Prompt 17 of 31

The Writer's Book of Matches pg. 138 "I know it sounds corny, but this is really going to be the trip of a lifetime."

Start time: 10:49

"I know it sounds corny," Michael said, he looked to the young woman standing next to him before the time vortex, "but this is really going to be the trip of a lifetime."

Tabitha rolled her eyes and smiled.

"Pun intended?" she said.

"Of course," he replied.

The two faced forward and clasped their hands together.

The swirling bright cloud before them, containing the tear in the fabric of time, beckoned them forward. All of the voices and sounds of the past echoed from it.

"How does it work," Tabitha said.

Michael laughed and shrugged.

"Hell if I know."

"Okay."

Tabitha bit her bottom lip and bowed her head.

"Do you think we'll ever come back?"

Michael's expression went from happy to blank. For a moment his eyes searched the air before him before he turned toward his time traveling companion.

"I don't know," he said.

The two pairs of eyes met.

"I don't think so."

Tabitha ripped her hand from Michael's and stepped away. Her hands were held at her chest and she fidgeted with her fingers nervously. It was then that she shook her head.

"I can't do this."

"What?" Michael said. "All the talk. The preparation. You said you would go with me."

Tabitha lifted her hands to her ears and she closed her eyes.

"I know what I said Michael, but I thought all of this was unachievable. Who ever thinks that their boyfriend will actually rip a whole in space and time so that they can travel to any period." she paused for an answer. "No one!"

Michael moved toward her but with every step she moved away until her back met the wall.

"Why didn't you believe me?"

"Seriously?"

A scream echoed from the tear and Michael turned toward it.

Tabitha took that moment to slide along the wall and away from him.

When he turned back around his expression was surprise.

"Love, it doesn't matter," he said, "regardless if you thought I could do it or not I have. We have the greatest opportunity before us. Many in the world would give up everything just for the chance."

"You don't know where we'll end up. That is a crap chute, Michael."

Michael laughed.

"Does it even matter?"

"Yes!" She said.

Tabitha began gathering up her things quickly.

"We could end up in a time where we could be slaves. Or we could end up where there is no running water or food. We could end up where there is no one around and it's just us." She paused. "Are you prepared for that type of situation?"

Tabitha started for the door.

"Where are you going?" Michael said.

He threw himself against the door, blocking her only route out.

"I can't believe I even entertained this idea. This is ridiculous and I would like to leave. Please, let me go."

Michael crossed his arms over his chest and slid halfway down the door, so that he was eye level with Tabitha.

"You'd really let me go on my own?"

Tabitha looked back at the rift for a moment.

"You would really go?"

"We were just about to go a few moments ago!" He said, gesturing towards the portal. "Why all of a sudden the change of heart."

Tabitha opened her mouth to speak but no words came out.

It was at that moment that Michael grabbed her arms and began pulling her toward the tear in time.

"What're you doing, Michael?" she said.

Tabitha began to fight against him but he was just too strong for her to battle with.

"Whatever we encounter we will do it together. I will take care of you."

"I told you I don't want to go!"

Tabitha fought harder as Michael stood within inches from the tear.

A grin spread across his face as he stuck a foot into another time and place.

Tabitha lifted her leg and collided with the apex of Michael's legs. His arms retracted toward the pain and it was in that moment that Tabitha shoved him into the tear and it swallowed him whole. With a bolt of lightning it vanished and she stood alone in the garage.

Prompt 16 of 31

The Writer's Book of Matches pg. 224 "My God, this is like that old Abbott and Costello routine, 'Who's on First?'"

Start time: 9:26

"My God, this is like that old Abbott and Costello routine, 'Who's on First?'" Garith shouted at his sister and vampire friend.

The two turned to him.

"How is this even remotely like that?" Derrick said.

Garith looked side to side.

"It doesn't," he said. He looked down at the ground. "I just wanted to be a part of the conversation."

Derrick gave a half smile showing his canine that had become longer from yesterday.

end time: 10:29

Okay... It is rather obvious that I was not feeling that one at all. It was a dud, dud, dud, dud. I tried to make it work but I really had nothing come to mind. Instead I got lost in a tumblr vortex of doom. Anyway, I'm just going to go ahead and choose another one because that was rather shameful.

The Writer's Book of Matches pg. 69 "I'm here to answer the ad in the paper."

Start time: 10:44

The door to Lynette's house cracked open and a single green eye looked through to the outside world. As the door open further a head sprouted from head with dark black hair and milky white skin around a plump face. If you watch closely she moves out further and inspects her surroundings. They are foreign to her, but she is calm.

A car passes by and she is frightened. The elusive Lynette scurries back into the house and watches through the peephole until all has gotten quiet again. She sighs to herself and laughs. One can only imagine what is going through her very fragile mind at this point. It has been sometimes since the subject has been outside of her house. If it hadn't been the pressure of her online support group she would not have even decided to broach the subject now.

"You can do this," she says to herself.

The lynette tries again. At first her actions are slow going but eventually she winds up outside in a very normal suburban neighborhood. The sky is cloudless and the sun in shining. She looks around at the world's beauty. Her expression is unsure but she stands firm as another car goes by.

Once the vehicle has gone quickly around the corner she shuffles to the car and climbs into her old volkswagon bug. For a moment we see her fumble around through the purse she had packed haphazardly this morning. It has been some time since she's needed the assistance of one.

Like any red blooded woman she finds her keys at the bottom of her purse. She sticks it in the ignition and attempts to start the vehicle.

What she has neglected to think of, as any other red blooded American would, is that since her car has spent many years in the driveway without a start it does not. She tries again and again with the same success rate.

Frustrated she bangs furiously on the steering wheel and rushes back inside the house.

There she rushes about furiously trying to find her house phone. She has an appointment to make and already she will be late. Lynette must see this and has become frantic.

"Hello," she says into the phone, clutching at it with both hands. "I need a taxi. Could you send one right away?"

The voice on the other line says a few unintelligible words and she hangs up.

For the next ten minutes Lynette wanders aimlessly around the house. She checks her appearance in the mirror many times. Sighing to herself she shakes her head. Earlier we heard her feelings about her apprehension to answering the personal ad she had found in the paper.

The leader of the group seemed excited at her approach to moving outside of her confined living. She beamed back at her patient and told her to keep trying.

The driver arrives with a knock and Lynette rushes outside. She hops in the car, looking about nervously. The cabby in the driver seat furrows his thick brow and looks at her with unsure eyes.

"Where to?" He says, in an accent.

"The coffee shop on," Lynette says, she rolls her hand in a circle. It seems she has forgotten the name of the establishment she is meant to meet her date. "Harrowley?" She looks at the cabby's reflection for approval.

"Sure," he says and begins to drive.

Lynette sits back and bites at her thumbnail. She clutches her hefty purse to her stomach and taps her foot wildly.

It was explained that her decision to answer an ad was from a dream she had had a few months back. She shared in the group that it was also the wording of the man's post that had her intrigued.

"It was so," she had said. A few moments pass that elude to her not being able to find the right word. Finally she settles on, "Nice."

The others in the group had asked her to read it but for whatever reason she had refused. She blushed at the mention of it and every group since had inquired.

Lynette finally arrives at the agreed upon location. She pays the cabby who seems relieved to be rid of her and doesn't tip him. Although it is acceptable seeing as how she hasn't been accustomed to the real world for some time. He on other hand drives off in a hurry.

The young girl walks in and finds the man seated in the far corner. On the table before him is a single white daisy, per her request. She stops in her tracks and waits. For a moment it looks as though she might turn and run but the gentlemen sees her and stands, smiling.

"Lila!" He says to her waving her over.

She puts her hand to her mouth and shuffles around to tables to get to him. She immediately gives him her hand and they exchange pleasantries. The young man has tight blonde curls, bright blue eyes, and a beautiful smile.

"I have a quick confession to make," Lynette says.

The young man leans forward and steeples his arms on the table.

"Go ahead," he says.

"My name is actually Lynette. I told you that name because I wasn't sure if I was actually going got make it."

The man raises his eyebrows and he sits back in his chair. His face looks uncertain of what to make of the situation.

"Alright," he says, nodding, "Well my name is still Greg."

The two laugh.

"Good," she says.

Prompt 14 of 31

Tonight I will be pulling double duty to make up for yesterday's missed prompt. It's funny how life just gets in the way. Ha, what am I talking about, life. I saw the conjuring yesterday. Fantastic movie. During the course of the movie I realized why I don't see horror movies in the theatre. (I tend to only watch them at home.) I tend to scream and convulse like a spaz. It's really comical for others, not so much for me. Either way, it was fun. I'll do anything for a laugh. Well, as long as it's on my terms.

The Writer's Book of Matches pg. "A man learns that what he thought was chronic heartburn is really terminal cancer."

Start time: 11:17

Shella Fidgeted with her cell phone while she sat in the waiting room of the doctor's office. Her husband rick was seated beside her; hunched over, his elbows on his knees, and his hands clasped together in a single fist. Her sapphire eyes looked at him and then she frowned. Her manicured hand went to his back and rubbed tiny circles. At time she lifted her palm from his back and it was just her nails. He chuckled and turned to her with a sad smile.

"I had completely forgotten," she said.

She did it again and he jerked away.

"So I heard from my mother today," she said matter of fact. She pocketed her cellphone and then turned towards him.

"What'd she have to say," he said, peering at her over his shoulder.

Shella shrugged a shoulder and looked at her nails.

"I guess my brother is back in rehab. My dad caught him trying to steal my mother's jewelry. He broke down crying right then and there and confessed the whole thing."

She paused and looked at him with imploring eyes. She hoped this different change of topic would get his mind off of the whole situation.

When he sat back and sighed she knew it had worked. She kept the smile that wanted to play on her lips safely tucked away. Rick rested his head against the wall and left his hands, fingers sprawled, on his knees.

"Poor Jackson," he said.

His mahogany eyes searched the air before him.

Shella's brow furrowed.

"What do you mean?"

"I can't imagine what that would be like. You know how my dad was an alcoholic. I say that my mother made excuses for him when I was a kid but she believed he could change. She wanted to know that he would start being the man she had met. I just don't see how your father can deal with that. If Jeremy ever becomes an addict I don't know what I would do. It'd break my heart."

"What about my brother?"

Rick looked at her, pressed his lips together, and shrugged.

"We are the master's of our own destiny."

Hot anger climbed up her face and turned her cheeks a rosy red.

"You're one to talk. This heart burn of yours is all your doing. If you didn't eat all those fatty foods on your lunch it wouldn't happen."

Rick leaned forward again and regained his previous pose.

Shella hid her eyes behind her hand. She felt like such an idiot.

Well, that was pointless, she thought.

She dropped her hand into her lap and leaned to his shoulder.

"Honey, I'm sure it's nothing. We're just getting a second opinion per doctor laurel's request. Okay?"

She kissed his shoulder.

"The antacids, the meds, do not work, Shell."

"Sometimes things can be so severe that you need to see a specialist. That's why we're here."

Rick rolled his eyes.

Shella sat back and studied him. Her mind knew what was wrong already. Her heart refused to believe. She kept telling herself the same lies she told about her brother. Except he could help his problem.

She smiled weakly to herself and then looked down at her thumbs. She couldn't believe she was wishing that he was just an addict. Of all the things that could happen to him it had to be this.

"Rick Torrent," The nurse said, her arm wrapped around the clip board.

The two got up and headed to the exam room for another agonizing wait.

Rick stayed silent the whole time. He just stared at his feet, bouncing the toe of his boots on foot at a time.

She had seen him do that many times before, like when they were waiting to see if they were in fact having a boy. Or there was the time that his mother had been found beaten, almost to a pulp, and they were waiting in the lobby of the ER. That had been back when they were still in high school.

Her heart began to ache from the thoughts of their love's life time and she focused again on his feet. She picked apart his shoes, his gestures, everything to keep herself from thinking that which she already knew.

The doctor swooped in and immediately headed to the sink and washed his hands.

"Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Torrent."

"How're you today?"

Shella always wondered why a doctor asked a patient that. It seemed like such a silly question. Well obviously we're terrible. We're here to see you, She thought.

"Just waiting on those results." Rick said. He sighed and looked at the doctor. "Doctor Laurel couldn't make heads or tails of it so it's prolonged this for far too long."

The doctor produced a pair of spectacles and put them on.

"I certainly can understand that."

Then get on with it!

The doctor pulled up the rolling stool and sat down. He pulled out a pen, clicked it and began writing notes. All of his actions seemed as thought they were half speed.

Shella fidgeted nervously in place.

"I'm afraid that it's not acid reflux."

Shella's breath caught in her chest.

"You have cancer on the lining of your asophogaus. It's caused by HPV. Most men don't ever show symptoms. They just carry the disease."

Shella's brow furrowed.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"It's alright. It's not life threatening. We will need to perform surgery quickly though."

Shella forced a smile.

"I see."

Shella stood, clutching her purse at her waist.

"Will you please excuse me. I'll just let you two gentlemen talk this out."

Shella rushed through the doctor's office, out the main corridor and down a flight of stairs faster than she could have ever thought possible. Before she knew it she stood at their lifted black truck. She stopped and studied it for a moment. Her eyes peering at every detail.

She flew to the driver's side door and wrenched it open. It didn't matter that the corner of the door cracked the window of the vehicle next to hers. She was on a mission. She tore through the center console, ripping out everything she got her well manicured hands on. When that didn't present any results she moved to the glove box, then under the seats. She was about to start ripping up the carpet floor when Rick came outside.

"What are you doing?" he said.

Shella looked at him. Her sapphire eyes were a hurricane and it was headed right for him.

"How the hell do you have HPV, Richard Torrent?"

"From you, I imagine," he said.

Shella smiled, her tounge prodding her left canine.

"Is that so," she said. "Well I know I haven't had anything to report and do you know how I know? I get this," she gestured at the apex of her legs, "I get this checked by a physician every goddamn month. If I were to have anything she would notice!"

Shella's voice had grown steadily louder as she spoke. The passersby all slowed their journey to where they were going and watched the spectacle. Rick looked around nervously.

"Honey-"

"Don't you honey me, Richard. Or should I say Dick!"

Shella hopped down from the truck and then slammed the door. Straightening her short denim skirt she walked away as fast as her legs would carry her. Although much to her delight Rick followed right behind.

"Honey, I haven't cheated on you." he said to her back.

She pretended to ignore him.

"Who would want to even try? All the women in the office know that you have a mean streak a mile long. You have weapons on your finger tips!"

Shella cracked a smile and all it did was enfuriate her more. She balled her fists, stopped abruptly, and spun to meet him face to face.

"Then tell me something I don't know."

Rick opened his mouth to speak but couldn't seem to find the words. He hung his head and shook it back and forth.

"Do you remember when we were in high school-"

"It was only six years ago, Rick, I'm sure I can remember that far-"

Rick put a hand over her mouth.

"Just listen for a second. I haven't cheated on you while we've been married. There was this one time in tenth grade when we broke up and I saw Susie Lee. We went on a couple of dates but I just wanted you."

Slutty Susie Lee she thought.

"That was the only time I've been with any other woman."

Relief washed over her shoulders and the fire receded quickly back into her chest. She relaxed for only a moment until she thought what this meant. But then her curiosity got the better of her.

"So, if you have it, why don't I?"

The corner of Rick's mouth tried to touch his ear, as he rubbed the back of his head.

"Well," he said, "Honey, I've never... Done anything with my mouth."

Shella looked around nervously. HIs voice was already low but it wasn't low enough. If someone should hear she would be mortified.

"Yeah, because it's disgusting. And thank god I feel that way or I'd have it. Stupid, slutty, Susie Lee."

Prompt 12 of 31

I'm doing everything but writing, it would seem. Especially since I missed the last four days of writing my prompts because I was in Las Vegas carousing with my two best friends. Our evenings were spent gambling, drinking, and laughing. Only a third of the entire trip is a mindless blank. Either way it was such reckless abandon that kept me from my self assigned task. Now, back in the real world of obligations and schedules I am forced to pick up where I left off and I can do little if any at all. I'm worthless right now. I want to just sit and stare off into space but that will gain me nothing. Well, it would if I was letting my mind wander through a new story but I doubt that will happen. Only through working on a new prompt will my mind and writing be tested. So thus I give you number 11 of 31 (I will most certainly pull double duty soon to get my prescribed amount.)

The Writer's Book of Matches pg. 110 "A train travels from Paris to Rome. there are several interesting characters staying in the sleeping cars. Write about what happens to each of them during the night: 1)an older married couple... 2) two young women who agree to share a room... 3) a football goalie who, earlier, that evening gave up the winning goal."

Start time: 9:07

The tiny serpent, Malk, with glowing red eyes slithered through the ducts of the train. It's small ears listened intently over the soft scratches of the budding spikes on his back against the metal of the tube. He was sent on a mission to find those deemed fit for departure to another place. Yet none were viable specimens. MOst had been asleep as he passed by their portion of the sleeping car. He thought of listening to their thoughts while they dreamt but that had always proven deadly in the past and would not root out a worthy candidate anyway.

"Ridiculous," he hissed quietly to himself. "Why couldn't he do it."

Finally he came to a compartment with an elderly couple readying for bed. The man helped his wife slip off her dress and shoes and into a silk nightgown with frilly sleeves. The wife did the same for her husband.

Malk rolled his eyes and curled up to watch. They had been the first to be awake and he wanted to make sure that they weren't the ones.

"What did you think of the Eiffel tower tonight, my love?" The man asked as he sat back with care.

His wife sighed happily.

"Even more exquisite as ever. I remember when you proposed to me," she looked at him wryly, "And how on the train ride home we made love."

The old man beamed his crooked smile.

"Would you like to do that again, my sweet?"

His wife gasped and looked about the compartment as if to see if others were about.

"I don't know if we should."

"I still can," he said.

Malk's stomach gave a lurch and bile rose up through his throat. He gulped it back down and slithered away as fast as he could. He knew they would have been a waste of his time, but he had to at least make certain. One time he had missed an opportunity when the husband had descended onto his nagging wife, choking the life out of her. Afterwards he had emerged from the compartment screaming that his wife had died in her sleep. He would have been perfect. Although the two never gave any such sign of animosity.

The next compartment was bursting with activity. He viewed it through the slats in the grate. On one said sat a blonde with her knees pulled up to hide her chest, with her arms wrapped around them. On the opposite side was a girl working intently on her cell phone, her thumbs flying madly over the glass screen.

"Are you sure there's nothing else?"

The girl glanced up from her phone for only a second. "Yes," she replied tersely.

The girl shifted in her seat and lowered her legs for a moment to throw them onto the bench of the compartment.

"This is ridiculous. Why can't you ride somewhere else? Certainly you could stay in the dining car. You seem like you would enjoy that."

The girl with the phone froze in place. Through Malk's eyes he saw the tension between them growing like a black orb, pulsing and swirling like a dark sun. His scaly skin tingled with anticipation.

"Yes," he whispered.

The two girls looked up at the vent.

'What was that," the girl with the phone said.

"Probably the air kicking on. It's insanely hot in here. You take up a lot of the cool air."

The girl with the phone gave her a sour look.

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Yes it does! I'm saying you're a fat cow."

The girl with the phone dropped it to the seat. It bounced once before settling in the crack.

"You want to say that again? I could take your skinny ass."

The other girl rose and quickly discovered that the other girl may have been bulky but she had also had height to portion it out. The two exchanged glares until the compartment door slid open and a young man poked his head in. The short girl's mouth fell open and she froze.

"Hello, Michelle, my belle," the boy said. He took a step in, while he held onto the side of the entry.

"Bonjour, mon ami," the girl with the phone replied.

"I just wanted to see how you're doing. I so appreciate you finding another car to stay in. It's not every day I get to see my family. I didn't know they were all going to come to Rome for the concert."

"no a problem."

"Do you need anything?" the boy asked.

The girl smiled and shook her head. And with that the boy left.

The shorter girl spun around furiously and rushed toward Michelle, who quickly responded with a right hook across the girl's chin. She spun around and fell into the bench seat.

Malk shifted excitedly. He knew his moment was about to arrive.

BUt the shorter girl was not deterred she quickly rose to her feet and, keeping a safe distance, smiled excitedly at Michelle.

"You know Aaron Rose? You TRAVEL with the greatest singer of all time?"

Michelle looked taken aback. Her brow met above her pointed nose.

"Perhaps." Michelle looked unsure.

The shorter girl screamed and rushed forward, wrapping her arms around the stranger and bouncing her up and down.

Malk hissed angrily and slithered to another compartment. He hated teenage girls. They were always hot and cold. One minute they were the most vicious conniving creatures and the next joyful and friendly the next.

The next few compartments were the same, filled with sleeping riders. Frustration began to buzz behind his eyes and he wanted to bite the next person he saw. But he knew if he marked an unworthy human his master would be angry. He might even punish him with eternal agony. He could hear his master's word echo across his memory. "I'll send you back to the depths where I found you if you fail."

Malk was determined and picked up his speed. The next few compartments were duds. One even had a football player in it. But all that radiated from him was disappointment and failure. Strong emotions, sure, but they would not be worthwhile to Malk's mission so he kept on. Finally he reached the end of the car and had to travel through the vent at the end and carefully make his way to the next.

Once he was safely inside he found more compartments of the same, except for one. A man quietly rose from the bed with a sleeping woman. He dressed just as carefully and slipped out the door. Malk could tell something was amiss and followed him down the hall, peeking in through the vents to make sure he still had sight of him. He found him in the restroom. The man looked both ways down the hall before he stepped in and shut the door.

The man went to the mirror and examined himself with a smile. The pride and anticipation radiated from him in red hot waves. Malk was exuberant.

"What is your secret," he hissed quietly. The man, so enraptured with his own image, didn't seem to notice.

A knock sounded at the door and he rushed to open it. He stuck his head out first and then returned with a woman in his wake. She threw herself into his arms and the two began kissing passionately. He moved his hands up her body, simultaneously lifting her dress.

"Did your wife notice," the woman said in between kisses.

"No," the man said. He pressed her up against the wall and squatted before her, kissing her as he went.

Malk couldn't believe his luck. Betrayal. Lies. Pride. HIs master would be ecstatic at such a find. With that he closed his eyes and breathed out all of the air in his body, turning his being into a dried up husk. A black cloud of smoke moved through the spaces in the grate and traveled in a whisp across the small space. He lingered for a moment, letting the man get more of his indecent pleasure in before he was marked.

The man stood again and the two kissed.

Now he thought and he dove for their heads.

The smoke gathered about their heads and set their eyes burning. The two secret lovers hacked and coughed, separating for just a moment, allowing Malk to escape out the crack at the bottom of the door.

He quickly traveled to the end car of the train where his master sat amongst the luggage and other things. He was crumpled up weak in the corner. A blanket over his bony shoulders. His skin was tight against his skull and pale white. His purple eyes protruded from their sockets, staring emptily into space.

"Master," Malk hissed.

The shadow of a man moved only his eyes to the whisp of cloud moving through the car.

"Is it done," he said, with a hoarse voice.

"Yes," Malk hissed.

The ceatures master stood up slowly.

"Join me," he said.

Malk's Master made his way to the marked strangers with his hand against one thing or another, with the other clutching his shawl.

When he reached them he threw open the door and stepped inside.

The woman screamed and man got angry.

"Get the fuck out of here," he screamed shoving Malk's master against the door.

The feeble man began to chuckle and then plunged his hand, with it's sharp talons, into the man's chest and wrapped his fingers around the man's beating heart. The cheating man gasped as a dark matter coursed through Malk's Master's veins. The man turned to dust and fell to the floor. The woman screamed again as her blue eyes looked in terror at the man that had turned a deep hue of blood and sprouted tiny horns from his forhead.

"Your turn," he said and descended upon the woman.

Malk watched from the corner as a thin whisp of cloud praying to his Master that he would be rewarded.

Standing before the whisp of cloud was a fully formed monster, the likes the world hadn't seen for over centuries.

"Did I did well," Malk said.

The purple eyes of his master settled on him. He grinned, revealing a mouthful of dagger-like teeth.

"Yes," he said.

He opened his mouth and stuck out a forked tounge that tasted the air. In a tiny explosion Malk returned to his former serpent form over ten times the size. He landed on a toilet that crumbled beaneath him.

"Let's take the rest of them," his master said and stepped into the hall.

Prompt 4 of 31

The Writer's Book of Matches pg.74 "If we have this conversation, it's going to end badly for you. Consider that a fair warning."

Start time: 12:23

"Believe me, Tristan, if we have this conversation, again, it's going to end badly for you. Consider that fair-"

"But, Jonathon," Tristan cut in, "I need some sort of hope or conclusion. I made an agreement with myself that I would decide, by the time I was thirty, whether or not I am going to have kids."

"We're gay, Trist, we can't have kids. We don't have the parts for that. Remember?"

"I understand that," Tristan said, he ran his fingers through his hair. "But there are other options. We could do surrogacy. Hell you could even have sex with a woman. I wouldn't care, as long as it resulted in a kid."

Jon looked at Tristan with disgusted disbelief.

"You must be out of your mind! I'm not going to do that. And let's just forget the fact that I physically couldn't, since my little general won't salute to the pussy platoon, I won't have a biological child. I won't."

"Why?" Tristan said, throwing his hands in the air. They landed on their white sofa with a muffled thud.

"HOw long have we been together, Trist?" He paused but not really for any sort of answer. "Twelve years. You know what my family is like. We have diabetes, schizophrenia, obesity, obsessive compulsive disorder, colon cancer. Why would I want to potentially pass on these fucked up genes to another living being? That's insane. It's a miracle I have dodged as many genetic bullets."

"The likelihood of that-"

"Is too much if even a chance that it could."

The two sat in silence. Their eyes locked in an invisible bond.

"Wanting kids as gay men is so selfish if it's biological."

Tristan opened his mouth to reply but didn't. His bottom jaw just hung slack.

"Think of it, Trist, there are so many kids in the system that have no one to love them. How callous, conceited, and cruel must you be to want to bring another life into this world when someone out there could use parents to love them. Anyone, to love them."

"But what about your family's troubles with adopted kids? Didn't Andrew try to burn down the house with everyone in it?"

"Try to, are you kidding. He tried once and succeeded the other."

"That's what I'm talking about!"

"That is an isolated incident."

Tristan rolled his eyes.

"Regardless it's still a risk."

Jon laughed and shook his head.

"Trist, that's a risk with any child. You know how mental illness runs in my family? What if our kid ends up schizophrenic? Or even if the kid is yours biologically, you yourself have a high risk of cancer and alcoholism. No one is immune. Us as gay men have to take into account so much more when it comes to having kids. It's not like a heterosexual couple that can bang and it results in a child. It just doesn't work that way for us. It just doesn't."

Tristan pressed his lips together and furrowed his brow.

"Trist, believe me I would love to see a little me running around. I would. But I would just feel guilty when I know there is probably a kid that wants so desperately to be loved that he would do anything. Most of the time that kid grows up and has other issues to contend with. Don't you want to save a kid? Wouldn't you want to look at our child and know that we took him in and gave him everything he could have ever wanted because we could do that. We may not be able to give them life, Tristan, but we can sure as hell give them love and a heightened chance at a successful life."

end time: 12:40

Prompt 3 of 31

(Stupid holidays and the preparation for them. I got sidetracked cleaning my house and then actually celebrating the fourth that I haven't posted. I'll be playing catch up today.)

The Writer's Book of Matches pg. 121 "An old man returns to the tree in which he carved the initials of his long lost childhood sweetheart."

Gerald Whaley leaned heavy on his cane as he traversed the rough dirt path to the field. His mission was to reach the tree where he had carved the initials of he and his high school love, Tabitha Green. The satchel slung over his left shoulder weighed him down and made the journey harder than it would have been even if it didn't exist. But the trip would have been worthless if he hadn't brought it, so he took it in small careful stride.

Everything looks nothing alike, he thought to himself. His cloudy aged eyes looked up, when he felt it safe too, from the road and around him. None of it was familiar. It amazed him still, even after his eighty years of life, how the world, nature, was so liquid. It changed so quick and drastically. Even when he pulled up in his beat up Toyota Tercel he wasn't sure that he had gone to the right dirt parking lot off of the highway. But he was certain it had to be. The landscape may easily deceive him but his mind did not. That was still as spry and wary as it had been when he had carved those initials. It was his body that had turned against him.

He stopped at the edge of a rickety bridge, that crossed over a trickling creek. Below it was brambles and sharp stones that jutted up through the creek bed like teeth. He took a breather and judged the safety of the passageway.

"I don't know about this," he mumbled to himself. He opened his mouth and scratched his cheek with his free hand.

Gerald followed the path on the other side of the bridge. It wound behind the hill out of sight. But atop that hill, only a short distance away, was the tree.

---------------------------

(start time: 9:57, 7/7/13)

"Not far now," Gerald said to himself.

He grabbed ahold of the single banister on the bridge. Luckily it was his left and with the assistance of his cane he traversed the obstacle. When he got to the other side he released the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. With one look back at the bridge he smiled and continued on the path to the tree.

He set his satchel down immediately. The weight had begun to get the best of him. Without it he moved with a new energy and traipsed around the trunk, his hands feeling along the rough bark. He had gone almost entirely around when he found it. It was higher than he had remembered but there it was. The initials wrapped tightly in a heart. HIs index finger traced the letters and border, and he smiled.

His mind whirled to life from the memory. He closed his eyes and was instantly transported back to the moment he and Tabitha had lain together beneath this tree and became one. It had been his first time, although he never mustered the courage to ask the same of her. He just wanted to assume that it was.

In the final moment of their passion Tabitha screamed out that she loved him and Gerald just remained silent. It had been awkward when they had dressed, and even more so on the ride home.

Gerald opened his cloudy eyes. Tears began to form beneath the powder blue of his irises.

He pressed his lips together and shook his head. He was going to undo that mistake. The beginning of all the missed chances in his life. He loved his children but their mother had been a witch he was expected to marry. The only thing she had taught him was that everything could be undone with life. You just had to make the sacrifice.

Gerald turned and leaned against the trunk. Using both hands he guided himself until his rear rested on the earth. He caught his breath that had fled in the struggle and grabbed the satchel. He flipped open the leather flap, retrieved the book from within, and tossed the bag aside.

"No going back," he told himself.

He opened it up and found the proper spell. He had followed all of the instructions thus far, remember. Now he just had to pay the debt. He reached into his pocket for his knife and followed the second step of the instructions, he slit his wrist horizontally and vertically on his palm.

Gerald held his head back and made sure his hand found the etching.

Looking down he read the words.

At first there was nothing. He just felt the warm blood running down his arm and wrapping around to pool at the crook of his neck and shoulder; his body grew weak.

He read the words again slower, enunciating each syllable.

Nothing.

His heart began race. Had he made a mistake, he kept thinking. But he began to realize even if he had he didn't care. He was where he had been the most happy.

He closed his eyes, leaned his head against the tree, and remembered. Everything once again alive to him. The sounds of the cicadae, the summer breeze brushing against his sweaty skin, the smell of the blooming flowers on the hill. He could hear the soft breaths of Tabitha.

Opening his eyes he was back.

He pushed himself up and looked around.

"What's the matter?" Tabitha said.

He looked at her from behind his circular glasses. her naked form laying seductively on the striped blanket.

"I-" he said trying to find the words for his joy.

Then he did the only thing he wanted. He leaned in and kissed her with all the passion that had been held back behind the societal façade.

She playfully pushed him back.

"Where did that come from?" she said, laughing.