I've known the story of Miss Havisham for years but this is the first time that I was taken into what her life was like in the last hours before she would learn that she had been jilted--even giving some explanation as to why this jilting might have taken place.
You wonder why the groom couldn't have told her sooner than their wedding day--but better, I guess, than going ahead and marrying her when he had doubts.
Doing it by messenger seemed rather cowardly.
I would be the last person to tell somebody to get married when his/her heart wasn't in it.
Other than their having their two wonderful sons and how she was able--in her princess role--to make a lot of positive differences, it would have been better had Diana and Charles not gotten married.
I hope that the heir and the spare will be encouraged to look for true love, even if true love meant not ending up with a thoroughbred.
What a beautiful tribute to your grandpa! It makes me want to know more about him! I hope that writing these words down about him has provided at least some healing.
My maternal grandma passed away in 1943--almost ten years before I was born.
My maternal grandpa in 1959 on my first day of first grade. When I heard of children coming home from school on September 11, 2001 and finding parents and other loved ones missing from their lives, I not only had sympathy but, also, empathy.
My paternal grandma passed away in 1973 after a courageous fight with cancer. I became very depressed that year. Other factors figured into that, but having my grandma to pass on at that particular time certainly didn't help.
My paternal grandpa passed away in 1982 about 3 1/4 months after his 90th birthday due to a quick attack of pancreatic cancer. I remember one of the last things I did before they closed the casket after the funeral was to plant one more kiss on the wen on his forehead. When Mawsie was still here, I used to tease Pawsie about that wen and ask him if Mawsie had hit him with a rolling pin.
It's been many years, but I still miss them (even my maternal grandma, because I feel as if I know her).
Sometimes, I have dreams of Heaven, and they're there.
I had a dream about Heaven just last night. I can't remember too much about it except that it just felt good being there.
But it also felt good to wake up today to all of the exciting things awaiting me.
Be sure to include something about Medusa and her sisters. I always felt sorry for them because they had their heads cut off because they were ugly.
That's even worse than the bullying and taunting that kids face today if they're "different" in some way.
I remember that I asked my mom one time why my aunt was blind, and she told me that it was because she was born that way.
When I read the story of Medusa who had her head cut off because she had snakes in place of hair, I asked why she had her head cut off for that when she was probably born that way.
Spooky story of people with their own personal struggles who had no idea that those struggles would be coming to an eerie end before the morning of August 7 was over.
Gave me goosebumps on my goosebumps.
There might be places where you might want to tighten up this story some, but it's, overall, sound--and certainly effective!
This is beautifully-written and gives me a much better understanding of what you believe.
Of course, I already knew that the Europeans didn't have the corner on the market when it came to Jesus--and neither did The Holy Land nor The Roman Empire.
When Native Americans refer to the Great White Spirit, they aren't referring to some God figure with a paleface complexion--at least, I don't believe so.
Instead, they were blessed--perhaps, during the three days that the earthly remains of Jesus rested in the tomb--to view Jesus as He had become on the mountaintop during the transformation and as people see Him during near-death experiences.
Keep on talking to Jesus! You'll never regret continuing this fellowship that has been stripped of the manmade mysteries under which you first got a glimpse of Him through dark glass in your younger days!
Interesting picture painted by a late, great lady--the line about the bread untouched by someone thin spoke volumes.
The homeless man is thin, too--but being thin, obviously, means something different to this man than it did to the person leaving this partially-eaten dinner in the trash can.
This man--thin from malnourishment--survives on what the body-conscious thin-by-choice person has discarded for fear that it might cause a weight-gain.
Why was the trash container acting as the middleman? Why didn't the privileged person realize that a portion of lunch unwanted was made for sharing with another person while it was still warm and tasting its best?
This poor, old soul must have been around 60 years old.
As I followed his story to the end, I kept hoping to find some twist or turn that would make his life better, but it never seemed to come.
Perhaps, the next chapter lies beyond the last work on this page, and each reader still has the opportunity to wonder--and draw his/her own conclusions re: what happened next and what the old man in the robe had to do with it all.
Mostly, we are left to grieve with this poor, old soul over what could have been.
He saw the wife and kids he'd never get to have, and, in the townspeople, he saw their lives going on--lives with futures.
It was never even mentioned what he did to get to where he now is--it's just that, somehow, he got there.
This is a haunting story that will stay with me for ages.
This story took place in a time when the execution of a common man was just like a routine of the garbage being taken out.
There were no news stories telling about his family or giving accounts--complete with even baby pictures--of what his life was once like.
He didn't even have his own grave--more like being tossed into a trash container.
A very interesting story! You certainly seem to be very perceptive about your life. Just keep on being yourself and finding out just who you are, what you need, etc.
Then, you'll truly be ready for a real relationship.
There's no "magic" age to find that person and settle down. There isn't even a requirement that you even find that person and settle down.
Tell yourself, "I am Melissa! I am complete and don't need another person to complete me! I'm determinded to have the goal of being the best Melissa I can be!"
You might like to consider taking a test where you answer questions and, using the information you give, the results of this test will give you several suggestions for jobs/careers.
Try on a job for size. If it fits, keep "wearing" it. If you find that it doesn't fit, then, make preparations to "try on" a new one.
I wish you the best and look forward to reading more of your writings!
First off, welcome to WDC! I hope you'll find lots to inspire you here--not to mention hoping that you also will feel free to share here what has inspired you from elsewhere.
After and during reading this, I feel this kind of chilling draft--which might be because the wind is whipping around the house and a draft might be somewhere, but I don't think so. Instead, I think that the chilled feeling comes from what I'm reading and all it represents.
Having never been there, I can only imagine within limits what all was going on with the main character--yet, your telling of the story made me understand enough to feel chilled.
You don't speak of superficial cuts but, instead, cuts penetrating enough to sever bone and expose the marrow.
There is a sense of going through a neverending cycle of fog and twilight while drowning in blood--a sense of the heroine's live spiraling more and more out-of-control when an act (cutting/self-mutilation) she once had control over has now taken on a life of its own.
This one aspect of her life is also taking over her entire life as well.
When I began reading this story, I was going to advise you to divide it up into paragraphs to make it easy to read--but that would make it too choppy.
This way, it kinda hangs together and plods along into its uncertain future.
That's an interesting concept...meeting someone here...managing to screw it up bigtime (or, at least, screwing it up enough to make the relationship too much to handle)...eventually, getting reborn and meeting again to do things better.
There's an entire romantic story in there somewhere, imo.
Interesting...I'm not sure what I am. I think I'm a teacher. Anyway, it certainly describes what I find on forums many times in some places. Here at WDC, I find the forums to be pretty civil.
I can turn into the princess from time to time when needed--such as when a couple of people who, obviously, didn't know what to do with themselves wrote comments at YouTube calling this one little girl who was dancing on this tape ugly and untalented. I told them both that their babysitters would catch them on their Mommies' computers soon and put them back in their playpens.
It reminds me of the people leading up to me and how I want to make them proud, as they're passed their batons on to me!
Although I've never had children of my own, I've been a second parent to many, and I'm always happy to hear from them how I've been a good influence on them.
This young brave is having that wonderful feeling of sensing parts of his grandpa in him!
A beautifully-told story!
One more thing...be sure to follow the rules of the contest that say you need to include information at the bottom of the page that it's 99 words long.
One thing that we need to keep in mind is that, in their own special way, the Natives were already Christianized.
Some people, to this day, believe that, when they refer to "The Great White Spirit," they're referring to some kind of god that looks like a white man.
But they called the white men palefaces.
I believe that "The Great White Spirit" they refer to was actually pure white in color--Remember the transformation of Jesus up on the mountain? Think about how people who have near-death experiences will, more times than not, see a beautiful, white light!
The spirit of Jesus surely must have appeared to these Natives to where they'd experienced The Real McCoy and whatever this Christopher Columbus character was about to offer them was just a piddling portion of what they already knew when it came to faith!
Yet, Christopher Columbus meant well.
Anything he might have done was done out of ignorance--but to act the same today with what we know would be an act of wilfulness that would crucify Jesus all over again!
I loved how you were able to capture so much of the story in 99 words!
I'm writing this journal about happy stuff, and it's called "Invalid Item" . This story is so beautiful that I'm going to write about it as an entry. I'm also going to make up another book for featuring meaningful reads and will share it there, too. The book for featuring meaningful reads (which I haven't made yet) will be going on this special website http://www.freewebs.com/iynvoice/.
In short, this beautiful story is going to be going far, as I also have a soft spot for those special angels like Jimmy!
Thanks for sharing this beautiful!, Beautiful!!, BEAUTIFUL!!! story!!!
I believe that God isn't answering your prayer to take away painful memories in the affirmative because He believe that you need to remember them in order to better have empathy as well as sympathy for those invisible youth we're reaching out to.
Yvonne, I'm not sure if this is what you meant when you wrote this poem or not, but it came across to me that the iron child, Tricia, and Veronica were all different parts of your personality--like different moods--but they were all tired of making up the complications in your life and just wanted to play.
It's like you're saying that, when there's nothing you can do to change your situation at the moment, the best thing to do is to simply have--as the prayer of serenity says--the serenity to accept the things you can't change.
So you simply bloom where you're planted--you play!
Anyway, that's how I interpret this poem, so I'd be interested in hearing your interpretation.
Such a beautiful poem inspired by such an ugly war--as if there ever has been such a thing as a pretty war.
Did you also take that beautiful photograph?
In a way, this song reminds me of Our National Anthem, because both your poem/song and The Star Spangled Banner speak of comforting sights and sounds in the midst of turmoil and uncertainty.
I could imagine Randy Travis, Lee Greenwood, or Garth Brooks singing these words if put to a melody. I can also imagine the late greats, Tex Ritter, Red Sovine, Johnny Cash or Lorne Greene, reciting this poem to a background of empowering music.
In short, this is simultaneously powerful, empowering, and beautiful!
I'm a staunch supporter of the work of "Invalid Item" and will be making a link to this poem over at both our online community and the shout box that's part of our organization's website!
There are several more places where I'd like to share this urgently-meaningful message painted so well with your words!
I remember this poem--and I remember my impressions when I read it for the first time, and they haven't changed:
Somehow, the very tossing and turning rhythm of this poem paints a portrait of this child's reality--somebody living life as if blown about like a brittle fallen leaf in a storm or a piece of driftwood in a choppy, frothy, angry sea.
But this child is an iron child and not one to crumble as a leaf might or to splinter like a piece of driftwood.
This child (you) was then and is now a survivor!
This child (another child like you) will become stronger and more iron like because you and people like you are making a difference in her/his life!!!
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