G for Goosebumps

I bought that wind chime, six years back in Baguio City. It is believed to ward off evil every time it chimes. It is even used to enhance the good chi in a house, according to Chinese belief. So there, I bought one.

It chimes whenever someone comes near the main door as it comes into contact with the head and I get alerted. When my kids come home from school I rush to hug them.

It was  late night when everyone had  retired to bed and the main door was closed. As I was falling into sleep I suddenly heard the bell chime. Who could it be at this odd hour, I wondered....I was alone with kids  with my hubby away. I tiptoed silently and saw through a  peep hole.

There was no one. Is someone hiding and playing tricks with me? I waited for another chime. It did not occur.....I dared not open the door but the long silence gave  me creepy feelings. It sent shivers down my spine.

Am I imagining? Whatever it is, I will not remove that wind chime. Because I know when my kids arrive from school or when someone is entering our house without permission. As I was turning back to the bed room, I heard the chime distinctly and clearly again. Sure a trespasser was there and his intentions were not honest as he hid from peep hole. I again walked gingerly to  peep thro the peep hole.

What I saw gave me a hearty laugh. It was my parrot Charlie that escaped from the cage and fluttering about between the chime and the cage. I tried to be brave and opened the door to put it back in  the cage.

It was then that a strong hand clasped my neck from behind......How foolish I was, I thought!

~*~*~*~

Written for Thursday Tales - Tale #34

Also written for Leo's Z to A Challenge for the month of November.

G for Goosebumps

Diwata

Diwata suffered ridicule from her classmates when she thought that all the way they were her true friends. They kept taunting her because she always stammered whenever she spoke or recited. The mocking looks of others only aggravated the problem. Little did they know that her stuttering was an inborn defect.

She would always come home crying with swollen eyes unable to bear the sneering jibes in school. However, in spite of these when the kindly teacher noticed the rude hissings, and enquired her, she would always absolve her classmates of any wrong doings. Conversely, the teacher knew the truth.

One day when the Principal was in the class, the teacher proudly presented Diwata and said, "Diwata is the brightest in the class and writes with great felicity and charm. She has a handicap. She stutters while she speaks but when she writes she is so articulate and superb. Others may speak well but stutter when it comes to writing. God has endowed each one of us with some skill and some flaw. We should learn not to hurt others less fortunately born."

The Principal made known, “Your teacher has given a strong message. Mingle with Diwata, play with her, encourage her to speak freely without fear of ridicule. She will become one like you very soon."

Image Courtesy: HERE

There was the annual day the following month. The teacher talked to Diwata and made her agree to sing the opening song. She promised to work with her all the thirty days. She took the Principal who had initial reservations into confidence. 

The printed circular carried Diwata’s name as the person who would render the opening song, which usually set the pace for the function. All the other teachers and even some parents who knew of Diwata's disability thought her teacher had gone mad. 

Nevertheless, the teacher and girl spent days together practicing and pronouncing each word repeatedly. The rehearsals in private were many. More than anything, Diwata developed self-confidence. There was a fire in her belly to succeed.

On the appointed day, when the curtain rose, the entire audience was unusually silent when Diwata came on stage. There was an uneasy quiet. Diwata started with a little trepidation but when she saw her teacher on the sideline encouraging her, she got bold and sang the song slowly with no stutter but beautifully. 

When she finished, what started as a mild clap soon became a resounding standing ovation. The teacher came on the stage and hugged the child with tears flowing from her eyes.

From then on all the children competed with each other to befriend Diwata. Blessed is Diwata to have such a loving and understanding teacher.

~*~*~*~

Written for Thursday Tales

Also for Three Word Wednesday

Prompts: absolve, hiss, ridicule

Love Moves in Mysterious Ways

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 15; the fifteenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

~*~*~*~

It was an arts class. Everyone who had enrolled in Professor Bruto’s class had either an aptitude for arts or a natural talent in it, or they simply loved art for art’s sake.

“From this day on ‘til the next four days, your outputs will either break or make you," the Professor warned the unsuspecting students even on the opening day. “It will not be an easy course that you will sail through. Hard work would be called for. Do remember that it’s not just making a drawing or making a sketch that will make you competent and complete. It will be different this time, very  much different in a sense that you will be required to  interpret each of your output in prose or poetry forms too!” she continued.

There were gentle titters heard. There were murmurs of disgust, whispers of chagrin and buzzes of ridicule from the students making up the noise inside the classroom and drowning the monotonous hum of the AC. They were aghast at the superficial assumption that all artists could also be a poet or writer or be able to express themselves the way their professor wanted them to do.

Lynnette’s head started throbbing heavily. But she needed to pass the subject if only to avoid another ‘sermon on the mount’ from her dad who had high expectations of her. She decided that she should not fail him this time.

Day 1 Challenge – The professor announced that they will have to write a poem about their output in the form of a haiku. Lynette once again looked at the sketch she had made. Made of oil pastel, she had drawn a beautiful railway station, Alston Station. “Think Lynette, think of a beautiful Haiku!” she urged herself. It took only a few drafts to come up with what she considered as a passable one. She could hardly read the quirky professor’s impressions on her poetic effort from her poker-faced facial expression.

Pleasant memories

foot prints left behind the train

are there sad ones, too?

 Day 2 Challenge – “I have mixed feelings with the output you people have submitted yesterday. I must confess I am not much impressed but feel some of you are capable of giving better account.Why don’t you now try your hand on a poem in Villanelle form?” she remarked.

“What? A Villanelle? How crazy. How could we do that when all we did throughout the semester was draw, draw and draw?” George muttered under his breath. “Gosh, this is pure sadism. I hate her guts,” added Janice in a hushed tone, just within George’s earshot. Lynette however, went back to serious work as usual. “Villanelle, villanelle, Lord help me,” she whispered to herself. The first draft went into the dust bin. Another one followed. Soon a third one was dumped! Exasperated she warned to give up telling herself, “This is all I can do.” At the back of her mind, she could already picture that frightening facial expression from Prof Brutos. She plunged once more into her work.

A train station that holds stories

Of love, joys, tears, passion shared together

One can happily or sadly reminisce

 A love story laced with prejudice

Which he bravely negated her daughter

A train station that holds stories

That station gave them hidden trysts

They professed their love for one another

One can happily or sadly reminisce

 They had once fought about a nemesis

Of indifference they can’t decipher

A train station that holds stories

They parted ways because of jealousies

The pain unbearable he didn’t bother

One can happily or sadly reminisce

Once more they remember that edifice

Its memories they will cherish forever

A train station that holds stories

One can happily or sadly reminisce

Day 3 Challenge – “What are you doing guys? I am almost frustrated with all….of…. you…!!! C’mon, bring out the poet in you, the writer in you? Remember, I had never been so generous with grades not unless you prove to me your worth”? She was already lambasting her poor, confused students. “This time, show me some real works! Write a short prose, a 55 fiction to be exact!”

Lynette breathed a sigh of relief. She is good at essay writing. She might pass muster at Bruto’s strict hands; she could just put a couple of characters, a setting, a conflict and a denouement with ease. She made one quickly with her as the main character.

The 55 word fiction:

“And yes, Lynette, I liked your Villanelle,” the professor told with a mischievous smile.

Lynnette was surprised.

Little did she know earlier, her Dad had spoken to Professor? “Err…Anne, don’t be hard on a motherless girl. Be liberal in marks. You should know she is supportive of our love….”

Lyn now understood why she smiled.

Day 4 Challenge – “Lynette, what do you think? Can you make it by tomorrow? I am happy with your progress. How about the others? Don’t think any of you that I will make you pass easily unless you prove yourselves. Don’t get me wrong, I am just trying to make you better,” Prof Brutos expressed with a hint of sarcasm. “Get back to work; let me make this day the last challenge. A sonnet this time,” she announced which sounded like a voice soaked in sadism. Lynette could no longer contain her disdain for Brutos. “Wait, I will make you cringe,” she whispered to herself. Will her sonnet really make her cringe?  

Oh, my precious Anne, my heart is in pain

Come, take my hand and together we’ll fly

No, not fly; let’s take a couch on that train

May the soft cushion gives comfort to you and I

Oh my beloved Anne, yes you will always be

The apple of my eyes, so dear to me

Let no one come near thee, like a buzzing bee

You give me sleepless nights, why oh why?

Let no one put us asunder, even with death

Because you are my only love, my life

So please don’t take away my breath

You are my soul mate, let our souls be one

I will write a poem for you, for you alone

To tell of my genuine love, my heart you own!

Lynette submitted her last output.

"Class you are dismissed, except for Lynette who will stay behind. I need to talk to her!"

“Oh my God, what have you written here Lynette? Did you write this yourself, or your father wrote it for you? Don’t lie…liars go to hell!” She said to Lynette, smiling so tenderly.

“Okay Lynette, tell me now…..” She encouraged her to speak.

“Madam, in all honesty and with due respect for you, let me say that I tried to express in the poem what my dear Dad is often telling me about you. That’s all and I can say no more Madam,” she replied while gathering her things ready to go home.

“No, don’t go. Stay. Let me drive you home…”

~*~*~*~

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Credits:
Image - Alston Station by Wandering Soul
Courtesy - www.deviantart.com via www.blogaton.in

Princess Michiko

Princess Michiko. But her pet name was princess. Though not in the direct line of ascending a throne, her parents belonged to a royal lineage with all the perks and vestiges that go with it. A palace in the city, a castle in the country, tax free income, insignia, horses, coach, liveried servants, the awe and respect from the people, they had everything. A bubbly little girl precocious for her age and pretty in looks, she was a bundle of mischief but still lovable and adorable. The only daughter of Duke Alex and Duchess Lyn, she would one day be a duchess herself. Wow, what a blessing to be born a princess?

One fine morning, she urged her nanny to allow her to join the kids in the play ground a little farther from her parents’ mansion  flying kites, skipping ropes, jumping jacks  and  playing with abandon, name it and they have every game and thoroughly enjoying it.

But her nanny was adamant in her refusal scared as she was of being taken to task by the duke and duchess if they found out their little princess playing with commoners. No amount of tearful pleading or persuasion could move her nanny. Michiko had to be content seeing them play from her balcony. As luck would have it, one late afternoon when nanny was not around, she heard the boisterous laughter of the kids from yonder. Impelled by strong desire she quietly removed her shoes from her dainty feet, tiptoed on the large hallway downstairs and hurried unseen across the gate in barefoot as fast as her legs could carry her.

At first, her feet were quite wobbly, a li’l bit painful and a li'l bit shaky as she had never walked barefoot let alone on the pavement. Her heart was pounding in excitement of the fun she would have with her soon-to-be playmates.

Photo Courtesy

Tip…toe…tip…toe, then kids came running near her. “Who are you?” asked one of the daring kids dressed in soiled clothes…

“I am Princess Michiko. I have come here wishing to play with you all,” she answered with a beaming smile. “I want to be friends with you all…” while pointing her dainty-reddish fingers to each and everyone around her, “and that is the reason I escaped unseen,” she added without any guile.

The kids looked at each other in a perplexed manner. She looked different with her braided hair in her spotless silk gown of brocades and embroidery. There was not a speck of dirt in her silky skin unlike their dirty clothes and muddy legs. She is not one of them they thought as they slowly one after the other left her alone. “Why are they leaving? Why wouldn’t they play with me? I can also get dirty like them if they wish so,” she thought. The little girl could control no longer the tears flowing from her eyes. She waited at the spot looking at the children receding away from her again in laughter and noise.

Wait!!! One girl stopped and started walking towards her. Slowly the other urchins followed suit though haltingly. Soon Princess Michiko was surrounded by all the kids once again with some looking at her with wonder and some were trying to touch her. The girl who turned towards her first said “I am Mariah. We all wish to be your friend, if you don’t mind. You look like a real princess.”  Teary-eyed Michiko said, “Thanks….but I may not be able to come daily though I will try. I am glad you are all friends to me now. I will treasure it. Let me go. My nanny is watching….”

As she tiptoed back home, she saw her friends waving hands at her. Her nanny who had been watching met her half way and said, “do not worry, I will allow them to enter our garden and play with you once a week. We can even give them cookies, chocolates and candies to eat….Wipe the tears now and be cheerful…”


She did try to make friends with the commoners. She succeeded.

And from then on, Princess Michiko remained a cheerful, well-loved princess by her commoner-playmates.

~*~*~*~

Written for Thursday Tales

Also linked to One Single Impression

Prompt: Try

Brave Little Hannah...

“Can I ride one of them someday?” I asked my dad while we toured his horses’ stable one day.

“Yes, my lovely girl, you will soon when you become a little older!” my Dad answered.

But I couldn’t wait any longer and so one fine morning, I connived with my ever dearest Nanny that she helped me get dressed!

After finally putting on my boots, I ran as fast as my legs could take me to reach the stable, panting heavily!

I saw the horses in shining and velvety skin scampering and trotting majestically in perfect rhythm .The stable head was not seen. I was innocently thinking that if I get their attention and move near them, they would willingly stop by for me to clamber on them. Never did I give a thought that I could offend them, what if they had a volatile character. Initially I was content with looking at the brown, big horses from a distance through the opening in the wooden fence. As my fear reduced and my confidence grew, I stepped inside and went near the horses. It was a strange sight to see a young demure girl dressed up in silken fineries of pink color, in boots and a pretty big hat on head amidst the horses.

Image Courtesy: Here

When a couple of horses trotting fast came inches to me unaware that I wished to ride them, the stable head who noticed me from a distance was scared that I would get trampled and get hurt. He came running towards me shooing the horses away.

“Hey Hannah!!! what a foolish thing you’re doing. Don’t you know that horses too can hurt unknowingly? You are such a tiny girl. Lucky nothing happened. Who brought you here? Does your Mom know? Where is your Nanny?”

“No one knows except Nanny, Uncle. But I didn’t tell her I am coming here,” I answered sheepishly, out of fear and guilt.

"Come, would you like to ride one of them?" he kindly asked with an assuring smile on his face.

I told him "Yes, uncle, I would like to. But I am afraid and also excited.....would you take care of me?”

It was a fascinating experience though he chose a small pony for my ride. As I was enjoying the fun I failed to notice Dad, Mom and Nanny all beaming with pride as they were standing at the fence cheering me. I could see they were proud of their little girl as they patted me for my courage and grit. I was not upset with nanny for she did her duty in keeping my parents informed of my escapade.

It was a memorable day for me. To this day I am still that same little girl Hannah, strong-willed, mischievous, adventurous and an optimist!

~*~*~*~

Written for Thursday Tales

Also for Three Word Wednesday

Prompts: demure, offend, volatile

The Voices

Visually she was not mistaken. She saw it with her big brown eyes. Her eyes cannot lie. There were Gabrielle and Lucifer beside her. Lucifer looked so deceiving in his smiles while Gabrielle smiled innocently at her.

Obediently she listened to both of them. "Miriam, you're beautiful, attractive, intelligent and of course look tantalizing in my eyes", Lucifer whispered. "But for quite sometime now you're sad. You looked like you've lost some precious toys and fumbling on every nook and cranny in your room, but can't find them. Why don't you go out and have some fun? Snatch the first guy you would meet as you step out on the pavement. Go disco dancing and drinking until the wee hours," he said, and added with a grin, "Then do some naughty things with your guy".

In Gabrielle's wish to comfort Miriam and to negate those devilish insinuations of Lucifer, she whispered into her ears "Oh, don't listen to that moron dear, he'll only ruin your life. Remember, life is not a bed of roses. At some points in your life, you become weak, fragile, vulnerable to your feelings. It's just that we need to be strong to overcome these feelings because I know that God will not give us trials that we cannot hurdle or surpass victoriously. When God closes a door, He opens a window, right?

Confused and bewildered, Miriam doesn't know to whom she'll listen. Lucifer's prodding was so tempting and Gabrielle's counsel was so good. She felt  safer continuing to brood on her disappointments. 

Entangled with such thoughts, she suddenly heard Lucifer hurling invectives against Gabrielle. "Who the hell are you? I just wanna make Miriam happy and you could only say and utter Godly words to her. Your pieces of advice will never make her happy. Veer off from her, now!!!!" Lucifer shouted at Gabrielle.


Silently Gabrielle cried but hid it from Miriam.  She was not there for her own comfort but to encourage and uplift Miriam's spirits.  As Gabrielle turned back to Miriam she realized Miriam poised a two-bladed knife above her chest.  "Miriaaaaaaaaaaaam!  Nooooooooooo!" screamed Gabrielle.  Miriam was panting, gasping for air.  Her lungs frozen.  Her stomach churned with terror.  Desperation soaked her clothes in sweat. She groped for the knife.  "Where is the knife,” she whispered.  She stole another tight breathe. “Where is that knife?”  Knock, knock, came sounds from her door.  "Mom, you're late now, aren't you going to office?” her lil' lovely Princess asked.  "Oh no . . . yeah, I will, thanks Sweetheart," she sighed. 

Written for Amias' Acrostic Only

Scarlette

(The following post is a fictitious rendition of the author. Any person/s or events that may appear or have happened in the narration respectively are purely fictional. This is just a try of the author at fiction writing).

Let me call her Scarlett. It’s a favorite name. She’s attractive, maybe? But not a beauty to behold. I met her a decade ago, just a casual acquaintance. Her life is a figure of speech. Sometimes she talks and acts in irony, sometimes she’s hyperbole, at other times she’s simile, but whatever she is, I’m falling for her. She lived a colorful life. One that is a good tele-novela material for soap opera writers.

She talks sweetly and moves gracefully. Physically, she’s a good catch for a man like me who is baiting for a temporary partner, who could fill in my loneliness and solitude. I would be so proud to parade her in front of friends and acquaintances because she’s got a body oozing with attraction.

Why am I attracted to her? I love the way she talks, I enjoy her company. She’s someone who could ease my loneliness; she’s someone who could make me laugh. She’s someone who’s always and always and always willing to listen to me especially when I am down and lonely. Every day of my life, I want to be with her. Every day of my life, I long for her presence. But my longings are just desires that could hardly and impossibly be fulfilled. I am not a free man, though she is.

I would just be contented of her company, of good conversations with her. She understands me while my spouse does not. She cares for me especially when I am sick. It’s too bad I met her in my life when I am no longer free. She’s free but I am not. She's so young but I'm so old I can pass as her father. Her age is almost half my age.

How can I tell her that every passing day I am falling for her? How can I tell her that I always miss her company and the good conversations we have.

Oh Scarlette, what have you done to me. Why are you turning my nights into sleepless nights? I am starting to lose my appetite but sharing lunch with you occasionally gives me a very good appetite. It’s too bad I can’t have you as my own. But why were the others had you? Can I be different from them? Can I not be as good as them? Oh Scarlette, can you give me a chance?

I knew from the start that you would come into my life, but just for a fleeting moment. When you came, my existence turned into chaos, nevertheless, I enjoyed it. We understand the same language. We talk the same issues. We never disagreed on conversations; in fact we enjoyed sharing each other’s lives.

Just a look into each other’s eyes, I know we already understand each other. Just a snap of the fingers, you understand me. Just a movement of my body, you understand the message I am sending you.

Someday, when I will be free, can you be my girl, Scarlette? But you are my girl right now, isn’t it? Action speaks louder than words, Scarlette.

Photo: tellyazz@flickr.com