Ever After?

12219373384_f7633f821f_k
(Photo credit: Flickr)
‘Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.’
Aristotle.
 ******

Alero kneaded the dough and used her free hand to mop her sweaty brows. Her husband was away on business but she noticed the surreptitious glances threw her way by the neighbours and it saddened her. Abel is the love of her life but of recent, she had trouble believing the ‘happily ever after’ theory.

A shrill sound interrupted her sad thoughts and she walked briskly to the living room, picking up the landline phone and whispered hoarsely, her voice constricted with tears.

‘Hello.’

‘Hey darling,’ Abel, her husband of five years, said slowly on the other line, ‘are you okay? You sound awful.’

She gritted her teeth then replied carefully, trying in vain to control the turbulent emotions coursing through her, ‘when are you coming home?’

‘I’m outside the door!’

Alero dropped the phone and flew to the door, she flung it open and saw Abel kneeling down on one knee, a huge grin on his brown face.

‘Forgive me darling, I promise to love you forever!’

She didn’t know what to say.

Abel stood up slowly and clasped her in a tight, warm embrace. Alero was limp in his arms, she felt nothing. Few seconds passed then she asked,

‘What exactly do you want me to forgive you for?’

‘The ‘ever after’ marriage is not a bed of roses. I have flaws my love, as you do, but we can work through it all.’

Alero now understood, and she held her husband tightly, wondering if ‘happily ever after’ is not a myth after all.

*******

In the spirit of ‘Valentine,’ I would be exploring a lot of relationships and how we could turn more towards the ‘happily ever after’ theme. Forgiveness and tolerance is the key for the success of any human relationship. Love conquers all…

Enjoy your weekend friends!

Much love, always!

:)

About these ads

Escape…

 

8688494280_080e1c9f79_o

 

I must have fallen and hit my head on the pavement, I felt hands on my legs and slowly, I slipped away. Then the pulling started, I felt searing pain tearing my insides into million pieces. I wanted to scream but couldn’t. It was a scary feeling. I felt trapped, immobile but my senses were sharp. I wanted to feel my body but it was like being wrapped in a bubble.

It was a floating kind of feeling, if you know what I mean but I guess you don’t. Then darkness came, it was oppressive and in my comatose existence, I welcomed it.

I was like that for God knows how long when suddenly,  sounds began to filter to me. It wasn’t clear or anything but I could make out voices. By now, I think I know a bit about my situation but escaping from wherever I am, was impossible.

Again, I tried to touch tangible things but I was weightless, helpless and the floating feeling returned in intensity. Then I realised that my mind could do things. I thought of Tom, my son, and immediately I was racing towards his school, invisible but in a life form all the same.

I breezed inside and saw him in the lecture room, his face ashen and seemed carved out of granite. I wanted to touch him but there was this irrepressible gulf. I felt defeated and thought of my husband. My mind took me on a whirlwind drive back to the hospital.

That was the first time I saw myself.

My bloated face looked blue and lifeless. Tubes were sticking out from every part of my body. Nathan, my husband was speaking but I couldn’t make out the words properly. I concentrated all my energy and studied his lips and finally, caught what he was saying,

‘It’s been five years doctor! I want my wife back.’ 

The doctor shook his head and patted my husband on the shoulder and slowly walked out of the room.

Then the memories rushed back.

I’ve been in coma for five years? I could float out of my body and see things! I’m trapped. I thought and watched my husband approach me on the bed. He crouched low and his hands slowly found the exposed part of my arm.

‘Please forgive  me Carey, I’m so sorry. I tried…’ And his voice trailed away.

What? Wait, don’t pull the plug, I’m here, don’t kill me! Don’t stop my life support!’ I screamed with everything I’ve got but Nathan walked to the other side of the bed and a miracle occurred, he stopped midway. Staring at me.

He paused for a while and looking straight at me he said, ‘I’ll fight for you Carey, I’ll wait. You’ll come back to me and the boys.’

I guess I escaped but how on earth am I going to open my eyes. I can hear things, I can see but the doctors thought I’m brain-dead. I really want to live… Can you please help me?

****************

This story,  whatever it is, came to my mind today early in the morning when my three-year old son trotter to my room and crept under the covers. Since my sleep was broken, I thought of the former Israeli Prime minister, Ariel Sharon who had been in a coma since 2006. It’s mysterious how someone could slip into a coma while still alive. Some come out of it and some don’t. I guess we should be thankful for everyday we see the sun. On a lighter note, Carey came out of the coma and it was happy days again. If only life is as simple as fiction.

Thanks for reading and have a brilliant week friends!

Much love. :)

Is It Too Late?

8627995961_0a3061a239_o

(Photo credit: Flickr)

It’s too late to apologise, it’s too late!’ sings a man on the radio and this thought struck me deep and I wonder if sometimes, having a perfect relationship is as elusive as trying to grasp air.

Are some sins unforgivable? Or aptly put, are some relationships beyond repairs?

Take Lillian for example, she gave her twin sons up for adoption, lived a life stoned twenty-four hours a day, then miraculously, her life changed positively. She met and married a nice gentleman who loved and adored her.

But there was a problem, Lillian didn’t tell her new husband about her past, her twin sons were conveniently forgotten. But like a sour thumb, some secrets can’t stay hidden forever. Twenty years later, the twins are grown up, knew they were adopted and wanted answers.

By now, she had other kids, and by the time the truth came out, her husband of twenty years was appalled his wife could forget to mention that she had kids! The sons weren’t that forgiving either, they wanted answers.

This kind of story happens every day, and you may say - there are worse things out there and I agree, but is it too late for Lillian? If you were in her shoes, what would you do? If you were in her son’s shoes, what would be your reaction? And if your were Lillian’s husband, would just pack your bags and leave?

These questions are not easy to answer, but I would love to know what you guys think!

On a lighter note, I wished I’d seen the eclipse of the sun yesterday, it’s one in a lifetime event, but I didn’t, so life goes on I guess! And Nanowrimo is live, but I’m afraid I would not be doing that this year, got too much on my plate as it is.

I received the edited version of my upcoming thriller today and boy, was I thrilled? It was great! I can’t wait to hold the book in my hands…

Hope you’ll read it too when it’s out guys! Counting on you!! ;)

I’m afraid I can only blog once a week now until Christmas, but I’ve been visiting blogs as often as I could, if I’ve not visited yours for a while, please bear with me, I’ll definitely pop in soon! :)

I’m moving house soon and coupled with my book and other office related deadlines, I’ve got my hands full. I can’t believe it’s almost Christmas (my kids are already making their lists! :( ) Can you believe that?

Anyway, enough rambling! I hope you’re all okay, and I wish you’ll all have a wonderful week, wherever you are in the world!

Much love, always! :)

The Borrowers

 

10022453746_3d2b5262f4_o

(Photo credit: Flickr)

 

Ethan smiled and his blue eyes danced with glee, the contract was a done deal. He strode toward his private jet, a man with the world under his feet. He felt like he owned the universe but at the corner of his eyes, he saw a glimmer… And that was the last thing he remembered…

++ ++ ++ ++

Raja hid under the bed, his heart beating with fury, but his impotent rage would achieve nothing. He gritted his teeth and dug his nails into the brown smelly carpet. Then the men came in stealthily, searching for their target, their cold ruthless eyes noticed a flicker of a movement.

And they smiled.

Then the rapid sound of gunfire reverberated throughout the estate…

++ ++ ++ ++

Jonathan stretched his long taunt body on the sofa, his accountant breathing down his neck in excitement.
‘We did it,’ Jonathan said with a boyish grin. Two hundred million pounds worth of cocaine had sailed through unscathed.

Then the accountant’s smile slowly faded like a receding shadow.

‘Honey,’ his new wife called from the bedroom, ‘I’m waiting!’
Jonathan stood to his feet and then saw the gun,

His heart froze.

********************

‘The glory that goes with wealth is fleeting and fragile; virtue is a possession glorious and eternal.’ Sallust

I consider all men (by that I mean everyone!) as borrowers, we’re living on borrowed time. No one is going to physically live forever, and the earlier we let that sink into our subconscious mind, the better for us. When we realise how futile it is to wage wars, to keep malice and abhor love, I guess we’ve cracked the code to world peace!

I’m happy to be writing this, although I’m still navigating slowly through my deluge of deadlines but things are looking up. And I also have great news – I now have the official release date for my upcoming supernatural thriller, 16th of December 2013! I want to garner as many reviews as I can get, it always boost sales.

Please, if anyone is interested in giving a sincere review, do let me know and once my publisher releases the ARC (Advance Review Copies) I’ll send it to as many of my friends as possible. Thanks for your friendship, I’ve visited several blogs and enjoyed reading diverse and richly entertaining contents. I’ll still continue to do so, and if I’ve not stopped by yours, please bear with me and I’ll visit soon!

Enjoy the rest of your week and have a fantastic weekend!

Much love, always!

:)

Growing…

Winter Trees at Sunset

 

To live is to grow, when we stop growing, we stop living.

Some one once asked what inspires me to write, and I told this amiable fellow, ‘life inspires me to write and when I write, I grow, I keep learning everyday!’

Life is full of mysteries and wonder, that is why writers would always have inspirations to write. I read everyday and I write everyday! Our lives would be mundane if it’s static. When asked as an old man why he still practiced six to eight hours a day, one of the world’s best violinists replied, ‘Because I think I’m getting better!’ And I think that’s the attitude we need to cultivate, the desire to be the best in whatever we do.

When I read some of my earlier works, I laugh, because I saw through my mistakes, and I quickly improve on it. I am not the same writer I was yesterday, because today, I learnt how to write better. Life is progressive, death is static. If we don’t want to learn, what the hell are we living for then?

Growing takes time… we spend our whole life growing.

When Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was an old man, an admirer asked him how he was able to write so beautifully. Pointing to a nearby apple tree, he replied, ‘that tree is very old, but I never saw prettier blossoms. The tree grows a very little new wood every year, and out of that new wood those blossoms come. So I try to grow a little each year.’

What a decent man! I want to be more like Longfellow, grow like a tree, throughout my lifetime.

I hope you’re enjoying your weekend, and as we head into a new week, I hope you will have the courage and patience to learn new things, to grow like an oak and impact your world!

If any of you, my friends, recently bought one of my books, do leave a review at Amazon, or if you haven’t, do support a writer who loves the written word and click on my sidebar. ‘Tales Of Five Lies’ is less is than a dollar or a pound, ‘The Feet Of Darkness,’ is also available worldwide, online and in bookshops… My upcoming supernatural thriller, ‘Cydonia Rise of the fallen,’ will be released before Christmas. 

It’s a pleasure being your friend and I value every one of you dearly. Enjoy the rest of your weekend and have a beautiful week!

Much love, always!

:)

 

Words Are Forever!

 

9514648797_1bd75e57aa_o

(Photo credit: Flickr)

Sean kicked the grass in frustration, his eyes filled with tears and he tried to control himself with great difficulty. His dad‘s harsh voice resounded in his mind like a volcanic eruption, ”You’re no good, you’re like your mother – a drug addict! I hate you.” He dashed inside the house, his dad recoiled on a chair, a glass of beer in his right hand, remote control on the other. They exchanged hateful glances. And Sean raised the gun.

*

Hamza tried to stop the tirades of abuse from the boys in the estate, ‘you’re a loser, go kill yourself.’ At home, it was worse, his mother was stoned twenty-four hours a day… He left the house but the words of the boys clung to him like a second skin.

*

Chloe’s brown eyes light up in anticipation. Her dad kissed her on the cheek, and said with a smile, ‘you light up my world angel, you’re a star, you can do this.’ She nodded, her future is bright, she knows she can do anything she set her heart to, she had been nurtured with loving words, right through her childhood, and now at the age of twenty, the world is her oyster.

* * * * *

The words we speak has the power to destroy or build up, let’s be mindful of our words. Some people were damaged by words of others while some have killed others by their words. Let’s choose our words carefully. A word fitly spoken has the power to change a life…

Think about that this weekend, and I wish you love, peace and happiness, wherever you are in the world my friends. Have a great weekend!

Much love, always.

:)

Stranded At Santum Close (5)

???????????????????????????????

(Photo credit: Marabelo)

Even such is time, which takes in trust

Our youth, our joy, and all we have,

And pays us but with age and dust;

Who in the dark and silent grave,

When we have wandered all our ways,

Shuts up the story of our days:

Apart from which earth, and grave, and dust,

The Lord shall raise me up, I trust.

Linda repeated Sir Walter Ralegh‘s poem ‘Epitaph’ over and over again as she watched the body of her assailant self-combust. It all started with a strange shadow falling in front of her snarling attacker, who fell down immediately and began to shake uncontrollably, foaming in the mouth. She struggled to release herself but it was futile, she persisted and only succeeded in falling back, hitting her head on the tiled floor. She gritted her teeth in frustration, staring hard at the ceiling and wondered what she would do next and that was when she began to choke.

Linda dragged herself away slowly, so she could see what was happening and her heart stopped in her mouth, her attacker had been reduced to ashes, save for his lower limbs and shoes, he was burnt out. She whimpered as she struggled feverishly, rolling to her side, she managed to stand to her feet but with her hands still tied back, it was very painful. Sweating profusely, Linda refused to look at the ashes on the floor, the only thing on her mind was freedom.

Outside, a  little girl skipped along the slippery sidewalk, her long blonde hair dancing with the wind, her short, pleated skirt swirled around her knees. The smell of rain and rotting leaves hung heavily in the air. She stopped suddenly and a chuckle escaped her pink lips when she saw a black BMW parking beside her.

She stared at the shrivelled old man on the back seat.

Bernstein Joel Bonnke tried to smile but it ended in a grimace and he put his bony hands on his parched lips, he knew that he looked awful.

The driver of the BMW got out, a tall, lean, bony man with bushy eyebrows. The man opened the door for Bernstein, who stepped out like royalty, his eyes still firmly trained on the girl, who curiously, was still staring at him. The leafy street was deserted at that time of the day, it was mid afternoon, and Bernstein was glad for the privacy.

He approached the inquisitive little girl, a fixed smile on his gaunt face.

‘How are you my lady?’

‘I am fine, you don’t look well, are you ill?’ she asked, her blue eyes searching Bernstein’s face. And he felt uncomfortable under her piecing gaze, his visit to London was meant to be a quick one, he doesn’t want to leave any trace or clues if he could help it.

‘Yes my dear, old age is my disease,’ he answered smoothly and reached for her head, she allowed him ruffled her hair for a few seconds, then without warning,  a chill went through his body, it was akin to an electric current. He removed his hand quickly and scampered away, his body guards glared at the girl but she was unperturbed. She watched as they all entered the last house on the street, she could not move and her eyes never left the end of terrace house.

‘Amber!’

Someone called her, and she turned her attention to the petite woman standing on the front porch of the house across the street, it was her mother. She skipped towards her, there was a wild look on her face.

‘Mama, are you okay?’ Amber asked anxiously.

There was no sound and her mother later screamed in reply. Amber turned to look at what had upset her so. What she saw turned her blood to ice.

*****************************

Gordon held his sons close, the tears refused to fall. He was still in shock. He had just come in from the police station. The police had interviewed him all night, and they had interrogated each of his sons as well, though they stated blandly that they were merely following procedures but Gordon knew better. The bullet that killed his twenty-three year old son was the exact replica of the bullets he used for his semi automatic assault rifle. He was mourning for his son, praying that his wife would return home safely and trying to prove his innocence and that of his sons.

It was a horrible way to live.

Luke, Gabriel, and Peter moved away from their father’s embrace, the tragedy of Eliza’s death was still fresh and with the police breathing down their necks, they were practically living in hell. The police seemed to be hounding them than pitying them.

Luke stood up and went to his room, he’d hardly spoken a word since he heard the news. Gabriel stood up and sauntered to the window, then turned back abruptly and said with clenched teeth,

‘You caused these entire problems dad! If mom hadn’t disappeared, Eliza would still be alive now!’

Gordon thought about Gabriel’s accusations and replied calmly,

‘Eliza’s death had nothing to do with your mother’s disappearance. I believe he was killed because of the contents of your mother’s diary.’

‘How do you mean?’ asked Gabriel shrewdly, his dowdy appearance further heightened by the stubble on his jaw. At twenty, his life peaked too soon. He bagged a first class honours degree in Engineering from the University of York but sadly, was not keen to do anything else but smoke cannabis all day, a habit that had put him at loggerheads with his mother. Gordon also suspected that Gabriel was jealous of Eliza’s success.

Eliza was running his property business, and doing a good job of it. After college, he had refused to go to the University; rather, he had leached on to him, following him to auctions. Within months, Eliza had bought three properties, renovated the houses, and made a profit of more than three hundred thousand pounds.

Gordon was a proud father.

‘There were some things in your mother’s diary that Eliza saw, I was certain he was shocked when he did. He gave the diary to me and shortly after that, he was killed.’

‘Where’s the diary?’ Gabriel asked quietly.

‘I have given it to the police,’ Gordon said carefully, looking at his son, ‘they believe the contents of the diary was behind the death of Eliza and could be behind your mother’s disappearance, hopefully, the diary would clear our names.’

Gabriel locked eyes with his father, and Gordon shuddered with fear. It was the cold, ruthless eyes of a killer.

Who in heaven’s name is Gabriel Leonhard! Gordon thought with a deep sigh, he wondered when the nightmare would end.

********************

My publisher, Arrow Gate, has indicated their interest in this story, so I am afraid, this would be the last post on this story! But if anyone is interested to know more about the mystery and intrigue surrounding the Leonhard’s family and the grotesque Bernstein Joel Bonnke, you can subscribe to my newsletter and when the novel is released next summer, you’ll be the first to get a copy.

NP: July has been a special month for me, I signed up for WordPress on 17th of July, 2012 and my first post was on the 31st of July 2012. So it’s exactly a year ago that I started this blog, although I didn’t start serious blogging until mid October, it’s been a great journey so far. I have made great friends and didn’t regret starting this blog.

I also celebrated 13 years of wedded bliss to my sweet husband Kay! It’s been a great month!! (He refused to have his picture taken, he’s so shy! :) ) I hope you all had something to celebrate… the gift of life!!!

I love and respect you all, you’re all awesome!

Much love, always!

:)

Stranded At Santum Close (4)

jtkunley

(Photo credit: jtkunley)

The man fell down with a  heavy swoop, hitting the ground like a bomb, his eyes turned red and Linda screamed, staring at her assailant in shock.

*****************************

A day after Linda’s disappearance, Gordon was desperate to find answers and he decided to check his wife’s things. He rummaged through the contents of the drawers in their room as sweat poured from his agitated body in torrents. He threw his wife’s clothes on the floor, looking around with a deranged glint in his eyes and swore softly under his breath. His gaze swept the room clean and he shook his head in despair, he was sure he had checked everywhere.

Eliza appeared at the doorway with arms akimbo and his demeanour spelt trouble but Gordon was not in the mood for his arguments.

‘Dad, what do you think you’re doing?’

Gordon sighed in defeat and answered, ‘I am looking for clues son, anything that could show me what to do!’ Eliza considered that, came inside the room, then sat down on the bed.

‘I found mom’s diary on the table when she left for work yesterday, she must have forgotten it, you might find some answers there.’ ‘Eliza said quietly, his eyes sad. Gordon took the blue diary from him and held it to his heart.

‘Thanks son, I’ll see if I can find anything in it.’

Eliza nodded and left the room and the next thing Gordon heard was a deafening sound as gunshots erupted outside his bedroom, he heard stomping footsteps and his heart broke into a million fragments.  Disregarding his own safety, Gordon bolted out of the room after his son, but it was too late. Eliza was lying on the corridor with blood pouring out of his chest wound.

‘No!!!’ Gordon yelled and held his son close to his chest, weeping uncontrollably. He gently laid him back, ran into his room, yanked open the door of his walk in wardrobe, picked up one of his semi automatic rifles, and strode out of his room, darting downstairs but there was no one around. Minutes later, sounds of siren tore down his street and Gordon finally realized, that  his life was rapidly going downhill.

Three police officers alighted from their cars, their gloomy eyes suggested they hated the sight of the grief ridden man whose house had become accursed.

************

I appreciate everyone who has followed this story thus far, the culminating part would be posted next week. Do continue to enjoy the rest of your week!

Much love, always. :)

Why Can’t I Fly?

shutterstock_87665194

 I read a brightly illustrated children’s book this morning titled, ‘Why Can’t I Fly‘ by Ken Brown and I learnt a lot of lessons. The story is about a discontented ostrich who wanted to fly at all cost. Ostrich continually failed to appreciate his many good qualities, the only thing he cared about – is flying and he tried this repeatedly with disastrous results. He built himself a flying apparatus, yet, he failed still, then a miracle came, his efforts were rewarded when he tried again with his flying apparatus and he was flying, overjoyed, he yelled for his friends to see him flying, he wanted to prove to them that he could fly but lo and behold, his friends were nowhere to be found, why?

Because they were carrying his apparatus, all of them! And it made me realise that life is too complex to go at it alone, let’s not be like the Ostrich, who failed to realise his many good qualities, let’s surround ourselves with friends and loved ones. The life of a loner is a terrible one.

I hope you’ll all have a fun-filled week, as for me, I’m on the bed with my right feet swollen – I fell down the stairs yesterday on my way to church. It’s nothing serious, a pack of ice and some Ibuprofen has done the trick, the downside is I can’t  move around as such because I walk funny but the plus side is, I’m not going to work and the kids are on holiday! :) Hooray!!

Have fun and much love, always!

:) :)

Stranded At Santum Close (2)

Statue of Archangel Michael by August Vogel ab...

 Hamburg, Germany

The lone figure toddled along the street; the warm night air was like poison to his troubled soul. He dragged his left leg along and grunted with each painful step. His hunched shoulders were home to a coat, which hung on his gaunt frame like shredded shrouds. His small, beady eyes were still sharp and bright. He moved slowly but surely towards St Michael’s Church. When he neared the church, he glanced wearily at the bronze figure of Archangel Michael, which stood at the portal of the church conquering the devil but the image merely intensified his uneasiness.

He stiffened at the horrible thought that crossed his mind, ‘is any of the Leonhards still alive? If so, my soul be damned.’ At the ripe old age of 81, Bernstein Joel Bonnke believed his bones would not rest in his grave until he has seen an end to the last descendant of the cancer of Germany. His shaky head glared at the picture in his right hand, it was the picture of a beautiful dark-haired woman,  her features were lovely, but as far as he was concerned, she carried in her genes, an evil so potent, it must not be allowed to sprout. Bernstein gritted his teeth in quiet anticipation, if things worked according to plan, then his meeting at Santum Close would be successful.

 

*****************

Gordon’s car glided smoothly into the driveway, he killed the engine and opened the door of his Aston Martin. He closed it loudly for emphasis and muttered under his breath,

‘I’m still angry!’

He strode towards the door and stopped short, a creepy feeling slowly made its way down his spine. A worried frown crossed his taut face. He couldn’t place it but suddenly, he wanted to hold Linda in his arms, his earlier anger evaporated instantly.

He opened the front door and met a full house.

His mother and sons sat with glum faces while three police officers stood sentry close to the kitchen, whispering to themselves. Gordon’s heart sank; he knew something bad must have happened to Linda.

‘Hey mom,’ he croaked out, there was a stubborn lump on his throat.

His mother, Bertie stood up. She was a plain Jane, round, matronly but with the sweetest smile ever. She sauntered to where her son stood sheepishly, looking like a cat caught stealing a neighbour’s milk and held him close.

‘Linda didn’t make it to the office.’ Bertie whispered sadly, her eyes brimming with tears.

Gordon moved away from his mother’s embrace and faced his sons, they didn’t utter a word, but their accusing eyes spoke volume.

The police officers approached cautiously, their faces, deadpan and serious.

Eliza stood up and went to his room; Gordon stared at his retreating back and knew he has lost his son. He watched the police officers as they approached him and the knot in his stomach tightened as they inched closer.

They told him the news he had dreaded since stepping into the house.

 

***********************************

One thing I’ve realised about relationships is this, we tend to jump to conclusions quickly. Suspicion and mistrust kills love faster than unfaithfulness and you know what I’m going to say next – Live well and love well.

The next part of this story would be next Wednesday, I appreciate your comments! :)

I write like Jeffrey Archer, I don’t plan my stories, I just write as the pen leads! I love you guys, and do enjoy the rest of this great week.

NP: There’s one thing though – I’m having problems commenting on all the blogs I visited yesterday, it’s like been banned from speaking to your friends! :(  I do hope WordPress would fix this!!

Much love, always!

:)