My new year's resolution was to set aside at least one afternoon for writing per week. I love submitting to short story and flash fiction competitions! ✍️ So far I've kept my resolution but we're only two weeks into the year! You can check out a selection of my work here: https://ko-fi.com/carrieonwriting and of course I've entered the Biopage contest! 😀 https://www.biopage.com/post/de-dahlification
Ariana packed her bags in a hurry. She was going back to her parent's house for her year-end holidays and she couldn't wait to get there. Her dad would be picking her up and she didn't want to be late. After ten years of staying away from home due to her dad's constant moving from one state to another on work assignments, her stay in her paternal grandparents' home was coming to an end. She lived with her grandparents so she could attend a private school nearby their home. It was a missionary school and Ariana loved attending school there. However, she didn't stop missing her family when away from them and looked forward to the holidays when all of them could be together again. She especially missed her dad as he was the one person who would mollycoddle her and indulge her with presents and whatever she asked for. Mom was always the strict one. But with her dad, she could throw a tantrum when she didn't get what she wanted and not be punished for it. She looked forward to the year-end since her birthday falls in November and come December, Christmas and New Year celebrations made her time with her family all the merrier. Ariana had a secret passion though. Her parents lived near the seaside and each time she went back for the holidays, she would always look forward to catching the sunrises and sunsets that graced the skies there. She would count the hours to sunset just as the hours of sunrise trailed away. Before dusk, she would walk, sometimes miles down the beach, talking to the winds, hearing her voice echo back as the tides washed softly ashore in a welcome whenever she traipsed down its sands. Like her, the waters of the seas believed she belonged among them, and she whiled her hours away till the evening sun lit up the horizons in unbelievable colors of crimson and gold. Ariana had an affinity for the seas, the tides, and all of the skies' splendorous revealing. She knew them to be as mystical as they were seraphic. The colors of the skies were seraphic and blissful in nature. They created artistry and displayed the wisdom of the Gods. Her dad pulled up at her grandparent's house, and after saying their goodbyes to them, Ariana and her dad were on their way. It was at least a five-hour drive to reach her home in another state from where her grandparents lived. When they reached, it was late evening. Her mom and siblings ran out to greet her gleefully. Mom had prepared an elaborate dinner to celebrate her return. All of her favorite food was laid out on the table. Ariana had a sumptuous meal that night with her family members. They sat down together after dinner and talked about Ariana's plans to further her tertiary education since this time around, she was back to stay for good. Ariana could smell the sea from her house. So after they had finished talking, she walked out to where the beach was. It was dark but the path to the beach was lighted as were the surroundings of her home. She saw the park empty on the way when usually the residents who lived there would come out after dinner to sit around and talk or walk on the grounds and enjoy the cool breeze that blew their way from the seaside. When Ariana stood by the fence overlooking the sea, she heard the waves rise and splash against the rocks. She couldn't see the waters in the dark except for a lighthouse in the distance. And its light shone and shimmered on the waters of another part of the sea. Ariana thought about how light dispels the dark. The lighthouse was symbolic of it. She listened for a while longer to the waves and waited to catch the sunrise the next morning. Dawn was only a few hours away, she came away thinking. That night Ariana slept peacefully while listening to the sounds of the tides and the winds. They instilled a deep sense of solace and calm within her. Ariana woke up to dawn and got dressed quickly. Her mom was already up and about in the kitchen. She briefly told her that she was going down to the beach and rushed out. She sat on her favorite spot on the beach and waited to see the first glimmer of light. Like her, the skies waited their turn for the radiance from the rising sun. The sun drew an embodiment of colors across the sky and rose in resplendence. Far in the distance, the horizons came alive almost like the skies sat upon the seas and transmitted an array of visually colored clouds throughout the celestial universe. Ariana sat mesmerized as never before for the winds whispered that they would create a splendorous viewing just before dusk overtakes the night once again for her. Ariana walked back home appeased. She began her count to the hours before sunset. She had heard it in the winds and wanted to be part of the sunset's silhouette. It was going to be an exquisite, lustrous day. Ariana's embers of passion for celestial beauty would be reignited once again. The End.
Gardening was something that I never really had an interest in. I would rather be reading or watching a movie or avoiding anything that would make me get dirty. It just wasn't my thing at the time. Now that I'm older, I'm starting to appreciate the things I never appreciated as a kid. Gardening is one of them. I didn't know much about gardening when I started, other than what my parents had told me. They were the gardeners of the family. They would always be planting flowers and grass and whatever else they could grow. So, our yard was always beautiful. I had been reading up about people who had grown their food and I have to admit, reading those stories sparked my quest in starting my garden. At the beginning of last year, with my father's help, I decided to grow some of my favorite fruits and vegetables. I had strawberries, cucumbers, and tomatoes. I was beyond excited. I had never done anything like this before. It started well. I was watering them, feeding them. I was doing everything I could to help them grow. Unfortunately, my gardening attempt wasn't exactly a successful one. Aside from bad weather and other issues, some of the plants did not make it but in that time, I had suffered probably the most devastating loss of all. My father had passed away. He was the one that helped me bring my garden to life. He helped me prepare the soil, dig the holes and mix the plant food. He and I were always close, and gardening was just another hobby we enjoyed together even if we only got to do it for a few weeks. I tried my best to tend to the garden -- what was left of it. Some of them managed to linger on into the Summer, but eventually, there was nothing left. But I wasn't going to give up so easily. Despite everything that happened, I was determined to continue with my newfound hobby. Even if my gardening buddy wasn't with me anymore. I am happy to say that I've had better success this year than I had last year. My mom even gave me some flower seeds to add some color. And they certainly did. The strawberries grew this time. I even managed to eat a handful of them. The tomatoes have been excellent. Let me tell you about tomatoes. Never underrestmite them. I did and they are completely out of control. They're still good though, and most importantly they are still producing the goods. That's all that matters. One of the most surprising things I'm currently growing is zucchini. I didn't even know I was growing one. At first, I thought it was a pumpkin because I had thrown pumpkin seeds in the flower bed. They never grew, but I thought this was them. One morning, I'm looking at the mysterious plant and discover it's not a pumpkin but a zucchini! I don't know much about zucchinis, but I gladly welcome them to my garden. I wish my dad was here to see it. To see how well everything has grown. I know he would be proud. I know I am. And I hope someday, maybe, I can do this with my kid. Gardening has become one of my favorite things and I find it to be quite thrilling. To me, it's one of the best feelings in the world, and you can't beat that.
A few days ago, I was writing a story. A story about a boy. A boy, whose best friends were agony, despair and grief. A boy, whose behavior would often be called “weird”. People would not accept his idiosyncrasies; they would instead find it better to ridicule him and his lack of social skills. His childhood did not deserve to be called a childhood at all. I felt a connection to that story. It was remarkably relatable. Although even I had had very few friends, I had had a lot of pleasant escapades too. Yet, I scraped off that idea and tore my page into a million pieces. I was about to throw them all in the bin when one of the smaller ones caught my attention, and all of a sudden, I was nostalgic. 25th May 2015. It was evening. I was sitting on the couch of my Meemaw's house, reading a book, and I was beaming with delight. After all, my birthday was just around the corner! All of a sudden, I felt an itch in my right ear. Lazy as I was, I did not want to get up and use an earbud. But I was worried about my hygiene too. I couldn't imagine using my own finger to remove my earwax. So, I tore off a bit of paper from the last page, and put it in my ear. As funny as it sounds, it really was effective in removing that itch. The problem arose when I started to enjoy a bit too much. I was holding it with the tip of my finger and inserted it far too deep; and then, I lost my grip. The paper got stuck inside. I panicked. I did not want my parents or my grandparents to find out about my stupidity, so I got up and rushed to get that earbud. Unfortunately, I did not realize that the earbud would not remove that paper; rather it would push it even further inside. I just kept hoping for the paper to attach to the earbud with adhesion, which was practically impossible. The paper, even after this struggle session, was still lodged inside. I decided to forget about this incident and acted normally that night. The next morning however, while eating my breakfast, I felt a searing pain in my ear. I could no longer afford to keep this incident a secret. I confessed everything to my parents. They were shocked at my idiocy; but they knew they had to get my ear checked. Unfortunately, most of the ENT specialists whom we knew about were closed that day. We spent the next 2 hours surfing the internet, but weren't able to find even a single doctor close to us. That was when my mom recalled that she had once been to a doctor, who used to keep his clinic open all year long. “Maybe to earn more?” I deliberated with myself. We got into our car and drove to him. His clinic was present in a really secluded area. He did not have an assistant, and it became obvious to us that he had not had patients in a while when we saw him playing candy crush on his phone in his working hours. He first looked into my ear with a concave mirror and a torch. He could not spot any piece of paper, and was going to conclude that it might have fallen out; when I told him about my pain. That was when I saw him turn serious. He looked more carefully, and this time, he spotted it. He requested my parents to leave us alone. He might've guessed that the love of my parents for me had made them astonishingly soft-hearted, so they might not be able to see me cry. When they left, he warned “Son, you will feel a slight pain in your ear. But your parents told me that you are a brave boy. Once I take that paper ball out, you will be good to go”. I nodded in approval. He put his sharp instrument in my ear. That searing pain returned to me. I wondered why he had not given me any anesthetic. The deeper he went, the more it hurt. It was like having a hundred wasps sting me in a very small periphery for a very long time. I must've gotten lost in my own thoughts, because I remained motionless even after he had taken out the paper from my ear. It was only when he shook me that I came back to my senses. He pointed his finger towards that dirty nasty paper covered with my disgusting earwax. I went outside and saw my parents waiting anxiously. “The operation was successful!”, I exclaimed with delight. My voice startled them. They turned around, only for me to witness my dad gasp in shock and my mom choke a sob. I innocently asked “Why are you crying mom?”, but before she could answer, I felt a drop fall on my neck. “Is my ear bleeding?” Her sudden surge of tears answered my question. While walking towards the bin, I wondered if I had partially lost my hearing. This was one question whose answer I did not want to know. My introspection was interrupted by my mom's voice, “Son, which girl are you dreaming about?” Embarrassed, I replied, “I am not dreaming about any girl mom!” “Then go and do something productive. And remember, don't start thinking about girls again!” We chuckled.
I posted my labor story on my blog. If you'd like to check it out, don't worry, I didn't go into great detail, haha. Check out my website if you're interested! I'll be posting lots about my cute little boy!
Just 1 month until the release of, A Touch Eldritch, the first of an annual series, written for young teenagers. A collection of short stories to make you cringe, horror and spooky stories on the fringe. I am looking forward to hearing the feedback on this my first collection of short stories.
It's the 3rd of February, the world's at its best pace. I'm on my terrace, walking, thinking, dreaming. The sky looks beautiful in its deep blue. The orange sun is yet to set. I start browsing, I witness a myriad of vacant rooftops and just one or two human figures, either in search for a dependable cell phone network or peace. I come here for the latter. My father is a social worker, he has devoted his life to service. While I was in school, I wouldn't see him for days, even if he was still in town, by the time he'd come I was mostly asleep and by the time he was up, I was in school. My sister is completing her studies in a different state, I don't even remember the last time I talked to her for more than five minutes. My mother is a homemaker, but she's barely home probably because she's a "social person" and when she is home, I either have an assignment to complete or some place to visit. It's been ages since I've had a proper conversation with any of them, or since the four of us sat together talking about the good times and amusing. My family is just one of the thousands of things that pop up in my head while I'm up here. I walk further to the edge of the terrace, I bend slightly to get a peek of what's going on in the world below. I discover a bevy of kids playing soccer, people wrapping up their days, cars honking moving around in a rush, a couple walking hand in hand, a small time grocer trying to desperately sell literally everything he has to a single customer. I see the kids again, this time half of them celebrating their victory by hugging each other and laughing in delight. Besides them, I see two women, probably neighbors, fighting and abusing each other with complete vigor. One of them is now looking skywards and yelling some terrible words, I wonder who she's shouting at, there's nobody up here except me. Oops, I better get back to my walk. So basically today looks just like any other day! Now let's fast forward a little to when a pandemic took over our lives and everything just flipped. It's the 26th of march today. A few days back our Prime Minister announced a complete lockdown in our country. I still come up here, on the terrace, but it's an entirely different sight nowadays. The sky is still in its deep blue, I still hear noises, but this time not of the cars honking, today I hear the sounds of humans, a lot of humans, to be fair. The rooftops that once never showed signs of life, now look like a carnival, only a socially distanced one though. On any other day I would've been slightly disconcerted by the fact that the only place I turned to for peace had transformed into some kind of playground filled with people. But not today, and to be honest I actually feel delighted, because I don't just see individuals, I see families, families that have probably laughed together for the first time since ages, families that have conversed with each other as a whole, families that held hands like there's no tomorrow. Even I am not alone today, I'm walking alongside my father, talking about things we never thought we'd ever talk about, discovering interests, we never knew we had in common, exploring my plans for the future that I never thought would fascinate him. A few feet apart, I see my sister and my mother sitting together and laughing about how terrible my sister had cooked last night, and surfing for new recipes on the internet for my father who's next in line to cook dinner, and it's not just the four of us, I see joy and happiness all around me. Funny, isn't it? The times that are the hardest, are the times I am surrounded only by felicity. My father went and sat next to the mother-daughter duo, gesturing me to join, I tell him I'll be there in a minute. I would've just gone and sat with my family, but I'm so amused by looking at everything around me, that I was tempted to uncover this new world. I see a young couple teaching their toddlers badminton, I see a mother teaching her kid to ride a bicycle next to her husband who was listening to his daughter explain some features about the laptop, I also see the neighbors who once used to come to blows quite often, today sit on their respective balconies, chattering. I smile to myself and go sit with my family. People feel that the pandemic somehow forced families and individuals to come closer, but I feel that the pandemic just gave us a reason to pause and reflect. We'd all been so worried and in such a rush to get the best of our lives that we missed savoring the most beautiful moments. The pandemic, let us stop for a moment and breathe, it let us contemplate, realize and understand all those pieces that we had missed in these hasty lives of ours. I'd once read "Sometimes, reaching out and taking someone's hand is the beginning of a journey. At other times, it is allowing another to take yours." This pandemic made us reach out and hold one's hand as well as let our hands to be held.
Have you ever wondered how can we stay connected with each other, even with the strangers during these testing times, right from our homes? I feel, through stories we can connect with them even without having a conversation in the real-time. My story is about sharing and narrating stories of hundreds of people from different communities, background, profession, speaking different languages and from different parts of the world. Let me start from the beginning. It was the evening of 14th May 2020, I was watching one of the motivational videos where the speaker advised the people to not just think about something, but doing something about that thought and the initiative. This single sentence had impacted me a lot. Since the coronavirus pandemic started and the lockdown has been imposed, I had thought of talking to people about it. I wanted to know what are they feeling, what are they going through and how has it impacted their lives? This was just a thought. But, while watching the video I decided that I will do something about this thought. Many questions were going on in my mind. So, I shared the idea with two of my very close friends, Nishant and Shivangi. The idea was to make an open platform where people can share their experiences and stories. Both of my friends suggested many more things to be included and some beautiful ideas which can give this idea a practical approach. So, it started. I was the Founder and the other two were the Co-founders. We listed out the things that need to be done to launch this initiative and make this available to the people. For the next 7 days, we segregated the tasks and allotted ourselves tasks mutually in which we were better. We worked day and night, taking a sleep of not more than 4 hours each day for the next 7 days. I worked on the technical part, Nishant worked on the layout, and Shivangi reached out to people for their stories. The day came, 21st May 2020, when we launched in our small community and connections. Gradually it started spreading among people. More people wanted to join us and share the stories with us. We also started interviewing people and pen down their stories and people also started sending their stories. After sometime when a lot of people started joining us, it became more of a platform where anyone can showcase their creativity in any forms and our ever-growing community became a storehouse of ideas, suggestions, interests, creativity and talent. As a result, we started narrating stories through various mediums and platforms like podcasts, videos, graphics, etc. The mediums and platforms are increasing day by day. We have always looked for a way to align the interest and talent of any individual associated with us with storytelling. We have always believed in collaborative teamwork where members join their hands together and contribute and we come up with the final version. It is roughly 2 months since we started this initiative and today we have 54 members in our community from 6 different countries, published more than 250 stories from 15+ countries, interviewed more than 30 personalities and connected to 4000+ people virtually right from our homes. The initiative has reached 45 countries and 20,000+ people visited the stories on the website. It has also been covered by 2 Newspapers recently. We now publish 4 stories every day, release podcasts and videos twice a week and conduct helpful sessions through live talkshows twice a week. We have also released videos related to Mental health titled ‘Sadness v/s Depression' which has been viewed by 12,000+ people. The platform has stories of Doctors treating COVID-19 patients, Frontline warriors, vendors, businessman, employees, essential employees, actors, singers, athletes, RJs, and many more. The initiative is called 'The lockdown story' and it exists because, in this time of the pandemic, every story deserves an applaud. People reach out to us and share with us how the stories are helping them to heal, believing that they are not the only one with a particular thought or feeling, there are many others like them and how they are connecting directly with the stories. These feedbacks motivate us a lot in continuing to do so and expanding our reach to more and more people. I feel that this is the period which the students will read about in their history books in future. This is a very important phase in the lives of people which will be remembered for decades. By reading stories, talking to so many people and interviewing them, I have realised that this period has impacted almost all the people in many different ways and at many different levels, positively or negatively. No two people have been impacted exactly in the same manner. The post-pandemic period will change the life of each and everyone in one way or the other, majorly or minorly. So, the experiences during this period will play an important role in future to learn and to grow.
Bihar a land where Gandhi started Champaran Satyagraha in support of indigo farmers, has history of producing roaring politician Jaiprakash Narayan who lead the mid 1970s opposition against prime minister Indira Gandhi, also called JP movement, is now bound with caste politics and where health ministers ask what's the death score in infant mortality. Our politicians, the bureaucrats and we as the society had only been pretence towards the cruelty our countrymen goes through. It is heart wrenching to see how our government's policies had been collapsing and have not reached out to those in need, these policies being made for. One sunny day I was heading towards the grocery store to get some food items although it's completely locked down in my state, some essential facilities are open for people. when standing in the line for social distancing, I saw a middle aged man wearing a mask stepping outside a ramshackle house in a weird way. I found it suspicious to believe someone would ever walk out of their house like this. Few minutes passed by, and I saw two women rushing out, that same house shouting and screaming. They were robbed while taking their midday sleep. The occurrence gave me flashbacks when my laptop and mobile phone got stolen from my room. That incident was more strange than shocking to me, that robbery made me think how courageous that man was to rob her house in the time when everybody is in their house because of lockdown, or he was more hungry to pilfer things because he needs it. It was raining the other day, so I went to the balcony to see outside. While glancing over my locality I saw a man sitting in a rickshaw shivering, I was first not sure whether or not to step out of my house but that feeble man's situation made me take steps towards him. I took a bowl full of rice and dal along with me. While going near him I realised that he is the same man who robbed that house midday, that frightened me but with doubt in my head and fear in my heart I anyhow reached him and offered him the bowl. He hesitated at first then accepted it, after he finished his bowl I tried to establish some talk and we talked about various things going around because of coronavirus and lockdown, I couldn't resist myself but asked him about that day of robbery. Firstly he equivocated but then confessed and started crying. He said his name is Radhe and he was just a regular rickshaw driver in around our area but because of lockdown he lost his job and his supply to food and shelter is not certain, he has no money and have no job so left with only option to rob, rob to feed both him and his childrens. We both had tears in our eyes after listening to his problems. Weeks passed by, but I was not able to take that incident out of my head every time I had my meal. I could not help but to think about him and so many more exactly like him, even worse. I could not have just relaxed inside my house and watched people like him suffer, after all their well-being is our responsibility. So I talked to my parents about those things happening and decided to help them in any way possible, either by providing them with food or giving them blankets and temporary shelter in our garage, we did it with complete passion. But I couldn't find Radhe, as he was already weak I feared if he died. Then one day I saw him sitting around the corner in his rickshaw smoking weed, I went to him to ask if he ate anything. He ate almost nothing since three days and has been starving from hunger, so I invited him to my place and gave him food and then we started talking about what he is going to do next and what his future plan about his childrens. He had no positive answer but worry in his eyes. So I proffered his meal along with his childers at my place until he gets his job back. I could sense the relief in his eyes, for him that was everything but for me it was just a help who needs it, so now he can focus on his family and arrange some source of income. We know this pandemic has made our economy crawl on knees but let's not forget these unnamed people around us keeping our city clean or roadside vendors or even daily wage labour, let's be more human toward them and let us restore their believe in humanity because as Mahatma Gandhi said "The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the service of others"
Once scared, once hurt, once used, once betrayed, never trusts again. The emotional rollercoaster one goes through along this process is immensely exhausting to the point they don't want to try it again in the fear that it could end in failure again. A broken heart shatters into pieces like glass, it takes time and struggle to be put back together but nonetheless it's still broken, the cracks still there, sure it's been glued together and fixed like putting puzzle pieces together but in the end, it's just one touch away from breaking down again. Trusting some the first time is easy cause you've hot nothing to lose but trusting again is tough, cause you've experienced the loss and the eminent pain is something that can't just be erased from one's mind. So when that person prepares themselves to trust again, they know the consequences, they know they could potentially face failure but they still try, ready to embrace the pain all over again if it's a hoax again just because of that glimmer of hope that this time maybe it'll be different. But no one can live life with being scared, no one can move ahead without experiencing pain or hurt, in order to get to the end of the rainbow, one has to struggle, so try, maybe not today but someday, when you feel a sense of sincerity in a kind heart. But till then, love yourself.
We both sat back down in silence for a moment, neither sure how to bridge the gap. Finally, he spoke. “I'm trying, honey. I'm trying to do as you asked, but it's so hard. I need the liquor since I have nothing else in my life. Every day is just so hard. It's so hard being alone. Having nothing, being nothing. I can't-“ I was supposed to play the part of a therapist. He was supposed to be just another client. But seeing him now, seeing him bare his soul, I knew I was fooling myself. Ivy was right, this counsel was beyond my capabilities. “Are you still drinking?” He looked at me with such doleful eyes. “Yes.” “How much?” “Nearly-“he paused. “Nearly same as before.” “Then we're done here.” I said with an air of finality. “No, please! I can change! I-“ “Dad- Henry. You said that last time. And the time before that. You said that when mom died.” I was shaking. “I can't do it. I can't watch you waste away. I've tried to help. I failed.” “No, honey, you didn't! I'm doing so much better because of you!” He was lying. I could see his physical condition deteriorating. If anything, he was doing worse. “Henry Price, I'm sorry, but I can't help you.” I really thought that maybe this time I could. I let myself believe that maybe he could change. I agreed to this meeting knowing full well it was him knocking at my door. I was being a fool, he hadn't changed since last we met. “Please- please don't do this, honey.” “I'm going to have to ask you to leave now. Our time has expired.” I could feel the emptiness in my chest, a total disconnect from my own emotions. I was operating on auto-pilot. “Furthermore, I will no longer be able to take you in as a client. I can refer you to other therapists if need be. But effective immediately, your patronage has been terminated.” The naked grief on his face said so much. But, just as it normally goes, his grief transformed to anger. He stared at me in open contempt one final time. “Fine. So be it. It seems I've lost both a wife and a daughter then.” I watched him leave, staring at his back the entire time. He never turned back once. Never tried to speak nor argue. Henry Price walked with a purposeful stride. He had found his resolve. THE END
“That's a lot to unpack, Henry. Quite a few crosses to bear. Why don't we focus on one at a time, shall we? Let's talk about the alcohol.” I said. It took every ounce of effort to keep my composure. Henry seemed deflated when I directed the conversation down this avenue. Reluctantly he adhered. “What do you want me to say? I drink. I need it. Can't live without. Don't want to. It helps me ease the pain.” “And you don't think that's contributing to your current problem of being lost?” “Contributing? It's the only thing that's helping. If it weren't for the liquor, I'd have absolutely nothing left!” I felt my teeth grinding at his omission. “But you don't think the liquor played a part in that?” I said. My tone was much more aggressive then I'd have liked it to be. I was sitting up, straight as an arrow, staring transfixed on Henry Price. “No! The drink has nothing to do with it, okay? My wife passed and now my daughter won't even speak a word to me. That's the root of my problems!” “Well what about before your wife passed? Did you or did you not already have issue with drinking?” Henry sat up so that he could turn and look my way. We were staring at each other, no longer hiding behind pretense. “So I like to have a drink every now and then,” he said ruefully. “So what? Everyone does. It's normal, ain't it?” “Normal,” I said my teeth clenched. “Is not consuming a bottle of whiskey a day. Normal is drinking one bottle of beer, not an entire case every single day.” He was shouting now. “You don't get to say what's what! You think you know so much! But you don't! You don't know what it's like to lose a wife and have your own daughter cut you out of their life!” I couldn't take it anymore. “No, but I know what it's like to lose a mom!” I gave him a seething gaze. “And you know what? I also know what it feels like to lose a dad.” “I'm. Right. Here!” He bellowed. “You're not!” I was yelling now, nearly at the top of my lungs. “Don't you dare try to pretend you're you. We both know what you've become and I won't have it! I told you- I told you! You either kick your drinking habit to the curb or never speak to me again.” “I lost your mother! Don't you know how hard this is for me?” “No! You were drinking long before she died. Don't give me that crap! You did this! You did this with your drinking! She's gone because of it!” The shouting match had reached such a crescendo that Ivy had to interrupt our session. She crashed through the door, a mortified look on her face. “W-what is going on here!? I can hear you from outside the building! The next client has excused herself!” We both turned to her and felt her ire cast upon us. Our heads hung low and we both offered a sheepish apology of sorts. “I knew this was a bad idea,” Ivy said. “Your open door policy should not have extended towards family. You should have known better! If you two can't continue this conversation peacefully, then I'm going to have to end this meeting immediately.” Henry-my father-apologized as best he could. “I won't be a bother anymore, I just need to get some stuff off my chest.” “Then keep your voices down.” She said. Before she left, she shot me a withering gaze that told me her message went doubly so for me.
Maybe no human story is unwritten Maybe every single human story is registered somewhere Written by an unknown author, an unknown hand It needs the time to be discovered It needs thr time to be told Each time a story is told the author transfers His story to the reader..... Unwritten stories deserve accreditation... The end
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