You make me smile

I don't normally do these award memes - are they consider memes? Anyway my fellow She Who Blogs, Qualcosa Di Bello - had just awarded me the "You Make Me Smile Award."

Thank you Qualcosa Di Bello! Qualcosa Di Bello currently has three blogs - Piacere, Write Away, and Dog Blog. I especially like her Write Away blog - full of wonderful poems. Please paid a visit when you can.

I did some research and it seem The Smile Award was created by Bridget at "...And miles to go before we sleep..." At least I think so since this award had been pass along so many times. Let me know if I am wrong about this. The idea behind this award:

"The thing that I love most about blogging is that I learn so much about a person just by reading their blog. I have met MANY wonderful people with wonderful stories to tell and I am grateful every day for each person that I have the pleasure of crossing paths in life with.

I wanted to create something special for the top ten people who have inspired me through their blogging; the stories they tell and the lives that they lead with grace and dignity. I visit their blogs for inspiration and encouragement."

Of cause I would pass it back to Qualcosa Di Bello for visiting my blogs and leaving so many wonderful comments but since she already have one, I guess I'll pass it on to these folks. It's really hard to pick ten so I am just going pick four.

1. Frances at Blogjem - for her fascinating writings that always makes me laugh and her wonderful New York photography.

2. Karina at Candid Karina - for her funny tales and creative writing.

3. JennieBoo at O So Mo Love - for her kind words whenever she make comments and she always has something fun and wonderful to say.

4. Pretty much all my fellow She Who Blogs members as they all have make me smile one time or another. Visit their links on the left when you get a chance.

Past Regret

Fiction Friday: Theme: Give a virtuous character a sordid past.
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About Fiction Friday

In a small town like Morningstar, Dr. Jacob was the man everyone wanted their children to grow up to be. The perfect gentleman. Always polite, never rude, always with a pleasant smile on his face, always helpful in any way he can. He was the doctor for the local hospital who also volunteer as a firefighter on weekends. No one knew how he had changed his life and his outlook. No one thought any worse of him even when they knew what kind of person he used to be.

Jacob's life was saved causing another to be lost. It was his selfish acts that caused him to be drowning in the water. He was being egotistic, showing off again. Out in the water on his surf board, when others had gotten out. The tide was high as skyscrapers but Jacob went out anyway. HIs board flipped over after only a few seconds and then he was down in the cold ocean floor.

The cold liquid entered his mouth quickly consuming his lungs. His legs got caught on a groups of seaweeds and being egotistic that he was, he didn't cry for help. He struggled and struggled but couldn't get free. Towards the end when he thought it was the end, he felt a pair of hands pulled his leg out and then he was out in the open air, breathing again.

He looked around but couldn't see the man who had saved him. The waves was still going strong. In the moving water, he can barely see what's in front of him. He dived under and saw the man all covered in seaweeds.. He pulled the man out of the water but it was too late. He was gone. There was nothing to be done. He stared in disbelief at this kind face who was now still as a wooden board. This man who saved him when he didn't deserved to be saved.

He cried like a baby when he realized what this man had done for him. He was an older lifeguard who had worked at this beach for many years. He was known simply as Joe.

Joe's daughter slapped Jacob on the face when he saw her in the hospital's waiting room. He apologized but could find no other words to soothe her pain. He felt guilty for being alive. Guilty that he was not the one laying in the hospital bed with the white sheets over his head.

As Jacob stared around his big house, his big empty house, he realized this was not the life he wanted. An inheritance from his deceased parents was all that he thought he needed. WIth no other family, he thought he can be selfish. All those years just sailing by ignoring the consequences, doing whatever he wanted at the expense of others. If only he can erased that last moment of his life. If only he wasn't so selfish. Who was he trying to impress, some woman who he only known for a few hours and will probably disappear out of his life the very next week?

After a month of searching, Jacob was ready to do something with his life. Starting over wasn't easy but in the end it was worth it. He had learned to live without the things he was used to. He gave his fortune away to a charity for orphan kids under Joe's name. He gave his house to a homeless family. His car, to his cleaning lady. The last few hundred dollars he used to started over.

In Morningstar, he find himself useful again. He had gotten his PHD but never actually used it. Living in a tiny apartment near the town's recreation center, he would wake up every more listening to the sounds of children laughing and he would smile to himself. He started working as the town's, Dr. Frank's assistant. When Dr. Frank retired, Jacob got promoted. It was not a rich town but the people were kind and generous. They didn't question his motives or why he was there in the first place. They see him as a man who who can be trusted, who can be there when they needed him.

Still after all these years, Jacob still could not fully forgive himself. Joe, whose life he had stolen, will forever remain in his memory as a reminder that even he can change for the better.

The Keys - Part 3 (Last goodbye)

Read part 1 here, part 2 here.

A second plane delay due to heavy ice storm had left me stranded at the airport. I tried to sleep but my mother's words ran through my head. I read the letter again and again but find no solace in her words. But at least I knew why she left.

A pair of dark loafers appeared in front of me. I looked up to see Michel smiling down at me. I was surprised by his appearance but could not find any words to say. His face was all red with excitement, his blue eyes twinkling in the bright airport lights. He brushed blond strands of hair away from his forehead and said,"I think I might know someone who is also looking for Rebecca Morgan."

He carried my bag over his shoulder and held out his hand to me. I was too stunned but took his hand. Back at the hotel, we took the elevator up in silence. I stared at my shoes, my mind all empty out.

Michel told me someone was also looking for my mother a few weeks back. He was staying at the same room as my mother. His sign-in name was Joseph Jonathan. Jonathan, my father's middle name. My auntie used to called him Jonny.

Michel knocked at the door a few times but no one was answering. We waited hoping maybe he was just waking up from a nap. Fifteen minutes later, still no respond. "He didn't check out. No one saw him leave. So..." Michel looked at me, looking a little distress. I just stared back at him with a straight face.

After a while, Michel used his key to open the door. Inside, it was dark. The windows were open. Cool air was rushing in. Michel turned on the lights. There was the smell of liquor all around the room.

He looked so peaceful, laying there, fully dress in a black suit with a white shirt. His eyes were closed wearing a strange smile on his face. Michel called his name, "Mr. Jonathan!" Joseph did not moved a muscle.

I touched his forehead, brushing his gray hair away from his eyes. I knew without a doubt he was gone. I felt his cool skin under my hand. "Do you know him?" Michel asked me. "Yes," I replied. "He's my father." I heard these words coming from my own lips almost a whisper but knew it was true. He will always be my father no matter what. I wanted to laugh but cry instead. My eyes emptied out the tears that I had kept inside these last fifteen years. I could not stop them as they flowed easily down my cheeks and onto my shirt. Michel placed his arm around me. I felt strange but relief. I let my eyes rain down on me. I wrapped my arms around Michel without any thought. He held there for a while.

From what they can tell, Joseph had drank himself to death. There were tons of liquor bottles around the floor of the bed and on the bed around him. The winter wind from the window must have cooled his body. He had been there for three weeks, never ordering any food, just liquor. The room was fully paid for. I was glad because I had no money. He left a letter to me, not saying much except he was sorry he could not bring mother home to me. HIs last words were, "I love you, Bobbie, even knowing you were not my own." Signed, Papa, which I used to called him when I was little.

At the sight of my father's body inside that wooden box, I was happy. At last he's at peace. No more chasing my mother across the continents. No more having to worry where he was or whether he was okay. I was caught off guard by Michel's kindness. I would never have been able to get my father back home. Michel held my hand as I stared up at the plane flying in the air with my father in it.

I felt a sudden aching pain in my stomach. I let go of Michel's hand. I felt myself falling onto the lush blue carpet. I woke to find Michel staring down at me with a worry look on his face. I looked into his eyes in the brightly lit room. Where was I? I sat up feeling faint and weak. Michel helped me up and placed a pillow for me to lean against.

I thanked him for his kindness. I told him I cloud not afford to pay but he just smiled at me and said in a very well spoken English that he will pay for me. As a loan, I can pay him back later. He explained that he brought me here to the emergency room after I fainted.

He told me I can call him Michael. He had only been living in France for a year. He was born here but had moved to New York right soon after. His parent wanted him to live in America. He came here for a woman but fell in love with the city instead. He only uses the fake english accent so people would think he was French which he was.

For two days, I stayed there as I was too weak to even move. Michael, as I called him now, got me a plane ticket by trading in my old one. I was to fly straight home, no stops in between. I was glad he planned my trip. I didn't even know I wanted to go home until he told me about the ticket.

All that was left was the house left by my auntie. Last December, I was all ready to leave but when my auntie got sick, I felt I needed to stay to take care of her. She died a few months later. I was free to search for my parents. My auntie, Sarah was her name, took care of me all these years, never letting me go astray. She talked me into staying and finishing my education. I was grateful to her when at her deathbed, she told me to go and find my parents. My father after all, was her brother. She had promised him she was going to take care of me. She did her job and I will forever remembered those nights when she held me in her arms and comforted me when I had nightmares.

I felt as if all my worries had been lifted. Now I know about my parents and what happened, I felt a certain relief. As I sat there waiting for the plane to take off, Michael plodded down next to me. I was surprised. He smiled at me with those amazing blue eyes that just melts my sad thoughts away. How handsome he looked out of his red uniform. I didn't know what to say so I just smiled at him. He buckled his searbelt and then he held my hand as the plane took off. I guess he was a bit afraid of flying as his face suddenly turned a pale shade, his grip tighten. Someday I will have to tell him what it was that led me to him.

The Key - Part 2 (Missing You)

This is for 3WW here. This week's words are: Caught, Eager, Perfume.
This is the continuation of this story.

"Parlez-vous anglais?" I asked in my shaky French. The guy at the front desk was wearing a smirk on his face but he was eager to please in his red jacket and black pants. In a thick English accent, he replied, "Yes, Miss. I speak English. I am hotel manager, Michel Rodolph. Can I may be of help?" His smirk vanished once those words popped out of his mouth. I was glad i didn't have to speak any more French. I would have embarrassed myself more.

I tried to smile pleasantly but the scent of the heavy perfume from the lady behind me caused my head to spin. I asked him if my mother had been there. I told him I was looking for her and that this was the last place that I knew she had been. He went through his sign-in book looking for her name. After turing many pages, he exclaimed,"No, sorry, no Rebecca Anthony. Sorry." I was silent for a moment, desperately thinking if this is it.

"Wait, check for a Rebecca Morgan," I said looking him eagerly. I can see his eyes flickering with pity. He checked the book again. "Oh, Yes, a Miss Rebecca Morgan. She was here until last month." He said with a smile. I asked about a Joseph Anthony who was also looking for my mother, but he couldn't find his name anywhere in the sign-in book.

I told him I would like a room, preferably the same one as my mother. It wasn't possible, that room was currently occupied. How about the room next door? Yes, that is fine I told him. I signed in and paid with cash.

A skinny guy with a red hat and in a red uniform helped me with my luggage. I took only what I needed and that one luggage was all my possession. It took me fifteen years to save enough to get here. I only wished I was earlier. I caught a glimpse of myself by in the reflection of the elevator doors. My curly hair was a mess and my eyes seem to sagged, looking very tired with a sad look upon my face. At 24, I was looking more like a 30 year old.

Up in my room, I didn't unpack knowing I would not stay more than a day. I took a warm shower and went straight to bed. Going from the warm weather to this cold climate had caused by body to weaken. My head was throbbing, I was so exhausted from the eight hour flight. In my dream I saw my mother drinking tea with my father. They were having a pleasant time, under a big willow tree, just laughing. I was jumping rope in the background, I was eight years old with two ponytails. Then mother disappeared, followed by father. I stopped jumping. I was left alone, staring at the empty chairs. Someone grabbed me and dropped me into a deep, dark well. I screamed with no sound coming out.

I woke up in a pool of sweaty sheets. In the dark, my mind succumbed to my weak body. I ran to the bathroom and down the drain, my dinner went. I was all sweaty and I felt like someone was pressing their hand on my forehead refusing to let me stand up. I dragged myself back in bed. I was afraid this might happen. The doctor was so clear that I shouldn't travel. But what choice do I have? All my life I had slaved over aggravating jobs just so that I can afford to look for my parents. I wasn't going to let a little ulcer stopped me. Not this far.

A couple of trips to the bathroom empty out my stomach but my head still felt cloudy and heavy. I ordered dinner but couldn't keep the food down. For two days I had to stayed in bed, I just could not move.

On the third day, I had no choice but to call for help. The manager, whose name I have forgotten, was unexpectedly kind as he came by my room with a doctor. I was given a shot of some kind. I couldn't even speak, nor able to muster any thoughts. I laid there for another day, dreaming empty dreams.

At last I was well enough to leave. I paid my bills at the desk but was left with only my plane ticket home and no money. Home, where is that? I guess I have been searching far too long to remember where it was. I cannot even remember what anything look like.

The hotel manager whose name I finally find out was Michel Rodolph, greeted me at the door. The bell boy had taken ill and Michel was the only one working that day. I was glad to see him even if I didn't show it. He asked no questions, took my bag and smiled at me. At the hotel front entrance, he gave me a small package with my name on it. He had forgotten that he had it. It was left for me by my mother. I thanked him and he wished me well and we shook hands. I felt the warm touch and immediately wonder why I didn't notice how nice his eyes look. My thoughts were always fill with my parents that the the thought of ever falling in love had never occur to me. I got in the taxi and waved goodbye.

The package contained one small box and one letter. My flight was delayed and so I read the letter sitting in those metal chairs.

To my dear daughter Barbara or Bobbie as I usually called you,

I hope you are well. As I write this, I am somewhere else. Don't try to find me. I knew the many times that I've left you, had caused a great deal of pain and empty hopes but I hope this letter will mend some of those holes that I have created.

Since you are reading this, that means you have gotten the papers from the safe box. I knew I should have told you about your biological father. But I was afraid you would hate me or your father, Joseph, who loves you very much even when he knew he was not your biological father. We agreed, Joseph and I, that we will tell you when the time is right. But I could never muster up enough courage to tell you. So here I will tell you now.

Your biological father's name was Gerald Morgan. After you were born, Gerald left for the war. I could not stop him from going. He was very determined to fight for our country and for us. A few months after he had left, I received a telegram stating that he was killed in action but I did not believe it. I had to see him for myself. When I saw his lifeless body, I knew he was gone. What could I do with just you and me, alone with no other family around? I could not let you live without a father and I couldn't have provided for you alone. I met Joseph a few weeks later. He was in one of Gerald's group and had carried Gerald's body home. He didn't have much but he was very kind and he loves us and I thought that was enough for me to forget Gerald. I married Joseph the next year. It took some time for me to decide but I knew I had to, for your sake.

I couldn't stayed with you and your father - as my heart was not in it. I missed Gerald. I thought if I kept moving, I would find solace, something that can erase the pain but in the end I lost myself. I didn't want you to see me like that.

I am sorry I was not there with you all those years. But I knew Joseph was a good father to you and he always gushed about when he wrote to me.

I am sorry I was not around long enough to really know you. Of cause I needed money but that was not the only reason I came back. I came back for you. I asked you to come with me but you wanted to stay with your father. I knew he needed you so I did not persist.

As I waved goodbye to you at the station, I knew I would not be seeing you again. And so I left you everything in a safe box. I had to change to another box under your name so that you would be able to find it and so that your father would not find me. Everything in there is true. I hope at least if you knew the truth, you would hate me.

I saw your father, Joseph, today. I told him I wasn't coming back. He was devastated. He was mad. I had to leave the hotel in secret. I knew that I have hurt him but I could never have stay with him and be happy. I could never love him. He knew that even before we said our vows. We had agreed that I can leave anytime. But he had gone mad - this obsession to keep me with him. I felt I could not stay even for you.

I leave you this ring which Gerald had given me on our wedding day as my last gift to you. I will not be contacting you or sending you any more letters. I do not wish to be found and had changed my name and hope you would not try to find me. I think it is best this way.

I wish you all the happiness in the world. I love you and will forever remember those nights we shared talking away until the early morning hour. I regret not being in your life but hope you will understand. Please understand.

Love,
your mother, Rebecca

I felt sad reading this but knew it was for the best. At least I knew she remembered me. Still, I wanted to see her even for one last time. I stared at the people around the airport and wonder if any of them is missing someone right now.

Read part 3 here.

The Key - Part 1

This entry is for Writers Island.

"Take this and keep it safe" she said to me as she handed me a key with the number 23 on it. "It's very important. It's the key to unlock your past and your future." She grabbed her suitcase and boarded the train. I wanted to smile but could only muster a small curve of my lips as I waved to her. When will I see her again, I thought as tears rolled down my face. I waved at her like a mad girl with insane hand gestures, jumping up and down in the cold morning air wearing my thin cotton coat.

That was the last time I saw my mother. How beautiful she looked in her black dress with her black hair glistening in the lamplight of the station. She blew a kiss at me from the window. I ran after the train, hoping for another glance of her. The last thing I saw of her were her white gloved hand waving goodbye, sticking out of the train window. I was glad father was not there at the station as he would have cried and begged her to stayed. My mother would have break his heart with just one look. I had wished she didn't come back. It was too painful the first time that she left us.

At the bank, I felt strange and unsure of what I will find there. Staring at safe number 23, I turned the key in the keyhole holding my breath. I heard a click sound. I pulled the box out of the wall, onto the desk and flipped it open. I sat down in front of it. I was surprised. What did I expect to find? Looking at the empty gray space, my mind went numb. Nothing was there, not even dust. Could she had been wrong? Could my mother had gave me the wrong key? But it fitted perfectly. I sat there staring at the empty box. The bank was empty after rush hour, full of eerie silence. The bright florescent light up above make me a little sick to my stomach.

The bank manager, Mr. Bank, a very nice old man with wonderful manners, came in and asked if I needed any other help. I just smiled and said that I was done here and thanked him for his help. I shook his hand and walked out of the bank.

Into the semi-dark streets, I stared around me and wondered where I should go from here. I didn't expect any treasures or money in the box. With my mother, I never have high expectations and sometimes none at all. I was hoping there were be some kind of mementoes, some clue that can tell me where my mother went and where my father had disappeared, chasing after her.

It has been fifteen years and still nothing. Not a single letter letting me know where they might be or if they were still alive. Why didn't I go with my mother like she asked? Why didn't I just leave my father behind? Because he needed me. I knew with my mother gone, his heart would break and he would start to obsess over her, like the last time that she had left.

The first time she had left us was on a Monday. It was early in the morning when the sun was still trying to rise when my mother gently touched my shoulder, waking me from my dizzyingly happy dream. My father was still asleep. My mother pulled me aside and told me she will be leaving in a few minutes. She gave me a pretty handkerchief with a rose on it as a goodbye gift. I begged her to stay for father's sake but knew she would not stayed, not even for me. My father had brought her a new suitcase saying they might travel as a family some day when he had earn enough. Just the three of us he said. He was so happy just saying those words. He never left my mother's side, constantly doing whatever she asked of him.

After two years when she showed up one day, at our front door wearing a bright yellow dress with her dark lips smiling at us, I knew she wasn't going to stay. She stayed for only two days. Her restless heart could not keep her with us. I can tell by her waving eyes that she was only here for money. She told me all kinds of tales of her adventure out there. All the famous people she had met. I didn't care what she was telling me as I was, like my father, all too happy to have her here even for a brief moment. When she left, he was silent for a month, rarely going outside.

Even at a young age, I knew what it meant to obsess over someone, to long for them even when they are not there. So when my father sold his shoe business, packed some of his clothes and left me with his sister, I knew what he had felt. He told me when he find mother, we will all be together again. I believed him as he always told the truth. But I can see by the gleam in his eyes that he really believed it would happen. He really think he can find her this time. He gave me a hug and told me to be good and listen to my auntie. He told me he will sent for me once he find mother. I just nodded my head in agreement. My auntie tried to convinced him to stay but he refused. He said he had to do this, not just for him but for me too. He touched my cheeks and walked out the door. I stared at the back of his head as he walked down the street towards the train station. I wanted to run after him but my auntie's strong hand held me back.

As I stood in front of the bank, I heard my name being called. "Ms. Anthony!" It was Mr. Bank. He forgot to tell about the other safe box that my mother had opened under my name. She had taken her things from her box and placed them in this new one, about fours years ago. I was happy but my mind empty out its thoughts as soon as they came. Mr. Bank asked if I want to open my safe box. I couldn't speak and just nodded my head and followed him back inside.

Under the bright lights, I sat and stared at the gray box. I was hesitant to open it. What will I find in there? Will I find my mother who's heart was never with us? Or will I find myself lost in her turbulent absence?

I slowly flipped open the box. Inside was letters that my father had written my mother, letters from me to my mother. Christmas cards, birthday cards, a couple of old photos of my mother as a little girl. My birth certificate. Nothing new here but...I stared in disbelief. The name for the father was not my father but another man's unfamiliar name. Does my father know about this? I looked under the piles of letters and found some baby photos. Me with a strange man and my mother. At least I think it was me. The baby had the same eyes as mine. I turned the photo over. "Mr and Mrs. Morgan with their daughter, Barbara Anna." That is my name but...I couldn't think as I stared at the photo. With its frayed edges and the faded tan colors, it felt like sand in my hand. I must have sat there far too long as Mr. Bank told me the bank was about to be close.

I managed to gather the letters, photos and papers into my bag and left the bank. My head was spinning and I didn't know if this was what my mother had meant. The moon shined down onto the streets, reminding me of those late nights with my mother sitting outside watching the stars and chatting until the early morning sun pop its head out of the sky. I wonder if I will ever see her or my father again, that is, if he's my father. I hailed a taxi to the airport. I have no idea where I was heading but I will soon find out. Following the return address on the last letter my mother wrote to me but never sent, I think that will lead me to her. I stared out, up at the moon as the taxi began to move. It seem to followed me as if I was moving in the right direction.

Read part 2 here.

Hi, my name is...

This entry is for Sunday Scribblings. Read other Sunday Scribblings here.

What is this, oh, I knew I should have listen when my brothers told me to stay away. Why didn't I listen? Now I am here but where is here? It's dark and I feel wet all over. Liquid keeps coming into me but I am breathing, I think. My body feels like it's swimming in a pool of heavy sand. My mind, so unformed, seem to be unfolding thoughts I didn't know I have.

I bounce from time to time and always has this feeling of wanting to turn and move around but this place is so small, I cannot move anymore than a few turns here and there. Sometimes I strange rhythmic sounds coming from the outside. My eyes refuses to open as if afraid of what they will find. Somehow I knew it was music. The melodies soothes my body and they enter my dreams so easily. I enjoy listening even without any understanding. But then most of the time, I don't know what I am hearing anyway. The sounds, they sound so far away but once in a while a voice booms into my thoughts and awakes my mind, sounding very close by. I could not decipher them as they all sounded alien.

Am I growing along with the walls that surrounds me or maybe the walls are closing in? I cannot tell the difference. Either way, I cannot see where I am in this darkness. My mind refuses to let me know.

I hear a beating sound moving awfully fast. Feel a cold touch that I don't like but my eyes refuses to open as I am afraid all of a sudden. I will my brain to try to understand but it refuses as the beating sound keeps getting faster and faster and louder and louder. Its rhythm keeps going up and down, up and down. I have no idea where it's coming from but I am sure it's close by. Sleepiness takes over me.

A touch pulls me awake and out into a new place. A very bright place. I am now on something soft. I feel its softness and knew instantly I was outside somewhere else. The bright lights are there even when my eyes are shut tightly. I can feel its warmth beaming down me. Something wants to come out of me but when I open my mouth, no sound comes out. I do not know if I want to cry or if I want to speak as I soon feel too tired to even move. Something soft touch my hand and I try to wrap my finger around it.

The beating sound continues this time I know for sure it's coming from inside of me as I am not where I used to be. Still, I could not open my eyes. It's heaviness keeps falling down each time I try to open them. I feel coldness touching me as well as being insert into me. I soon fall asleep as I cannot keep my body awake.

I no longer feel tired. The coldness has faded. The coldness has been removed. The beating sound inside me is now at a steady pace. My mind now more focus as I now realize my eyes are not heavy. Seeing a blur at first but then it focus, showing me a face. A face, familiar and yet I have no memory of it. I am pick up gently into its arms and onto its soft shoulders. I open my mouth and it seem so natural to close them after a breathe escapes. My eyes falls downs and I am falling into a soft dream.

I open my eyes again and this time, there are many more faces, all round, bright and colorful with sounds coming from them that sounds so strange but comforting. "Hi, baby!" "Baby, look at me!" "Hello little baby!" Apparently, that's my name. I feel the warm touch of a finger on my head and then a soft kiss. I fall asleep to the beating of what I know now is my very own heart.

Mrs. Brady

Fiction Friday: Theme: Pick an unusual phobia and explain why a character has it.
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About Fiction Friday

He runs inside into his apartment as if being chase. In his small bedroom, Greg hides away. The windows are tightly closed with thick curtains. Sunlight slits through the small opening of the curtains. Its beam falls onto his legs. Greg moves farther away from the window, away in the corner of the room where the shadow hides his thoughts.

In a quick move, he rushes to the window and pulls the curtains close. He stares at the surrounding darkness. The bed is pushed against the wall, away from the window. The floor is cover in white sheets over the blue carpet. The only other furniture besides the bed is the small desk with one pencil and two blank pieces of paper lay out on it. Plus an old wooden secondhand chair.

The room, a reprieve from daylight, keeps Greg sane. All bad thoughts gone. He sits in front of the desk, a little calm now as the sounds of the afternoon whispers its distance voice from the outside world.

Less than one hour ago, Greg was at a book signing. You would think at age 30, Greg would have gotten over his phobia but not quite. He waited in line with the old ladies and the beard men. When it was his turn, Greg slowly walked up to the desk where she sat, her round cheekbones was at its fullest caused by the wide smile on her face. As her smiling face and her big eyes came into focus, Greg stood there staring. He tried to say something but nothing came out. Sweat fell from his forehead. He held out his hand with the book, hands shaking. She said hello to him in her motherly voice. As Greg tried to form thoughts in his head, he suddenly ran towards the exit and out the store. He heard her calling him but ran faster.

Back at his apartment he felt foolish for running away. How was he to get over his fear this way? He waited two years to meet her and to get over his fear but now in this dark room, he knew he could not succeed in conquering his fear.

It was supposed to be a temporary solution but soon turned into something else. Greg, born with a rare disease, had kept him away from sunlight. Once his aunt took him outside on a sunny day. He was only six but the pain of the sun's touch stayed with him. He was in the hospital under going grueling treatments that lasted two weeks. HIs skin stated in its red state for two years before it finally subsided. Sunlight was not the problem as he soon developed the proper immune system to go out in the sun. No, sunlight was not the problem.

All those years of living inside had caused him to fear that lady from the Brady Bunch television show. Yes, he's afraid of Mrs. Brady. Whenever he saw her on the tv screen, he would try to avert his eyes. The cheekbones and the strange hair would cause him to freak out. He would lose control of his mind and thought of nothing but running away, far away from her.

His mother had constantly watched the show and had make Greg watched it also. Since he couldn't go outside to school, Greg's mother had taught him using the Brady show. His mother had a thing for Mrs. Brady. So many photos of her hangs around the house. His mother even got the same hairstyle and when Mrs. Brady changed her hair, so did she. His mother did looked like Mrs. Brady and usually would wear almost the same outfits from the show. Greg would get freak out sometimes whenever she would try to be motherly towards him.

Greg's mother who likes to be called, Mrs. B., did everything Mrs. Brady did. Even raised her two children, Greg and his twin sister, Marcia, exactly like Mrs. Brady. It was fun when they were young and their friends like it. But when the show got cancelled, Mrs. B became strange and abusive. Greg's father left the family to go to Hawaii with his secretary but Mrs. B. continued on as if he was still there. Everything has to be done to just like the Brady's. Mrs. B. even make her children wear 60's clothes but it was the year 2000. Soon Mrs. B. was sent to a facility while her two children went to live with their aunt.

Greg sits at his desk in the wooden chair and starts to write a letter. To Mrs. Brady, he writes. He never thought to sent them but thought of them as a healing process. Each letter he writes, he includes childhood episodes of his life hoping the words would ease his fear.

Grace

This week's words are: Ambiguous, Nine, Slept. This was inspired by photos by Frances at Blogjem. Read other 3WW here.

Grace sits there watching as the white car drives near. She stares at it casually as it slows down near the front porch. Stopping in front of her, the engine shuts off. The car must has been through a lot as indicated by the harsh exterior with its faded white paint and dusty windows. There are sticker signs on the side of the cars shaped in gray paw prints. The early morning sun shines on the windshield creating a small glow around the car.

The driver, a short man in blue with a blue baseball cap, gets out, closes the car door slowly, glances at Grace for a moment, then walks up the stairs and pushes the doorbell. Mrs. Rue opens the door and the driver walks inside, into the dark hallway.

Moments later, the driver comes out with a bundle in his hand. A white box with small holes around the side and top of the box. A small sound whispers from the box. Grace knows who it is as she continues to stare at the driver. The driver places the box in the back seat. Grace stretches her neck to see that the box was safely in the backseat with a seatbelt around it. The white box glow as the sun gently shines upon its edges and the surrounding white blankets. A pair of tired blue eyes peak out of the small holes.

The driver glances at Grace for a moment wearing an ambiguous smile on his face. He gets in the driver's seat. The car makes a muffle sound and drives off, back in the same direction it had came from.

Grace lays back down on her bed and sighs. Her one and only best friend, Mouse, a white ball of small fur, is now in the white car being driven away. She knows what will happen and yet could not help but feel sad as she watches the car move farther away from her. In the nine hours that Mouse had slept, she had been by his side. That's how long it took for their owner to make the decision.

Grace has been waiting outside early in the morning at her favorite spot on her favorite bed, waiting for this moment. She felt strange and wishes that she is only dreaming and that she will soon wake up with her furry friend next to her.

But she knows this is not a dream. She barks at the leaving car hoping it would stop and drive back to her. The car continues its path. It stops at a red light. All of a sudden Grace has an urge to run after the car. She springs up out of her bed, out of the gates and run as fast as she could. She runs close to the white car and can see the white box. Grace stares inside the back seat where the white box sits. No blue eyes staring out of the tiny holes.

The car moves again as the light changes to green. Grace runs after it but could not catch up. She runs faster but feels her legs getting weaker. Soon she could not move anymore. Her legs buckles under her. She stares at the white car as it disappears around the corner. Grace breathes in the shallow air watching the empty street. The sun has risen up higher in the sky. Not a single cloud in sight. She stares up at the blue sky and thoughts of her furry little friend makes her smile. She knew this is the best thing for him as he will not be suffering. She had said her goodbyes last night and now long to go with her furry friend, up into the blue sky of fluffy clouds and furry dreams.

The Gift

This entry is for Writers Island.

it had arrived last week
and was placed on that little worn out desk with scribbles
ignored at first, as a pile of clothes covered the desk
wrapped in light pink paper with dark pink ribbons tied in a bundle of bows
falling onto the edge of the box
dangling a small card decorated with a rose

it waits to be open
through sunrise and sunset
hoping each day it will be open

she had put off opening it
knowing what it contained
and what it really means
she had stared at it for days, hoping maybe it wasn't there

at last, she could no longer ignored it
she slowly opens it, careful not to rip the paper

inside a beautiful music box
its dark brown wood shine in the bright afternoon light
she slowly opens the lid
to reveal a ballet dancer with round rosy cheeks
dress in all pink, down to her pink ballet slippers

she turn the handle on the side of the box
the dancer slowly turn along with the music
its reflection in the small box mirror moving along with her

its delicate melodies sprang to life
a reminder of yesteryears
she holds it on her lap
she knew without reading the card who it was from
tears spring out of her eyes as images of her childhood fills her mind

it was not ten years ago that she heard this very song
when her grandmother play the music for her as she laid in bed with the flu
the music box, her grandmother's prize possession, a gift from her mother
the sweet music entered her mind and spread memories into her heart
the melodies covered the room like a big hug

she put the music box back inside the box
wrapped the box with the pink paper
tied the ribbon with bows with the card
and place it in the back of the closet for her next birthday

Collector Personality

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It was a rather large, pink object with shiny, smooth surfaces that reflected her small face as she stared into the toy store window. She pressed her face against the glass and place her hands against it as if to balance herself. At age five, Suzuki, didn't have many wants but when she saw that pink piggy bank, she knew at once she wanted it for her birthday. Her parents said it was too expensive for something so useless. She could have save her money in any old jar around the house. Instead, Suzuki got a color pencil set for her birthday. Suzuki felt very disappointed and took those color pencils and drew all over the livingroom's white walls. She was grounded for a week but that didn't stop her from wanting the piggy bank.

When she was six, Suzuki asked for the piggy bank again for her birthday but got a set of paint and brushes instead. Suzuki once again felt very disappointed. She painted her bedroom walls a bright purple. Then she proceed to painted her parents white bedroom walls with bright pink shapes of piggies in neat little patterns. She was grounded for a week and her bedroom walls were not repainted like her parents.

When she was seven, Suzuki, once again asked for the piggy bank for her birthday but all she got was a magic marker set. Suzuki, tired of her parent's ignorance, took those magic markers and drew all over the door of their white refrigerator. Her parents sent her to her purple bedroom to think about what she had done.

That same year, her brother, Porki, was born. Suzuki thought he looked like a piggy and gave him that nickname. Her parents just pretend not to notice as they were too occupied with their family's new addition. Suzuki's bedroom was half turned into a nursery with the purple walls repainted to bright blue. They moved her bed against the wall which means she can no longer see outside the window. Suzuki got mad and drew a white chalk line all the way toward the doorway - chalks which her parents gave her for her eighth birthday - dividing the room in half. The line was drawn over the dark blue carpet and could not be completely removed, leaving a faded white line. Her parents were furious and punished her by sending her to sleep in the downstairs guestroom which was almost the size of a closet. The very next week, Suzuki's parents decided to move Suzuki to that room. When Suzuki came home from school, she founded all her things in that room - her bed, her toy box, and all her clothes now in a tiny closet. The room has no windows and the walls were decorated with dark green paint. Suzuki felt isolated. She took her color chalks and drew her discontent all over the walls. Her parents simply let her be as they soon forgotten she was even there.

When Suzuki turned nine, she did not asked for the piggy bank nor anything else. She knew her parents wouldn't have heard her anyway. Suzuki decided she simply does not care and refused to speak with her voice. She ate her meals in silence and often would reply with shakes or nods to her head. Her parents were far too busy getting Poki into grade school to notice. Suzuki received a paper mache kit for her birthday. She decorated her brother's crib, covering most of the crib's white wooden panels with papers. She also painted his nickname, "Porki" all over it in various colors. All this while her brother was still in the crib. Porki was laughing the whole time and was half wrapped in paper. Her parents sent her to her new bedroom without dinner and she was not allowed in her brother's bedroom unless her parents were also present.

On the eve of her tenth birthday, Suzuki received a one hundred dollar bill from her grandparents from her father's side. She was so excited but her parents thought it was too much for a child her age and had taken it away from her and instead they gave her a typewriter which was so old, that the letters were get stuck when she typed. Suzuki took the typewriter and threw it out the livingroom window which landed on the neighbor's cat. The cat survived but Suzuki got sent away to school in Japan where she attended 14 hour classes each day for six days a week. There, Suzuki finally learned to filtered her mind onto paper. She also realized that piggy banks were silly things and she soon forgot about them as the grueling schedule forced her to concentrated on her school work. She went home every eight months but as usual Suzuki barely spoke at all, mostly staying in her little bedroom and daydream.

When Suzuki turned sixteen, her brother sent her a birthday gift with a note written by her parents as Porki was only eight years old. Suzuki didn't care what it was as she was glad someone remembered her birthday. In that brown box with brown wrapping paper, wrapped in plastic bubble wraps, was a big, shiny pink piggy bank with its little tail and tiny eyes. The exact one that she had wanted. Suzuki was so happy but when she took it out of the box, she found it was broken in half. One half fell and broke into pieces as she held the other half in her hand. Suzuki thought this was karma as she had not been behaving herself to received this gift. Suzuki was not disappointed because, at last, she got what she always wanted. She glued the pieces together and displayed it on her writing desk. Every birthday, her brother sent her a piggy bank of various sizes and colors. She would sent him hand-written letters and small tokens. Suzuki felt content every time she stared at her piggy bank collection. Every shiny one makes her smile knowing it was sent by her brother.

Floating

Fiction Friday: This Week’s Challenge: Write a story, poem, or essay from the point of view of an inanimate object.

I wrote this before Fiction Friday announce this week's theme. I did wrote a couple of stories with this theme but I didn't like them and so I'm re-posting this instead.

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He floated upward touching the ceiling a bit, then went down and up to the ceiling again. Gush of hot air blew him in another direction, towards the other side of the subway platform. Not an hour ago, he was somehow released into the air, unable to get back to where he was. Up there, he had saw his mate being carried away, out into the bright daylight. He had reached for her but couldn't move fast enough. A gush of wind had blew him farther away from her. He ended up next to a telephone but then a train arrived and blew him upward. She was gone.

Floating up there by his lonely self, he conjured up images of his mate. The shininess of her skin, the beautiful round curves of her body. The lovely word that was beautifully drawn on her chest - "Birthday." How he missed seeing her. They were a pair, separated only by a few inches of air. He wondered if he will ever see her again. He was lost without her, his other half.

He saw a shiny round object not far from him. It's her, he thought, excitingly. As the wind kicked him closer, he can tell it was not her. It was another lost soul. As it rotates, it's pink side revealed the words "Happy Valentines." It moved far away from him as he got closer. Sadden, he stared down at the ground.

At last, a hand tried to grab him down. He felt its warm touch - like a warm blanket in the middle of winter. It tried to pushed him downward, but was just too short to reach him. Jumping up and down, the hand managed to pushed him down again but he slided back upward. Then the train came with a strong gush of wind and blew him higher up to the ceiling again. He was stuck between the pipes. He wonders how he was ever to come down. Then he felt a prick against his skin, followed by a popping sound. He felt strange, his view became blurred. He fell flat onto the ground in pieces. He no longer sported the word, "Happy." He felt himself diminishing. He felt the motion of being swept up and then down a deep darkness.

Dear Abby

This entry is for the "Dear Abby" contest at This Eclectic Life.

Dear Abby,

I have a problem with Shelia who keeps her behind in that uncomfortable chair for hours, posting unreadable fiction on her blog and reading blogs into the AM. We haven't seen daylight in months and standing in front of the window doesn't count. Abby, what should I do?

Stuck together.

Neighbor

This week's words are: Original, Racket, Skipping

What a racket! The loud thuds was coming from across the hall and it kept getting louder and louder. Then banging sounds like someone's taking two trash can lids and banging against each other. We were sitting down for a quiet dinner when the noise started. My wife told me to go over there and ask them to stop. I said I don't like the neighbors and refused to move. She gave me a dirty look and stood up from her chair and went over there.

I got a call from her ten minutes later, saying she's going to her sister's because she cannot stand the noise. I said I will drive her but she refused. Then she said she will be staying there for a while as she wanted some peace and quiet. She hung up even before I can say anything else. I called her cell but she had already turn it off.

I sat in front of the tv eating half of the dinner. I kept skipping channels as my mind was not in it. My thoughts kept going back to my wife and the neighbors. The noise from the neighbor was still so vivid. I can hear more thudding noises and clashing sounds. What exactly are they doing?

I decided to go to bed early. The sound was quietly muffled after I shut the door. I laid there trying to fall asleep but the sound stayed in my head. After an hour I must have fallen asleep. In the dream I can hear the distance sound of drums.

It was early in the am when I woke up to the noise again. I got out of bed and pour myself some orange juice. The noise was at a steady rhythm now. It was quiet outside. A full moon. I stared at the moon for a while.

The noise subsided. Then it was dead silence. Aaaahhhhh. Peace. I thought as I crawled back to bed. I was almost dreaming when it started again.

BOOM! BOOM! BANG! BANG! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BANG! BANG! BANG!!!!!!!!!

"Shit! I cannot take this anymore," I screamed out loud. I changed out of my pajamas and into a pair of jeans and a white long-sleeve shirt.

Out in the hallway, I walked around searching for the noise. To the left, no, to the right. I walked closed to apartment 3G. I leaned against the door. I can hear the noise. I knocked on the door loudly. Nothing. I banged on the door feeling the pain in my hand.

The noise stopped. I heard footsteps coming near. Then chains. Then the door opened. My new neighbor, whose name I cannot recalled, stood there like a giant wall. He was way over six feet tall. I was a little under five feet nine. I stared up at his face, cranking my neck. It was a gentle face with a kind smile. I must appeared to him like a scare little rabbit. I stumbled on my words.

"Hi, I live two doors down at..uh....3E..." I pointed at my apartment's direction, "and...uh....I was wondering if you don't mind stop making those noises. It's uh..." I looked at my wrist but I had no watch on. "It's......"

"2 am," he said with a deep voice, much like the voice of Darth Vader except more pleasant. I nodded my head. "Yeah, 2 am. So could you please stop making those noises?" I tried to smile pleasantly but I think it came out a little odd and uncomfortable. I lean my hand on the door frame, for fear I might fall.

"Sure, pal. Whatever you want. Would you like to come in?" He made a gesture with his hand and stepped aside revealing a brightly lit room. For a moment I thought maybe it's not such a good idea. But then I heard my wife's voice, "Why are you so chicken? Can't you try something new for a change?"

I stepped inside and saw a big set of drums and a set, oh yes, trash can lids. I asked him if my wife had came by. He said yes. She had knocked on his door, said hello and walked off. He guessed she was afraid of him, of his size. A few neighbors came by but they did not ask him to stop. He sat at one of his big chairs which he had many of. I sat opposite him, feeling like a tiny ant on a big piece of bread. I shifted around in my seat trying to get comfortable. Finally I just stopped moving and just relaxed.

His name was Joe. He's a musician. He said he's been trying to practice but still lacking the skill to play properly. But he seem to be good at playing with the trash can lids. He was going back and forth between the drums and the trash can lids to try and match the playing method. Originally he was a lawyer at some fancy firm. His passion for music was too great for him to escape it. He thought he rather be a poor musician than a rich lawyer. He started out with the guitar, playing with a band at odd places but then got interested in the drums.

We started talking and I spoke of childhood things that I don't even tell my wife. I told him I admired his patience as I would have given up playing altogether. I used to want to play the guitar after seeing how cool it was and how the ladies gathered around musicians like they were gods. After two hard lessons, I just gave up. How I wish I had the patience to continued.

Joe and I continued our talk until the sun rises. How strange that I never took the time to get to know my neighbors as Joe was a very friendly guy. I've already learned so much from him. He encouraged me to try the guitar again. And so here I am at the music shop with Joe, trying out guitars.

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My imaginary life

This entry is for Writers Island.

sleeping on sheets with 600 thread count
cold air blasting from a box
I chase the soft clouds in my mind
running and skipping
for hours and hours
weathering a hard twist in the road
ending up falling into my imaginary life
all sorrows forgotten
as I woke to find myself still dreaming

Writing

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It's Saturday afternoon and I am sitting here at my desk staring at the white computer screen, trying not to squint at the small thought that I had just typed out. The delete button is begging me to push it. Words disappear as I press gently at the button. Now still more blankness if that's possible. Out of the corner of my eyes, I see the email symbol bouncing up and down, announcing mail has arrived. I ignore it as I want to write and didn't want any distractions.

The phone rings, I hear it gets pick up and my husband's voice, talking in his silent vocals. He is discussing about computers with a client. After a long conversation about internet connection, he hangs up. I wait for him to knock at my door. He would often tell to me stories that he thought would make a good story. He was very generous and had converted his old office to a writing room for me. I was grateful for the space. I hear no knock. I wait again. Nothing. I did told him I was not to be disturb today as I am trying to write. How I wish for an excuse to leave this room. Silence's gathering in the room and the words wouldn't come. The screen still blank as my thoughts continue to follow his footsteps. He is now vacuuming as it is his turn to clean this week. I can hear the "rrrrooommm" sound that it makes. The sound comes close to my door then it's gone.

Back to the screen, I stare but still nothing comes. I check my email but it was all junk. I quit the program so that it wouldn't be a distraction. Once again I hear my husband wandering the halls, this time he was humming some 80's song about a needing a hero. I smile as his humming turns into singing. Now it's some song about blaze of glory. His voice fades as he walks downstairs.

Still I stare at the white screen hoping for some thoughts that might fire up my creativity. I hear a noise from the outside. I walk to the window, my husband's now mowing the lawn. In the bright sunlight, I can see him wearing his 80's concert t-shirt with an eagle, faded blue jeans and a white baseball cap covering his blond hair. Whistling, he seem to be enjoying himself. A squirrel sneaks near him. He pause to stare at it. It runs away to the neighbor's yard. He resumes mowing the lawn.

Our neighbor, old Mrs. Hanger stops to talk to him. She's wearing her faded pink bathrobe. He drops the lawn mower and walks off with her in a quick pace. Moments later, a knock is at my door. My husband, sweating from running in tells me Mr. Hanger had hurt his back and that he's going to take him to the hospital. He wants to know if I need anything from the store. Always the practical man, I laugh and shake my head no. He kisses my lips and walks off.

I watch him through the window, carrying old Mr. Hanger covered in white sheets and putting him in his car follow closely by Mrs. Hanger who is still wearing her bathrobe. They drive off to the hospital with the engine making it's clog-clog sound.

Back at my desk, the screen had fallen asleep and it's all black. I can see my reflection in it. My long brown hair is all piled up high and my pale skin shin. It's been four hours and still no writing. I wonder if maybe I should be doing something else. The phone rings. It's my husband, he wants to know if he should pick up some dinner. I said sure, anything he wants.

He brings home two chicken salads and two bottle of ginger ale with two small chocolate cupcakes. We chat about Mr. Hanger as we eat. It seem Mr and Mrs. Hanger were having sex when Mr. Hanger hurt himself falling out of bed. I laugh so hard, I spill ginger ale all over my pants and shirt. Then my husband says he hope we would be like them at their age. He smiles at me mischievously. I just laugh. I guess today's not a good day for writing.

Burning

This entry is for the Short Story Contest at Write Stuff.

The burning flame flows up high into the sky as I watch quietly. Black and white memories degrade itself into dark specks of ashes. Piece by piece I throw them into the flame, removing what was once us. It was not long ago that I have taken these memories. In fact this one - was from last week. We were riding a taxi to the airport. I was sending him off but I didn't want him to leave me so soon. He had just got home from his last business trip. He said it was an emergency so I had to let him go. I had took a shot of his cherubic face. Told him to smile but all I got was a turn of his lips resulting in a half-smile. I brushed off the odd feeling that I got from looking at his eyes.

I held on to him and begged him to come back soon. There were no tears in his eyes, all smiles as if it were any ordinary day. There was not a doubt that he was not coming back. He knew but did not tell me. I sensed something that he's not telling me. I asked him if something was wrong but he said it was nothing. Just kissed me on my cheek and walked off. I stared at his back until it disappeared into the crowd.

Now he's gone. As I watch the flames die down, I wonder why it was so easy for him to leave me. Why it took such a short time to make that decision. Two days he was home. Not only did he not unpack, he didn't even bother removing his grooming supplies like he usually do. He said he might have to leave again. He didn't even shave and had slept in his office. He said he had a lot of paper work and didn't want me to lose any sleep as I usually had to get up early for work. He was in his office the whole two days and then he got a call early in the morning and had to leave right away. I couldn't object and since he does this a lot, I thought nothing of it.

Three later later, he had sent me a letter saying he was not coming back. He said he does not love me anymore. He was too guilty to tell me in person. He had fallen in love with someone on one of his trips. Said he was sorry and hope I would forgive him for doing it this way. He hope we can still be friends. The letter was not hand-written but typed from his laptop, the kind of letters he usually sends to unwanted clients.

He left his dog, Fiji, a Basset Hound, who seem to hate me more now that he's gone. Tomorrow I will take him to the pounds. Maybe he'll find a more loving home. He doesn't want to be with me. Like his owner, he has grown tired of me.

The black ashes flow in the air as the night wind blows. It has gotten cooler in the evenings now. Another winter's coming. This one I will have to spend it alone. I throw a bucket of cold water on the ashes and watch it flow back down. I wonder what's burning in my heart as I do not feel the chill in the air.

Three Wishes

For Fiction Friday. Theme: A character gets three wishes...

Once there was a prince who had everything his heart can desire. He was a spoiled young man with a large appetite for fun. He often would make others suffer for his own happiness. One day an old witch came by the castle and granted him three wishes. Anything he wants, nothing's impossible she said. In return he would have to give up his life as a prince. No one would recognize him - not the servants, nor his parents or his people. Once he make the deal he cannot go back. The prince was so excited by this as he had grown bored by his easy going life that he immediately accepted the deal and thought nothing about the consequences.

The prince was suddenly no longer inside the castle but in a forest. The old witch asked what his first wish was. The prince wanted to know what it's like to be poor. The prince was changed into a poor old beggar and his clothes was changed into rags. On the town, the prince walked among his people. Some were generous to him and gave him bread but others shoved him aside to walked pass him. The prince soon learned he did not like being poor and felt sadden by his status. As he wandered around town, he felt isolated and lonely. The prince was so distraught that he ran back to the castle but was thrown out by the guards as they saw him only as an old man. He called to his parents but the king and queen did not recognized him and told the guards to be gentle with him as they led him out.

The prince walked to the forest and called upon the old witch. She appeared to him and asked him what his second wish was. He wished to be his physical self again living among the people. Wish granted. The prince was back with the people, this time as himself. But of cause he was not recognized as a prince but just another man. The people were kind to him. He was offered a job cutting woods to earn for room and bread. The prince lived happily for a while but when he heard his parents were looking for him, he ran to the castle but once again no one recognized him and he was thrown out like a beggar. The prince got so angry, he ran to the forest to call for the old witch.

The old witch appeared to him and asked him if he wanted to make his last wish. His wish was for things to go back to the way it was. But of cause the old witch could not grant him that since they had a deal and cannot be undone. The prince, frustrated by this, yelled at the old witch and told her his wish shall be granted as nothing was impossible. But the old witch only told him that was not possible. They had a deal and she was not about break it. She will grant his last wish when he thought of a new one. The prince screamed at the old witch but she soon disappeared. He fell down on his knees and started to cried. He scolded himself for being so foolish as to give up his identity just so he wouldn't be bore.

Finally the prince thought, since there was nothing he could do, he might as well make his last wish. He wished to be useful to someone as he had no home nor any family. He wanted to be a servant in the castle so he can be near his family. The old witch granted his wish and sent him to the castle. The prince became a servant to his parents who did not recognize him. They seem to have forgotten they had a son. They treated the prince like he was their son. The prince felt happy to be back even as a servant and thought he shall never again wish to be someone else.

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Date

This week's words are: Pound, Sunglasses, Wild

He's wearing a pair of dark sunglasses with wild purple hair that must have taken a pound of gel to get it that high. Wearing a white long sleeve t-shirt with faded blue jeans, he heads towards my table but made a swirl turn and walk towards another table behind me where a girl with similar hair hairstyle sits, sipping diet coke. He sits down casually and starts to chat with the girl. I turn my attention back to my ice tea with the last of the ice cubes. It has only been twenty minutes but my anxiety still covers me from head to toe. I order another ice tea.

It was my second blind date since my last relationship. Dating seem to have change but I haven't, so naturally I was talked into wearing the most ridiculous high-heels and the shortest dress that I owned. My feet's killing me and my hair is starting to give me a headache.

Moments later, he is standing in front of me asking if my name's "Isabelle." I was surprise but said yes. He asked permission to sit down, I said, "Sure." "Name's Al," he said as he stretch out his hand to me. I shake it gently and try to snuffle a giggle. He smile casually pretending not to notice my giggle. "I guess I am not what you excepted."

"No," I said as I took a sip of my tea without looking at him. He said he would take me home if I wanted to. I told him it's okay. I will stay. He starts to asks me questions about myself. I try to answer as honestly as I can without giving too much away. It was true he was not what I had expected. Gina told me she had set me up with "a wonderful, normal guy" - her words. I guess it really depends who you ask. She told me is just perfect for me.

We chat about nonsense as the evening continues. Al seem like a nice guy and he doesn't have any tattoos or anything pierced. He's intelligent and reads Jane Austin. He designs book covers for a living. Still I wonder if this is the real Al since I can't even see his eyes in those dark sunglasses. Everything he do seem so casual. I can't remove my anxiety as I speak to him.

I try not to stare at his high hair but could not help myself. Instead I end up staring at his dark sunglasses. I see my own reflection there and wonders if the girl in there is really me. Do I look as unhappy as I feel? He dismiss my stare and instead asked me about my hobbies. I don't what I said to him as I was just too distracted by his hair. Finally, I was glad when he call for the check.

He drove his car here and wonders if I needed a ride. I told him I don't live far and wanted to walk. He said he'll accompany me. I wanted to tell him I am fine walking by myself. But no words would come and I nod my head yes.

Out in the empty streets, we walk in silence, side by side. It's a short walk from the restaurant but it feels longer somehow. I smile at him. My thoughts all blank as my heels was hurting my feet and my head seem to be pounding.

He stops a moment. I thought maybe he dropped something. But then he removes his glasses and throws them on the ground. Then he pulls his hair off revealing a set of blond locks. He shyly runs his finger through them. He dumps the purple wig onto the ground. I was surprised by but say nothing. He smiles at me sheepishly with his hazel eyes as he pulls out a pair of eyeglasses from his jeans and puts them on. I could not think of anything to say as we stand there with the streetlights overhead.

Without a thought, I pull off my long red wig and drops it on the ground. I shake my brown semi-curly hair. Al's eyes widen. I then pull off my fake eyelashes, and whip out a tissue from my bag and wipe off the dark red lipstick. I take off my high heels and took out a pair of pink slippers and put them on. I am now bare or at least free of the cover that I was under. I smile at him hoping maybe he wouldn't run away. I was a plain girl now. Gina had helped me with my makeup and suggested the wig, the lashes and the high heel. I thought these things would make me more desirable but instead I felt trapped. Now I feel like myself again. Or the very least, my head isn't pounding.

For no reason, we start to laugh. Then he said we should continued walking. Leaving our other selves behind us, we continue on. We stare at each other, laughing. The cool night breeze makes me shriver and he wrap his arm around my shoulder. It was the most natural thing that I ever felt. I wrap my arms around his waist. We walk