Friday, November 23

Friday Fables: Asterism Part II

Dear Blog,

This is the second section of my very first Friday Fable. I hope it meets your expectations. But for now, please sit back and enjoy!

Right now. He remembered. But then again, Mr Dewitt would certainly always do so. How couldn’t he? Her nightmares were quite frequent. And they were always the same. Always. But alas, he never even knew what they were about. He deserved to, though! She was his own wife! However, all she ever told him was that they were simply about things with no importance- at least not anymore, anyway. She always insisted that he shouldn't worry about it, yet he always found there was a great difficulty when trying to ignore her bad dreams, especially when she would wake screeching and drenched in cold sweat. And then there was that word. What was it again? It was ‘answer’, wasn’t it? Oh yes, ‘answer’. She was always muttering it in her sleep, so poor Mr Dewitt heard it all the time. Even on those rare nights were she wouldn’t wake up wailing. It was always there.


Mr Dewitt was practically dragged by his teary-eyed superior to his private office at exactly once minute before nine o’clock. My, my -bankers are even punctual when dealing with unscheduled distractions? How convenient. 
But of course, at that precise moment, Mr Dewitt didn’t know what was the matter, and even if he did, he would have never thought about his boss’ punctuality. However, the important thing is naturally what this news consisted of. And it is guaranteed that it is not pleasing. On the contrary, Mr Dewitt will be, without doubt, entirely lugubrious and dejected.


“No! No! It can’t.... It can’t be. No...” 
“I’m afraid so, Mr Dewitt. Your wife has... gone to a better world. I am deeply sorry. I took the liberty of telling you the news myself, I thought that if it came form a police the shock could be greater. Please, if you ever need anything, do not hesitate to come to me. You have always been a very faithful employer. I insist. It’s the least I can do.”
If this had been an ordinary day, Mr Dewitt would have been touched by the compliment he received, but he wasn’t in the mood for that now. And he had the right to be!
“How... how did... How did she...?” Mr Dewitt spoke in barely more than a whisper, clinging onto every one of his unfinished words, as if fearing for his own dear life- even though it was his wife’s which had been lost.
“Ah. Certainly. Well, the police suspect that it was a suicide,” his superior spoke in a rush, avoiding to look directly into his eyes.
“A suicide? Impossible! But she was one of the most lighthearted people I had ever met! Why would she? How?”
“Yes, yes. I understand. She was quite the damsel, wasn’t she? Shame, really. And it isn’t quite just that.”
Mr Dewitt raised his watery eyes when his boss stopped and gestured him to carry on.
“The officer I spoke to said they’re calling it the most tragic suicide of the century. She was found in your bedroom. Stabbed her own wrist with some scissors. And the door was locked from the inside. I am so sorry. Terribly sorry. Really. Why don’t you take a leave for the rest of the week?”
Mr Dewitt finally blew his nose after hunting for his handkerchief in his coat pocket. He was quite downcast already, and the news of having to leave his job for the following four days seemed almost impossible. In spite of that, to avoid any disagreements with his boss, he agreed and began to leave with his pale, frowning face looking more sulked than usual.
“Oh. I nearly forgot!” his superior called after him, making him halt to a stop “She was found gripping a hole-punched card with the letters ‘J  OK ER’ printed on it. How queer, don’t you agree?”
With that, he turned back to his desk and Mr Dewitt- not exactly the best husband in the world- let out one last snivel, soon to temporarily forget about his young wive’s death until his arrival at home.

To be continued...

Friday, November 16

Friday Fables: Asterism Part I

Dear Blog,

Sorry I took so long to post it. But here's my first ever Friday Fable, which I had earlier promised. It is going to be a mystery story composed by short scenes that all have breaks consisting of an asterism. Thank you, sit back, and enjoy.

She was close to crying. He could tell by the short, quick breaths on the other side of the line. Hyperventilation was something he had warned her about. He knew it always gave her away. But she never listened. Not that it would come to any use, anymore, now that she had turned sides. Against him. He never was used to that idea. Not even now.


Mr Dewitt wasn’t what you would really call a very diverting individual. Entertainment was clearly never his talent, but not many came to question themselves wether he was or not, as most people that surrounded his life were just as dull. Too dull to care. This is what you tend to expect from bankers, is it not? And -from his bold scalp hidden under his bowler hat to the tip of his freshly polished, gleaming shoes- he seemed like the perfect stereotype for one.

Mrs Dewitt -formerly known as Miss Lamb- was in fact the complete opposite. She was born to host guests, specially at a formal gathering. Why they got married, no one knew, but many found themselves contemplating the example of the perfect, ordinary day newlywed couple. Some, on the other hand, just wondered if it was real love and tried to guess what they were thinking at the very moment, which was what Mrs Dewitt was doing precisely as she spied her husband walking down the road through her parlor window. Off he was to work, again, as usual. She had no invited acquaintances that morning, so she guessed she would continue reading her current novel and wait until the evening, when Mr Dewitt would return to resume sitting at his usual spot by the fireplace smoking pipe tobacco and reading the stock market section in the newspaper. She sighed, meeting the soft touch of her armchair as she slowly began to descend into it.


Mrs Dewitt turned towards the sound of the opening and closing front door. Had her husband returned home from work early today? He rarely ever did so, as he greatly enjoyed it. He would even embrace the opportunity of having a late shift when his boss offered him one.
“Darling, is that you?” she tried again.
Faint footsteps were coming nearer. She recognized them at once, her blood stopping cold. How could this be? Of course, after what had happened this was surely expected, yet she still couldn’t manage to believe what she was hearing.
They came closer. So close. Until they reached the closed door that lead to the master bedroom, where she rested on the bed reading a novel, where they stopped. And then, ever so slowly, the door knob began to turn until the door was wide open.
Her gaze immediately dropped. She knew that if she raised her eyes, she would be met by that familiar gaze again.
“How nice of you to stop by,” she said, without showing any trace of emotion on her face, as she felt like dying in the inside.

To be continued...

Tuesday, November 13

In memory of Olivia Toubkin.

Dear Blog,

To live in the hearts one left is not to die.
-Thomas Campbell

There are times when life seems to be incomprehensible and mysterious. Now is one of them. You see, dear reader, my very own English teacher passed away silently on the night of Sunday 11th November. Miss Toubkin was a very special teacher to me, and she always will be.
It came to me as a shock. After lunch time on Monday, the whole school and teaching staff were lured into the hall, where our headmistress broke the tragic news to us. Many, many of us gently weeped at this point. Of course, I had only met her earlier this year, yet from the start I knew what a rare, extraordinary sort of woman she was. I'm not even close to feeling what the poor pupils who knew her for years did. I also simply cannot imagine how hollow their stomachs must feel; how heavy-headed they've become; how sorrowful they felt when they experienced that, that day.

Miss Toubkin was also my Creative Writing Club teacher, so, quoting the words of my friend and companion from the club, "We had a special bond with her and knew her in a way no one else in the school did". She was a mentor to us. Evidently, this also meant she was a supporter of my blog. Indeed, it hasn't been standing for long, but she had offered me a place as 'head blogger' for an exciting project about a school blog she wanted to create in the future. Unfortunately, she never had the chance.

She was unlike any teacher I'd ever met. And I'm not talking about only school matters. She suffered from a condition similar to achondroplasia- but this didn't mean that she wasn't tall. She always held her head high. Whenever I passed her in a hallway and shared a quick smile, I would immediately noticed that she would shine above all others standing by. She didn't only teach me grammar. She taught me about self-respect. Few people reach a point in their lives were they feel the same way she did about themselves. And not only did she reach this point one time, but she lived through it every day. At any moment.

She really was truly remarkable. It doesn't take you long to realize this, if you ever met her. I just wish she could have gotten to know me more. Gotten to know how I looked up at her. How she was highly respected by all.

Rest in peace, Olivia Toubkin. Rest in peace.

Until next time,
An Aspiring Author - Lit by the Curved Teardrop of the Crescent Moon

Friday, November 9

On being organized when blogging.

Dear Blog,

Having a blog is a great responsibility, as many bloggers reading this will know, which requires a lot of organization. As I am a blogger with less experience, I have not yet accomplished my goal of finally having perfect management for my blog. That, however, is hopefully going to change presently.

Having a fresh, new design is the perfect occasion to try to start anew on some blog matters, and modify others slightly. I therefore decided to introduce a schedule for my story writing.
I am not a person with many writing habits, unlike most of the bloggers and authors I've heard of and so, if I want to be productive and get somewhere, I must push myself to offer more to the public. For now it will be an experimental, not permanent, adjustment to this blog. If it suits my very own timetable and pleases the reader, by all means, I will most definitely make it stay. But lets not worry about that, shall we? For the time being, I'm just giving it a go.

Once I add them, which will be on the following Friday 16th November, they will be called Friday Fables. I hope the reader finds this a satisfying name. If they do not, I very amiably welcome them to suggest another. Friday Fables. Friday Fables. Friday Fables. Yes, there's a ring to it. Don't you think so?

Oh! Before I bid you farewell, I must deeply thank any reader who is kind enough to post a comment on any of my posts. They make my day! If you've never posted one but enjoy reading my stories, then please do! I would really love to hear what you have to say! Dear reader, you cannot understand how pleased one or two comments I find can make me. They really do make my day.

Until next time,
An Aspiring Author - Lit by the Charming Figure of the Crescent Moon

Wednesday, November 7

Surprise, surprise.

Dear Blog,

I deeply regret how I have not posted anything in the last few months. What was it? Four months? Five? To me, it seemed like an awfully long period- almost like an eternity. I am greatly sorry, dear reader, and I hope to not make mistakes such as this is the near future.

The important thing is that if you are reading this, it means that you have visited my blog, which means that you have already noticed my delightful, pristine blog design. This wouldn't have been possible if it weren't for Dana from Wonder Forest who is an exceptional and truly unique blogger and artist. She really is something. I never, ever thought I would be sitting here with a marvelous and remarkable blog staring back at me from my screen. I simply cannot say how thankful I am for her. She is, by far, one of the greatest bloggers to be found in the whole cyber world. So, thank you very much, Dana. Truly.

[Taken from here, on her blog] The one and only Dana. 

Until next time,
An Aspiring Author - Lit by the Unbelievable Power of the Crescent Moon