Tag Archives: roses

Finding the impossible True Love | GBAMLOG.COM

Paris watched Blaise as he slept. He was a restless one alright, even in sleep.
There was a faint frown on his face, like he was solving a puzzle. Maybe
teaching advanced calculus in the university would do that to you.
She traced her finger from his temple to his jaw. He stirred and caught her
hand. He kissed her palm and pulled her close. As she snuggled against him,
she felt it was the best time to broach the subject she had been agonising
over in the past few weeks.
“You have classes today, don’t you?”
“Hmmm,” he replied, holding her tighter.
“You have classes. That means you need to go home and change.”
“Not for an hour or so,” he responded, caressing the love handles by her side.
That was one of the things she loved about Blaise. He never complained about
her recent weight gain.
“You know you could save yourself the trouble of running back and forth by
moving in.”
There! She’d said it and it wasn’t so hard to do. She and Blaise were both 31
and taught at NYU, she in Physics, he in Mathematics. They’d met at a cafe on
campus and had been dating for a little over a year, with him often sleeping
over at her flat close to the Greenwich Village, Manhattan campus. The first
time was when she invited him over to celebrate their one-month anniversary.
He lived in an efficiency apartment on campus and always went back to his
place the mornings after their nights together to show up bright and early at
the Courant Institute where his office was located. Every single time.
This is the story of a young woman’s pursuit of love and emotional healing.
CLICK TO TWEET
Paris had hinted that he leave a few clothes at her place but he didn’t. So she
bought him some, hoping with those he’d spend two or three days at a row in
her place. But he packed them back to his apartment and continued his
practice of spending a night with her, then skipping two or three nights before
showing up again. The raw situation reminded her of the saying, “You can take
a horse to the stream, but you can’t force it to drink.”
Paris wanted more but Blaise wasn’t giving it. So she decided to make the
offer that she just did. There never seemed to be a right time to talk about
commitment with Blaise which was really what she yearned for. And her
immediate past relationship had taught her not to assume anything with a
boyfriend. But his silence now proved that Blaise didn’t like her suggestion.
“I do need to get going,” he said, rolling away from her and off the bed.
That stung like a slap. She wasn’t going to pretend she wasn’t hurt. Blaise
stood up and began to put on his trousers.
“I just made a suggestion, Blaise.”
“I heard you.”
“And?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I don’t think it’s a good idea.” He wore his shirt and began to
button it.
“Why?”
“Can’t you guess? You’re a smart woman, Paris. And besides, now is not the
best time for this conversation. I need to get home and prepare for work.”
“No, I say we have this conversation RIGHT NOW!”
Blaise became annoyed at her insistence. “Fine,” he said, sitting on the bed to
wear his socks. Paris came around to face him.
“I love you, Blaise. Why can’t we be together?”
“We are together, Paris.” She noted that he didn’t echo her love declaration
and he called her Paris, as he always did. “I just don’t want to lose my own
life. I gotta have my own space.”
“I don’t understand. We have 750 square feet of space in this flat. You can
have as much personal space as you need.”
“It’s not the same thing. I’m perfectly satisfied with the arrangement we have
now.”
“Well, I’m not. It’s either we’re together or we’re not.”
“I can’t give you what you want, Paris; I can’t go beyond what we have now.”
Blaise stood up and slid his glasses on.
“I think you’re selfish and afraid of commitment.” Paris was on the verge of
tears.
“And I think you’re needy and clinging.”
“I thought we were good together but I guess I was wrong.”
“Watch what you say before you have to eat your words when this blows
over.”
“You’re such an arrogant pri#k! I think you should leave now and never come
back.”
“Get over yourself, Paris. Why would I want to come back? Next thing I know,
you’ll be begging me to marry you.”
“Get out at once!”
“Gladly!” Blaise declared, slipping on his shoes and picking his blazer from
where it hung in the closet and leaving.
The moment he left, Paris dissolved into tears.
That would be the fourth man to walk out on her. What am I doing wrong?
Why can’t I get them to stay? I just want to get married. Why do I keep
hooking up with all these commitment phobes?
Blaise said I’m needy and clinging. How is that a bad thing? Shouldn’t a man
love a woman who makes him feel so important, whose life seems to revolve
around him? All this is so confusing. I think I’m just not cut out for this
dating game.
She remembered what she had been taught when she was growing up.
“Your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit. … Flee youthful lusts. … Pursue
holiness without which no man shall see the Lord.”
She really believed and practised that stuff till after her graduation from
college. She had been a typical book worm in school and had made a clear 5-
point average, which earned her an academic position in her alma mater and a
scholarship to do postgraduate studies in Europe. She ended up at Uppsala
University in Sweden, where she got a teaching position for additional funding
and pursued a doctorate degree in theoretical physics.
Opting to study abroad deepened her loneliness and her inability to cope with
it drove her into the arms of one of her professors, Katz. She began to
fantasise about settling down in Sweden and raising a family with Katz, only
for her to wake up one morning and learn he had accepted a position in
Norway. He left a note apologising for letting her down. She was young and
beautiful, so she would find someone else soon, he had assured her. (Katz
was twenty years older than her.)
Sex is not a guarantee of longevity or commitment in a relationship.
CLICK TO TWEET
Then there was Gilberto, the Italian painter she had met during a trip to see the
city she was named after. Just when she had finished rehearsing the speech
with which she would invite him to go back to New York with her, he
preempted her by saying he was going back to Italy, to join a monastery!
Upon getting back to New York, she decided to avoid the artsy crowd and go
with more cerebral folks. But a romance with a marine biologist, Chad, lecturing
at a community college in Brooklyn fell through. She discovered he was
married and confronted him. He said he didn’t know singleness was required
in their relationship and that he still loved his wife. Paris wanted to ask if he
didn’t mean to deceive her, why he hadn’t mentioned his wife in the two years
they’d been together. But she decided it was too late – pointless. She later
learned his wife was a fashion model and constantly travelling. No wonder the
guy could come and go as he pleased. She also recalled that he never invited
her home, claiming that the view of Washington Square Park from her place
was therapeutic.
And finally, Blaise! Charming, handsome, funny, smart, Blaise! Blaise didn’t
know his family. He was raised in an orphanage, same as herself. Although
they were taken into foster care as adolescents, they didn’t build close
relationships with the families they had been placed in. Paris had assumed
she’d found a kindred soul and together, they could heal each other. But while
being an orphan made her crave love, it had the opposite effect on Blaise. He
embraced his aloneness and maintained superficial relationships with others.
Their differences actually ran deeper. Paris grew up in a church-run orphanage
and always had a deep longing for God. She accepted Jesus as her Saviour at
the age of ten. Blaise, on the other hand, mocked her religion and told her to
grow up, implying that to him, belief in God was an infantile notion.
All Paris was looking for was love. She felt if she got a man who loved her,
she would rededicate her life to God and begin to serve Him well. She didn’t
think she stood much chance of finding an interesting guy in church. The
church folks she knew from her childhood were “stuffy”. But as she wept over
the disastrous way her romance with Blaise had ended, it occurred to her that
she had been disobedient to God all along. She was living by her own rules
but that didn’t make her actions right. She had been seeking love and
happiness but she had only found heartache and pain. It was time for her to
retrace her steps. She needed to get back to who she was before she travelled
abroad. She needed to quit the dating scene. She needed to allow God to take
over the saddle of her life once again. His love was superior to any other. It
was what she really needed and in time, if He willed, she would have the love
of a man under the right circumstances.
It is best to seek emotional healing in God, not in the arms of a fellow human
being.
CLICK TO TWEET
As she was about to kneel beside her bed in prayer, her cell phone rang. It was
Blaise. Paris was confused. Should she pick the call? What did he want? She
didn’t want to fool herself into thinking Blaise would apologise. Even if he did,
what would it actually mean? He certainly wouldn’t be granting her request. If
he did, he would resent her in the long run. He could only want to restore the
status quo, which would mean hurting her again in the near future. But all this
is conjecture. I really don’t know what he wants.
Much as she loved Blaise and was very curious about why he called, she
decided it wasn’t nearly as important as what she was meaning to do. It was
harder than she imagined (not just ignoring his call but giving Blaise up) and
she succumbed to another bout of weeping. She knew the tears would still be
flowing intermittently for weeks, maybe months. But for the moment, she
pulled herself up from the floor to kneel by the bed and find her way back to
God.
-The end-
Ⓒ Edith Ugochi Ohaja 2018

She Made Me feel Love Again | GBAMLOG.COM

Once, I caught sight of how women deserve to be loved. I carried an old
lady’s shopping bags up a staircase in an underpass. She thanked me and
timidly asked me to help walk her to her house. She told me she was in a
rush because her husband waited to meet her whenever she went outside. As
we approached, I saw a nearly blind man walking with a cane outside of the
lady’s house. He came up to us and took his beloved’s heavy bags from me.
I immediately recalled how often I was too lazy to meet my girlfriend on the
way home from the supermarket or from the train station.
I lost my leg when I was 19. I was dating a girl at that time and we were very
much in love. After a while, she suddenly decided to move abroad, claiming
that she wanted to earn some money for us. I wanted to believe her, but was
convinced that she was lying. I told her we needed to break up and that it
would be better for her. One month later, my doorbell rang. I took my
crutches, opened the door and there she was. I didn’t even manage to get a
word out before she slapped me and I fell down. She kneeled down beside
me, hugged me and said, “You’re an idiot! I didn’t run away from you. We’re
going to the hospital tomorrow and there’s a prosthesis waiting for you. I
went abroad to earn money so you’ll be able to walk again — do you
understand?” I was so overwhelmed with emotion that I couldn’t utter a
single word — I just hugged her tightly and cried.

Romance Tragedy: “DON’T YOU DARE CRY FOR ME” | GBAMLOG 

Don’t You Dare Cry For Me

By Genesis

“Don’t you DARE cry for me. You understand me?” Liam took my chin in his hands. He stared into my eyes. He could tell that I want so badly to cry right in front of him. And yet, I couldn’t. I couldn’t because I knew if I did, he’d die hating me. I didn’t want him to leave me feeling the same way when we first met; angry and alone. I wanted Liam to leave me with happy thoughts. I want him to close his eyes forever with a smile spread across his face like peanut butter. I wanted Liam to die laughing so that his final memory before he leaves is us.

But in my mind, I knew this could never happen. I knew Liam could never be happy. I knew he could never die with happy thoughts. I knew he couldn’t die with a smile spread across his face like peanut butter. I knew he could never die laughing. I knew all this because he wasn’t the one dying.

I was.

I was the one lying in the hospital bed. I was the one who’d been stupid and gotten sick in Minnesota. I was the one who was gonna die angry and alone because I couldn’t help Liam. I couldn’t be there for him. I couldn’t make Liam happy. I couldn’t do anything anymore because I was the one who’d leave Liam the same way I found him; angry and alone. “I can’t promise you that, Liam. You know I can’t,” I turned my head away from Liam. I couldn’t let him see me. I couldn’t let him see me cry and yet, he squatted down next to me. He placed his calloused hand on my shoulder.

I shuddered at his touch. “Look at me. Lia. Look me in the eyes and tell me you won’t cry for me,” he told me not to cry for him. He told me to be brave and to look fear in the eyes and say “No.” Liam grabbed my chin once more and turned me to face him. “I’m sorry.”

Tears ran down my face. The salty tears stung my eyes. I could feel it in my nose and taste it on my tongue. My face was red and I’d felt flustered. My eyes were as red as an apple. My head was hot and it hurt to breathe. “I’m sorry, Liam. I really am. I’m so sorry…,” Liam tucked me away in his arms. I could feel his heart beating against my face. The reassuring thumps pounding from his chest calmed me down a bit. Enough for me to give Liam a chance to speak his feelings.

“Lia, did you know that when we first met in Minnesota, upon the waterfall, you were the first thing I saw? You were down in the stream while I was at the top. I was a pretty sad and lonely kid back then, so when I saw a face in the middle of the woods, I was shocked. I didn’t know anyone would be out there during the winter. But you were. You were there but… you were alone. You were alone in the middle of the woods clueless about the dangers of being in that scenario. And yet, you didn’t scream. You didn’t cry for your parents. You didn’t worry or panic at the time. Instead, you stayed calm.

“That’s why I don’t want you to cry for me. You can’t cry for me. Because I’d you do, I’ll cry too. I’m sorry, Lia that I couldn’t give you a happy life. I knew how you felt. I knew you were feeling miserable, but I couldn’t do anything. I didn’t do anything. I let you fall and I left you there because I thought you were going to die. I didn’t want it to seem as though I killed you but, I guess in a way I did.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t help you in school when you were being bullied. I spent so much time focused on my life, I didn’t look into yours. When I first moved to New York, I didn’t know anyone. I had no friends or anyone I could talk to. You came to me looking to be my friend and I pushed you away. You asked me to the school dance a few times but I rejected you. You even asked me to join you and Kori every now and then but I shot you down. Then, when we went on the trip back to Wisconsin, I relived that moment when were kids and let you fall from the cliff.

“I made your life a living hell and all you did was care for me. When I found out who you were, it was too late. You were in the hospital and I had no idea. When I did learn of your condition, I came every day but you didn’t know because you’ve been in a coma.

“I know I’m not the best person in the world, but I’d like to try. I like to have a proper introduction with you. I want to dance with you every day. I want to go out with you and Kori and all of our friends. Maybe just you and me sometimes. I want to travel the world with you and protect you with my life. I want to be there for you. But the one thing I don’t want to do with you is cry. Because I know if we cry together, it means one of us is sad and I never want there to be a day when you’re sad. Never.

“I love you that much.”

“I love you so much. I don’t even care if you don’t love me back because the thought that you are even alive makes me happy. So please,”

Liam took my head in his hands and planted a kiss upon my lips…

“Open your eyes…”

…it didn’t matter, though…

“…for me…”

…because I couldn’t feel it…

“…please…”

…because I was dead.

The Sweetest Surprise CHAPTER 1 | GBAMLOG 

Sweetest Surprise by Cane

There is an event being held at only one school, where once a year, all the lights in the city are turned off at night for a couple of minutes, and everyone is forced outside of their comfort zone. During this time, anyone can do anything to anybody without anyone finding out.

It’s 7 PM at the moment. The venue is gorgeous; the ceiling, pitch black with little blue bulbs which are lit up like stars. In the center, there is a huge chandelier that gives off a dull glow. Beautiful tables are scattered along the room,excluding the stage. Everything would have been perfect if my friends didn’t ditch me. Wonderful, right?

We girls are all wearing gowns or cocktail dresses, while the boys are dressed in expensive suits, with matching bow or ties. This night would go along much better if I had a date. Oh well, at least my best friend, Gail is happy; flirting with her so called boyfriend. She happily smiles at my direction as I walk over.

“Angelina, don’t give me that look, I’m sorry for not accompanying you,” she looks at me with pleading eyes. I roll mine at her.

“It’s okay, be happy with your boyfriend,” I say sarcastically, emphasizing the word ‘boyfriend’.

Suddenly, Gails boyfriend -Rease- contributes into the argument. “Are you jealous of Gail not being with you, or are you jealous of me being with her?” he mocks.

Once Rease started going out with Gail, he changed. We all know how terrifying it would be if she found out that Rease is going out with other girls. In short, he is afraid of my best friend. He is such a coward. I let out a smile, and remember that he had the nerve to tease me.

I stare, shooting daggers at him. Then he laughs. “Get out of here and get your own date, so you won’t be lonely anymore. And if you don’t find a date, I’m here. I can date two girls at the same time,” he chuckles and winks, as Gail slaps him on the shoulder playfully.

“If you dare to,” she starts. “Then I wouldn’t have a choice but to leave you dead cold in the middle of the street,” she grins then starts to laugh.

“No babe, we both know you won’t do that, you can’t resist me.” he pouts.”Aww, you’re so cute.” she leans into him giving him a peck on the lips. I jokingly cover my eyes at them being lovey in public place. I then slap the back of Rease’s head.

“Hey you two, no PDA here! God, you’re so embarrassing,” After my remark, they both laugh.

“You’re just jealous, admit it already,” he teases me again.

I sigh. “Okay okay, if that will make your mouth shut. I will leave you two now, it seems like you want me out of here anyway.” we laugh.

While I give them space, I walk to the catering and look at the food. As my eyes wander among the tables of entrees, my mouth starts to water. I decide to eat now, since there’s no way I would ask a guy:

“Would you be my date? Because I don’t have a date,”

That would never happen, it’s far too embarrassing. That’s why I should eat everything in plain sight. There is still is an hour before the party starts. I need to find my other friend, Russel. I cross my fingers, hoping he is still dateless.

“Hey there, Angel,” well, speaking of the devil. I smile as I turned around to see him.

“Hey-” I stop when I see him with a girl, and my smile turns into a frown.

“Why didn’t you tell me you have a date?” I raise my eyebrow as I question him. He’s with a girl who is quite pretty, wearing baby pink dress falling above knees, hugging the shape of her body matching her silver heart shaped necklace.

Surely, Russel knows how to pick a girl.

” I just met her, her name’s Trisha. Where is your date, Angel?” he asks me suspiciously.

I start panicking. “I don’t know, I think my prince’s late, well he didn’t really ask me I think. Okay I’m not going to lie, I need to find a date. What should I do Sel?” I whisper at him. I could tell he sees the fear in my face. as he looks at the students scattered around the venue, everyone seems to have a partner.

“Well good luck, Angel. You look beautiful tonight, I’m sure you’ll find your prince. Sorry I can’t be your partner,” he smiles and kisses me on the forehead. Well, my friend is naturally sweet.

I couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks Russ, go enjoy your time with Trisha, she’s your date right?”

“If you need me I’m there,” he points to bar beside the cater. The bar has various types of drinks: pop, juice, and even tea.

“Ehem Ehem, mic test,” The principal says while holding the microphone, and standing is the small stage. “Our party is now starting!” All of the students scream happliy “Let’s start with my very long speech,”

We all grumble in unison, which made us all laugh, including the principal,

“Just joking. I want to thank you all for coming to this event, this is a celebration for upcoming valentine’s day, yes tomorrow will be the day, I want to thank my wife for taking care of me, for loving me with all your heart, I love you, and always be in love with you,” As people start to lose interest, he quickly to wraps up. “Students, enjoy this party, I made this for all of you, for my wife, and for all the couples there.” The principal in his mid thirties. Young and handsome, wearing simple white tuxedo. We all cheer as he takes out a bouquet of flowers and gives it to his wife sitting at a table.

“Wow sweet.” I said bitterly. I still don’t have a date, and everyone is slow dancing right in the center of the hall. How can I be the only one who doesn’t have a partner?

Suddenly, someone taps on my shoulder. I look in their direction, and see a pair of green eyes. I Immediately know who the owner of those eye are. “Sel? Why are you here? ” I ask, confused.

“Can I have the honor of this dance, my lady?” he takes out one of his hands.

I step closer. ” Where’s Trisha?”

“Don’t worry, she didn’t ditch me, she said we should dance with our friends and later we would meet up again,” he smiles.

“So, would you be my dance? Angel?” he says with his unrealistic British accent. He’s wearing red polo inside his black coat with matching green necktie, which made his beautiful emerald green eyes sparkle. I am wearing a red and black sweetheart dress that matches his outfit perfectly .

“Yes mister British,” we laugh. I then I take his hand, and we go to the dance floor.

We talk about the memories we share during our childhood: the amount of embarrassment we caused, and all of the fun we had with Gail, Hans, Raven, and Sean.

“Come to think of it, where’s Sean now?” I ask Russ. Sean was the one who always bullied me. Not the typical kind of bully, he is more verbal; always insulting me: my looks, failures, and many imperfections I make. You think I would ditch him, but he was very nice if he put his mind to it.

“He went to France two years ago. Remember?” he points out like it is the most obvious thing in the world.

Why didn’t Sean tell me? Am I the only one who didn’t know?

“Don’t tell me he didn’t tell you?” he says, startled. “That’s why you couldn’t come that day, when we sent him off in the airport,” I’m so shocked, that I am unable to even mutter a word. “He said you’re sick. Angel.” Russ finishes.

I don’t feel well now. “Russ, lets meet later,” I say, distantly. “Dance with Trisha now, I’m going to bathroom.”

(Play the song here===>)

I retreat from his sight. I’m more than confused. Oh my God, Sean didn’t tell me anything, and he is one of my childhood friends. As I was franticly keeping calm, I heard a click sound, and my sight was gone. God, already? I am still in the dance floor, and I don’t have any plans to be kissed by a stranger. Yet, I don’t see anything, and I don’t know which way I should go.My mind went blank, when someone suddenly grabs me. He places both hands on my waist. Once I realize he wasn’t letting go, I wrap my arms around his neck. The song is still playing, and I am starting to believe it is a wonderful night. I don’t even know who this guy is; yet I won’t say anything, since he might recognize who I am, which would ruin the magic. I sway with the mysterious man, feeling bubbly inside. He smells like expensive cologne, which is very addicting. When the song stops, everything started to happen in slow motion.

I felt his breath fanning in my lips, and in a second maybe, before he starts kissing me. I was frozen still, savoring the minty yet sweet flavor of his lips.”I missed you, Angel,” he says in a whisper. His voice was unrecognizable. I can feel my body is slightly shaking

Romance Classics : GIFT OF THE MAGI | GBAMLOG.COM 

 

ONE DOLLAR AND EIGHTY-SEVEN CENTS. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one’s cheek burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty-seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas. There was clearly nothing left to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating. While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it cer tainly had that word on the look-out for the mendicancy squad. In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name ‘Mr. James Dillingham Young.’ The ‘Dillingham’ had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to $20, the letters of ‘Dillingham’ looked blurred, as though they were thinking seri ously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above he was called ‘Jim’ and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good. Delia finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She stood by the window and looked out dully at a grey cat walking a grey fence in a grey backyard. To-morrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn’t go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Some thing fine and rare and sterling – something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honour of being owned by Jim. There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Per haps you have seen a pier-glass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art. Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. Her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its colour within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length. Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim’s gold watch that had been his father’s and his grandfather’s. The other was Della’s hair. Had the Queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty’s jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy. So now Della’s beautiful hair fell about her, rippling and shin ing like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet. On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out of the door and down the stairs to the street. Where she stopped the sign read: ‘Mme. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds.’ One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, pant ing. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the ‘Sofronie.’ ‘Will you buy my hair?’ asked Della. ‘I buy hair,’ said Madame. ‘Take yer hat off and let’s have a sight at the looks of it.’ Down rippled the brown cascade. ‘Twenty dollars,’ said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised hand ‘Give it to me quick,’ said Della. Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim’s present. She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation – as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jim’s. It was like him. Quietness and value – the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain. When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends – a mammoth task. Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, closelying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically. ‘If Jim doesn’t kill me,’ she said to herself, ‘before he takes a second look at me, he’ll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do – oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty-seven cents?’ At seven o’clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of the stove, hot and ready to cook the chops. Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment. She had a habit of saying little silent prayers about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: ‘Please God, make him think I am still pretty.’ The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two – and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves. Jim stepped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face. Della wriggled off the table and went for him. ‘Jim, darling,’ she cried, ‘don’t look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold it because I couldn’t have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It’ll grow out again – you won’t mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say “Merry Christmas!” Jim, and let’s be happy. You don’t know what a nice – what a beautiful, nice gift I’ve got for you.’ ‘You’ve cut off your hair?’ asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labour. ‘Cut it off and sold it,’ said Della. ‘Don’t you like me just as well, anyhow? I’m me without my hair, ain’t I?’ Jim looked about the room curiously. ‘You say your hair is gone?’ he said with an air almost of idiocy. ‘You needn’t look for it,’ said Della. ‘It’s sold, I tell you – sold and gone, too. It’s Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered,’ she went on with a sudden serious sweetness, ‘but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?’ Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year – what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on. Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table. ‘Don’t make any mistake, Dell,’ he said, ‘about me. I don’t think there’s anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if you’ll unwrap that package you may see why you had me going awhile at first.’ White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat. For there lay The Combs – the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshipped for long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoiseshell, with jewelled rims – just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone. But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: ‘My hair grows so fast, Jim!’ And then Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, ‘Oh, oh!’ Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit. ‘Isn’t it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You’ll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it.’ Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled. ‘Dell,’ said he, ‘let’s put our Christmas presents away and keep ’em awhile. They’re too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on.’ The magi, as you know, were wise men – wonderfully wise men – who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the unevent ful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days, let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. Of all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.

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Horror Reality: THE CELLPHONE | GBAMLOG.COM 

A couple of months ago, my friend’s cousin (a single mother) bought a new cell phone. After a long day of work, she came home, placed her phone on the counter, and went watch to TV; her son came to her and asked if he could play with her new phone. She told him not to call anyone or mess with text messages, and he agreed.

At around 11:20, she was drowsy, so she decided to tuck her son in and go to bed. She walked to his room and saw that he wasn’t there. She then ran over to her room to find him sleeping on her bed with the phone in his hand.

Relieved, she picked her phone back up from his hand to inspect it. Browsing through it, she noticed only minor changes such as a new background, banner, etc., but then she opened up her saved pictures. She began deleting the pictures he had taken, until only one new picture remained.

When she first saw it, she was in disbelief. It was her son sleeping on her bed, but the picture was taken by someone else above him… and it showed the left half of an elderly woman’s face.

HAUNTED HOUSE EXPERIENCE | GBAMLOG.COM 

Caution:This is a true story. Read at your own risk.

My nightmare started like this.

I was driving my car on a deserted street in some little beach town. It was the middle of the night. A storm was blowing. Wind and rain ripped at the palm trees along the sidewalk. Pink and Yellow stucco buildings lined the street, their windows boarded up. A block away, past a line of hibiscus bushes, the ocean churned.

Seeing a strange deserted house made me obsessed to explore it. My senses told me not to enter,but I overcame my fears and drove to its drive-way not knowing what the house comprised of, there was a haunting atmosphere. I was curious to know what’s inside the house so I got out of my car. The gravel path crunched under my boots, I went up the stair case and through the portal like doorway, It felt like I was in another but horrifying dimension. As I proceeded, I heared strange noises. I saw writings on the walls and even heard childrens laughter and footsteps through out the living room. Doors were slamming shut by themselves and even the music player which I thought hadn’t been played for years was playing a strange horrifying music.The house was haunted as I deduced; I saw webs all over the place and even saw shadows moving.

The wall’s natural colour was grey, I deduced, but now It was red, covered with blood. The house was very dark and gloomy. The furniture was covered with white cloth but now the white colour had become yellow with age. The carpets had dirt and blood stains on, The curtains were drawn and had gaps in them, the moonlight had managed to peek through the ratty curtains. As I saw a shadow come near me, I tried to swallow, but my mouth seemed drier than the Nevada desert. The shadow came even closer, as I saw it touch me, I closed my eyes with dread and fright, as I managed to open my eyes, I saw the worst sight of my life, The shadow was so close I could feel and hear it breathing, it breath was stinking, I held my breath as long i could, as a dog barked outside the house, The shadow rippled and vanished, as it went it touched my forehead and I fainted, the last thing I saw was, DIE, written on the wall. When I woke up I was on the floor and had blood on my face.

I heard screams and saw monsters, after a while a moster came running towards me.I sat bolt upright shivering in my bed. There was NO STORM, NO MONSTERS. Morning sunlight filtered through my bedroom window.

I thought I saw a shadow a flicker across the glass – a humanlike shape. But then there was a knock on my bedroom door. A fifth-storey window with a rickety old fire escape… there couldn’t have been anyone out there.

My door knocked again and the familliar rippling of a shadow startled me…..

The Knock became a bang and suddenly my bedroom door was crushed into pieces and I could see the same monster infront of me. It rushed towards me and he looked at me for a while and then held me up. In no time he squezed me and I was no longer alive.

What if you were there? What if you saw a strange deserted house? What would you do? Because I Think Your Next.

The End?

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Short Horror Stories – A Haunted House – Wattpad
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