Beware The Wolf

Daily Prompt: Brilliant Disguise

Tell us about a time when someone had you completely fooled, where the wool was pulled right over your eyes and you got hoodwinked, but good. Was it a humorous experience or one you’d rather forget? What was the outcome?

~*~

“Lots of people puff themselves up to be more than they are, Manda,” cautioned aunt Sally to her young niece, “it’s born of a deep insecurity; a need to be noticed. You want to watch out for those.”

Twelve-year-old Manda nestled deeper into her hammock and stared blankly into the spectral light that filtered through the rustling leaves of two adjoining maples. It was her favourite thinking place, and she loved it even more when her beloved aunt Sally sat in the rocking Muskoka chair close by and shared her stories.

“Do you have a story you can share to show me, aunt Sally?” Manda asked as she sat up and rested on her elbow, hope beaming from her eyes.

Her aunt thought for a moment. There were too many stories; too many wounded souls who’d pulled the wool over her all-too-trusting eyes. So much hurt. So much pain. Which of these stories could she share without overwhelming the innocence of her beautiful niece?

“Well?” Manda was getting impatient.

Sally smiled weakly. “Well, indeed,” she chided. “You need to understand, Manda, that the world is full of wolves in sheep’s clothing. People who are not what they seem and hide their pain under a clever, often unconscious, disguise. You must learn,” she warned, “never to allow another person’s pain to become your truth. Promise me?”

“I promise,” confirmed Manda, “but do tell me a story, if you have one.”

Sally took a sip of lemony iced tea, so cooling on a hot and sticky summer day, and settled more deeply into her rocker. The rhythm of its gentle sway bringing comfort as she wondered what to share.

“Well, I had one friend … and I use the term loosely … who, well,” Sally felt tongue-tied. She had no wish to lay bare old emotions caught up in past pain. “Look,” she changed tack, “the people you want to watch out for are narcissists.”

“What’s a narciss … whatever that is?” Manda asked, confused

“Narcissist, sweetie …” corrected Sally.

“Narciss … ist …” repeated Manda, still uncertain.

“Narcissists are people who make the world revolve around them at the expense of others. Every conversation; every activity; every experience you have with them will be about them, and if it doesn’t start out that way it will most certainly end up there. They make big gestures based on fantasy; they make promises they never keep; they take what they need without asking at the expense of others and give no thought to its impact on those they offend. They don the mask of perfection so that no one will see the unpleasant truth and they always appear better than everyone else in some way. They take up so much room, and take up so much light you dwell constantly in their shadow and are barely able to see yourself … .” Sally gasped for breath, memories of unveiled wolves suffocating the moment.

Manda jumped from her happy place and knelt beside her aunt’s chair.  “Aunt Sally, please don’t be upset,” she pleaded.

Sally gathered herself. “Ah, you’re a good girl, Manda, but even in your concern for me don’t make my pain yours. You will have enough to contend with in your life.” She paused, “Just remember, Manda, that the surest way to protect yourself from these people is to have a strong sense of self grounded in reality. By all means, have your self-esteem, but never at the expense of others because then you rob them of theirs.” She ushered Manda back to her happy place in the hammock and continued. “This is what narcissists do to you, Manda,” she counselled, “they grab all the attention in the room and take you for all you’re worth and then, when you no longer serve their purpose or they see that you are wise to their ways, they dump you in a heap of pain … their pain. They can never own it, or deal with it, so they spread it around to make themselves feel better … and others feel worse.”

Sally remembered a supposed mentor, an equestrian coach who, when it came down to it, had no one’s interest in mind but her own. Not even the horses’. She cringed at the memory of too-tight side reins the coach had put on her young horse during a training session. At the time Sally had trusted this person to know what they were doing. However, it soon became all too clear that her coach was nothing more than a blow hard when the distressed horse sat down, with Sally on him, and fell over within a few steps of the equipment having been adjusted. Her coach took no ownership of her mistake, solidly pointing the finger at Sally and the “stupid horse.”

The humiliation of not recognizing then what an energy-sucking vampire her coach had been, and the fact she’d allowed herself to be victimized by her for a further four years still hurt in far off places in Sally’s psyche.

“Aunt Sally … where are you?” Manda called her aunt back to the present.

With a shudder Sally returned and smiled awkwardly. She took another sip of her almost-finished iced tea. “Oh, I am sorry,” she offered. “I don’t know if I’m being helpful at all, but let me offer one more thought on the matter.”

“What’s that, aunt Sally?”

“As long you are true to yourself and pay attention to how people make you feel when you are with them you can never go wrong. Some people are only happy when those around them are miserable. If you feel miserable in someone’s company; if they bring out the worst in you; if they abuse your friendship or must be the centre of attention all the time, don’t walk … run! For sure as I’m sitting in front of you today they won’t care if you’re unhappy as long as you make them feel better … in whatever meaning that has for them.” Sally paused for effect. “Always pay attention to how you feel in the presence of another. Understand what your body is saying to you when you feel a pit in your stomach, or your bowels start to churn or …” she stopped. “Goodness me, dear, too much information. … Let’s put it this way. How do you feel when you’re with me?”

“I feel excellent! Happy! Loved!” Manda responded with the exuberance of youth.

“Good,” Sally responded, “let this be your guide wherever you are and whoever you’re with. If you feel anything less than this, leave them to their misery. Will you do that for me?”

“Oh, yes, aunt Sally … for you anything.”

“Lovely … now let’s get some more iced tea.”

~*~

Thanks for visiting …

Dorothy

©Dorothy Chiotti … Aimwell CreativeWorks 2015

Nectar to Hummingbirds

Daily Prompt: The Kindness of Strangers

~*~

“It was such a long time ago,” Sally mumbled sadly to herself as she gazed through the window to a hummingbird hovering by a feeder which hung there.

“What was, Aunt Sally? What was so long ago?”

Young Amanda flopped down on the sofa next to her favourite, albeit only, aunt, and wrapped her arm around hers. She was pretty astute for a 12-year-old. Some thing, some memory, had loomed in her beautiful aunt’s expression that she just had to understand.

“Why are you sad, Aunt Sally? I don’t like it when you’re sad.”

Sally grabbed her niece’s hand and held it tight. She loved her Manda; an old soul full of youthful vitality. Such a gift … and such a burden.

“Don’t grow up too fast, sweetie.” Sally released Manda’s hand and attempted a smile. “And enjoy every blesséd moment, because they go by so fast.”

“Are you thinking of any moment in particular, auntie?” Manda asked, curious.

Sally sighed. “Yes, yes I am.” She turned to face her niece, and smiled. She should share it.

“When I was 21,” she began, “I was engaged to be married. It wasn’t a particularly happy engagement. I cried a lot. He was a good man, but not good for me. So, two weeks before the wedding after a particularly angry series of telephone conversations, I called it off and fled to Toronto.”

“You were a runaway bride?” Manda interrupted wide-eyed, her imagination running away with her.

“Yes, I was a runaway bride,” Sally confirmed with a wry smile. “I left everyone, everything I knew behind. Your aunt Ruby, my mother, was left to tell everyone what had happened and to send all the gifts back. Return the dress. Cancel the cake. What a mess. But I didn’t know any of this so absorbed, was I, in my pain and loss and suffering. I’d run far away to escape; to search for something, somewhere, else where I might be happy. Truthfully,” she paused and sighed, “I was probably searching for my self, at the time, but I just didn’t know it.”

Manda gave her aunt a quizzical and concerned look.

“Don’t worry …” Sally reassured and patted her niece’s hand. “It was a terrible time in my life. I stayed with my father, your uncle Joe, with whom I had no relationship at all, as you already know. He lived in a 20th floor apartment in the suburbs. I hated it but had nowhere else to go. He offered me a sort of safe haven until I could get my feet back on the ground, something I couldn’t do fast enough. It took me two weeks just to find my bearings. It was the dead of winter and colder than I’d ever experienced. I rarely left the apartment. My diet was Edam cheese and hot pickles. I watched a lot of Young and the Restless. I was not myself.”

Sally turned again to gaze beyond the bay window looking out to the pretty pond surrounded by willows. Manda sidled closer and rested her head on her aunt’s shoulder. She loved listening to her stories.

“Eventually I found work downtown as a secretary in a brokerage. Dreary really, but it gave me the income I needed to start saving for a place of my own. Then one day,” Sally’s expression brightened a little, “I was walking north on Yonge Street from King, on my way to the bank to deposit my pay cheque. I wasn’t that happy. The amount was less than usual because some extra deduction had been taken. Woeful thoughts of living the rest of my life in my father’s second bedroom haunted me. Anyway, as I walked a sporty red convertible with a couple of cute guys in it drove by. I noticed it only because it was quite different to all the other cars … okay, yes, those two young men sort of caught my eye, too.” She giggled at the memory and Manda giggled with her. “But they drove on their way and I continued sadly on to the bank to make my deposit, and that was that … or so I thought.”

Manda hugged her aunt’s arm tight. “Then what happened?” she asked, eagerly.

“Well,” her aunt continued blank faced, “I was walking along the busy street back to the office, still feeling pretty low. Lonely. Unloved. Sorry for myself, I guess,” she sighed, “when that red convertible pulled up beside me. The two young men were trying to get my attention. I thought they needed directions … not that I could have helped them, of course, being so new to the city myself.”

Manda released her aunt’s arm and pulled herself out of the sofa to rest on its edge. Her eyes were bright with query. “What happened? What happened?”

A big, beaming smile curved across Sally’s lips as a tear of happy remembering pooled in the corner of her right eye.

“I wandered over to the car and asked the fellow in the passenger seat, who’d been trying to get my attention, if I could help.”

“And?” Manda could hardly contain her excitement.

“He gave me flowers.”

“He what? Really? He gave you flowers?” Manda asked, astonished.

“He gave me a flowers … a variety, if I remember correctly,” Sally mused.

“Did he say anything?”

“Yes he did, actually,” Sally became thoughtful. “He said, ‘You are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen and I want to give you these flowers.'”

“Really? He said that?” Manda shrieked with such enthusiasm she almost fell off the sofa.

“Yes, he did,” Sally assured while grabbing Manda’s arm and pulling her back into the sofa. “Really, Manda, you must be more careful.”

“I’m fine, auntie.  … Then what happened?”

“Well, needless to say I was totally overwhelmed. The thing I needed perhaps more than anything at that time ~ some positive assurance that I wasn’t invisible ~ had happened out of the blue at the hand of a stranger. It was such a wonderful moment.” Sally sighed. “I could barely say thank you before the flower fella and his co-conspirator had driven off never to be seen again.” Sally paused and reflected, her eyes closed, her hands gently resting on her lap. “I was on Cloud Nine that whole afternoon. I felt seen. Felt alive; lighthearted; wonderful. For a little while life felt good again. And I felt beautiful.”

“Oh auntie, what a lovely story! But how did they know to find you when you were walking back from the bank?”

“Honestly, Manda, I don’t know,” Sally puzzled. “I have no idea how the timing of that worked and believe me I have thought about it often. How did they know I was going back that way? How did they know? I still don’t know, but I’ll tell you one thing …”

“What’s that, aunt Sally?”

“Life is full of little miracles if we will only pay attention to what’s going on around us. Even in our really dark moments someone somewhere … and maybe even a complete stranger … will do something randomly kind like that, something that will bring sunshine into our lives when all around us feels cloudy.”

“Are there many people like that out there, auntie?”

Sally thought for a moment. “Be a kind spirit, my Manda, and like nectar to hummingbirds you will attract kind spirits in turn.”

“Is that why you were given the flowers?”

Sally reflected, “Who can say, darling? Who can say? Now, come on … let’s make some of tea.”

~*~

Thanks for visiting …

Dorothy

©Dorothy Chiotti … Aimwell CreativeWorks 2015

Something Normal

Daily Prompt: A Dog Named Bob
You have 20 minutes to write a post that includes the words mailbox, bluejay, plate, syrup, and ink.
And one more detail… the story must include a dog named Bob

~*~

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Abby growled as she grabbed a clean plate from the dishwasher for her freshly toasted waffle. “Pass me the syrup, will you … please?”

Martin sighed and hobbled to the fridge to take out the maple syrup. “What do you mean? It’s all a matter of opinion … or taste,” he winced. “I simply don’t like cold syrup on my waffles. It tastes horrible.” He handed her the sticky bottle and heaved himself back on the bar stool upon which he’d been perched.

“Well, I’m afraid you’ll just have to warm it up yourself,” she said forgetting how wobbly he was. “I’ve just realized I need to pick something up from the mailbox. A notice was left at the door yesterday that the package I’ve been waiting for has finally arrived.” Abby showed Martin the notice. “Will you look at that? You’d think the post office could afford to use indelible ink. It’s so faint as to be almost illegible!”

Her fiancé gave the piece a once-over and growled. Not about the running ink, but about the fact he had to warm up his own syrup.

“Are you going, then?” he asked Abby who’d become distracted by a bluejay flitting and flying around the bubble rock in the back garden.

“Pardon?”

“Are you going to the mailbox or can I live in hope you’ll look beyond yourself long enough to be able to heat up some maple syrup for me? You know I can barely move with this torn calf muscle.”

Abby rolled her eyes and smiled apologetically. “Well, that’ll teach you for trying to play a shot you have no business making after years away from the game. Why take up tennis now? Can’t you do something normal … like dog walking? That’s great exercise at our age.”

“You know I don’t have time for a dog of my own right now.”

“But your older neighbour, Mr. Samuels,” she defended, “has a dog … you know the one … a mutt named Bob, of all things, … and needs help walking him occasionally. You could do that … on the weekends. I’d even come with you. I love dogs!”

“Then why don’t you walk him?”

“We’re not talking about me. I have plenty to be getting on with. You, on the other hand, need more exercise that doesn’t involve you throwing yourself across a grass court and getting injured in the process.” Abby paused in an effort to appear thoughtful rather than nagging. “Once you’re walking better you might approach Mr. Samuels to see if you can help him with Bob. He’d probably appreciate that.”

“Who? Mr. Samuels, or Bob?”

“Both, I dare say …” Abby grinned and made a beeline for the front door.

Without thinking Martin poured cold syrup onto his hot waffle and reluctantly admitted to himself that Abby was probably right ~ that he had overextended himself. At 51 he was no longer a spring chicken and should probably limit himself to more casual physical pursuits. Golf wasn’t so bad as an option. Neither was walking the neighbour’s dog.

“Abby, where are you going?”

Abby stopped, sighed and turned to look with affection at her deflated fiancé.

“To quote the great Gloria Pritchett ~ and I thought we still had a few years until the mind started to go.” She smiled, “Here … let me make you a fresh waffle and heat up your maple syrup first before I pick up my package.”

~*~

Thanks for visiting …

Dorothy

©Dorothy Chiotti … Aimwell CreativeWorks 2015

Broken

Daily Prompt: Childhood Revisited

Sure, you turned out pretty good, but is there anything you wish had been different about your childhood? If you have kids, is there anything you wish were different for them?

~*~

“You ask such loaded questions,” Valerie reacted with a hint of chilliness in her voice. “I’m not sure I want to go there.”

“I don’t mean anything by it,” Adam tried to explain innocently. “I just want to get to know you a little better, that’s all.”

Valerie shuffled in her tippy seat at the small cafe table situated on uneven paving stones and stared off into the distance. How could she tell this new lovely man in her life, with whom she’d already been so defensive, that her childhood had not been perfect. That emotional isolation and abuse had formed her and that every day she lived with the self-imposed shame that someone would find out. She took another deep breath and turned her attention back to the eager young suitor sitting opposite.

“Please forgive me, there are just some aspects of my life I’m not willing to share with you. Not yet anyway.” She curled her lips into a pout and took a sip of coffee. “We don’t know each other well enough for me to feel comfortable showing you …” she hesitated. Was the very thing she didn’t want to demonstrate about to reveal itself if she completed this spoken thought.

“Yes?” Adam looked into Valerie’s big, brown, softening eyes that both pleaded for and rejected empathy.

Valerie pinched her lips together and finally decided to take the direct route.

“Look, my childhood was troubled. I practically raised myself emotionally which is why I can be so volatile sometimes. So, if you wonder if I wish my formative years had been different I would say yes. I wish I’d had at least one emotionally stable adult in my life on a consistent basis. One I could trust. That would have made a huge difference. As it is, I’m in my 30s and still find myself floundering my way through stuff that should be really straight forward.” Trembling, she took another sip of coffee and looked him straight in the eye. “I have found that once I open myself up in this way men usually leave.”

Adam sighed. Clearly Valerie was a beautiful, yet complicated, woman. They were only on their third casual date but there was something intriguing about her, and even this obviously difficult revelation on her part could not dissuade him from pursuing her.

“You must think me shallow,” he observed sadly, his gaze never wavering. “But I assure you that as long as you’ll give me a chance, I’m not going anywhere.”

Valerie’s shoulders dropped, all tension seemingly released. She smiled weakly and struggled with her words.

“You must promise me one thing, Adam. … One thing … ”

“Yes, Valerie. Anything.”

Valerie considered for a moment. Was this a man worth giving a chance? There was only one way to find out.

“Okay, Adam, you must promise me you will always be a man of your word. That you will resist the temptation to make promises you cannot possibly keep, and never give me cause to doubt you.”

Adam watched the emotional machinations at work in Valerie’s face even though she was trying so hard to hold back. The twitching corners of her lips; the tears welling up in her eyes and spilling into pools in her mascara-laden eyelashes. Here was a tender soul searching for something he knew he could give ~ emotional strength and stability born out of love. Yes, he already knew it was love, but he had no intention of scaring her with that notion. It would wait.

“Valerie, I know we’re just starting out in our relationship,” he paused as she discreetly blew her nose and dabbed gently at the corners of her eyes, “but I want you to know that there is nothing I want more than to be a source of happiness for you. I understand you more than you know and I’m also aware, from my own experiences, of what it takes to allow yourself to be vulnerable to another. I will not abuse the trust you put in me. I promise.” Adam reached across the table for her hand and Valerie allowed him to take it.

“Thank you, Adam,” she smiled. “And I will do my best to … to be open with you. I promise.”

After a contemplative moment of silence Adam had a suggestion.

“Want to blow this popsicle stand and check out the fair in Schomberg? I hear there’s cotton candy.” He smiled widely, his eyes inviting her to step back in time and free the broken child.

Valerie’s own eyes brightened.

“Oh yes, let’s go!”

~*~

Thanks for visiting …

Dorothy

©Dorothy Chiotti … Aimwell CreativeWorks 2015

Green-Eyed Misery

Daily Prompt: Green-Eyed Lady

We all get jealous from time to time —
what wakes the green-eyed monster for you?

~*~

“Will you look at that?” Rodney swooned as a Signature Red Tesla whizzed by down the boulevard. “What I wouldn’t give to get my hands on one of those babies. I’m so envious of that guy. He must be rich, or something.”

Sasha watched the object of his affection round the corner and disappear. “I used to be envious of others,” she said absently as Rodney began to calculate out loud what he’d have to forfeit in his life to afford his dream car.

“I test drove one, you know,” he smiled in memory, ignoring her. “Smooth as butter with a rocket booster. I want one so bad I can hardly stand it. It’s just eating me up inside.”

“And that’s why I gave up being envious,” Sasha said aloud to the unhearing. “I got tired of focusing on such negative energy. By all means, if you want one go for it, but don’t envy someone else for what they have. You don’t know what kind of sacrifices he needed to make in order to buy that car. Not everyone who owns a horse, as they say, is rich.”

Rodney stopped his ruminations. “Sasha, what are you saying? Don’t you ever wish you had something that belongs to someone else? Don’t you ever feel envy?”

Sasha thought for a moment before responding.

“Of course I do. But I don’t dwell on it. I don’t like what that feeling does to me.  When that green-eyed monster rears its ugly head I want to lop it off, impale it on a spike and do the happy dance. I don’t like harbouring this negative beast. I need those waters for more buoyant vessels.”

“Man, you’re so poetic when you speak. I envy that in you.”

“Rodney!!! Do you even hear yourself? Have you not heard a single word I’ve said?” Sasha barked stopping in her tracks on the busy street. Rodney stopped with her. “Don’t envy me,” Sasha demanded. “Uncover your own poetry. The energy you waste on envy could be used to help create the very circumstances you need to manifest your dream ~ be it a car or a single poetic line of thought. I don’t want to feel the burden of your envy, it destroys my ability to enjoy what I have because you make me feel guilty for having it.”

“But I don’t mean it that way,” he defended.

“Of course you don’t, but even as flattery it carries a bad vibe.” Sasha hesitated, not sure if she wanted to take this to the next level. But then she recalled past misery in the arms of her jealous first husband and decided it was time to set things straight before this relationship went any further. “I won’t marry a jealous man. I’ve already been down that road and I won’t go there again.” She twisted the diamond engagement ring on her finger and shuddered.

Rodney’s thoughts stumbled. “Are you … serious?” he finally said, tripping over his words while looking into her forthright, steady brown eyes.

“You know I am. We’ve been together almost two years. When have I ever lied to you? My integrity is not in question. What’s in question is why you are so insecure about your self that you have to lust over what doesn’t belong to you.” She exhaled. “Look, Rodney, I love you, and I do believe we have a future together. However, if you can’t curb that green-eyed monster lurking in there,” she poked at his chest, ” we shall have to re-think this relationship. I’m not sharing my heart with a monster. Monsters squelch all joy, all happiness. I will not travel that road again … not with you; not with anyone.” Sasha turned away and let out a deep sigh. “A little self-awareness goes a long way, Rodney, and I’m beginning to sense you don’t have as much as I thought. This isn’t an ultimatum, but you need to think about your next step, because I certainly am.”

And, feeling a sad confidence, Sasha walked away leaving Rodney, and his green-eyed monster, in her wake.

~*~

A bit of free-writing here.

No two ways about it … the green-eyed monster is an expert at dispensing misery.

Thanks for visiting …

Dorothy

~*~

©Dorothy Chiotti … Aimwell CreativeWorks 2015 

Hair Everywhere

Menagerie

Do you have animals in your life? If yes, what do they mean to you? If no, why have you opted not to?

~*~

Animals have always been an important part of my life. I grew up with a variety of dogs and cats in the house, and was around horses for many of my formative years.

In fact, I cannot imagine my life without them.

Well, I can, because for a few years during my first marriage to a man who didn’t particularly care for animals (that should have been my first clue) I lived without animals. No cats to purr in my ear. No dogs to wipe their wet noses on my business clothes. No horses to whinny at me when I walked into the barn.

Our home was spotless, pet hair-free and dull. I was miserable.

When my mother gave me a kitten, Oskar, for my 32nd birthday, my husband was mortified. When we moved into our new home and I rescued a kitten, (Princess ~ so named because she came home the weekend Princess Diana died) to be a companion for Oskar, that caused even more grief.

Needless to say the marriage ended (for a variety of reasons) and I got custody of my precious feline friends who kept my emotional head above water during a really turbulent time.

And that can be said of all the animals I’ve inn my life. Through thick and thin they are there … all they ask in return is that I give them love, feed their tummies and keep a roof over their heads. They are amazing companions.

I love them dearly for all they are to me and my new husband.

Interesting story about this one … when we were dating the animals were smitten. It wasn’t uncommon to see him park himself on the couch and immediately be surrounded in little animals. I couldn’t get anywhere near him.  This was a sign to me that he was a keeper.

So now, we have a house sprinkled with dog and cat hair, and I smell of horses every single day.

I couldn’t be happier …

Thanks for visiting …

Dorothy

~*~

©Dorothy Chiotti … Aimwell CreativeWorks 2015

The Language Broker

 Daily Prompt: Take that, Rosetta!

If you could wake up tomorrow and be fluent in any language you don’t currently speak, which would it be? Why? What’s the first thing you do with your new linguistic skills?

~*~

“You mean I have to choose … just one?” Sadie sat with her arms folded, a pout kissing her rouged lips. “But I’m travelling all over Europe, and I need to have every language if I’m going to do it properly. I want to buy the complete package of languages, please.”

Jorge, the language broker, understood her frustration. He’d seen it all before. Intrepid travellers strutting into his little language shop wanting the complete language package but not understanding how it worked.

“Look,” he responded with all charm tinged in Spanish melody, “The complete package comes one language at a time. You cannot buy them all at once. It is too overwhelming. You will need to pick a country … a language.”

Sadie sighed. Perhaps she was biting off more than she could chew. She looked in her purse and pulled out a treasured, tattered map of Europe. How long had she wished to travel to its many richly textured countries and savour its culinary delights with the advantage of knowing each of its many languages.  The language broker’s magical powers would make it possible, yet not as she’d imagined.

“If I buy a language from you, you can guarantee overnight delivery ~ however it is you do it ~ and it’s mine for life?”

“Yes, this is so,” Jorge, a master of languages, confirmed.

“And I will be fluent?”

“Si.”

“And then I can come back at a future time and buy another language exactly the same way, and it would be mine for life as well?”

“Again, this is so.” Jorge smiled. “You can have as many languages as you wish, but I cannot give them to you all at once. Information overload, you understand.”

Sadie was, indeed, beginning to understand. She really wanted to soak in all there was to experience in the many countries on her bucket list, but perhaps she had been thinking of going about it the wrong way. Her life was about travel now. She had all the time in the world. Why shouldn’t she take one country, and language, at a time and truly savour all it had to offer.

“Señor Jorge, you have helped me to see the light,” Sadie smiled in return. “I will, in fact, only invest in one language at this time, since it is mine to keep forever and I can add others in the future.” She reached into her wallet for a credit card. “You say your language impression code takes only a couple of hours during sleep to implant and is completely harmless?”

“Completely,” he assured.

“Any other people around when it happens?”

“You may have as many people in the room as you wish,” Jorge detected a hint of vulnerability. “You need not worry. My methods are non-invasive and restorative. You will feel better when you awaken then you did before you slept. A whole new world will open up to you. Now … what is your language of choice?”

Sadie felt a conflict of nations roaring inside her, but knew in her heart what she wanted.

“Italy, please. I want to speak Italian.”

“Italia ! Buona scelta. Posso andare avanti subito. Amerai l’Italia ei suoi tesori di storia e molti e bei luoghi.”*

“Huh?”

Jorge smiled. “Tomorrow you will understand.”

He reached for her credit card.

~*~

Yes, Italian would be my language of choice. I would love to listen to Italian opera and understand what’s being sung without English subtitles. Not to mention I love the country, its food and its history. How many more reasons do I need?

Grazie per la visita …

Dorothy

©Dorothy Chiotti … All Rights Reserved 2015

*Italy! Good choice. I can get on that right away. You will love Italy and its history and many treasures and beautiful sites.

The Writer

Daily Prompt: The Show Must Go On

If you were involved in a movie, would you rather be the director, the producer, or the lead performer? (Note: you can’t be the writer!)

~*~

“Cut! … What do you mean I can’t be the writer? Isn’t that the role the lead performer … and that would be me … is playing in this epic tale of the lost alphabet?”

“Huh?”

“Look … the script clearly shows that the lead performer plays the role of a writer searching for a lost alphabet deep in the heart of … well, you know all that, but I wish you’d get your other facts straight. I’m playing the part of distinguished wordsmith, Avery Happirighter, so I do believe she must be able to write?”

“Yes, of course, but you’ve misread the prompt. You can’t be the writer of the movie, you are the writer in the movie.”

Write old change“But if I’m the writer in the movie don’t I have some say in how the story is going to unfold? I mean, I’m a writer in search of the lost alphabet. Isn’t that going to require some writing?

“Yes … but not of the story. The story is already written. You are merely acting the  lead role of the writer.”

“Sure … so I’m the writer.”

“Yes.”

“But you’ve just told me I’m not allowed to be the writer.”

“OF THE MOVIE!!! (sigh) … You’re the writer in the movie.”

“So that means I can write.”

“In the movie.”

“Why didn’t you just say so?”

“I did.”

“I don’t recall it.”

“A few sentences ago. Now please, can we get on with you being the writer … in the movie. … From the top … “

“What am I doing again?”

“Searching for the lost alphabet.”

“I thought I was supposed to be writing.”

“You are … a writer searching for a lost alphabet. You don’t actually write anything … at least not at the beginning.”

“So, why don’t you just cast me as the writer who hires an adventurer to seek the lost alphabet so I can keep writing. Is Harrison Ford available?”

~*~

I had fun with this …

Thanks for visiting,

Dorothy

©Dorothy Chiotti … Aimwell CreativeWorks 2015

Lies

Daily Prompt: Whoa!

~*~

“I don’t understand you. What are you saying?”

The delinquent one stares me down with vacancy in his eyes. It’s as if I’m looking at a ghost; an empty shell of a man I once knew who is no more. He’s returned following weeks away studying for his masters degree. It’s Christmas break, and my birthday, and he’s made this haunting pronouncement.

“I don’t know if I love you anymore. I don’t know if I’ve ever really loved you.”

The world I know is crumbling beneath my feet.

“What? What do you mean?” I clutch the bannister for support.

“I haven’t thought about you at all while I’ve been away. You don’t mean anything to me anymore.”

Now the room is spinning.

Five years! Five years of my life; my heart; my devotion given to a man who doesn’t know if he’s ever really loved me. My knees wobble. What is happening? After all that I’ve done. All that I’ve sacrificed. What have I been living? An illusion? Did I marry an ideal and not a man?

“I can’t be here,” I mutter to myself. Brush past him and run upstairs. Slam the door to our room, throw myself on the non-marital bed. He’s been home two days and detonated a bomb of lies in my heart. I am blown away by his deceit. My carefully protected world falling in shrapnel pieces about me.

A torrent of pain floods the plains of my face as my mind spins with the surreal knowledge I am not loved. Not loved by a man who’d said for years he’d loved me.

Lies!! All lies ~ the memory of which tears at what’s left of my broken heart and plunges me into an abyss of despair the depths of which cannot be measured.

And he’s so not worth it.

~*~

In my experience life appears surreal after some kind of shock, good or otherwise, to the system.

I’ve known both. This fictional rendition of a real event is the first that came to mind.

Thanks for visiting …

Dorothy

©Dorothy Chiotti … Aimwell CreativeWorks 2015

 

Gelato Fantasy

  Daily Prompt: 32 Flavours

~*~

Gelato Fantasy

Vari-coloured gelato

Tempting every taste bud.

What to choose?

Wha’d ever you want!

It’s a vacation.

It’s Venizia …

On the Calle dei Fabri …

A minute from our hotel.

Gelato twice a day.

Molto bene!

Molto delizioso!

Nuff said!

Yummmmmm ….

~*~

Honestly … ice cream will never taste the same again.

Dorothy

©Dorothy Chiotti … Aimwell CreativeWorks 2015