Pretty Liex - Short Stories that Inspire You

Fragmented Reality

2022-06-24T05:30:00.001-07:00

(source: unsplash)

High school parties aren’t like the movies.

I had imagined most of my junior class packed in a mansion, drinking from red solo cups, dancing around, carefree.

Being young.

Maybe being a little bit stupid.

That’s not what I was met with that night.

I was in my favorite worn jeans and had smeared pink lipgloss on my mouth.

Five guys were sitting on stained red couches, passing around a blunt in a humid garage.

I’d never seen any of them before, and they looked far too old to be in high school.

A girl in my English class, Valerie, squealed when she saw me.

She’s the one who invited me here.

We weren’t part of the same friend circle, but when she asked me to come, I thought I could have my movie moment.

Drink my first alcoholic drink, maybe kiss a boy.

This wasn’t what I pictured.

Valerie and I were the only girls here.

Isn’t that odd?

I remember thinking.

Five guys and two girls?

***

“Hey there,” Valerie said making her way over to me.

Hadn’t she said Ben, who was also in our English class, would be at this party?

I had confessed to Valerie that I had a crush on him last week.

Why was no one else from school here?

Why wasn’t anyone who was our age here?

“Um, I don’t do drugs,” I whispered to her.

Her blue eyes flashed with annoyance.

“No one said you had to,” her eyes were red and she swayed back and forth.

Valerie was wasted.

She grabbed my hand and shut the door I had just come through.

Why did the sound of the door closing make my heart stutter?

Valerie dragged me over to the guys.

“This is my friend, Helen.”

They inspected me like I had been brought there just for them.

Valerie sat on a dark-haired man’s lap and stared at him with what could only be described as a misplaced obsession.

“This is my boyfriend, Tobey,” she told me, wrapping her arms around him.

Valerie looked so young compared to her boyfriend.

I wanted to grab her hand and run away from these grown men.

“Why don’t you sit down, pretty girl?” The oldest of them asked me.

He was at least thirty.

“Um, I’m only sixteen,” I blurted out.

“That’s alright, honey. We don’t care.”

His response made my hands shake.

I took a seat even though my subconscious was screaming at me to leave.

“My name’s, Jessie,” this stranger said, leering at me.

“Hi,” I squeaked out.

I looked at Valerie for help.

She was wrapped around Tobey, her tongue down his throat.

This was wrong.

This wasn’t what my first party should be like.

Where was the loud music?

The silly game of spin the bottle or seven minutes in heaven?

Where was the innocence?

“Why don’t I make you a drink?” Jessie asked me.

“Um, no thanks. I don’t drink,” I rubbed my hands on my jeans.

I wanted to go back to two hours ago when the only worry I had was what top to wear.

“I’ll just get you a coke,” his face changed.

Oh.

When he smiled he didn’t seem as creepy.

He wasn’t predatory.

He was friendly.

His green eyes were warm.

Trustworthy.

“Okay. Thank you,” I responded, feeling my shoulders sag in relief.

I was overreacting.

So these guys were a little old?

That wasn’t that weird.

Right?

***

I could only catch glimpses of reality.

Life had turned into a butterfly, flying away from me, only landing for a mere second.

I had only an instant to truly see what was happening.

Then it would take off again.

This was what I wanted.

Wasn’t it?

This was like a movie.

Flickers of moments before my eyes.

Aware one second and gone the next.

Jessie was in front of me.

Suddenly we were dancing.

I loved this feeling.

I wanted to feel like this forever.

I smiled at him.

This was nice.

He was nice.

Wasn’t he?

***

I’m not sure how much time had passed.

Flashes of my surroundings made their way sluggishly into my consciousness.

A dirty concrete floor.

An empty pack of cigarettes under a couch.

I was on my feet.

Was that a hand on my hip?

Who was that?

I couldn’t remember how I got here.

Where was here exactly?

I felt sick.

Was this like a movie?

Or was this a nightmare?

It had started out fun.

I felt like I was left on a roller coaster for too long.

It had been fun at first but I’d been left on the ride.

Forgotten.

Now I was dizzy and confused.

Was I in danger?

I fumbled for my phone.

“No Helen. This party has a no-phone policy,” a man’s voice mumbled in my ear.

Who was that?

Jessie!

He was nice, wasn’t he?

But his green eyes were dark now.

Jessie ripped my phone out of my hands.

After that, I remembered nothing.

***

I woke up screaming into a pillow.

That’s all I remember.

Screaming and a pillow.

***

When I truly came around it was like waking up after being put under anesthesia.

Something had happened to my body.

Something I would have normally been awake for.

But somehow I had been asleep through it.

No, not asleep exactly.

My body had been here but my mind was somewhere else.

Maybe my mind had protected me from what I had gone through.

***

I felt different.

I refused to examine myself.

I refused to accept anything had happened.

If I didn’t accept it, it couldn't be real.

***

When I think about that party I imagine I had gotten my movie experience.

That I got to laugh, be free, and dance.

That I was never scared or alone.

That I didn’t wake up in a random bed with no idea how I got there.

That something wasn’t stolen from me.

***

I don’t have many memories of that night.

All I know is that something bad happened to me.

(author: Alyssa Telgenhoff)

Detective Oscar

2022-06-22T05:30:00.001-07:00

Robert was the owner of a well-known real estate business. He used to build big houses for the people and sometimes he got the work of making big buildings. He was very popular in his area and he had a lot of money. Robert also had a friend named John. The two used to work together. The two started working together. But Robert had the most money out of Robert and John.

One day Robert gets a call threatening to kill him. He considered this phone a small joke and let it go lightly. He only told this to his son William.

Robert died 3 days later. The post-mortem stated that Robert died of a heart attack, but Robert’s son William was not sure that his father had died of a heart attack. Because there was a threatening call few days ago. Because of this, he wanted to know the real truth. He enlisted the help of a detective to find out the truth. Detective’s name was Oscar. William goes to Detective Oscar and tell him the whole thing. Now Detective Oscar went to Robert’s house with his assistant and investigated Robert’s room.

(source: unsplash)

Oscar’s assistant told him, “Sir, room was locked from the inside and his room is on the third floor. So how can anyone come here? I feel his death was natural”

On hearing his assistant, Oscar said to him, “It is not what it looks like to us.”

Oscar investigated the room carefully watching each of the nuances. While he was investigating near the window, he encountered a strange smell. Detective Oscar asked William, “What is this smell coming of?”

William told him, “A few days ago there was painting work outside the house. It is a smell of paint that is coming from outside.”

Then Oscar peeped outside the window, and there was a ladder made of ropes. Oscar told William, “How many painters were working here?”

“There were three painters working here who have been working here for the last 7 days.” William told Oscar. Detective Oscar had found a new direction in connection with this case, now he knew what he had to do.

Detective Oscar told his assistant, “Go and get information about those three painters.”

The assistant, investigated the painters and collected their complete bio-data. He became well known about the three painters and then he suspected a painter named Leo. Oscar went to Leo’s house. Leo was not there in his house. Leo had left from there. In such a situation, his assistant asked Detective Oscar, “Sir, why do you think this murder was done by the painter, Leo?”

“If you had read the information of the three painters carefully, you would have known. The other two painters have been painting for the last 10 years. But Leo is a painter who started painting only 2 months ago. When I further investigated about Leo, I came to know that he is a well-known criminal who commits a crime by taking money. He has also killed Robert by taking money from someone. This murder is very well planned. Now we just have to find Leo and catch him first, then we will know the truth.” The Oscar told his assistant.

After this, both got involved in the task of finding Leo. Oscar had a lot of people in his network that gave him all kinds of news. He went to a person and told him about Leo. Leo’s address is found 3 days later.

Leo was hiding in room 232 of the Olivia hotel. He catches Leo from the hotel room and takes him to the police. He was taken to the police and jailed. Leo was interrogated well in jail when he told that he had got the money to kill Robert. Leo also told tha Robert was murdered by his friend John.

Leo also describes how he killed the Robert. He said, “One day while I was painting, I saw that the other two painters had gone to eat. Then seeing the opportunity, I climbed the stairs and opened the window and entered his room. The way John told me In the same way, I changed Robert’s medicines. After eating those medicines, he suffered a heart attack. He died in this way.

On receiving this news, the police also caught John and then he was asked why he killed his friend. He told, “Robert was a good friend of mine but was ahead of me in business. He was making more money than me because he had more shares of the company. One day I told him that we would distribute the shares of both the companies equally. This will equal our earnings. Because both of us started working in this company together. He refused to do so and because of this I got him murdered.”

As soon as the truth was revealed, the police put John inside the jail, now he will have to spend in the jail for his whole life.

(source: storiesforkidsbedtime)

Price of A Miracle – Little Girl

2022-06-20T05:30:00.002-07:00

Tess, eight year old girl, who heard her mom and dad talking about her little brother, Andy. All she could understand was that her brother was very sick and her parents were completely out of money.

Her parents were talking about how costly surgery was and it was looking like there was no one to loan them money.

Just then she heard, dad said to her tearful mother with whispered desperation, “Only a miracle can save him now.”

Listening to this Tess went to her bedroom and bought out her piggy bank from its hiding place in closet. She broke it and collected all that money. She carefully counted it.

She took a small purse, placed coins in it and slipped out of back door and made her way six blocks to Drug store.

She waited patiently for pharmacist to give her some attention but he was too busy at this moment. She made some noise with her feet to grab attention but nothing. Then she cleared her throat with most disgusting sound she could muster but still no good.

Finally she took a quarter from her pocket and banged it on glass counter and that did it. She got pharmacist attention.

Pharmacist asked in annoyed tone of voice, “And what do you want?”

Without waiting for reply to his question, he said, “I am busy. I am talking to my brother whom i haven’t seen in ages.”

Tess answered back, “Well, i want to talk to you about my brother. He is really really sick… and i want to buy a miracle.”

“I beg your pardon?”, said pharmacist.

Tess said, “His name is Andy and he has something bad growing inside his head and my dad says only a miracle can save him now. So how much does a miracle cost?”

“We don’t sell miracles here, little girl. I am sorry but i can’t help you.”, said pharmacist in softening a little.

Tess replied, “I have money to pay for it. If it isn’t enough, i will get the rest. Just tell me how much it costs.”

Pharmacist brother who was standing there, seeing all this, he stooped down and asked little girl, “What kind of miracle does your brother need?” “I don’t know.”, Tess replied with tears in her eyes,

“I don’t know. I just know that he is really sick and my mommy says that he needs an operation but my dad can’t pay for it, so i want to use my money.”

“How much do you have?”, he asked.

Tess answered, “One dollar and eleven cents… It’s all i have but i can get some more if i need to.”

(source: unsplash)

He smiled and said, “Well, what a coincidence. A dollar and eleven cents is exact price of a miracle for little brother.”

Then he took her money in one hand and with other hand he grasped her mitten and said, “Take me to where you live. I want to see your brother and meet your parents. Let’s see if I have the kind of miracle you need.”

That man, pharmacist brother was Dr. Carlton Armstrong, a surgeon, specializing in neurosurgery.

Little girl’s brother operation was completed without any charge and it wasn’t long until Andy was hone again and doing well. Tess mom and dad were happily talking about chain of events that took place.

Her mom whispered, “That surgery, i wonder how much it would have cost. That surgery was a real miracle.”

Tess smiled, she knew exactly how much a miracle cost… one dollar and eleven cents… plus faith of a little child.

Your Faith, your Love, your Truth is a hundred times more Powerful than Doubt. Have Faith in yourself and be Kind Hearted. It Helps.

(source: moralstories26)

Old Postman and Little Girl

2022-06-18T05:30:00.002-07:00

One day an elderly postman knocked on door of a house and said, “Take the letter..”

(source: unsplash)

As soon as he said this, a little girl’s voice echoed from inside, “I am coming now.. please wait.”

But even after 5 minutes no one came. Postman again said, “Is there anyone tho take your letter? I have to go to many more places..”

Girl replied, “Uncle, if you are in a hurry, put the letter under the door. I am coming it will take some more time..”

Old postman replied, “No, i am waiting. It is a registered letter. So someone’s signature is also needed.” After about 10 minutes, door opened.

Postman was angry about delay, he was about to shout at the girl but as soon as door opened, he was shocked to see that in front of him, was a little handicapped girl who had no legs.

Postman quietly gave the letter and took her signature and left.

Little girl often lived alone in her house. Her mother was not in this world and father used to work far away. To take care of the girl, a maid used to stay in the house with her in the morning and evening but she used to live alone in her house during the day.

In a month or two whenever mail came, postman would knock and call for girl and then wait patiently at the door. Gradually, interaction and attachment grew between them.

Little girl noticed that postman used to come barefoot to deliver mails.

Rainy season came. One day when postman left after giving letter to girl, his footprints were left on wet soil. Girl came out with a paper and put it on print and took down picture of his feet. Next day, she asked he maid to get shoes of that size and keep them in house.

Before Diwali was about to come, postman went to houses he used to deliver mail, to ask for Diwali gift but when he thought about little girl, he started thinking it wouldn’t be right ask anything from her. He also started thinking that he shouldn’t meet girl empty handed during festival.

After much thought he bought a small chocolate for little girl. Next day, he went to little girl’s house and knocked.

When girl opened door, old postman handed her chocolate and said, “Take this small gift from your uncle’s side.”

Girl was happy to get that and asked postman to wait for sometime.

After a while, she bought a big box and handing it to postman, she said, “Uncle, this is a gift from my side to you on Diwali.”

Postman was surprised to see the box. After thinking for a while he said, “You are like a daughter to me. how can i accept a gift from you?”

Little girl insisted and said, “Uncle please don’t refuse my gift. I will be sad.”

“Ok.”, said old man kept box and lovingly put his hand on girl’s head as if blessing her.

After going home, when postman opened the box, he was surprised to see the there was a pair of shoes in it. His eyes twinkled. Postman couldn’t believe that little girl was so concerned about him.

Next day, postman reached his post office and pleaded to postmaster that he should immediately be transferred to another area.

When postmaster asked reason. He told him everything and said with wet eyes, “Sir, after today i will not be able to go to that street. That little girl saw me barefoot and gave me shoes but how will i be able to give her feet?”

Saying that postman burst into tears.

To Feel Pain of others and to understand their suffering, is such a human quality without which human is incomplete. We should pray God to grant us all precious ornament of sensitivity so that we can do our part in reducing sufferings of others.

(source: moralstories26)

Manhole

2022-06-16T05:30:00.001-07:00

One morning, a young Japanese girl named Mai was walking to school. On the way, she happened to see another girl playing at the end of the street. For some strange reason, the girl was jumping up and down. Mai knew that the girl must be attending the same school as her because they were both wearing the same school uniform.

When Mai got closer, she saw that the girl was jumping up and down on a manhole cover. Mai was puzzled. She wondered what the girl was doing. Why was she jumping up and down on the same spot like that? Was she insane? Was it a game?

As she was jumping, Mai heard the girl muttering to herself, “Three, three, three, three, three…”

As Mai passed by, she recognized the girl. It was Haruka, a quiet and strange girl in her class who was often the target of bullying. Sometimes the other girls in the class would just ignore Haruka. At other times, they would play cruel pranks on her. The teachers knew she was being bullied, but they just turned a blind eye and didn’t bother getting involved.

Realizing that school was starting in a few minutes, Mai hurried off, leaving the strange girl to her odd game.

That day, in class, Mai noticed that there was an empty desk. Haruka hadn’t shown up for school. All day, Mai wondered what the girl was up to.

When the school bell rang, all the kids streamed out onto the street. Mai walked home and, on the way, she came across Haruka again. The girl was still in the same spot she had been that morning. She was still jumping up and down.

Mai walked up to the girl and stopped right in front of her. The girl just kept jumping as if Mai wasn’t there.

She had a big smile on her face and was saying, “Nine, nine, nine, nine, nine…”

“What are you doing?” asked Mai.

Haruka didn’t answer and just went on saying, “nine, nine, nine, nine, nine…”

“I asked you what you were doing!” shouted Mai.

The girl just ignored her and kept jumping up and down.

Mai didn’t particularly like or dislike the girl. She remembered calling the girl some cruel names in the past and bullying her along with her other classmates.

“Who do you think you are?” Mai shouted. “Answer me when I talk to you!”

Until that moment, Mai had never hated Haruka like the others did. But the sight of the girl enjoying herself so much and ignoring her so completely, filled Mai with anger.

“You better tell me what you’re doing, or you’ll be sorry,” warned Mai.

The girl just went on jumping happily, as if she hadn’t even heard Mai’s warning.

Suddenly, Mai lost her temper and pushed Haruka to the ground.

“My turn!” said Mai, as she took the girl’s place and stood on the manhole.

Mai jumped up in the air and, at that exact moment, Haruka reached out and removed the manhole cover. Mai fell straight down.

(source: unsplash)

The strange girl got to her feet and replaced the manhole cover. Then, with a big smile of satisfaction on her face, she started jumping up and down again As she jumped, she said “Ten, ten, ten, ten, ten…”

(source: scary for kids)

Hide and Seek

2022-06-14T05:30:00.001-07:00

Two young brothers were at home alone in the apartment while their parents visited their neighbours next door for a while.

“Be good boys,” their parents said.

To keep themselves occupied the boys decided to play a game of hide and seek. The older boy turned his head to the wall and began to count. He could hear his little brother’s feet as he scampered about looking for a place to hide.

(source: unsplash)

“Ready or not I’m coming,” cried the older brother and off he went looking for his brother. He looked in all the usual places, behind the sofa, in the bathroom behind the shower curtain, behind the curtains in every room, and under all the beds, but he couldn’t find him. The apartment was eerily silent.

Then he heard a scraping sound coming from the wardrobe. The boy was sure he’d already looked there, but he went anyway and called out, “Come out I’ve found you!” but there was only silence.

Again he called for his brother to come out and again nothing. Opening the door, the boy tried to peer behind the wall of dresses and coats hanging there. He bent down, but he did not see any feet standing there. He began to rise up and put his hand out into the mass of clothing to feel for his little brother when a small, white, icy cold hand came out, grabbed his wrist, and tried to pull him into the closet.

As he is trying to pull himself free, he hears a noise behind him, looks over his shoulder, and sees his brother behind him. “Couldn’t you find me?” asks the boy.

The older brother screams in fright and desperately tries to free himself from the grip of the hand, all the while being pulled into the wardrobe. The younger brother grabs him and together they manage to pull free. They both run screaming from the apartment.

Nobody knows what would have happened if the hand had managed to pull him in. Do you!

(source: icebreakerideas)

The Garden Oath

2022-06-12T05:30:00.002-07:00

(source: unsplash)

Bernadette's stomach churned every time she hugged her dad. She was revolted by the sticky suction of his sweaty arms on her skin. She despised the nose-scrunching sour stench of his morning work in the hot delta earth. More than anything, she hated being so close to the man who killed her mother.

Standing at the edge of the garage she'd just entered, Bernadette watched as a strange woman carried her mother's unfinished sewing projects and knick-knacks to an unfamiliar car.

"I really can't thank ya enough, Owen, for donating these," the woman said with a social smile. "I know we only knew Joyce for a few Sundays before…everything, but I bet she'd have loved our congregation. Only preaching God's truth, you know."

"Joyce was a real believer," Owen responded. "And I know she'd be thrilled to know this raffle would help bring more to Christ." He paused and looked toward his daughter. "Aint that right, Bernie?"

Fuck you and your church, she thought. "Sure is, Dad," she said, forcing a smile.

As the woman walked back to the garage, Bernie noticed a picture frame sitting atop a box. She snatched it as the woman picked it up, nearly startling the box out of her hands.

"Not this one," she said. "This was mom's favorite." Bernie held up a framed piece of yellowed embroidery. The glass had long since been removed. She rubbed her fingers over the faded silk threads as she remembered the first time she saw this. It was the summer her mama started the garden out back.

Owen looked over his daughter's shoulder. "'Other seed fell on good soil and bore fruit.' Matthew 13:8," he read aloud. "Your mother loved that one, didn't she?"

"Ah, the Parable of the sower," the stranger said. "Plant your seed in the rocky dirt, and grow nothing. Plant your seed in fertile soil, grow crops forever," she recalled. "Christ's story of how to grow the church. How appropriate for the fundraiser to build our mission. The more we bring to God, the more he can save."

Every word made Bernie's skin crawl.

"Too bad it doesn't have real tips on planting seeds," Bernadette interrupted. "We've got a busy afternoon, ain't that right, Dad?" She pulled the embroidery close to her and stepped back toward the door to the house.

He forced a chuckle. "Absolutely, Bernie. And good call on the embroidery. Your mama would've wanted you to have it." He turned back to the stranger with a sheepish grin. "I'm sure I can find a few other things to take its place."

The stranger smiled. "Of course. And right you are. On my way, I go. I'll see you later, Owen. Thanks again."

The garage door grumbled over the stranger's final words as Bernie's fingertip turned white from the pressure on the button.

"I'm cooking tonight and need to be home by five. You got everything ready?" Bernie asked as they entered the still air of the lifeless house. She placed the framed needlepoint down gently on the counter.

Owen walked directly to the back door. "Of course, honey. But don't you–"

"I'm just here to plant the summer rows, dad. Like mom asked."

He nodded. "Of course."

As he opened the back door and walked through it, Bernie followed him through the blinding white rectangle of heat.

After the first few rows, Bernie got reacquainted with the muggy, hot air. The sappy film of sweat on her skin had collected its first layer of fine dust and dirt, especially in her elbow crevices. Nature's Sunblock, her mom had called it. Bernie smiled.

Her mother, Joyce, cared for the garden like she cared for Bernie. She made a point to water early before the high sun and never let a young seedling get strangled by weeds. Whether it was from the fresh produce or the steady kindness, Bernie's childhood was never without the nourishing touch of her mother. She knew she'd have to say goodbye–all children do–but not this soon, not at 52, not from a virus.

But like so many others, one day she was fine, the next a cough, a few days later, the vent.

Bernie stabbed through the soil with her shovel, digging a hole far too deep for the squash seeds she had.

"You digging down to China?" he asked with a forced chuckle.

She hated how he said "China" Just like that orange bastard. She snarled her nose before relaxing every muscle in her face and taking a breath to respond. "Just a little focused, I guess."

"On your mama?" he asked.

She turned back from him and started stabbing again.

"Listen, Bernie–"

"Don't"

"Well, I just want–"

"I said don't, damn it."

Owen took a deep breath. "I know you blame me for what happened to her."

Bernie straightened her spine and sat back on her heels, her knees tucked in the dirt in front of her. She rubbed her thighs slowly as if trying to discharge excess energy.

Owen continued. "If I'd have known this thing was this bad–"

Bernie slammed her shovel to the ground with the rage of a million grieving families who lost their loved ones to lies. She'd love to slam it right into his forehead.

"Don't you dare," she bit back at him. "Don't you even goddamn dare it."

Bernie rubbed harder, breathed harder, hoped harder than anything that this feeling would pass and this moment would melt in the heat, never to come back. Of course, hard moments never melt. They stick. Like dirt on a sweaty arm.

"I have to know you know that we tried our best," he said. "It's just that no one knew how to stop this thing."

"We knew. We all knew."

"Well, you say that, but we really didn't. Remember when masks were bad before they were good? Or when surfaces carried it and then didn't?" He waited for a response. None came. "Maybe we should've known more; maybe we all could've done better. But that's all hindsight now. I can't take it back."

Here was the man she grew to abhor. This new man who shifted guilt to others; who refused responsibility. Bernie knew that a both-sides half-assed attempt at an apology was the best she'd get out of the disgusting man in front of her. Soon enough, he'd find a way to weasel out of even that admission.

"You haven't been open to new ideas in years," she said. "Communist plots, Fake News, the Deep State, you always had an excuse for not hearing the truth. And mom paid the price." She continued to ply through the hard dirt with increased fervor, not looking up once.

"Now, hold on. We did what we could. Your mother insisted on at least washing our hands, which we did when we remembered. But you know this heat and humidity here–wearing a mask is like duct-taping your mouth and nose shut."

Bingo. Not two minutes went by before this man placed the blame elsewhere again.

What had happened to the dad that raised her? That loved her. The man who worshipped his "two queens," as he always told anyone that would listen. Because she hadn't seen that man in years.

Whoever this man was, she couldn't stand to be near him another minute. In disgust, she picked up her shovel and moved a row down, away from him.

"Besides," he continued, preparing the coup-de-grace, "you know your mama insisted on going to church."

Bernie paused. Seriously. Do NOT.

"And even if we did wear a mask, that old church she went to was small and dark, she'd have gotten it one way or–" His nonsense was interrupted by a stainless steel hand shovel sailing a few inches past his head.

With wide eyes, and for the first time, Owen looked at his only daughter with fear. She looked at him for the millionth time with rage.

"Who told her not to worry about social distancing? Who told her not to mask? Who made her switch to a new Church in the middle of a Pandemic because they aligned more with your political beliefs? Who in the hell did that, Dad? Not me. Not the scientists. And not mama. She loved that old church, and they loved her."

"Yeah, but–"

"And they handed out and encouraged masks at every service. I may not go anymore, but I follow them on Facebook, asshole."

"You're just upset and being unfair; I understand that, Bernie. We'll get you calmed down."

Self-pity looked worse on this sorry excuse of a man than the pit-stained fruit of the loom T-shirts that clung to his bloated body. Bernie stared him down. I can't go through with this. Mama will just have to understand.

"I gotta go, Dad. I know you'll get this garden planted soon enough. I'll call ya next week."

"No, Bernie, I'll listen, please."

But she was already gone. The metal chainlink gate from the backyard to the front clattered back behind her.

Standing in his empty, barren garden, holding the shovel his only daughter just threw at his head in anger for the death of his only, cherished love, Owen Prentiss began to weep.

Bernie sat in her car in the driveway and fumbled with the spare pack of cigarettes she'd kept since she quit smoking four years ago. She pulled on the frayed plastic corners. Then she threw it in the glovebox, disgusted at both the thought of having one and the thought of not.

She turned the engine over and felt the AC surge through the vents. She leaned back in her seat, blocking the bright sun with her hands. As her mind drifted and her breathing slowed, she began to notice, then pursue, her final memories of Joyce Prentiss–mama. The moment she made her Garden Oath.

The nurses told Bernie her mama was quarantined and that she couldn't see her. But when the rounds nurse looked at the chart, she concealed a frown. Then she let Bernie in.

"The charge nurse gets back from her break in 10. I can't let you stay past then, you understand?"

Bernie nodded.

As Bernie entered the cold, dark room, she saw what was once her mama, now emitting beeps and tubes like a monstrous creature from Revelations. She walked over to her side, pushing her arm through the plastic, and clasped the weak hand lying there. Through the beeps, she heard the faint voice of the woman that gave her life. Bernie steeled herself for what was most likely her mother's final words to her.

"Help your father."

Even at death's door, this saintly woman thought of others.

"I will, mama," Bernie said between tears.

The final words, though, the ones Bernie would cling to all her life, were of the garden.

"I tried to plant the seeds. You have to water them."

"Mama, don't worry about the garden. We'll take real good care of it.," Bernie responded.

Her mother weakly moved her head from left to right. No, "You have to water the seeds. He needs it. You need it."

Like all grieving sons and daughters, Bernie had never lost her mother before. What do you say in a moment like that? You want to say so many things, to feel so many things, one more time. But you can't. Time is out. The choices are no longers yours. So you agree to the silliest thing, like planting a garden.

Sitting back in the sun-baked, air-conditioned car, Bernie wiped the tears from her eyes. Why the hell did she make her agree to that? Was she afraid of not being remembered? How could she think that? Bernie loved her mama, so did the town, and believe it or not, so did Owen. How could she believe that the only way to be remembered was to plant this goddamned piece of shit garden?

As she thought about her mama, the heat, that horticultural hell in the backyard, those final moments, the subtleties began to click into place. Her face contorted as she processed these new thoughts. Her heart pounded as tears welled, then poured from her eyes. As the feelings and memories flooded, the pain began to sink. And sink. And sink. Until she felt calm again. As the calmness took over, a smile crossed her face.

"You win, mama." She turned the key off and stepped back out into the blazing sun.

Owen was startled by the sound of his back door opening. He turned to see Bernie coming from the house. She must've come back in through the front. As she got closer, he could see she held something–a portrait-sized picture frame.

"I thought you left," he said, guarded.

"I did. I mean, I wanted to. But mama wanted me here. I didn't know why. Why would this woman want me to help you with this," she said, fanning her arms toward the sunbaked dirt.

"She loved her garden. You know that."

"She did. But I don't think this was her garden," Bernie said before lifting the picture frame up and turning it to her dad. "I think this was her garden."

Bernie watched as Owen read the familiar bible verse. When he paused, she waited for him to speak.

"Now, honey, you don't think this old embroidery is gonna help plant actual seeds, do you?"

"What's this parable about, dad?"

"What?"

"You were talking about it earlier. What's it about?"

"It's just an old story that churches tell on how to evangelize. It's just a story."

"No, dad. Not originally. Before there were churches, before there even was a church of any kind, hell, before there was a religion called Christianity, there was a man named Christ. And he told this parable."

"I don't understand."

"He didn't tell this parable to help churches grow. He told this parable to help people grow. He told them that if they plant their seeds of action in the fertile soil of care and love, care and love will spring forth. Only devastation will grow if they plant their seeds in the salty earth of hatred and anger."

Owen said nothing.

"I hate you. I hate that part of you that chose being in a cult over your wife's life. I hate that part of you that wanted easy solutions instead of real ones. I hate the parts that can't admit mistakes. I hate the parts that shut others out. I want nothing more than to destroy those parts and bury them here under the tomatoes while I chain smoke pall malls and sob to high heaven."

"Bernie, I–"

She reached out and touched his shoulder, looking him in the eyes.

"But I love you, Dad. I love the real "you" that isn't driven by those parts. I love the "you" that thinks freely and wisely. The "you" that protected us both and wouldn't let a bad thing in the world happen to us. I love that "you"'.

"But I hate those other parts. And I can't kill them any more than I can kill you because they're a part of you. But you know what I can do? I can love them to death. I can love the "you" that I know so much that it has no choice but to bloom and grow and fill all of you, leaving no room for those other parts. I can grow those seeds; I can water that plant. We can do it together."

Owen Prentiss sobbing in front of her, Bernie did what she hadn't done in years: she chose to give her father a hug. As she wrapped her arms around this sweating, sobbing, sticking mess of a man, she felt nothing but love and care. Nothing but hope for what that love can bring and what fruits can be born.

(author: Kendell Snyder)

My Mother's Dreams

2022-06-10T05:30:00.001-07:00

In her dream she is fourteen, running home from work on precarious little heels, down the paved street, as molten metal plip-plops around her, dotting the cement with perfect silver discs. Her mother lags six feet behind, following her footsteps, urging her to tread carefully. A V2 rocket launches overhead, triggering the timer in her mind. She waits in the signature silence for the rocket to find its mark, as it careens noiselessly through the night sky.

(source: unsplash)

“One,” she shouts, “Two. Three. Four.”

“We have plenty of time, Lizzy, plenty of time.” Her mother is shouting, over and over, no panic, just a calm, reassuring scream.

It is the same dream as always. Lizzy reaches behind and grabs the older woman’s hand, pulls her into the shelter of their porch, watching as the house across the road explodes into a heap of searing, flaming rubble.

*****

My mother, Lizzy, is ninety-seven, and I think of her as a survivor. Of life and time. Not long ago she had a mother, husband, sister and two daughters. Now she has me.

Twice a week I open the door to her house and look left, peering through the curtained darkness, along the hall and into her bedroom. I can see she is still sleeping. Under the formless camouflage of blankets, her shape has diminished and become frail, although her carers joke that she inhales each meal. They also say she is still stubborn, but in a cute way. She has passed the irritating cantankerousness of old age, and drifted without notice into the gentle humility of a disappearing mind.

There is not enough time in a day to see her more often, or so my private narrative goes, constructing a life so much more important, exciting, exasperatingly busy than it is.

“I’m so grateful you look after me, so glad,” she repeats. I accept her gratitude, even though guilt battles with honesty, and pulses through my brain at sleepless midnights.

*****

In her dream, she is eighteen, with the blonde permed hair and arched brows of a movie star. Her husband George, the love of her life, is away at war, and she fears he will never come home. He writes sometimes, although there are no mailboxes in the Pacific, and home is his last thought as suicide planes fall burning out of the sky. The blackened casualties of war sleep beside him in rows on the smoking deck. She wakes sobbing, drenched in fear, and spots the picture of a bride and groom on her bedside. Reassured, she remembers the sixty years of devoted life with him, recalls they had plenty of time, and longs for more.

*****

I try to wake her but she is in a deep sleep. I know the conversation if she wakes. I will ask her if she has eaten and she will say she’s not hungry. I will try to cajole her into the warming sunlight, pressure her to have tea and a chat. She will refuse. She will tell me she is happy to be curled up in her warm bed, that she is tired. She will finally say that I should expect this from someone ninety-seven years old. It’s her own truth and I cannot dispute it, so I let her sleep undisturbed.

*****

In her dream she is twenty-four and very pregnant, so near childbirth that pains come, quick and unbearable. The midwife arrives a true professional; blue skirt, tie and cape, nylons and sturdy black brogues, a nurse’s crisp white cap on her head. Mabel is confined to a home birth, banished from the hospital with an acute case of chickenpox. She is infected, contagious, but her baby does not care about blisters and disease. She is ready to become.

“Should she push harder?” George asks.

“No. We have plenty of time,” the midwife says. It is a lie of consolation.

The baby’s head finally crowns, but the midwife’s face tells a grim story as towel after towel is soaked in red, and Lizzy fades.

She holds the greasy, squirming baby to her breast, and wakes with the sound of an ambulance siren still wailing in her mind.

*****

I have come up with a plan. I will call on her at a random time and she will be whisked away to her favourite spot near the beach. A chair will be taken, rugs and pillows, and she will sit like an ancient empress, commanding the clouds across the cool Autumn sun. Trees will shade us in the ozone rich afternoon, and steaming tea in a thermos will be sipped from carefully transported china cups with matching saucers and silver spoons. Our picnic will be finished with fruit cake and a tiny, delicate stroll along the sand.

I knock as usual, key poised, ready to fend off her refusal. The plan requires myself and a Carer, remembering the stubborn streak, to get her up and out of bed. Washed and dressed, lipstick and eyebrows. She opens the door in pink striped flannel pajamas, hair askew, stares blankly into my face and asks the silent question: Who are you? She pivots on unsteady legs, each step is a danger of falling, but she stands firm, rebuffing my proposal as she perilously shuffles to her room and climbs back in bed.

“No,” she says, “I want to sleep.”

I am my mother’s daughter and I know that tone. I let her sleep and all my fanciful plans collapse. As I leave, the dim hope for a future picnic rings with mocking laughter.

*****

In her dream, she is ninety-three. People sit around her, people she knows but with faces fading fast. They are hushed and without spirit, speaking with the reverence of dying and death, telling her that her older daughter, Jane, is struck down with cancer. Inoperable, impossible, fatal. An unearthly wail leaves Lizzy’s throat and punches out into the room. It is a sound no-one should ever be forced to make, or hear. A parent mourning a child. The ultimate betrayal of life.

Later in the dream, in roles reversed, the dying daughter embraces her mother until she calms, tells her it will be alright.

“We have plenty of time.” Jane says.

Comforted, Lizzy wakes, as her daughter’s shadow bends to kiss her on the cheek, and says goodbye.

*****

I try to organise a lunch for mum but again I fail. Fighting with the ancient is so unseemly. Just let her be. She’s happy in her home, her bed, regardless of what you want, of what you think is good for her.

Other people’s words fly round my head like wild birds in an aviary, flapping and squawking, until I tame them.

Today I will just sit beside her bed and hold her hand and let her sleep. And if she wakes, I’ll make a cup of tea, and tell her about the world outside. And how much I love her. Until she goes back into sleep.

And so I’m here remembering the mother that created us; children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. She is not elderly and frail, with unkempt white hair and paper thin skin. Her fingers don’t bend like misshapen twigs. They work and create, hug, and clap with joy. That woman is still there, beneath the most precarious veneer of life, and it is a celebration just being with her.

*****

In her dream, she is ninety-seven and the remaining daughter visits each day. They smile and laugh and talk about the weather, the kids, the little things of normal life. Her daughter is busy, but stays a little longer, until she sees the time and stands to rush away.

My mother urges the woman to stay longer, to sit.

“We have plenty of time.” She says.

“Yes.” I smile, “plenty.”

(author: Janetthe)

A Dead Body

2022-06-08T05:30:00.002-07:00

One day suddenly a security guard found a dead body on the stairs of the City Center Mall. The security guard was horrified when he saw that. Frightened, he immediately called the police. He was very scared and could not even speak properly in the call. He said to the police, “Hello, come here quickly. Somebody’s dead body is here. A corpse is in front of me.” Saying this, he immediately disconnected the phone and sat in a chair nearby.

(source: istockphoto)

After some time two police came there and they investigated the body. First they tried to know who was the person? Whose body was lying there?

An ID card was found on the man’s shirt with his name written on it. His name was ‘Mike Williams’, an employee of a company. The police then called Mike’s company and took details of his family members.

Now they had to know who killed Mike and who left him here? They first tried to check CCTV. They went to the security room and there they saw in CCTV that a long haired man completely covering his face and dragging Mike’s corpse. He left the body on stairs. Now all they had was proof that the person who killed Mike is long-haired.

After knowing all this, the policemen went to Mike’s house. On there way home, they told the sad news to Mike’s family. The family was deeply saddened to hear of Mike’s death.

The police then asked Mike’s family members if they knew anyone with long hair. After inquiring thoroughly, they did not find anyone who was long-haired. In such a situation, the police thought of going to Mike’s office. They then went to Mike’s office. There too, they could not find any person whose hair was long. Now policemen tried to find out about all of Mike’s friends. They asked Mike’s cousins, his friends, relatives, etc. but they could not find any clue or information.

Now they were confused as to how to investigate further. In such a situation, both of them thought that those people would place ‘warning notice’ at different places. Both did the same and put a notice everywhere. Days passed after putting the notice but no news was received.

A few days later, suddenly a call was received to those policemen. The person who was in that phone told the policeman that he knows a person whose notice has been placed everywhere. Both of them got up immediately and went to the person.

The man was a barber who cut people’s hair. As soon as the police reached him, the barber said, “I am a barber and cut people’s hair. One day a person came to me who lives nearby. He was very scared and he told me that he would cut his hair. He loved his hair. Whenever I asked him to cut his hair he would get angry immediately. But that day he came and said to cut the hair. I cut his hair short. He also gave me more money. Seeing all this, I got a little suspicious. Then yesterday when I went to the market, I saw the notice you had put, which I understood by seeing that something was wrong. That’s why I called you here. “

After saying all this, the barber revealed the boy’s address. The policemen went to his house and caught him. After questioning well, that boy told the truth and everything he did. The police ask him why he murdered Mike? He then told that Mike was his friend from whom he had taken $20,000. Mike went to get his money back when he had it. He did not want to return the money to Mike. Then he fights with him and killed him. After killing Mike, he left his body on mall’s stairs. Now that killer will spend years in prison.

Beneath the Quaking Aspen

2022-06-06T05:30:00.010-07:00

He buried her in the forest before the leaves of the quaking aspen turned golden. No one noticed the tamped down soil, or the way the wild grasses died back all around her, or even the circle of whimsy brown mushrooms that erupted soon after.

(source: unsplash)

And when autumn came, and the leaves changed, the trembling giant whose roots she fed turned scarlet instead.

“I am here,” she called. “Please find me!”

But, after the first frost, the leaves turned rusty, and were then indistinguishable from the rest.

No one noticed her, buried in the forest beneath the quaking aspen.

Snow falls, blanketing her in a cold white solitude with only her thoughts for company, and she wonders…

Does her family know she isn’t coming home?

Or do they maybe think she’s just run away from it all? Does anyone suspect foul play? Or has he once again convinced everyone of his harmless temper?

“We argued, but I loved her. I never would have done anything to hurt her.”

Then why did she (the other woman) drive her car—in neutral—into the lake?

She wonders what he’ll say about her.

“We argued, but I loved her. She said she would leave me a hundred times, and I guess she finally did.”

She wonders if anyone ever found the unused airplane tickets in the back of her underwear drawer, rolled up in a sock with the wad of twenties she’d been collecting for months? Did he find them? Is that why…?

Is that why she’s rotting away in the earth now?

Spring arrives and the bugs return, but she only has so much of herself left to give them. The grass grows back, greener than before, and the roots of the quaking aspen snake through her ribs.

He returns—and steps on her grave.

Just with one foot, at first. She thinks he’s testing the ground, or checking for bones sticking out of the soil; when he doesn’t fall through, he stands on her grave fully. The pressure on her chest is unbearable, but he already broke her heart once.

When he breaks her ribs, she feels nothing.

He steps off quickly, sheepishly, and reaches forward. He grabs a branch from the tree he buried her under and snaps it off with a quick tug.

Is that how she died? She remembers his hands on her neck and then nothing else.

It was so quick.

They argued. She told him she didn’t love who he was anymore, but she never got the chance to leave, like she’d planned to for months.

He walks away with his souvenir and she doesn’t see him again for a long time.

A million thoughts fill her up, and she wonders if she’ll ever have peace from them. They never ceased while she was alive, in her waking hours or otherwise, and now they continue even as her body returns to the earth. Restful oblivion does not come to her and she wonders… if not in death, then when?

Did Niki worry when she didn’t show up? Or did they just assume she never meant to arrive in the first place? Are they angry she broke her promise? What about her cat? Did they keep Mr. Jenkins? Is he healthy and happy with Niki?

And, more than anything, she worries no one knew her thoughts in those final months, because he stole her from her family and friends—stole her from herself, even.

She’d said so many awful things to so many people, and all they’d ever wanted was for her to be happy and safe. But she never listened—was too proud to admit she’d been wrong until it was too late.

She almost doesn’t recognize who she was in those final months anymore.

(Why does she even care? She’s not —— anymore.)

She begins growing out of her broken body the following year, and feels for the first time in a long time the gentle rays of sunlight beating down on her through the budding leaves of the surrounding quaking aspen trees.

However, almost before she can appreciate the new sensations that come with being a sprouting aspen tree, a browsing deer strips her of her leaves—and then a hare finishes her off.

But that’s fine. Her roots remain, and she continues pulling water and other nutrients from the ground for the giants she shares herself with.

They don’t speak, but she feels their sympathy as they wordlessly console her, and offer her their full support when spring arrives again.

She grows quickly with their tender support, and when the browsing deer returns, she has more than enough of herself to give.

When they see him again, they almost don’t recognize him.

He’s older, grayer. Feebler. He walks with a cane now and uses it to push around the mulchy layers of decaying leaves. The top layer of soil has grown sugary over the years and he has to hold on to branches as he steps up the incline, or risk slipping.

But he is himself still, and they could never forget his eyes. Warm like honey; hard like amber; and, sometimes, colder than moonlight. Wrinkles (and time) have softened his piercing gaze, but they still feel it as he looks about. There’s an unmistakable hint of sharpness—like raw edges on smooth river stones.

He does not recognize them.

They have grown up strong and tall since he saw them last, and the animal path he followed all those years ago has meandered ever so slightly off track. He is not lost, but neither can he find his destination.

He looks up, straining his neck, searching for the tree with the cracked-off branch—searching for the piece of them he broke. He turns around three full times, facing north after each spin.

Still, he does not find what he’s looking for.

Forgiveness. Closure. Maybe the tree he buried them beneath, which no longer stands.

It blew over some years ago, when the summer storms came. The uprooted stump is just to his right, but he does not make the connection, because the thick trunk was hauled away for campfire fuel the same year it fell.

He leans against his cane, silently stewing over his dilemma. He’s never had much patience for anything, really.

The wind rattles through their bare branches and a chill creeps through him. He shivers, hunching his shoulders against the stiff wind, and lifts his cane. He turns right, shuffling through the frost laden leaves, and unknowingly walks over their grave.

He stumbles over the exposed roots still attached to the rotting stump and falls—hard.

He lays there for a long moment, winded from his rough landing. When he recovers enough to move, his shifting is accompanied by a low groan.

He does not stand up—cannot stand up—and rolls onto his stomach, searching for his cane in the leaves. He does not find it; it flew quite far when he fell.

A crow caws overhead and he curses while struggling to push himself up onto his knees. One hand sinks into the frosty leaves, and closes around something smooth and roughly the same diameter as his cane.

He pulls on it, yanking it out of the ground after a couple of firm tugs. He’s not as strong as he once was.

A brown stained bone comes up, and he stares at it before flinging it away from himself with a startled cry.

He finally calls for help, having accepted that he’s too injured to escape the forest of quaking aspen on his own.

“Help!” he screams. “Please, someone!”

But no one hears him and each shout is more desperate than the last, until he’s screaming himself hoarse, sobbing between breaths.

“If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?”

The answer has never been more obvious to them than it is now.

No one noticed him, fallen in the forest beneath the quaking aspen.

(author: Myia Melendy)

The Lady with the Emerald Ring

2022-06-04T05:30:00.001-07:00

A rich man’s wife became deathly ill the night before Christmas in 1798, so he called for the doctor. By the time the doctor arrived, his wife had died, or so it seemed. Her husband was so grief stricken that he locked himself in his room and did not attend the funeral the following day. The servants of the house carried the rich woman’s body to the Vicar who, in a drunken stupor, held the ceremony quickly. The veil was drawn across her face, the stone lid lowered, and the iron grille locked.

(source: unsplash)

Just before the clergyman fell to sleep later that night, he remembered the beautiful emerald ring on the finger of the woman he had laid to rest. Wanting the ring and thinking no one would find out, he went downstairs, unlocked the lid, opened it, and tried to pry off the ring. It would not budge. He ran and brought back a file to cut the ring off her finger. When that did not work, he severed her finger and pulled the ring off. As he left, he turned around to pick up the iron lid, and screamed at the top of his lungs. He dropped the ring and ran. The woman had awakened, was moaning, and held her severed finger towards him with an evil smile on her face.

Wearing nothing but her fine silk dress, the woman walked back to her home, knocked on the door, and rang the bell, but to no avail. The servants had all gone to sleep, for it was late on Christmas Eve. She lifted a heavy stone, threw it at her husband’s window, and waited. He came to the window with a sorrowful look on his face.

Suddenly, to her surprise, he yelled, “Go away. Why must you torture me so? Don’t you know my wife has just died? Let me mourn and do not bother me again.”

With this he shut the window. He did not realize it was his wife who had thrown the rock at the window. She repeated her actions, again throwing a rock at the window. He opened the window again, and she yelled to him, “I am no one but your so-called dead wife. Now come down here and open this door, unless you’d like me to die a second time on our doorstep.”

“You are a ghost then?” he said to her.

She said, “No, for ghost’s don’t bleed. Now come down here before I catch my own death of cold.”

The man with a joyous look on his face came down to meet his wife and took her inside where he called the doctor once more and told him the news.

Meanwhile, the clergyman ran home and up the stairs. In a state of fright, he hung himself from the rafters of his home. If he had only known that the woman only wanted to thank him. She had not died after all but had gone into a coma. When he cut off her finger, the pain woke her up.

(source: icebreakerideas)

The Dark and Lonely Road

2022-06-02T05:30:00.004-07:00

Every night, you sit there in the comfort and safety of your home, but you have no idea of what is going on outside in the darkness. Not far from your home, there is a dark and lonely place. You may not know about it, but it’s there. All over the country, in small towns and cities, there are so many of these dark and lonely places.

(source: unsplash)

When I was a young boy, I lived in a small town. Johnny Craig lived across the street from me. I was friends with his big brother. He was just a baby then. I saw him growing up, but I never paid much attention to him.

Sometimes, in the evening, my mother would send me out to the local store to buy a carton of milk or a bag of sugar. On the way to the shop, I had to pass a long, dark stretch of road.

During the day, it was just a shady place lined with old, gnarled trees and vacant lots where nothing had been built and nothing was ever going to be built. I was never afraid of it by day, but at night it was a different place. A lonesome place. A place of darkness and strangeness. A place of terror and fear.

There were no houses nearby. No streetlights. It was pitch black. As black as black could be. Dark as the deepest night. The tall trees blocked out the moon and the stars, casting their long shadows across the road.

Whenever you had to go that way, you walked slower and slower. It was like stepping into a dark tunnel. Behind you were the lights of the houses, the sound of cars and people walking along the sidewalk. Ahead of you, there was just a long, lonely stretch of darkness in which anything could be lurking, anything at all.

Every time I had to pass that place at night, I would dread it. I kept hoping somebody would come along, so I wouldn’t have to walk alone. But nobody ever came. As I walked along that dark stretch of road, I would keep my eyes fixed on the trees, half-expecting to see something or someone lurking there in the darkness.

Perhaps it was the bogeyman. My mother had often told me about the bogeyman and how he waited in dark places for boys and girls who strayed from the path. Perhaps it was a child predator. My mother had also warned me about evil men who tried to lure children with the promise of candy and puppy dogs. Perhaps it was something else. Something worse.

Out of the corner of my eye, I would catch glimpses of misshapen figures crouching there in the pitch black, waiting for the moment when they would burst forth and pounce on me. Then, in that silent and isolated area, they would begin tearing me and rending me and doing unspeakable things to me and nobody would ever see me again.

I’m not sure what I expected to see lurking in that lonely place at night. My imagination always got the better of me. In my mind, it was a hideous creature, somewhere between animal and man. It had long, spindly limbs and huge, sharp claws. It had wet, slimy skin and eyes that burned like fire. I imagined it hiding in the branches of those old trees, dropping down without a sound and stalking the unwary boys and girls who passed along the dark and lonely road at night.

One night, it almost got me. I was walking down the lonely road and all of a sudden there wasn’t any light up ahead. That’s when I knew it was coming. I could just feel it waiting there in the darkness. I started running, desperate to get away, but I could feel it behind me. It was gaining on me. I could feel its breath on the back of my neck. I ran. I ran as fast as I could. I ran until I thought my heart would burst.

It almost had me in its clutches, but I managed to get away. When I got back to the safety of my house, I looked at myself in the mirror and there was a long, jagged rip in the back of my shirt, as if a sharp claw had tried to grab me and just missed me by an inch. That scared me, real bad, and afterwards I hated going down that lonely road more than ever.

“Some night I won’t come back,” I warned my mother.

She just laughed and told me not to be silly.

“There’s something out there in the dark,” I told her.

“There’s nothing there in the dark that isn’t there in the light,” she assured me.

What do adults know about the world? Grown-ups think they know everything. They place their trust in what they read, but they only read what is reported in newspapers and on TV. They drive around in their cars and never have to walk anywhere at night. They don’t know what goes on out there in the dark, in the wretched, lonely places where no light ever shines and the darkness hangs like a cloud on the ground and no bird ever sings.

I knew they wouldn’t believe me. I knew there was nothing I could say to convince them that something or someone lived down there, among the trees, on that dark and lonely stretch of road.

As I grew older, I gradually forgot about the lonely road. I got taller, I went to high school, I started playing football, I learned to drive and I started dating girls. The years passed by and somehow I forgot about the thing that lurked there in the darkness. The memory of it still remained in a distant corner of my mind, but it was a memory locked away in childhood. The years passed by, but I never thought about the other kids who had to walk down that dark and lonely road at night.

Three days ago, Johnny Craig went missing. He lived across the street from me. I was friends with his big brother. He was just a baby then. I saw him growing up, but I never paid much attention to him. Not until he went missing.

They found him in the trees on that dark and lonely stretch of road. His body was torn and ripped and crushed, almost beyond recognition. The police said he had been mauled by some kind of animal.

The moment I heard about it, I knew what happened. Johnny Craig had been murdered by the thing my childhood fears had created. The thing I had conjured up in my imagination. I had left it on that dark and lonely stretch of road. I had left it there to wait for some scared little boy who happened to be walking home one dark night, a little boy who couldn’t run as fast as I could run.

After that, the town cut down the trees and put up streetlights. That stretch of road isn’t dark and lonely anymore. The thing that lurked there is gone now. It’s gone somewhere else, where the people are unsuspecting, to some other small town. A small town like yours, where it will wait again, just as it did here. It will wait for some other frightened little boy or girl to come along. It’s only a matter of time…

(source: Scary for Kids)

If you could read my mind, you'll be in tears

2021-08-06T09:20:00.001-07:00

My mind is spinning.

Can’t control my thoughts.

Overthinking again.

Am I enough?

For you? My friends? My family?

Am I deserving this?

Love? Trust? Happiness?

Have I disappointed?

You? My parents? My friends?

What have I done in my life to deserve all this?

Failures, pain, losses, trust issues, a broken heart, a broken soul, fears, shattered dreams.

Can I ever be truly happy again?

Without the fear of losing it again?

Can I?

Do all the things with joy like in the good old days?

I hope so.

I pray so.

Only God has my back and I’m glad about it, because he is the only one I can trust in my healing process. He knows what he is doing.

Written by Charu

Can't wait to see myself happy again

2021-07-27T08:54:00.000-07:00

There was a time where I was happy.

Happy about my life and my choices I‘ve made, but now there’s nothing left of it.

I lost my happiness along the way and I don’t know where to find it again.

Is it in another person?

In a new job?

In a different city?

Or something completely different?

I have no idea.

I‘m working hard to find it.

I don’t want to be sad all the time, it’s exhausting.

I‘m already a broken soul, so where is my happiness again?

I hope I can find it in the near future.

Written by Charu

you make me sad but i still want you

2021-07-24T08:48:00.005-07:00

You left me in tears.

But oh lord I still want you so bad.

I can’t have you and it breaks me.

I want to hold you.

I want to smell your fragrance everywhere.

I want to protect you from your pain.

I want to be your happiness.

Please let me.

We drive each other crazy, but this is our secret recipe, right?

You make me sad and I make you sad, isn’t that our thing?

I think we are made for each other, but something keeps us apart every time.

I‘m still figuring it out, but I can’t find it.

The only thing I figured out is you and me and how bad I want you, even though we are toxic for each other.

Written by Charu

I still love you but I'm just tired of trying

2021-07-21T08:42:00.002-07:00

I love you so much, but I need to let you go, once and for all.

We didn’t work anymore and it breaks my heart to realize this.

The time has come that we end up things and let go of each other, it’s for the best, baby.

I‘m tired of trying so much to fix two shattered hearts at once, I just can’t do it and you aren’t even trying.

It’s for the best, even though it breaks me into million pieces, we need to and that’s okay.

I need to set you free, so that you can find another one, a better one, maybe someone who adores you even more - if that’s even possible - and someone who gives you the world, because I couldn’t give it you.

I love you, but I need to go.

Written by Charu

I was hurt too, but I am always silent

2021-07-17T08:55:00.001-07:00

When it comes to you I drop everything and be there for you.

And you? I shouldn’t even say this, but you’re not there for me when I need you.

I‘m a human too, I have feelings too and I’m hurt too and you don’t give a damn about it.

I would give you the world if I could, instead I give you all my power and energy - for literally nothing.

But this is our relationship, I give and you take, nothing else and I remain silent.

It’s not because I’m afraid of you or your person, I‘m just afraid to lose someone so special.

Afraid of losing my smile.

Afraid of losing my best friend.

Afraid of losing my anchor.

And yes I’m describing you as a bad person, but you’re not - not for me.

Because you’re always there - just not for me.

And I remain silent.

Written by Charu

I'm sad, I'm hurt, I'm not okay, but who cares?

2021-07-16T01:34:00.004-07:00

If I scream, who can hear me? - Nobody.

When I cry, who can hear me? - Nobody.

If I pray, who can hear me? - Nobody.

When I sing, who can hear me? - Nobody.

If I write, who can read me? - Nobody.

If I dance, who can see me? - Nobody.

Who is there for me when I'm sitting alone in my room and all thoughts come up? - Nobody.

No one ever cares about my feelings, aren’t they worth it enough?

I‘m always the one who is helping anyone, but who is helping me when I’m drowning?

I‘m broken and no one sees that, but it’s okay.

It’s just me.

I‘m fine with it, because I‘m talking to the moon every night and I feel like he understands me in a way no one else could and he is a great listener too.

Written by Charu

Just for once, I want someone to be afraid of losing me

2021-07-12T09:10:00.000-07:00

I‘m always the one who loses, but no one was afraid of losing me, so I’m asking is there someone out there in the future who is afraid of losing me?

This question pops up every now and then and I really want to know.

When I open my heart and soul to someone and they are deciding to leave me, did they even care for one second?

Because I did, every single one.

I just want once in my lifetime that someone comes along and tries everything to hold me and won’t let me go, even in the bad times when I’m not deserve it.

That’s all I’m asking for, is it already too much?

Written by Charu

For once, I want to talk to you again just like old times

2021-07-08T08:31:00.003-07:00

Sometimes I think about our past and how great it was and then the sadness kicks in.

We had so many awesome years together and out of nowhere you were gone and left me with nothing but a memory.

The thoughts about you got stronger lately and all I wish for is you and me at night talking about everything just like in the old times.

But then I remind myself that we can’t do this anymore, 'cause we are two completely different people nowadays, have two very different lifestyles and the friendship is just gone.

We are like strangers again, the only thing that we have are our stories and secrets from the past that strangers don’t have.

I‘m at peace now with my mind about our history, because what we had was everything and I will keep it safe in my heart, I promise.

Written by Charu

When it hurts but you still want to stay

2021-07-06T02:34:00.000-07:00

Love can either destroy or heal you.

When you love somebody you are vulnerable, you’re easier of getting hurt or getting healed.

When it hurts like hell and you know you can’t do this anymore and need to walk away, you won’t do that, because you love.

You love the person too much to just leave it all behind, you just can’t.

And that’s love about.

Anger and happiness.

Fights and make ups.

Broken and healed.

All those things can happen when you love somebody and that’s absolutely okay.

When two hearts belong to each other, they will always find their way back, no matter what.

Written by Charu

Note to self: Don't re-read old conversations, they can break you even more

2021-07-03T20:20:00.005-07:00

I caught myself strolling through our old conversations while I was sobbing - not for the first time.

We were meant to be, we’ve done everything together and now?

Look at us - we are ignoring each other and are strangers again.

Of course I’m hurt but you don’t seem like it. I’m the only one who still suffers for you and it’s tearing me apart.

How could I ever forget us?

Our long late night conversations about the sun and the moon, of how much the moon loves the sun that it dies every day to let it shine and how the sun dies down every night to let the moon shine, so that the people out there can adore it, just like the sun do.

How could I ever be at the same places again, where we used to go?

Every time I past one, I instantly think about you and how great it would be to be with you right here and just be our stupid self's.

And how could I ever find another person as stupid and funny like you?

With you everything felt so easy and I was myself, but now, it’s nothing like that anymore.

My life changed in seconds when you left me.

Written by Charu

If we don't talk again, remember I loved you

2021-07-01T08:55:00.006-07:00

Sometimes it works out and sometimes it don’t.

Maybe we’ll fix this or maybe we won’t.

A shattered heart can’t be fixed easily, it needs time to heal.

But if we really ending up not being fixed by each other, it can’t work out for us and that’s okay.

I‘m always there to help you, no matter how our ending will be.

I‘ll always remember us this way.

And if we end up never talking again, remember my words: I love you.

Written by Charu

No texts, No calls, Nothing, But here I'm thinking about you

2021-06-28T19:06:00.002-07:00

It’s midnight and my mind is racing, racing about you and me.

How could we end up from hundreds of messages and calls per day to zero per day?

We were always there for each other, but out of a sudden you left.

You left and took my heart.

I have nothing left, just the thought of you keeps me alive.

With you, everything made sense, life was easier and now it’s getting heavier.

I wish I could find somebody new like you did, but I could never love the same.

I could never do the things with the new lover that we did together, it wouldn’t be the same.

Your love can’t be replaced nor erased.

I can’t love somebody new,

because I had you.

Written by Charu

You won, I lost. You're happy, I'm broken

2021-06-27T00:34:00.004-07:00

I‘m feeling like my heart would explode any second.

I know I shouldn’t, but I just love you too much to let you go, I‘m so sorry.

Every time I see you happy with her and not me, I‘m feeling like I need to die, when does it finally end?

It has been years since you broke my heart, but it still hurts like hell.

I want to forget you, but every time I almost do, you come along and remind me how much I still love you.

It’s destroying me, because you have nothing left for me, I was just your stupid game, your toy and I trusted you.

I was too dumb to see what you were and now I don’t even regret to meet you, I just wish we had stopped at our first „Hello“.

I wish you the best, even though you don’t deserve it.

I hope one day I can look you in your eyes and feel nothing.. but till then.. I will still suffer for you.

Written by Charu