Like other love stories, I didn’t like her at first. She is as high maintenance as you can get. But as I spent more time with her, I saw how beautiful she is, inside and out.
I’ve been with others before but there’s just something about her. The way she moves and backs away when I ask her to. She gives me the space I need but just enough that it’s comforting. She keeps me safe and warm and she makes me feel good. We’re just a perfect fit.
Did I mention she is gorgeous?!
We’ve been together for only two weeks but I know I can’t be without her. Thank you babe!
As scared as she was, her curiosity got the better of her. She tiptoed slowly towards the backroom, wanting to know what was making that weird moaning sound.
She couldn’t understand why the landlady fiercely ordered her to keep away from that particular room. She wanted to be a good tenant but she cannot just turn her back away from this. What if someone inside was hurt or dying? Her conscience wouldn’t allow her to do nothing.
As she drew nearer, she heard another sound coming from the closed door. There seem to be someone scratching at something. It sounded like nails on a chalkboard and made her hair stand on end.
She started having second thoughts going in. So many “what ifs” going through her head. But she was there and all she had to do was open the door and she gets all her questions answered. When she placed her hand on the knob, all the noises ceased. She turned the knob and…
I just love a good horror story. I love ghost hauntings, witchcraft, unexplained phenomenon, demon possessions, anything that would make me jump and scream (even though I don’t really scare that easily), or make my heart race from anticipation.
I don’t exactly know why I like them. I’m not afraid of ghosts; I fear the living more than the dead. I don’t believe in witches. I am a sceptic; nothing is without explanation, scientific or otherwise.
But a story is a story that plays at anyone’s imagination. And who doesn’t like a good story?
The first thing I grab in the morning before I even open my eyes is my cellphone. I can’t live without it, or WiFi. My phone, tablet and laptop are my lifeline. They are my connection to the world.
Checking and replying to emails, chatting on Facebook and browsing through Twitter on my phone; listening to music on my iPod, reading a book on my Kobo… Gadgets seem to run my life.
And yet there was a time when the only way you get to hear about what’s happening with the world is through television or radio. The only way you get in touch with family and friends is through the telephone or snail mail. There was a time when Google wasn’t even a word.
But do I really want to be “unplugged” now that I know everything I want is at the tip of my fingers? Now that the world is not so big after all even though I’m thousands of miles away from my family because I get to see what’s going on with them through social media? Now that the news and the weather is updated constantly on my phone? Maybe not…yet.
Someday, perhaps, when I have everyone I love around me, that I wouldn’t mind to be disconnected to the rest of the world…
The huge coffee stain on my new pants; the bloody scratch on my palm from hitting the pavement when I tried to break my fall; and my bruised ego after hitting the ground butt first in front of those teenagers who were walking to school that Monday morning.
Like that wasn’t bad enough, an old lady with a cane came up to me to help me up after my bum bounced off the sidewalk. I thanked her while trying to stifle an embarrassed whimper. How can the day get any worse?
My ordeal wasn’t over yet as I still had to walk quite a bit to get to the office. The walk of shame, with a little bit of pain, all the while I kept telling myself “I’m OK, I’m OK…”
“Anything that can go wrong will go wrong…” Murphy must’ve been a sad little kid to come up with that.
When I got to the office and switched my computer on, I saw the smiling faces of my nephews that I’ve put up as my desktop wallpaper. So despite the painful tailbone and the crushed self-esteem, I felt better.