Writing

The law of attraction

I attract to my life whatever I give my attention, energy and focus to, whether positive or negative.
– Michael Losier

at high school

“Hi, your sister is at the Catholic University, right? So is my brother. That’s so cool. I guess I’ll try to get there to. How about you?”

“No! No way I’m going to that University. It’s full of snob spoiled rich kids. Yak! Nah. I’ll try the public universities. I want to be with the masses. I’ll NEVER go to the Catholic University!”

four years later…

“Hey, you made it here at the Catholic University too??!!! I though you said you didn’t want to come here…”

” Yeah I know. They were the only ones offering the course I wanted. But I’m loving it!”

at the University, studying to be a translator

“Hi. I heard that localization company is hiring trainees. I’m gonna try. Are you trying too? They’re the best!”

“Localization?? No, that’s boring. I don’t want to spend my days sitting at an office in downtown translating click here, click there. I want to translate novels, work from home on my pjs, and doing super cool books. No, I’ll NEVER be a localizer!”

a few years later…

“Thanks for accepting our offer to work on our localization firm.”

a few more years later…

“Dear you, please find attached the offer to work on our software development company, as a localizer of our biggest product.”

back at the University

“Hi my daughter, how was your day at the University? Made any new friends? Is the translation department close to the engineering one? Oh… It would be so good of you married a nice engineer….”

“Marry an engineer? Eww, mom! No way. Dad is enough of engineer in my life. Nah, nah. I’ll NEVER marry an engineer!”

a few years later…

“Miss Localizer, do you take Mister Engineer be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and health, to love, honor and obey, in good times and woe, for richer or poorer, keeping yourself solely unto him for as long as you both shall live?

“I do!”

a few more years later…

“Hello Localizers team. This meeting is to announce that we won’t be having in-house localizers anymore. So from now on, your titles and jobs are changing to be of Engineer.”

moral of the story:

Never say never.
The law of attraction does not care if you say yay or nay. It will bring you whatever you spend energy thinking too much about…


This post was written based on the prompt The law, from Writer Write’s October prompts.

The image has a Creative Commons license and is attributed to h koppdelaney, and was modified just to add a border.

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Writing

Unwritten

“Oh boy. I’m so happy that we’re together. I’ve been dreaming about you for a long time. So how about dinner tomorrow night.”

“That’d be awesome, but tomorrow I can’t, sorry.”

“Oh, ok. Why not? Family event?”

“Not really. Tomorrow I’ll be having dinner with my boyfriend.”

“What? What do your mean? I am your boyfriend.”

“Yes, you are too. One of them.”

“One of them??? What do you mean one of them? You can not have more than one boyfriend!”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s not right. It’s not accepted.”

“Awnnn… you’re jealous! But that’s ok, honey, I love you too. As much as I love the others.”

“The otherSSSSS????? Others? In the plural? How many boyfriends you have?”

“With you? 4 now.”

“4??? Oh my gosh, girl. Are you kidding me? You can’t have 4 boyfriends. Or 3, or even 2. You gotta have only one!”

“Why?”

“Well…. because you just can’t! That’s how it is! Man, you’re crazy!”

“Yes, baby. I’m crazy for you. So dinner day after tomorrow then?”

“What? Of course not! I love you. I love you deeply, but I want you to be mine and mine only. That’s how it should be with anyone.”

“Nah. I won’t take it like that. If there is a real written rule, you show me. If not, then I make my own rules for my own life.”

“Argh! Ok then. You know what? You’re back to 3 boyfriends now. Bye!”

“Oh boy. One more lost because of the unwritten stupid rule….”


This post was written based on the prompt Unwritten, from Writer Write’s October prompts.

Writing

BFF

Her best friend has moved to a different country, on another continent, at the other end of the ocean.
She passes by the beach and stops to look at that immense mass of water.
She squints her eyes trying to see her friend.
But it’s no use, her friend is too far…


This post was written in response to Sacha Black’s Writespiration #136 52 weeks in 52 words, week 41 and also to today’s prompt BFF from Writer Write’s October prompts.

In the Writespiration prompt we’re supposed to say what happens next, after the picture. I wrote instead about what was happening at that very moment.

Writing

Angels

She saved my life.

She found me laying naked at the woods behind her neighborhood. I was cold and feverish. My back was hurt. 2 big cuts near my shoulder blades.
I had no idea of who, where, when and why I was. My mind was completely blank.
They said it was amnesia and she took care of me. Like a guardian angel.

My memory never came back, but I learned to love her. And she loved me too.
We got married and were very happy. Then she got sick.

It was my turn now to care for her. I did all I could to make her feel better and comfortable at her illness. I gave my life to her. I stopped working, ate just a little, slept lightly so I could hear her calls. It was her turn to call me her guardian angel.

But after some time, her body gave in and she drifted away.
At that very moment I felt a sharp pain on my back, right at the scars near my shoulder blades. The scars opened up and from within something came up.
Wings!
And with the wings, the memory of being sent from heaven to care for her on her illness that was already invisibly starting then.

I looked up and saw her spectral form, reaching her hands to me, calling me to go.
I fluttered my wings and off we went.
Together again, until my next call to earth.


This post was written based on the prompt Angels, from Writer Write’s October prompts.
‘Angels’ was actually the theme for October 1st, but today I decided to switch as I couldn’t come up with nothing worth writing for today’s theme: Rehab. I’ll keep trying and may publish it later (or not ;o)

Writing

The Fire Whisperer

No one knows how the fire started, and even how it stopped. Everything happened too fast.

The village was quiet that night. Not many people on the streets at that late hour. Except by Brandy Brady, the town’s official drunk. The bar had been closed for almost 2 hours, but Brady was still wandering around, talking to the wind, even on that still night.

Then the houses were suddenly set ablaze. First one, then the next, and the next, until the fire had spread throughout the entire village and all the houses became a huge pyre.

People were awekening amidst the flames and trying to escape their houses as not to be burnt alive. It was so fast that by the time the fire department was notified and came, all was finished and consumed by the fire.

No one saw him, except again Brady, but later no one would believe him.

He was sitting at a bench at the other side of the road that circled the village, looking at the fire in deep concentration. His lips moving slightly, as if he could speak with the fire and control it. The flames ran fast bringing everything down with them, turning all to ashes. When they reached the road, right in front of his bench, they went down. Immediately. As if someone had cut the gas on a gas stove.

He got up and walked away.


This post was written based on the prompt Fire, from Writer Write’s October prompts.

Writing

Phones

When I was a teenager, there were no cell phones. We had a landline at home. Just one. Our phone had wires. But not those long ones that you could bring to other rooms. So when in the phone we had to be either in the living room or at my parents bedroom.

At that time there were no computers and little devices with social media. The few computers we would see had old pre-windows systems, with no graphics and a very slow processing speed.

It wasn’t as easy to communicate, you’d say. But we did, and I guess we did well.

I’d be hours on the phone with my friends. Talking about any and everything. I knew them well and they knew me well, even if we didn’t get to know every step each other took, every restaurant we ate at, and how many electronic friends we had.

We were friends. Simply. And we talked. On a time when phones were for talking indeed.

Today I have a smart phone. Can’t live without it. I use it for facebook, instagram, pinterest, kindle, untappd, seesaw, classdojo, linkedin. I also make my grocery lists on it! And take pictures with it! I also chat very quickly and cryptically with people via whatsapp, messenger, skype.*

Oh! And I can also even talk to people!
Wait…
When have been the last time I actually used my phone to talk to someone? Have a real conversation, talk about life’s problems and blessings, tell jokes, tease, flirt?….
hum… let me try to remember…….


This post was written based on the prompt Phones, from Writer Write’s October prompts.

I almost didn’t publish this one today.
To be honest I didn’t like it much. Mostly because it sounds like a statement, and I don’t necessarily agree with what it says.
Yes, there is some truth in it, but I guess the point is a bit exaggerated and fails to see the good things about the smart phones and new communication methods.

But… I didn’t want to skip today, and well, I had a piece written already… So why not make it public? ;o)

* all the brand names used here are trademarks of their respective owners.

Writing

Feathers

As a kid, his favorite dish was fried chicken.
The crunchiness of the outside followed by the tender juicy meat on the inside.

Then he set up his mind that when he grew up he’d raise chicken just to be able to eat them everyday.

On his 15th birthday, he got his first chicken.
It was a gift from his grandaddy, who made him promise he would not eat that one.
Ever.
He could eat her eggs if he liked (and he did like eggs!), but never her meat.
She’d have to live as long as she would last and then be buried in the backyard, next to the coop.

He made his promise and took the chicken home with him.

Three years later, after graduating from high school, he started his business. He bought himself a lots of chickens, build a coop and start raising them to eat and sell.

But the more he eat them, the more he wanted.

And that was what broke him. He stopped selling, so he would consume them all. But his hunger was insatiable, and he ate them faster than they were able to reproduce.

Eventually all was left was him, an almost empty coop and the aging first hen.

He made a promise to his granddaddy though.
So no, not her.
She was to die naturally and be buried.

Another month has passed and with no money and no other chickens, he started to starve. He still had some eggs from the hen, but they were not enough. He became feverish and delirious.

One night, he got up in the middle of the night, not completely awaken, but very determined on his goal. He left the house, went to the coop and took her. It was stronger than him. He worked all night in preparing her and, came morning, he had the best breakfast of his entire life.

It was also the last one.

Right after taking the last thread of the juicy meat, a wind blew around the house, bringing her feathers up. The feathers were swirling around the house, getting in and surrounding him. In his ecstasy he didn’t notice. Thought it was just a dream.
But the feathers kept coming. Much more than the ones he took out of his first pet hen. In all colors and shades and sizes and fluffiness. The feathers of all the chicken he killed and ate.

It was their turn now. They closed in, filling the entire house, spilling to the outside, until he was swallowed by them. Buried alive in a sea of feathers.


This post was written based on the prompt Feathers, from Writer Write’s October prompts.