Strangers on my wall

Here’s my offering for this week’s Picture it and Write! photo prompts hosted by Ermilia Blog. I must admit this was was a half hearted attempt but I would truly appreciate your thoughts. Cheers!

via Ermila Blog

Another day has caught up with me. The night giving way to the morning, but not without a struggle, for I sensed the rain before I heard it pelting on the cold zinc roof. The chaotic many-tiny-fisted pounding echoed with the way I’ve took a habit of feeling these days. What am I doing staying up, reading books that only feed imagination? At this point Percy Jackson is having a ball finding his path on his way of becoming a hero. In what way was that helpful? When see people my age getting jobs and slowly becoming adults, it prods an uneasy spot in me that gives way to hopeless panic.

I can follow up on the AL biology texts I’d thrown in a corner. But it’s not like I get into that field. I haven’t a clue in which way direction to stumble towards. The wind howled past me, sending the closed window to my right into a fit of nervous shuddering. I fancy it was trying to make up its mind too, hearing my mental distress and was attempting to choose a proper cardinal point.

If I was honest with myself I would admit that I knew exactly what I wanted but I find that my sense of duty a somewhat reluctant obstacle. I mean, it’s not like I could pack up and go exploring. I’m almost broke and living with my aunt and her husband to whom both I already owe a lot.

I should probably find a profession that involves traveling and learning. Archeology was shot down pretty gently and I’m quite embarrassed for myself for submitting to that conclusion they’d drawn up so confidently; my “Indiana Jones” phase. There’s this restlessness inside me that stirs at the glimpse of the churning sea, or at the uneven horizon of mist shrouded mountain tops, the drifting scent of fresh dew and the far cry of a high flying bird.

Aunt Em says that I am pining for my parents. That I want to somehow go out in the big yonder in search for a long gone trail. How do I explain to her that I gave up on them? Continue reading

Weekly Photo Challenge: Treasure

What do you treasure? What’s most important to you?

IN A NEW POST CREATED SPECIFICALLY FOR THIS PHOTO CHALLENGE CAPTURE SOMETHING YOU TREASURE.

treasure

When I think about treasure I think of them. They’re little people now but I can’t wait to see what kind of grown ups they’ll be years from now. It’s a privilege to be their big sister, I get to influence them, to make them be good and kind. I love them missing teeth, scarped knees, weird giggles and all. They fill my days with screamed warnings and annoyance but at the same time make me laugh and feel better when I’m stranded. They anchor me in a world that’s bent on challenging my will. Such days will come for all of ‘em and I’ll be there to get them through it. That’s what we do with our treasures, we protect them.

D.

To Mothers

via Pinterest, click to see

Yesterday I was on a pin-athon and I made a board for the Avengers, because let’s face it people they are freaking awesome, but are they more so than moms? That might be a trick question but seeing that we all have met a real life mother than a real life super hero with mad ninja skills and wicked powers, yeah, I’d say moms are pretty fantastic. I can’t begin to imagine what it must be like to give birth to and help raise five children, and live through the grief of the death of a new born son as my mother had. Don’t you forget the house work, my mama doesn’t let me.

There were times when I swore she couldn’t understand me and never will, but I’ve grown up and saw that she knows a lot more than she lets on. She can be really silly and thoughtful, I could tell her almost about everything but I don’t sometimes because I don’t want to add more to her pressure. Over the years she’s given me advice here and there, preparing me for the time when I have to go out on my own (whenever the hell that is because over here kids live with parents for years).

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The importance of mornings

Via Pinterest, click to see

This morning I hadn’t much sleep, but unlike most this was with good reason. My grandma wasn’t feeling well and I got up to test her sugar and pressure a couple times. She took her pills. I worry about her. I followed her to the washroom least she falls and hit herself again. She insisted on going with my father to the city, ordering my mother and I not to tell him anything. I usually do tell him, but I suspect if I did today she’d end up getting mad at me and stressing her tired heart even more. I love my grandma dearly.

I’m always told that I’m her favourite, and I always smile because I could see that I was. For the most part of my eighteen years I slept by her side and as each year sprints away I wonder how much longer do we have with her. Well, her and my granda. I wouldn’t handle it well at all should something happen to them, and I hate to say this to sound biased, especially her. That woman is the most hard working person, next to my dad, who I had the honor to know, I would cry if I were to recount what the both of them have been through. My parents will be around for a while yet but I hope to God that I get to squeeze as much time with them.

I set my phone to wake her up a 2:30 AM. I got up again at five, opened my favourite window and cloud gazed. Mornings are for … I forgot this already, let me try … Mornings are for positive thoughts and good energy. Think about it; they aren’t there just to look pretty (if the weather feels fine), it has a purpose and if you look hard enough and far enough you’ll see it.

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Brittle beauty

Here’s my piece for the other week’s Ermilia Blog’s Picture It! and Write photo prompts. I hope you like it.

(via ermiliablog.wordpress.com)

I sat cross legged on the comfy old couch, the still resilient cushions sag a little under the memories of the worries and joys it’s past owners had confided in its warm welcoming embrace. Perhaps mine will be added to the burden of the emotions it so silently carries without much complaint. What I felt now, as I curl up with my knees held tightly to my chest, was hurt mixed with confusion and betrayal. I had to get past this. I can’t ignore it any longer, because if I want to put this nightmare behind be I have to face it. I rocked back and forth a few times before I made up my mind completely, unfolded myself and reached under the couch, feeling around for the pouch I hid in the upholstery.

My had returned with a plain looking leather scroll purse, nothing special about it other than it had to be unrolled. My fingers ran over the spots where it began to peel, released the clasp and watched it unfurl. I unzipped the zipper that ran along its length, my hands were shaking as I eyed my progress like if its contents would sprout poisonous fangs … it came close. My breath caught as it always had when the black pure velvet lining reveals itself, with the small sparkly diamonds cascading until they come rest silently. Arrogantly. Beautifully. Coldly.

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Rainbow poison

It looks like I’m going to be on a roll with Picture It and Write! Awesome possum (that didn’t make an ounce of sense but I like it) Ah well, here’s last weeks prompt.
http://fc09.deviantart.net/fs15/i/2007/063/7/4/Pills__by_howdarntragic.jpg“Morning ma,” I called as I skidded, socked feet on smooth hardwood floor, moon dancing my way to the kitchen table.”Good morning, and please for the millionth time don’t do that!” she snapped out the last half frowning just as Matt did exactly the same thing but, unlike me, he fell on his behind, hard. I sniggered as he sat on the stool and he shot me a look, he’ll be sore all day.

“Mathew! Oh, why do I even say it?” Clang! went the frying pan on the burner. Just like that the room got tense.

I got serious then, contemplating her over the rim of my glass of 5% real orange juice. Her hair had escaped her hasty bun, chestnut tendrils of it stuck to her damp forehead and the nape of her neck as she whipped the eggs around in the pan, a fury of clangs and bangs. Her face was grim and coated in her special shade of reddish pink, a sign of change of her capricious mood.

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Let the winds push you forward not back … and a short update from me

Buenos dias amigos! I haven’t posted since last Sunday. The funny thing is that when I’m not supposed to be writing as I normally do it’s then when I come up with some really good ideas to post about and I usually forget to write some of those those ideas down. Anyway I’ll be returning to normal posting after the 12th due to, as I’ve mentioned in previous posts, my AS exams. After having finished Biology and English paper 2, I’m left with English paper 1 (which I’ll be writing tomorrow) and Biology labs on the 8th and finally Biology multiple choice on the 12th. I’ll fill you guys in more details later if I remember.

Hurricane Sandy: 10/30/2012

Hurricane Sandy: 10/30/2012 (Photo credit: ccho)

And that’s cheerful news as compared to the terror that goes by the name of Sandy. I don’t want to miss saying anything about this because I’m compelled to write about it yet I don’t relish lingering on the carnage she left in her path so I’ll try not to. I am terribly sorry for all those who have lost loved ones, homes and business that were utterly destroyed after years and years of hard work and risks. My being sorry might not help much or at all but I hope my prayers do.

I see New Yorkers slowly picking up speed again, as I’m confident others are too, and I want to let them all know that my heart goes out to them. I really admire their courage for getting up after this disaster and move on, Continue reading

Little Women (Little Women #1) by Louisa May Alcott

Originally posted on We Heart Reading:

Rating: 5/5 Stars

After reading this wonderful book I kept wondering, “Why don’t we all live and love like the March family?” It’s the story of the four March sisters: pretty Meg, tomboy Jo, dear Beth and little lady Amy and not forgetting ‘our boy’ Laurie. My favourite March is Jo she’s so funny, energetic, and caring and maybe because I know how being a tomboy feels and are constantly being told that it isn’t proper for young ladies be running, jumping and talking slang. I love how she plays mother over Beth.

Each of the girls had little problems of their own that needed fixing for instance, Jo tended to be more like a young man not caring for a that fussing young ladies always seem up to, Meg was tired of her ministrations as a governess and wanted so badly to be rich someday to bask in…

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Tragic Transfiction

This is the photo for last week’s Picture It and Write! hosted by Ermilia Blog! What we’re supposed to do is make up a story or a poem based on the picture that’s provided each week. It’s a pretty sweet chance to be random and let your creativity loose! I prefer to do the stories.

~*~

Via Ermilia Blog

Hi there, I’m Jolie Nolan and if you’re up to it I’ve got a story to share. There was a myth, or what many considered a myth, in my family concerning my father’s younger sister, Eliza. Only the few that were there couldn’t deny the stark truth, save for the one that couldn’t believe it to this day. The others, what they doubted, what they thought was a God awful tale spun by our ancient looking Aunt Maude, was something I knew as a fact, something I’m tied to for as long as I live.

Being the eldest child of the eldest child (my father) I inherited Aunt Maude’s house on Shamus St. and I will tell you – the adventurous reader – the notion of baring this burden in solitude is nowhere near simple, the mere thought of it threatens to drive me insane. It’s up to you weather or not you choose to believe me.

Eliza, along with the other children, was forbidden from entering the last room on the corridor in old Aunt Maude’s pretty home whenever she was there for the holidays. No one for that matter wanted to step foot beyond that door, which was a rather peculiar sight in such a neat and proper house like this one.

Upon turning, the knob creaks with this eery metallic grind and as you can imagine, the hinges did no differently. The lilac patterned wallpaper surrounding the door’s frame were lightly charred, if you’ve ever lit the edges of a page with a lit cigarette before you might have an idea. It’s once caramel brown coat of paint must have beckoned generations of curious souls, one of which was poor Aunt Eliza, thirty five years ago, she was only ten. This was her story ….

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Expectations, depression and a little about my life

Image via whiskeywolf.wordpress.com

Do you know how difficult it is to life up to expectations? Of course you do, who doesn’t? My family is counting on me to become a doctor, fine, no problem, I shall endure boot-camp with Chemistry and Maths courses. I’d like to be one, a doctor, I have for the longest while but I’m not really sure if that what I’m meant to do in life but I won’t know until I try, right? So I will, I’m going to bust my butt to try to get into Cambridge or another good college.

We have a little family business, that my siblings and cousins and I are expected to continue to run and improve and being somewhat the eldest I’m expected to get serious, I’ve already got my fingers in the familial pie and I will do my darned best. My family has worked too hard for everything to waste away, they sacrificed a lot for us to get to this point and I owe it to them and the business to assert my self and commit.

These days I’m being teased about when I get married this will happen so and so, then they go on about the boy, a very sorry boy if he  got on the wrong side of my daddy dearest who – like all dads – has a shotgun. My grandma and some of my friends are relentless when they touch on that subject, the boy, I cringe at the thought.

Frankly, this is not the time to get all soppy and stupid over some idiot when  Continue reading