tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54407901191561828722024-03-05T07:07:36.541-08:00Esther and Her ParadoxPHILOSOPHERKIMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04694585710965062964noreply@blogger.comBlogger7125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5440790119156182872.post-8238407511489837702017-05-19T02:29:00.000-07:002017-05-19T02:29:50.105-07:00Her Stilettos<span style="color: purple;"> </span><br />
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<span style="color: purple;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaXJtQVMwiZBy4-21vVlvV8pmeEWy-2UMSMn_tt-CljSo8h2haVqBQf4EB2pxDhaPLNWthcRaogh9ZbPPLI4pM7dNUuHfGn3Bu-Zd-AocgZcSbhfpfPZ-FCyqDLTcIbjLltfBcyMb783XD/s1600/gold+heels.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaXJtQVMwiZBy4-21vVlvV8pmeEWy-2UMSMn_tt-CljSo8h2haVqBQf4EB2pxDhaPLNWthcRaogh9ZbPPLI4pM7dNUuHfGn3Bu-Zd-AocgZcSbhfpfPZ-FCyqDLTcIbjLltfBcyMb783XD/s320/gold+heels.jpg" width="224" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;">She couldn't hold her breath properly. Looking like an overexcited debutante, Ursula glanced at her own image before the walled mirror. And she gasped heavily. It was her first time to attend an Orgy. Her sorority sisters have arranged the superficial event as a final initiation before she could fully penetrate the organization. </span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;">"Wear these," Penelope ordered in a very authoritative voice and dropped the beige colored shoe box on Ursula's cramped bed sheet."See you at exactly 12 pm, no more no less." </span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;">Ursula nodded like a forlorn kitten. Anything Penelope released as a notification sounded like a legal law to be followed. She was the unbeatable Queen of the Kha Pi Khappa Sorority.</span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;">Ursula clearly recalled when she was five minutes late for a meeting at the sorority barn.And her punishment was automatically cleaning the horses' poo. </span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyo7mCT5hfPZPn9KUc8QZ2z0Q7fOmftCwaY7ETJQCObJXKk1dxkJ6wgGrRxeM9Zpk810G6Ks3cB2nMrsC-mAISJNPAzMcYoy_eGQYcEkEpbzpc1KcJuDCOErVw70FouFjT-zRc2yq2j-VY/s1600/orgy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyo7mCT5hfPZPn9KUc8QZ2z0Q7fOmftCwaY7ETJQCObJXKk1dxkJ6wgGrRxeM9Zpk810G6Ks3cB2nMrsC-mAISJNPAzMcYoy_eGQYcEkEpbzpc1KcJuDCOErVw70FouFjT-zRc2yq2j-VY/s1600/orgy.jpg" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;">Ursula couldn't stay put in her room for quite sometime now. She was thinking of the best wardrobe to go with the golden stilettos. In reality, she has never seen such gorgeous heels all her life-sparkling with real gold sequins. Well, if she ran away with the stilettos and sold them to an innocent bystander, she'd be one hell of a rich woman. </span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;">"I wonder where they got these heels," Ursula mused to herself and examined the pair of stilettos closely.</span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;">There were succeeding knocks on her door. And Victor came in. Her boyfriend has always been her darling savior. He brought with him a shopping bag full of paraphernalia.</span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5g0iY7LHNAhpnSX5uGfAXNh4ZqTWgURl6htVbFf8AghDhUe9phKYGdiYxVP_zP3OkHHdpBYbfB7cNRxl7YZZHbonudKBvULeOzvwmp1sarzA0SXugt1hPi_P0b9jBKZlXd94PIqqJNCQZ/s1600/happy-couple-in-kitchen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5g0iY7LHNAhpnSX5uGfAXNh4ZqTWgURl6htVbFf8AghDhUe9phKYGdiYxVP_zP3OkHHdpBYbfB7cNRxl7YZZHbonudKBvULeOzvwmp1sarzA0SXugt1hPi_P0b9jBKZlXd94PIqqJNCQZ/s320/happy-couple-in-kitchen.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;">"This dress will look perfect for your stilettos!" he hailed merrily like a 12 year-old boy who just won his first football match. </span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;">Ursula hastily donned the red and black ball gown and was struck by the ardor it gave her. It made her feel like a very powerful ball hostess. It fit her perfectly. </span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;">And when she finally wore the golden stilettos, she caught the dissatisfied expression on Victor's bearded face. </span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;">"It doesn't match,,," he quipped shortly. </span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;">Ursula saw his point. Just then, Victor spread out a new pair of stilettos he grabbed from a discount store. </span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;">"Victor, where did you get those?" Ursula was half amused and half surprised. </span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;">"Doesn't matter babe." he embraced Ursula and quickly made love to her. </span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitILlb11kmLscPeUHmwk53BdYJ97YSIwD2rFHVZBLiKbXJmPtvhB7GdZIksPZHuvYTxBQno7-EvZ-sIMnL5Mid6XSI0lGAqhPYsWVR-83UQxdNmgqI-N1zoUAf2um6WVqacAscsOjKCR1l/s1600/ball+gown+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitILlb11kmLscPeUHmwk53BdYJ97YSIwD2rFHVZBLiKbXJmPtvhB7GdZIksPZHuvYTxBQno7-EvZ-sIMnL5Mid6XSI0lGAqhPYsWVR-83UQxdNmgqI-N1zoUAf2um6WVqacAscsOjKCR1l/s320/ball+gown+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;">Ursula ran mightily to the grand ballroom. For a while, she forgot about time because she and her boyfriend had a lovemaking marathon. Before she knew it, it was already 11 pm! </span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;">At last, she reached the grand entrance. Her eyes scanned the guests. And there was Penelope-with her sharp stare.</span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;">Ursula bowed slightly before the Head Mistress of their sorority.</span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;">"WRONG STILETTOS!" Penelope snapped angrily. </span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;">Ursula tried to explain but to no avail. </span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;">Penelope did not like the red and gold stilettos one bit. </span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh27h3ultmgLYT_X3RZeZHUhU660P6ljBZPLVzHJAxGft89FvXvmzmUaZUwUXR6TTlpMifj5pxsvpCQaFsm3XV0830J3QQ2S4Qn41RnUhzcJC4U0XiuPr48TqROY-6drfvN0AA4Yts7cz2z/s1600/red+and+gold.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh27h3ultmgLYT_X3RZeZHUhU660P6ljBZPLVzHJAxGft89FvXvmzmUaZUwUXR6TTlpMifj5pxsvpCQaFsm3XV0830J3QQ2S4Qn41RnUhzcJC4U0XiuPr48TqROY-6drfvN0AA4Yts7cz2z/s320/red+and+gold.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;">The next day, Ursula's mother rushed to the police station where she was questioned by a roomful of investigators. She has not even recovered yet from the nasty knowledge about her daughter's sudden death and here she was-being paraded before a litany of intruders. </span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;">"I told you over and over again. It was a sorority ball. It was her final rite." Mrs. Torrence sobbed. </span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;">"Was your daughter suicidal in a way?".</span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;">"She was doing great in her Interior Design internship. She had a wonderful boyfriend. And a jolly dog named Winter. She was a very normal and happy college student." </span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;">'Well," the head investigator surmised, "Who would have caused her to jump off from PASADENA BRIDGE?".</span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTQd2hZ8aB60lE6pMRwhANuuySzdgYCKUjjl9Se5_iOTnM-ZBg3AEeqF47rbeaitcsPExwi_SrwQo2A2B3yxmZpn1aw79jGQJIzXKcA_3K8NPLZx0JYAO9KbHMGiw0ROOrn4y8ukvo2fsL/s1600/suicide+bridge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTQd2hZ8aB60lE6pMRwhANuuySzdgYCKUjjl9Se5_iOTnM-ZBg3AEeqF47rbeaitcsPExwi_SrwQo2A2B3yxmZpn1aw79jGQJIzXKcA_3K8NPLZx0JYAO9KbHMGiw0ROOrn4y8ukvo2fsL/s320/suicide+bridge.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;">The said bridge has been infamously noted for suicide cases. Any passerby by the bridge would feel a demystifying sensation. One was even quoted as saying that he so wanted to jump off the bridge himself. The bridge reverberated of severe melancholy, of very deep sadness...of debilitating despair. </span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi3OnxhyphenhyphenP1YesabtmFWkZI_7iRgXnutZMWfc_rx11PnlonhMXcuOo0rQAd2oJRxV5xVhnOwKxpMtuME2RJ5lWoBvythPYyyLhMUXMZfwIsc0YU4VOXazTQaTTQ89T8AwdL5i2-sx0Zj3So/s1600/mysterious-woman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="169" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi3OnxhyphenhyphenP1YesabtmFWkZI_7iRgXnutZMWfc_rx11PnlonhMXcuOo0rQAd2oJRxV5xVhnOwKxpMtuME2RJ5lWoBvythPYyyLhMUXMZfwIsc0YU4VOXazTQaTTQ89T8AwdL5i2-sx0Zj3So/s320/mysterious-woman.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;">Victor happened to pass by again the discount store where he bargained for the red and gold stilettos. Two weeks passed by quickly. He was amazed that the store has closed down abruptly. And it didn't look as new as it was before. Its whole facade seemed to have changed overtime. </span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;">"Do you have any business with the store?" politely asked a town locale. </span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;">"Yes, I was wondering why it's closed now...I just bought an item not so long ago."</span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;">The stranger sneered. "You must have been the umpteenth victim."</span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;">"What do you imply?".</span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;">"That decrepit store has been standing on its ground since 1920. It has been empty ever since."</span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;">Victor couldn't hide his exasperation. He was speechless.</span></div>
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<span style="color: purple;">Then the stranger said seriously with a warning undertone, "THE WOMAN WHO USED TO OWN THE STORE COMMITTED SUICIDE IN 1920. SHE WAS WEARING RED AND GOLD STILETTOS WHEN SHE WAS FOUND ALONG THE COLORADO STREET BRIDGE." </span></div>
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PHILOSOPHERKIMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04694585710965062964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5440790119156182872.post-5475600664821465742016-08-30T02:40:00.000-07:002016-08-30T02:40:44.913-07:00Swim With Me <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX5HcjEQlOSW8JBak6Inz5ejthI0vl8suxfus-cxWxzWlHr-I2kQmq2r4VscgonY320eB06U0FewJxeHzrqlJPTWZtnx0uqYzQal3KrSvzGcrnF7pRCjzeyYsH1IynvpAxthdqhyphenhyphen6_MKpB/s1600/RED+POOL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX5HcjEQlOSW8JBak6Inz5ejthI0vl8suxfus-cxWxzWlHr-I2kQmq2r4VscgonY320eB06U0FewJxeHzrqlJPTWZtnx0uqYzQal3KrSvzGcrnF7pRCjzeyYsH1IynvpAxthdqhyphenhyphen6_MKpB/s320/RED+POOL.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Wasn't it amazing that Carol and her husband have always wanted to have their private pool that was flashy crimson? Perhaps they were influenced by one of their recent trips to Asia when they swam heartily in red clad pools. So when the pair negotiated with the house broker, they made sure he included the inscribed pool in the deal. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0API2J5MJTi0QUbBuozn9_WppytZF3vYDDxn6bxLLwPBKf282SKY_rkozmJpE582a9Bm6lA3Y4FzX73rPdiOgNxjGm2M5ceF8mrBOCRtvn41z5yCMfc6xEIMAZm3oOeM1m0PmvDVpRv6N/s1600/POOL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0API2J5MJTi0QUbBuozn9_WppytZF3vYDDxn6bxLLwPBKf282SKY_rkozmJpE582a9Bm6lA3Y4FzX73rPdiOgNxjGm2M5ceF8mrBOCRtvn41z5yCMfc6xEIMAZm3oOeM1m0PmvDVpRv6N/s320/POOL.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now Carol and Tim had a 2 year-old son who was not afraid of the water pool at all. In fact, Carol always made time for Harold, helping him make a splash in the pool as he pleased. Carol was both ecstatic and apprehensive that her toddler had real fondness for swimming. "Maybe he's the next Michael Phelps!" she beamed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">One afternoon, however, a turbulent event came about. She momentarily gasped for breath when she reached the rails of the pool. But she was pretty sure she was holding onto her son's fragile arm. But at that second, her grip of him was not felt. And she panicked mightily. "Where the hell is he?" she turned her head around.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp5Jmr6eCP7v6zga2m3UVvVCGiV6DjTat2xgqsvOnisomMGjJWH8AM4ND6on2HWVDrzFCMwol28UwkjiGVfOcOTaCGbqGGlS9chUcznyEZnzW92y7yss3TBaxlyrIs5FjXJ8sKlfKpiu46/s1600/BLOODY.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp5Jmr6eCP7v6zga2m3UVvVCGiV6DjTat2xgqsvOnisomMGjJWH8AM4ND6on2HWVDrzFCMwol28UwkjiGVfOcOTaCGbqGGlS9chUcznyEZnzW92y7yss3TBaxlyrIs5FjXJ8sKlfKpiu46/s320/BLOODY.png" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The she screamed for about five to six seconds, galvanizing her neighbors. One of them, Mrs. Kettles, rushed to the backyard entrance and approached Carol in a melancholy but stern way. "What happened?" she asked at once.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And Carol pointed at the center of the pool."There's blood!" she told them confidently."A lot of blood!". </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And a reverberating giggle caught all of their attention. Spread on the green grass was Harold, sucking his thumb as he looked all the way up to the clear lit sky. He seemed so comfortable, with no cares in this world. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Carol ran to her son and wrapped him in her bosom. "How did you get in here?" She was shaking.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Another neighbor, Mr. Willie, who was a bit cranky, warned that Carol shouldn't be so careless next time. Because even if she cried "Fire!" he wouldn't budge. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirubNsbXYQI1w7HlHAnBY3Zhf8dnjLz8XimYrLVwaPrOK_zt1Dt6lCUzc-3PrlKRdItKMPQuNcQPu37YgYYWK1ltSP6ysXhnWszO_lQ6LU4QPBYERPiy2eK3HeNWnNHhpX64pKcngbbyzP/s1600/family.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirubNsbXYQI1w7HlHAnBY3Zhf8dnjLz8XimYrLVwaPrOK_zt1Dt6lCUzc-3PrlKRdItKMPQuNcQPu37YgYYWK1ltSP6ysXhnWszO_lQ6LU4QPBYERPiy2eK3HeNWnNHhpX64pKcngbbyzP/s1600/family.jpg" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Soon after, Carol collected her guts and retold her husband Tim about her confusing episodic moment with Harold. She couldn't calculate how he got out of the water and crawl into the grass. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"You're just imagining things. Maybe you were swimming too hard."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Carol fidgeted on her bed."And he wasn't wet when I held him."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When Tim asked to leave for a work appointment, Carol came across a carved medium sized box inside the glass cased shelf near Tim's desk. She deliberately examined the contents of the antique box and picked a photo frame. It was a bright cheery picture of a wholesome family of four, swimming together. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As the weary days passed by, Carol limited her time in their pool. And she even discouraged Harold from taking a dip in the pool, warning him about "baby sharks." She could never shake off from her mind the bloody memory she viewed from the center of the pool. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The greatest shock of her life arrived when he spotted a forlorn man wandering in their backyard. And alas! The stranger had the nerve to actually wade his feet into the pool area. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Excuse me Mr. but you're trespassing."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"I owned this pool once. It was mine." The voice echoed from a deep end.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Really? When...was that? Before we came here?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"World War 11..."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Carol almost burst laughing. But she felt cold when she saw the man wearing a soldier's cap. She felt all the more tremor when he saw his eyes shimmering. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"They took them away. My wife, my daughter and my son...while I was away fighting..."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Carol bit her lower lip. This was getting real."Who took them away?".</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And the stranger wept. "They accused me of being a spy for the Russian Army."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Carol stepped backwards. The image of the man was getting hazier. "What did they do to your family?".</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"They electrocuted them...with a special equipment...while they were swimming."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Carol wanted to take a very deep breath.'Why are you telling me all these?".</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The man snapped. "Because your son is next!".</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"My son?".</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Your husband is a descendant of my family's attacker. He is going to pay."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjir7xrv_vEFzd7qpWKW4zS8llg3zlh3JYbMq4N3p2LkuNUCKoNoHd7G6dBbnJqpr5enrVFxsfhvfrTrOVZ2C277utwZJDOJprGxO9b7O5pOliLAEaM3ph4OKzEIO31g-SJJ_dY1uDk3tFN/s1600/BOY.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjir7xrv_vEFzd7qpWKW4zS8llg3zlh3JYbMq4N3p2LkuNUCKoNoHd7G6dBbnJqpr5enrVFxsfhvfrTrOVZ2C277utwZJDOJprGxO9b7O5pOliLAEaM3ph4OKzEIO31g-SJJ_dY1uDk3tFN/s320/BOY.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The man choked her. "When your boy reaches the age of twelve, he is going to drown like my son did." His eyes bulged into bloody sockets."And no one is going to stop it." </span></div>
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PHILOSOPHERKIMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04694585710965062964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5440790119156182872.post-87646820555027970552013-07-28T20:43:00.000-07:002013-07-28T20:54:24.863-07:00Her Happy Ending<span style="font-size: large;"> <span style="color: blue;">Jacqueline just couldn't believe it! Only weeks before, she was worried sick about her thinning hair. She had already notified her childhood friend,Desiree,that she wouldn't make it to her wedding.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhjrUWWAA4Mc0vYG_WYbgSAdAi1DQYmOIDF6H83L7cGBpOS5a0uEm86wpyv7PuiaydXQs_l-laWGDgZ7PmyJfMnTnM5hBHZjJwyV7slGl6O4tRvHgFhH4cNgYMfy_rEA-c4kSZ4cdStgUb/s1600/thinning+hair.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhjrUWWAA4Mc0vYG_WYbgSAdAi1DQYmOIDF6H83L7cGBpOS5a0uEm86wpyv7PuiaydXQs_l-laWGDgZ7PmyJfMnTnM5hBHZjJwyV7slGl6O4tRvHgFhH4cNgYMfy_rEA-c4kSZ4cdStgUb/s320/thinning+hair.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">A concerned sympathizer, Desiree recommended FAST SHAMPOO <a href="http://www.philosopherkim-paradoxicalminds.blogspot.com/">http://www.nisim.com/Fast-Shampoo-s/5.htm</a> for quick results.At first, Jacqueline carried her doubts.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">"I've tried other shampoos but to no avail."</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">"Jacqueline, Fast Shampoo is different. It feeds the hair with essential nutrients, amino acids and proteins not found in regular shampoos."</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Ymx8vbxqz1w1q8AD9QGd7JtSqldjaACacKru7z4TsdKruqTFMskwzP2D7rjqh1fX32LPWHV4nNwRt_tZ90QLqOlcgmNDNnXpPuxLjUv4calnHhMJCeLaVsSMOzCyyfXAUEZ5_C8kZKSb/s1600/fast+shampoo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="102" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Ymx8vbxqz1w1q8AD9QGd7JtSqldjaACacKru7z4TsdKruqTFMskwzP2D7rjqh1fX32LPWHV4nNwRt_tZ90QLqOlcgmNDNnXpPuxLjUv4calnHhMJCeLaVsSMOzCyyfXAUEZ5_C8kZKSb/s320/fast+shampoo.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">Staring at herself vividly in front of the mirror,weeks later at the wedding event,Jacqueline shakes her head in perplexity.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">She is back to being a Maid-of-Honor.Thanks to Desiree, everything fits perfectly together.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisy_EuD_EkFPEuwdmh-yVH0JXkKG7UB2Q09z8Bs3MWD8cPba3wLAutzntKZzvrzoEstc_CWWaWYctuE655LjcdO5bRkEyb48Ti4sDAaYPbQERwrbXERUOqEQT1cUd2Ws_vl-oO3se1vJjL/s1600/wedding+blues.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisy_EuD_EkFPEuwdmh-yVH0JXkKG7UB2Q09z8Bs3MWD8cPba3wLAutzntKZzvrzoEstc_CWWaWYctuE655LjcdO5bRkEyb48Ti4sDAaYPbQERwrbXERUOqEQT1cUd2Ws_vl-oO3se1vJjL/s1600/wedding+blues.jpg" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">Jacqueline then joins the bubbly entourage in the scenic garden. There she is, Desiree with extreme jolliness.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUKqsk3F15xAoIokRrnCSZSqLtOYf3yChCUensj7CHArrpe8hrcB97PjOR76P8UVV7Z7J2PxNFbjnqMvQLv2yJSR6eDfM2LkO5kBX43pNUmnohyphenhyphenDk1FpgCvakp69EjsIq_db3-wqXZfD5R/s1600/wedding+ceremony.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUKqsk3F15xAoIokRrnCSZSqLtOYf3yChCUensj7CHArrpe8hrcB97PjOR76P8UVV7Z7J2PxNFbjnqMvQLv2yJSR6eDfM2LkO5kBX43pNUmnohyphenhyphenDk1FpgCvakp69EjsIq_db3-wqXZfD5R/s1600/wedding+ceremony.jpg" /></a></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;"> "See,I told you. Fast Shampoo has the ability to make your hair grow as fast and as healthy as possible!" Desiree lovingly whispers.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoyDyabd5PU-DSJDLmv60TEwZ-esXnloc0utnBuCkWtaPfnMJfSTeZkbtFwcBARh3tMP2nzcoZEXxrcE49nR9QQxHQ9PUGlMs_OG1cj1C2hxoRQhLkBsdic4R-53aFE1t2Q29XPots83ew/s1600/best+man.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoyDyabd5PU-DSJDLmv60TEwZ-esXnloc0utnBuCkWtaPfnMJfSTeZkbtFwcBARh3tMP2nzcoZEXxrcE49nR9QQxHQ9PUGlMs_OG1cj1C2hxoRQhLkBsdic4R-53aFE1t2Q29XPots83ew/s1600/best+man.jpg" /></a> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">"Excuse me Miss, may I join you?'</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">Jacqueline abruptly glances aside and sees a striking gentleman.He is Nicholas, the best man.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">"Why not?".</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">"I am the groom's childhood playmate.Magnificent hair you have!".</span></span></div>
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PHILOSOPHERKIMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04694585710965062964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5440790119156182872.post-52056780667520618702013-07-05T17:08:00.000-07:002013-07-05T17:13:48.295-07:00Lawn Revisited<span style="color: red; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b> My Aunt Matilda was elated when she saw me standing by the garage door. I have just come home to hour vacation house in Houston after a long recluse. It was part of my parents' graduation gift to pay my favorite aunt a visit in the cowboy state.</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: red; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnlJm1ff9te_ulgZM3NtHD1HMhBHpCqCvovOl7WQKFIBGgsjM_Nj5UsMuOwx_ZOEB4TZdrGuHXmezRwOhZL-k6AG18ONuXFohzWQRAXDI8ZkfXuQ8k_u9is23reEH5CQZQptMD3fgPHhyphenhyphenk/s800/little-girl-playing-water-15386734.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnlJm1ff9te_ulgZM3NtHD1HMhBHpCqCvovOl7WQKFIBGgsjM_Nj5UsMuOwx_ZOEB4TZdrGuHXmezRwOhZL-k6AG18ONuXFohzWQRAXDI8ZkfXuQ8k_u9is23reEH5CQZQptMD3fgPHhyphenhyphenk/s320/little-girl-playing-water-15386734.jpg" width="320" /></a>She led me to a wooden box containing a Homelite Powerflex Hose that's </b></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>been kept there for eleven years!</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>"Remember how you loved to sprinkle water on the lawn,dearie."</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>I gently carried the pressure washer outside the garage and plunged it into the neatly carved lawn.<b></b></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>"This hose remains intact."</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>"Nobody has ever used it since you left."</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFaxL3iBQ7lq2_VILB8dN1WLNektSTzjVpnMqr9U5Ox7ia4Q8WDXKG3T-nX4zEXwTdwSxCir5TzTRV7WkFPwq3taC0z28TkP43Glp1GBvuSi0TEyM0aDVY8dO10yJyXTaYEE9HNP_PcMXH/s1200/16046651-young-woman-watering-the-lawn-with-a-hose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFaxL3iBQ7lq2_VILB8dN1WLNektSTzjVpnMqr9U5Ox7ia4Q8WDXKG3T-nX4zEXwTdwSxCir5TzTRV7WkFPwq3taC0z28TkP43Glp1GBvuSi0TEyM0aDVY8dO10yJyXTaYEE9HNP_PcMXH/s320/16046651-young-woman-watering-the-lawn-with-a-hose.jpg" width="320" /></a></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>I began to loosen up my hold of the hose.Its rubber inner core helped allow it to bend like a rope 25 ft. length.</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGLE58w2WEQgpqXyQSfSewj5FnN4v3GC5-dux-7yn_GlK_B4QEmaUJrvgE3F8aZmVDPA64ltgEJTnldr6ZyW5Lz5YqSQSFbwAq5fXwYpZqhHg0mNdceSSM4lEjNRYsUk3OkfUAwRjqq-kW/s300/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGLE58w2WEQgpqXyQSfSewj5FnN4v3GC5-dux-7yn_GlK_B4QEmaUJrvgE3F8aZmVDPA64ltgEJTnldr6ZyW5Lz5YqSQSFbwAq5fXwYpZqhHg0mNdceSSM4lEjNRYsUk3OkfUAwRjqq-kW/s300/images.jpg" /></a></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Seconds later, a childhood playmate passed by the fence.</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>It was Lettie,the Bully. She used to make fun of my wide and rounded hips back in middle school. She called me Duckie,the Hippie. I cried endlessly and showered her with the hose as a defense.</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuBfCVQaklvtRsB_8qmSoLV9TA-z9-A6LTcKediqkFPZqq3MN9tGE-DFx4tHibvFX48u-6SLHVbBiquNrepBGceGLZUDcs3mERwgxqDo6FoaBqL25Y32fFaoHcDR_6J5DaKqiDD0EAs08y/s550/solar-panel-problems.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuBfCVQaklvtRsB_8qmSoLV9TA-z9-A6LTcKediqkFPZqq3MN9tGE-DFx4tHibvFX48u-6SLHVbBiquNrepBGceGLZUDcs3mERwgxqDo6FoaBqL25Y32fFaoHcDR_6J5DaKqiDD0EAs08y/s320/solar-panel-problems.jpg" width="320" /></a></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Now at 22, I am a Bryn Mawr Business degree holder and Lettie is a Mighty Bum!</b></span></div>
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</b></span>PHILOSOPHERKIMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04694585710965062964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5440790119156182872.post-70869336052609099422012-11-23T18:19:00.000-08:002012-11-23T19:13:47.193-08:00The Fitting Room<span style="color: purple; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"> <img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2485/5847463264_4388131874.jpg" /></span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;"> Tei-Tei has a queer fondness for red stuff.She goes for anything that accentuates crimson in her belongings and clothings. Even shoes for that matter, or belts,or cellphones. Perhaps she is </span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;">such a vibrant and passionate lady that she aspires for a redded closet.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;"> One warm afternoon,a close friend tipped her about a newly opened boutique in Bangkok.The friend claimed the store offered numerous choices of red painted dresses, blousesand accesories.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;"> Tei-Tei couldn't contain her excitement.She's been tired of</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;">common fashion stores in their town and the store her close pal suggested truly caught her interest.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;"> So without delaying any time, Tei-Tei headed straight to "EKANS BOUTIQUE".</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;"> </span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;"> <img src="http://blogs.cornell.edu/revenuemanagement11/files/2011/03/Screen-shot-2011-03-31-at-11.20.51-AM.png" /></span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;"> </span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;"></span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;"> "I am Madame Eskire," the Boutique manager was cordially introducing herself."What type of item are you looking for?".</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;"> Tei-Tei lay aside her leather bag and gasped for a few,</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;">short breaths. "Honestly, your place is quite hard to find..."</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;"> The manager chuckled a bit. "Come, I'll show you around."</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;"> Tei-Tei welcomed the friendly invite.She removed her straw hat and fixed her kerchief.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;"> "I'd like to check your new kerchiefs...and possibly a couple of dresses later." Tei-Tei made a slow demand and flashed the Manager a faint smile.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;"> "Sure...try this on."</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;"> Tei-Tei was mesmerized."How did you know I adore RED?".</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;"> The manager scowled, and showed mild irritation."</span> <span style="color: purple; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">From the</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;">gut, I guess."</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;"> Tei-Tei went inside the third partition of the linear fitting room. She began to don the red kerchief.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;"> </span><br />
<img src="http://us.123rf.com/400wm/400/400/astroid/astroid0904/astroid090400076/4724307-smiling-young-beautiful-woman-in-red-kerchief.jpg" /><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Suddenly, there was an abrupt shriek heard from the vicinity of the boutique. Then a very long wail followed suit.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;"> Madame Eskire has just pushed the button from the third fitting room. Her half-snake and half-man son would not starve for</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;">the next several weeks. Tei-Tei was a good enough meal for him.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;"> Her scaly son has been pining for a white-skinned woman with</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;">a red kerchief. The last time he scored a big meal was the moment a</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;">third-year Dentistry student from Bangkok stepped into the third fitting room. The severed woman was wearing a striped, red kerchief.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;">Her meat was not like anything that the son had ever tasted. And from that instance, he framed a theory that any woman with a red kerchief on would make a great, indefinable meal.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;"> <img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyTMXRKM4ZlTEBMVMMKGwEDIM6raRQqSlOen03dvwbo3VTHx4SK8ktx-njJmevPNbF3lZljHVQ3yygjVSKvDdjzjvIV2pOQaTBU9PinKsYxrd9B80DDeYSXBy9jBKrpOIPwRtty8Ik35se/s320/Old+spice+snake.gif" /></span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;"> The next day, Shamira dropped by EKANS BOUTIQUE. Undaunted</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;">and weary, she asked quizzically if Madame Eskire had met Tei-Tei.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;"> "She said she'd return immediately to her house and we're gonna</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;">try all the items she bought from here.We are to attend a party later tonight." She narrated in a fast-paced, sing song manner.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;"> "No, she never went here." Madame Eskire jolted, examing the</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;">an ID picture of Tei-Tei.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;"> "Are you sure? Where would I look for her now? Don't you know </span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;">she's an only child?" Shamira drank her power drink in a quirky and</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;">panicky mode."I shouldn't have sent her here. Her mother would call the police and file charges against me."</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;"> Madame Eskire elbowed forward. "I'll tell you a good idea. Why</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;">not fit a dress you like in the fitting room over there. You can have the shoes or the slacks. Choose antything appropriate." She winked.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;"> "That would be a good idea. So I can take my mind off this mess."</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;"> Shamira got in the third fitting room to the left wing of the </span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;">counter.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;"> "Now my son, you can hibernate for months." Madame Shamira</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;">chortled to herself.</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;"> <img src="http://bjonesstyle.files.wordpress.com/2010/12/tilly-boutique.jpg" /></span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;"></span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;"></span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;"> "</span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New;"> </span>PHILOSOPHERKIMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04694585710965062964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5440790119156182872.post-21705857410298605852011-08-25T06:02:00.000-07:002011-08-25T07:53:11.885-07:00Dolly Mia<span class="Apple-style-span" ><b> </b></span><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6xKhL3NwvdusQ1FXmB2xj8JEhNY4B46Jm58U85RLsX0kcx2fupbTCWAVdcaGN3Wyd7kAvaL9rA3FiLZTl2LbXYB1KkXCRS5L_lBivXWje-ZQ7zzaX3lJin2pcyRrwVducNQSyDmowirQC/s1600/vlcsnap-2011-04-16-19h01m45s255.png" /><div> </div><div> The day I turned 18, I could never get over the euphoria of neighbors, senior high school</div><div>friends, and co workers of my beloved mom and dad, who took the time out to celebrate</div><div>with me. No, I didn't have an extravagant debut party for I was, by nature, a very simple</div><div>person who was content with the bare essentials in life.</div><div> The DOLL HOUSE at our backyard was actually, believe it or not, the venue for my</div><div>18th birthday. Yes, I had the privilege of owning a life-sized doll house that could raise the eye-</div><div>brows of the affluent parents of a rich kid in Beverly Hills.</div><div> My family wasn't materially preoccupied.Rather, my parents were true blue Christians</div><div>who raised me and my brother in upheld values. In the neighborhood circuit in ITALY, our</div><div>family was known as "the family that prays together,thus, stays together."</div><div> The subsequent title made us all proud, especially my dearly devoted mom who was</div><div>sometimes self-righteous. Once, my brother called her "Hypocrite and fanatic." and he got grounded for weeks.</div><div> Well, to begin with, I once cherished a DOLL that resided in the Doll House. And I</div><div>christened her MIA.</div><div> <img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHAmYYLnWA7wkv505zdFvaFziqVN7-8KdQqdhJ6FTS_EQ02ysCX7qE-vGWv7j1qZov8_S-Ig23tPxmqwdsOdrwiRnk-oC4BOkpTaqNdE_QT-TX6fpayNt5H6OO7U6CzDYSKnH_TsqmwxG3/s1600/4983_99160325671_511445671_2457383_7216945_n.jpg" /></div><div>
<br /></div><div> How did I come upon Mia? Well, I spotted the creature at a doll show in Milan. There</div><div>were numerous dolls on display at the show and they came as far as Greenland. It was sort</div><div>of an exhibition of the "the most authentic, ingenious, and glamorous dolls of the planet." The </div><div>top prize I could not vividly recall,though my mom told me it was close to half a million dollars.</div><div> MIA, by the way, was a doll package from Russia. She wasn't the least bit attractive but she carried an irresistible aura that I could not withhold. Therefore, I got her and bought her.</div><div>She wasn't that costly. At that particular time, she was the only one I could afford.</div><div> <img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AOT3NgtKfUw/TUBDRrXI4dI/AAAAAAAADQk/RFPOb2ybwtU/s1600/DollyDearest4.JPG" /></div><div> </div><div> I had MIA when I was five. She used to be my pet doll and showered her with all</div><div>the attention I could muster.But soon, I 'd grown tired of her constant presence and decided</div><div>to buy other dolls-newer,fresher, and lovelier. That's when all the trouble crept up, I guess.</div><div> I never thought of Mia again after I had new dolls. I had set her aside and even forgot</div><div>where I kept her for the meantime because I was darn too busy with my more precious dolls.</div><div>That's when the bigger trouble built up. In fact, it grew into a RAGE, an uncontained rage that</div><div>went on, simmering here and there,at the Doll House.</div><div> <img src="http://static.wetpaint.me/trueblood/ROOT/photos/460_340/jessicaportrait403-50384320.jpg" /></div><div> <img src="http://blog.thepresentgroup.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/06/heather-benning-life-size-doll-house.jpg" /></div><div> On the eve of my 18th birthday, the pent up rage metamorphosed into a</div><div>concrete being-rushing, enveloping, and spreading into the privacy of my quarters.</div><div> After the guests had left, and my mother had cleaned the clutter in the</div><div>doll house, and my brother had gone out with his equally sick and wacko buddies,</div><div>I SAW AN IMAGE in the staircase. It was an image that caused the plate of cheesecake </div><div>to slip away from my firm grip. And I had blood all over my feet because of the shattered porcelain.</div><div> "ISABELLA, darling, are you gonna sleep in your doll house so we can lock</div><div>up the living room for now?", my dad queried in a cordial manner from over his window on</div><div>the second floor of our main house. He waved at me momentarily and let go in a few</div><div>seconds.</div><div> 'Yes, Daddy!" I half-wailed and half-hummed. "Jonas shall join me later."</div><div> "Oh, your brother will sleep over his friend's house, he told me a while ago.",my</div><div>dad suggested and slowly closed his window."Good night sweetie pie!".</div><div> "Night Daddy..."<img src="http://www.haberarts.com/images/lsimmons.jpg" /></div><div> </div><div> I didn't believe in ghost stuff and even if I saw one, I had to touch the thing to be able</div><div>to absorb its entity. Otherwise, it was just another product of a weird imagination or as what</div><div>my Jonas coined,"a fucked up hallucination".</div><div> But some beliefs crumble at certain,odd times particularly when you're a debutant</div><div>and preparing for your freshman year of college and mapping out your future together</div><div>with your boyfriend.</div><div> And why of all why's would a mad creature in a box appear before me at hand, as if</div><div>ready to condemn me and pounce on me any minute?</div><div> What, in nature's name, did she want?</div><div> WHAT DID SHE WANT FROM ME?</div><div> Why stare at me with dead eyes which seemed to originate from a graveyard?</div><div> <img src="http://www.collectibledollsales.com/catalog/mpAverylong.jpg" /></div><div> </div><div><img src="http://th03.deviantart.net/fs43/300W/i/2009/058/a/b/Into_the_Light_by_casthem.jpg" /></div><div> </div><div>"ISABELLA...ISABELLA...why...why did you leave me?" The abandoned doll in the brown</div><div>box pursued me unrelentlessly down the stairs.</div><div> I stepped back in a quirky way, evading her every gaze.</div><div> And boy, where did her voice come from? It reverberated like a whirlpool of cold</div><div>whispers.</div><div> "I'm sorry,but I don't know you. I never knew you."</div><div> "MIA...have you forgotten? I was your favorite doll.We were like sisters."she pleaded</div><div>mercifully.</div><div> "I've had so many dolls before...you were one among them...I'm sorry I can't recall."</div><div>Isabella was now losing her confident manner and about to relapse from the unexpected</div><div>encounter with a talking doll. She must have gulped too much punch during her party.</div><div> "Isabella, why did you throw me away?" </div><div> The life-size doll came forward, urging to touch a hem of my purple dress.</div><div> "Stay away from me, you freak! Tomorrow, when this is all over, I'm going to laugh</div><div>at myself for this stupid mistake!" I sliced my words in a commanding way.</div><div> "Of course, you won't do that. You won't wake up. You shall join me in my misery."</div><div>Mia unruffled a cloth that contained a wide and long ROPE.</div><div> I was left in total wonder and didn't know if I wanted to prick her wax hands first</div><div>or her legs. "Stop your drama and let me sleep now. Have some respect please, it's</div><div>my birthday..."</div><div> Mia tightened the rope and lurched further toward me."It shall also be your last...</div><div>let's make your 18th year memorable Isabella."</div><div> "You dumb jerk!" I belched and moments later, I began to choke and felt the</div><div>real immersion of the rope on my whole being. My neck was about to rip off.</div><div> "See Isabella, I told you it's real. Next time when you buy a toy, don't throw it like</div><div>trash. It deserves better than that." Mia knelt before me and caressed my weeping</div><div>face.</div><div> And that scene, dear readers, was the end of her. Before I forget, I am</div><div>now writing this memento of a dire event. We exchanged a deal. I'd let her live but</div><div>she would get stuck in a living doll.Nobody would know where she went. </div><div> And I became the new ISABELLA.</div><div> </div><div>
<br /></div>PHILOSOPHERKIMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04694585710965062964noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5440790119156182872.post-20457603821686540242009-11-30T03:15:00.000-08:002009-11-30T04:01:48.699-08:00ORPHAN Afterthoughts<span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> "Who was Jessica?" Esther lovingly asks Kate, one lazy afternoon."And why does Max talk about her all the time?"<br /> Kate,caught off guard, balks at the unassuming query, and then finally decides to spill details surrounding it."She was my undelivered baby.Sad to say I had a miscarriage.So the doctor had to get rid of her..." Kate recalls in a half-melancholy and half-stressful way."But I believe she's in heaven now."<br /> Esther, unsatisfied,digs for more dirty secrets in the family and brings out sensitive matters including the past womanizing of Kate's husband.<br /> "HOW DARE YOU!"Kate spits.<br /> "And what about your past drinking habits?". Esther insinuates mockingly.<br /> This war-torn situation between the adoptive parent and the adopted-child is just one of the highlights of the highly-acclaimed thriller,"ORPHAN."The story revolves around two desperate parents who seek to adopt a surrogate ,youngest child to complete the family set-up. It is really Kate who can't get over her previous miscarriage-and constantly blames herself for it. She has neverending nighmares and paranoia about the accidental loss,thus,inflicting pain and guilt on her husband as well.<br /> One fateful morning, the duo go to a private orphanage within the neighborhood, and unfortunately picks ESTHER. At first, the head nun, is unsure of what to say.Later on, she nods to the decision, proudly proclaiming: 'Esther is very advanced for her age. Very mature," then she pauses,"the only thing we can't make her undo is the tight collar around her neck. And she always wears long-sleeves...".<br /> Toward the end of the movie,the audience is appalled to discover that the cover-up in Esther's mode of dressing is actually the evidences of her slash-wrists,slash-neck habitual ,suicidal attacks.<br /> John,Kate's adoring and trustful husband innocently defends Esther before her already traumatized wife,Kate. The wife seemingly belives that there's something clearly wrong with Esther. "Look,"she invites,"these are the notes on children who kill. They're superficially charming, they're manipulative, and they have difficulty making friends!".<br /> But the husband is stern."Oh,Esther is just a child.Leave her be!'.<br /> In the climax of the movie,Esther screams at John."I AM NOT A CHILD! STOP TALKING TO ME LIKE A CHILD!".Deep in her privacy,she relishes on John's naked body and sexually fantacizes on her adoptive dad.<br /> In the truest sense of the word, Esther is indeed, no longer a child. She's a midget or a self-proclaimed dwarf. Somehow her growth or stature is abnormal. She can't grow taller than a ten-year-old child. Born in 1973, she's 33 years old and a grown-up woman. These are facts from Searne, a mental hospital in Europe. Esther in an orphanage is just a camoflage. She is deranged and dangerous when freed! Somebody has to get help. Otherwise, the children, Max and her brother, will burn down and die unmercilessly on Esther's hands.<br /> QUICK! And Kate outpaces her steps as she drives randomly toward their house,only to find her dead husband, lying in a pool of his own blood."OH JOHN!".<br /> But where is Max? Where is her angel of a daughter-mute and deaf Max-is she still alive?<br /> "LEAVE HER ALONE!" she bewails and runs after Esther like every dutiful mommy.<br /> In the end, when Esther is almost drowning in a snow-laden lake, she gently prods her adoptive mother."Please mommy,don't let me die..."<br /> Kate, who is now fully aware of Esther's persona, kicks Esther back into the water, "I'M NOT YOUR F__________G MOMMY!".<br /> Now this is a film worthy of its merits,particularly on the term,PARADOX. According to the dictionary, paradox means simply a self-contradictory and false proposition. Furthermore it clings to any person, thing, or situation exhibiting an apparently contradictory nature.<br /> In one scene, Kate patiently tutors Esther on basic piano playing.Esther pretends to commit minor mistakes. But in reality Esther is a genius in piano-playing. Kate becomes a witness to Esther playing a famous Mozart piece in a flawless way.<br /> Kate shrugs,"But you said you couldn't play the piano!".<br /> "I didn't want to hurt you. What with your deaf daughter you can never teach the beauty of sounds ...". What a bitch Esther truly is!<br /></span></span></span></span>PHILOSOPHERKIMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04694585710965062964noreply@blogger.com2