The nice folks at StudioPlus 30, inspired by the new season, gave FALLING as one of the writing prompts for this week.  Meanwhile, Trifecta has BLIND as the  word prompt this week.  The combination of the two prompts inspired me to write something that has not Autumn-y at all.   If you are inspired to write anything about the prompts, feel free to link-up and have fun.  🙂  Do visit their respective pages for lovely posts.   Thank you for  being here as always.  🙂


Andrew stopped midway as he was opening the driver’s door of the car and stared at me. I blushed, of course! “He just had to stop and admire me. Will he say that I am especially beautiful today?” My heart was jumping out of my chest.
“Ahem. Ahh, Marla,…” He began.
I looked at him with coquettish eyes.
“… your hair kinda looks funny.”
“Ah. Oh! Must be the way I brushed it earlier.” I stammered and changed the subject before he could say another word about my hair.

“So, how did your date go?” My friend Lora asked me when we met over coffee.
“Pffttt! He saw through my hair…”
Lora raised her brows…
“..well, sun passed through it, let me just say. I kept my hair down. I used to look good that way. I forgot how thin it’s become” My hand gathered my hair of its own volition.
“You’re just too paranoid. You’re pretty.”
“Maybe, as long as no one notices the hair. Hah!” I said trying to keep my tone light.
“Oh well.” Lora said. “There are more prospects.”
“A blind one would be great.”

That night, in my room, my eyes fell on the bottle of Rogain and hair regrowth and half used aloe-vera leaves on my dressing table.

“Useless!” I yelled and with one swoop, they all tumbled on the floor. The breaking glass soothed the blind fury  welling inside me.

I looked at the crucifix on the wall. “Why?” I asked, tears rimming my lids. “ You DO know each hair on my head – you gave me only so very few.  And most of them end up on the bathroom drain.” For how long I stood before the Crucifix, sniffing, complaining, lips quivering, I did’nt know.
Worn out at last by my outburst, I went to bed hoping there’s somebody who was blind to my shiny pate, err, defects, even if only in my dreams.



I have danced all that I can
until my limbs got tired
and the music faded
with the last echoes of the wind
’til nothing was left but the pregnant stillness
the quiet of waiting.

I have sung all the songs
I can sing with the whistling of the wind
and the voices of the birds
as my accompaniments
until my own voice faded into whispers
and quiet reigned.

I have sheltered all I can shelter
under my canopy
given them shade from the burning sun
kept them dry under the pouring rain
until my shelter was no longer enough
and they all fled
leaving me in the quiet, waiting.

I have listened to young lovers’
whispered pledges of forever
to the silent sighs of weary elders
leaning on my ample pillar for rest
til my own strength ebbs
and flows to their tired limbs
helping them wait for their silent rest.

I have exalted in the sun
and gloried with the wind
cavorted with the rain
I have raised my palms to the sky
and let my bowers quiver
and move in the breeze.

I have done all I can
and all that I should
and yet still give until the very end
when in the colorful blaze
of the last farewell
I plunge into that quiet rest
that will make me new.


I had Bloggy Moms’ In mind when I wrote this piece. The prompt is as follows –

“For this week’s prompt, I want you to write about your favorite thing about the season. The only catch is, you must not tell the reader what it is. You must describe it. Become your favorite thing, just long enough to give us 250 words. You can write more, but not less.”

Unfortunately, I ran out of words to meet the 250 word count.

I also tried to meet Trifecta: Week Forty-Three ‘s word  prompt:  AMPLE, i.e.,

Thanks for dropping by and reading.  I appreciate your visit and comments even when I do not get to reply as quickly as I should.
Bloggy Moms


I have been meaning to continue the story that began with this post and continued here and here but my family and I  have been mostly in and out this summer that I could not focus on the story.  That I discovered Grimm did not help because I found myself watching its entire season in Hulu.  Now that I’ve caught up with the latest episode and have nothing more to watch, so far, I was able to push the story a bit.  At least, I hope so. 🙂  I do want to see where this little project goes.

Thanks to  Trifecta  for the prompt:  “heart, i.e.,   personality, disposition”.  I got an anchor for the installment.   

Let me just give this brief background.  The story is set in a place called Valetta an island which is essentially a garbage dump.  Darion, a scavenger boy,  found a carousel to which he instantly got attached to.   Instead of showing the find to his friends, Bandar, et. al., he ran home.  There, Abuelo told him to return the carousel to where he found it because it would bring them bad luck.  However, Abuelo relented and instead helped Darion keep it in a secure place.    Bandar and company soon arrived demanding that they be shown the carousel.  Darion, upon Abuelo’s advice, showed them an old glass lamp.  This angered Bandar and a quarrel between him  and Darion followed.  The quarrel ended with Bandar threatening harm upon Darion.  

Thank you for coming by and reading. 🙂


“I’m going for a walk. Would you like to come with me?” Abuelo asked as he put the saw back to its nail.

“No, Abuelo,” Darion mumbled as he shook his head while keeping his eyes fixed in the distance.

“Bar the door behind me then.” Abuelo glanced at Darion as he stepped out of the threshold pulling the door behind him.

Darion watched the old man, the wood he was working on tucked under his arm and a bolo dangling from his belt – disappear in the path towards the cove as the folks called it. Ordinarily, he would have gone with Abuelo. He loved to listen to the latter’s stories that get so fantastic that he could not tell whether Abuelo was teasing or not. One time, Abuelo told the story about big fire trees, palatial homes, horses, nobility. Even a king. In Valetta! Abuelo even told him not to tell anyone. He often found the tales so wild that sometimes, he wanted to believe the things people say about Abuelo when they think that he or Abuelo were not listening.

“Crazy old man,” the nastier folks said.

Trees. Horses. Blue waters. Green grass.” He smiled at the remembrance but he did not have the heart to listen to Abuelo’s silly stories this day.

And yet…. “ Darion lifted his head with a start, realization dawning upon him.

He rushed towards the spot where they buried the carousel. He was lifting the top box when he heard a thud on the roof. Before he could take a step, however, dozens of pebbles rained upon the tiny hut. He saw no one from the window but heard the scamper of feet and laughter.

He ran towards the door and opened it only to see Valerio coming down the path to the house. Immediately, he bolted the door, shut the window and curled in a shadowy corner of the house.



“You must be a writer,” said the email that Imee just received.  “Hmmm, did this, Jack or somebody,  even pay attention to what I wrote?  My  info was  lifted from the Bible.” She thought.   She was not very impressed, to say the least.  However, out of  charity, she typed in a polite response  to Jack.

“He is too young for me, 30 to my 33 and some.   And he is Traditional Catholic!  Oh Pharisee of Pharisees,” she told her friends.

Yet, somehow, the emails kept flying back and forth, back and forth.

One day, she asked “Can you send me a picture of yourself?”

When she checked her inbox, her eyes widened in disbelief.   “What the… ?”  Attached to the mail was   a grainy black and white image of a face with distorted features and tongue sticking out.

“I had no available photo so I scanned my face,”  he explained unconcerned about how he looked in the picture.

“How unpretentious!”  Imee concluded.

So, the emails turned to phone calls;   the phone calls into long conversations; the long conversations  into a romance.

“We should see each other,” they both agreed after some time.

“He may be a psycho.” Her friends  warned her.

“Well, there is really not much crime in Maine, so you should be safe.” Someone said to boost her morale.

“Are you desperate?” were the unspoken words of some.

She was scared but she had to find out.

One day, against some well-meaning advice, she packed her bags and took a 22-hour   flight to see Jack.

Their meeting changed the course of their lives.

More than a year later,   Imee’s  life was packed in three big suitcases.  They had all that she would need in her new life.    Leaving behind home and all the comforts that went with it, she boarded another long flight.   At the end of it waited her Jack,  frozen flowers in hand.  Together, they walked the aisle to  Happily-Ever-After Land.


The above post is my response to Trifecta:  Week Thirty Seven’s challenge, i.e., to write a response  in 33-333 words using the third definition of the word “FLIGHT” – 3a : a trip made by or in an airplane or spacecraft   b : a scheduled airplane trip.

Thank you fro dropping by.  Do visit Trifecta for wonderful responses. 🙂


I am queen of a small realm where words are limited.

“Don’t do that!”

“Eat your vegetables.”

“Please don’t quarrel with your brothers!”

“Goo goo, cutie patootie.”

Those words are the backbone of my daily repertoire. The motiff hardly varies unless one counts the screams and the sighs. Little children, though capable of understanding a great deal, understand simpler words and expressions better.

Yet, though this is my normal on a daily basis and people might even think me so well suited to it, there is an entirely different story in my head. There, words bish and bash each other during the day. The pandemonium threaten to gush even as it awaits the arrival of that other adult who is most likely to comprehend and match them.

“Darlin’, I want to chitchat,” I make a coy request.

“Sure. About what?” the darling gamely replies.

Alas! He does not know, much less understand, my need to just talk – small talk, big talk, girl talk. Whenever I say something that borders on complaining, he will most likely offer a solution. But solutions kill the spirit of a freewheeling recreational talk, a.k.a. chitchat in Imeldism. When he is not offering a solution, after a long day of talking and teaching, he is simply too tired to listen to a chatterbox. He sits quiet or, heaven forbid!, nods off. That is not fun either.

I might as well talk to a wall. Yet, the wall is not an option. First, it can’t respond. Second, I don’t want to jump the normal, at least consciously, yet. But there is the computer right on my desk, severely underused for Facebook trolling, gaming, and surfing. While I enjoy all of those things, I realize that I want something more. I want to learn how to use words and to create something with them: poems, stories, and the like. I see the chance to learn and get better. So, I blog.


This is a post written following the prompt for (1)  Trifecta: Week Thirty-Six‘s word – NORMAL, i.e., a form or state regarded as the norm; a standard; and, for Studio30plus prompts, viz.: (a) PANDEMONIUM, and (b) Why I Blog.   Visit their pages for wonderful responses.

Have a great day. 🙂