissing, a really properly angled breeze?”

The sister screams and then runs outside.

The boy knows she's purposely overreacting to have an excuse to go run to her friends outside without getting the go ahead blemish bruise check from either parents

“So if a breeze or dreams we don't remember ever causes the secreting of a little here n there then what? Souls just died and therefore sinful abortions just ruined our eternal everything's?

ORRrr a soul has limited number of ships, semens to work with

and IF they aren't fully depleted then can build the numbers of vessels back up and keep trying- so

As long as it's not overindulged the same soul can keep trying...?”

The parents look at each other trying to silently communicate their next moves

The boy dilutes the silence once more

“Like a King with an Army.

Each Knight on Horseback isn't the King BUT should any of those horsemen make it to the army's King egg, then the message can be delivered i.e. the soul, the king's agenda, and…”

"If the whole army's defeated depleted then the King falls and a new king reigns?"

Yes mom see you guys get it

"Then son, explain to your mother and I Mary's immaculate conception within that metaphor of yours."

The son looked at his mom who seemed genuinely interested in what he was about to pull out his unbuttoned sleeve

"Witchcraft isn't the proper wording although I do believe magic did exist long ago and so would have wizardry and this the ability for today's magicians to come off as false prophets or miracle workers BUT in this case

No I do not think, assuming Mary was a true virgin, I think somebody somewhere for whatever reason self secreted with or without her knowing and did the old fashion artificial insemination i.e. pinky finger cu-semen on it-"

"Are you saying jesus was raped into Mary by some... Some..."

"Now honey I don't think he was saying that what were you saying?"

Well before I wasn't given the chance to finish answering YOUR questions-

The father stands after undoing his watch and the boy kicks off the end table so him and the wheeled chair he's on can escape back hand range, as he's drifting back he continues

OR someone with less than or equivalent magic skills of today's Copperfields or yesteryears Whomdeenies existed back then or accidentally time traveled worked with what they were given and...

The boy glanced at the mom who's out of sight behind Father and she gives the quick go ahead to the boy to run away and stay away until dinner or bedtime. It was a look she's given before when they're all out at family gatherings and it's one she only gives when asses are about to have some uncommon sense beaten back into them

I used the old doggy door the old man refuses to hire someone to undoggify since he can totally handle the project himself.

I was about to go defend my mom's honor who seemed to be exercising some motherly defense mechanism of taking one for team+ taking the lessons for her younglings since she felt they weren't owed the discipline her chosen mate finds necessary and couldn't be talked out of implementing further in the pre marriage contractual belief systems to continue passing down like some worthless family heirl'dooms

As me and my holy water soaked brass knuckles (the real kind, since sister was deemed the only one yet worthy of her own gun)

were ready to sneakily enter the darkish bedroom

"See! That, ALL that is SOULs not one, not none but

MANY!"

As I snuck back out I'd forgotten to take off the brass knuckles before reshutting their "child-proof" door me and sis rigged up to be enterable in situations like fires, burglaries that only we hear, Dad summoning the courage to beat mom until she agrees with his points he slaps her across the head with that sometimes I stop thinking is her being weak and giving in and more of her brain actually getting jossled into the i.q. range that temporarily has her on the same old testaments page he is stuck on (the new testament is for hippies and con artists trying to appeal to those who'll be left behind to read such smut come rapture time.).

As I left and got rid of any evidence I was there, those brass knuckles wet from the holy water he keeps by the TV and a few other emergency stashes clanked just enough that Mom heard and he didn't, mouth breathing saves my ass yet again.

She looks at me subtly and then him and again to me rolling her eyes and then transitioning into paying attention to the rantings of a fully naked lower half fully clothes top halfed man who is using my microscope precisely how I recently did... without having cleaned off those slides at all, like not even moving them a little after this mornings too late to sock wipe have to leave for last day before summer vacation will take care of this after school unless getting into a giant scuffle with pent up parent...

After remembering Pop's sentiment about not wasting it, I just really hope any stragglers still swimming from this morning know to self-destruct should pops snack crackle and plop them anywhere near Ma. Having my own brother-son my dad helped to unknowingly create after not liking my Mary Magdalene Jesus inSinem- in'seMEn'ation answers would be the type of irony that would always give me one in the chamber for any one time argument winner but would shoot the shooter (me) and the rooster who helped his son have an egg hatch in the very hen that birthed him be… vockadoodle dead

Talk about cuck-a-doodle-did cock-a-dude'll-don't please for the love of whatever God made him this way.

Her pants were still on so hopefully it's just a snack-CraUCKLE-Pop's situation at the very worst.

At best?

Dad definitely got handfuls of different slides he found a loophole in his own mortality to get his own soul sauce onto and looked at a 2 in 1 situation where my poor fellas may be thinking those surviving til now need to war with... Brothers? Sisters? Which is better I guess than mingling and joining forces, may god have mercy on their souls and mine for stealing sis's piggy bank to go buy the mourning after what have you to make sure we all aren't doomed to eternal damnation for s slight lack of post scientific self studying hygenes.

is the earth it exists in the world tree, the world tree isn't an actual tree, it is a map a blueprinted map of twelve realms perhaps endless earth Heaven and hell are in it. It is designed intelligent designed in a leaf pattern. It extends through the Universe.

Now, it exists in the astral plane, the astral is a place some go when they sleep, or die, or purposely enter by using various esoteric methods the cats cradle, visualizing a door to step through.

The tree has been mapped by someone or something or someone had a vision of it and drew it.

This is our afterlife humans afterlife, Heaven is also called Kether for those who want the knowing.

Now, I believe a higher power created this world tree map on the astral for us. As they created the twelve realms.

This is the truth I believe, now when you die you see a light this takes you to astral realm and to Heaven if you don't go into the light you are returned to earth via reincarnation perhaps thousands upon thousands of times.

You must accept the light, never forget accept the light. To Heaven, otherwise known as Kether.

This is our only afterlife, this is all there is, an eternity in Heaven though this part remains unknown to me. As is God, higher power, whatever your belief.

There most assuredly a higher intelligence being or God by any other name.

Those that have taken the time to read this I thankyou and may you be blessed by the God of your choosing.

Thank you.

It was my money financing the whole project. I bought the land, drew the blueprint of each neighborhood. My architects designed each custom-built home as well as all the community spaces. My landscapers designed beautiful gardens. My workers built it all, their sweat helping to make Cielito Lindo the heaven of which I had dreamed since I was a child building cities in the sand.

So, imagine my surprise when I discovered the names I had chosen for the streets of my village required approval.

And not just one person or entity. Not just a rubber stamp of approval that the one funding the project might be excused for expecting.

No.

County officials had to ensure the names were unique.

Seriously?

Do you know how many Main Streets there are? There is one in every single town in this county...along with First, Second, Third, Oak, Maple and Pine. Not one (maybe one) of my streets was so common as to cause Uber or Google Maps issues.

Then, the public safety commission had to make sure that the names were easy to use and understand in an emergency. I guess that's how Manlove Avenue, Hooker Street and Shades of Death Road made the cut. Very easy to use and understand.

No, those are not the names of my streets.

I thought we were done and then public works had to get involved.

I don't know why.

But at that point, I had had it because I discovered there was a state naming commission that had the final say.

I was happy to find a friend or two on said commission and managed to get on the same well before my case was on the docket.

I'm pleased to say that, although I could not vote on my own project, I was able to encourage my peers to see things my way, and thus, the streets of Cielito Lindo include: Aster Avenue, Begonia Boulevard, Sunflower Street, Daisy Drive, Cornflower Crescent, Lily Lane, Rose Road, Solidago Strip (I had to fight for that one), Tulip Terrace and Willow Way. Amaryllis Avenue was rejected, but I wasn't married to it, so I didn't mind. I replaced it with Poppy's Place.

My daughter thinks I named it for my dad.

So, of course I had to build him a house there.

Mine is on Willow Way.

I named it after my daughter.

And then we planted the trees.