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"Tell the World" shares the compelling story of a small group of farmers from the northeast region of the United States who would go on to set the foundation of the Seventh-day Adventist Church.
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After I lost Bill, I never thought I’d ever love again or even want to be in another relationship. I was an old woman with children and grandchildren. I was content to live a quiet, unassuming life, puttering around in my garden and swimming. Then, I met you. You reminded so much of Bill. If I’d known you were a charlatan…
61 Words
This is for the Weekend Writing Prompt by Sammi Cox. For instructions, click HERE.
Young and sassy are the words my husband use to describe me. We are opposites. He’s an introvert and I’m an extrovert. He’s in his mid-fifties with grey sideburns but he still has the body and libido of a much younger man. I’m in my late twenties and I’m trying to keep up with him.
We met last year when a mutual friend invited a group of people to Maui for a week of sun and fun. Lorenzo didn’t go with anyone and nor did I. We were immediately attracted to each other and for the rest of the vacation, we were inseparable.
A year and four months later, we are newlyweds. For our honeymoon we went on a 12-day Mediterranean cruise which ended in Venice, the city of love. After we spent two days there, we headed to Milan to visit his family. We figured we might as well since we were in Italy.
I must say that although I half-expected it, it still came as a bitter disappointment when his parents made it painfully obvious that they didn’t approve of me. No doubt my color had more to do with it than my age. His teenage children from his previous marriage were polite but I could tell that they didn’t approve either. Being married to me meant that their father wasn’t going to return to Milan or reconcile with their mother.
I feel sorry for them. When my parents divorced and my father remarried, I was upset. I wasn’t nice to my step-mother, Violet because she ruined all chances of my parents getting back together. It took years for me to get over that disappointment and be civil to Violet. Now, she and I are friends. And I can see how happy she makes my father. I hope that one of these days, Lorenzo’s children will come around too. He’s the love of my life and his happiness means the world to me.
Lorenzo and I ended up spending only two days in Milan and then we were off to Rome. I loved Rome–the people, the food and the piazzas. On our last night, we visited Piazza Navona and enjoyed a couple of gelato as we admired Bernini’s perfectly lit Fountain of the Four Rivers.
Lorenzo and I were sorry to leave Italy but we were excited about beginning our life as a married couple and moving into our new home overlooking Central Park. It took a while for me to get back into a routine because of jet-lag.
Ten weeks have passed since our honeymoon and I’m standing in front of my enormous closet, looking at the designer clothes, bags and shoes I brought back from Milan and Rome. As I look through the outfits a smile tugs at my lips. I can’t wait to see Lorenzo’s face when I tell him the good news tonight over a home cooked dinner. We have two wonderful reasons to celebrate.
That’s right. We’re going to have twins. Whether they are boys or girls or one of each, we won’t know for some time or maybe, we’ll decide to wait to find out. Already, I’m making plans to turn the extra bedroom into a nursery and I’m just dying to go shopping for the babies.
The chiming of the clock reminds me that I have to get dinner ready. I close the closet doors and leave the bedroom. I’m going to make sure that tonight is a very special night for Lorenzo.
I’ve been learning to cook Italian dishes thanks to Jamie Oliver. I’m going to make tasty tuna meatballs with pasta and Caesar salad. And for desert, what else but his favorite–pistachio gelato from our favorite neighborhood gelato place.
After dinner and when we’re relaxing in the living-room, then I will tell him that we’re going to have twins. And then, we celebrate with a bottle of
This was written for the Ragtag Daily Prompt for Sunday’s word: closet and Monday’s word: jet. If you’re interested in participating, click HERE for more information.
My name is Ezra and I’m an Angolan woman married to Francisco, a Portuguese businessman. We have been married for ten years. We have two children, a boy named Bento and a girl named Mafalda. We live in Luanda. During the week, I’m at home alone because Rodrigo is at the office and the children are in school. I’m a housewife and I love it. I love taking care of my family.
From the time I was seven years old, I knew that I wanted to be a homemaker when I was older. My mother, God bless her soul, was my inspiration. I watched her work tirelessly and happily to take care of the home, my father, my siblings and me. When I was old enough, I helped around the house. She taught me how to cook and keep a clean house. She told me that one day I would be a wife and it was best to start learning how to do things as early as possible. Sadly, she didn’t live to see me get married or hold her grandchildren. My father and my siblings were at my wedding. They were happy for me and warmly welcomed Rodrigo into the family. They weren’t upset that I married a European man instead of an African man.
Rodrigo and I met when I was working as a cook at a restaurant owned by a family friend. He came in there one day to have lunch with a client. After having my Fish Calulu, he wanted to meet me to personally compliment me on the dish. Feeling a little self-conscious after being in the hot kitchen all morning and not having enough time to fix myself up, I went into the dining-room. He stood up as I approached. He was tall and very attractive in his expensive looking grey suit. I was immediately attracted to him. He smiled and said in Portuguese, “I wanted to personally tell how much I enjoyed the Fish Calulu. It’s the best I’ve ever had.”
I smiled shyly. “Thank you.”
His client had left so we were alone. “My name is Rodrigo,” he said, extending his large hand. I looked at it before placing my hand in it. The long fingers closed over mine in a firm handshake.
“I’m Ezra.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ezra. I wonder if you would like to have dinner with me tomorrow night?”
I gulped. He was asking me out on a date. I could hardly believe it. It took a moment for me to say, “Yes.”
“Good. I’ll meet you here at eight. “Goodbye.”
“Goodbye.” I watched him leave and then returned to the kitchen.
The following night we went for dinner at a popular Portuguese restaurant. Afterwards, we went for a drive. We saw each other regularly after that and the following year, we got married. I quit my job at the restaurant after learning that I was pregnant with Bento.
Life with Rodrigo ideal. Our sex life is amazing and sometimes, we indulge in role play which add a little spice to the marriage. Lately, I have been dressing up as a slave girl while he pretends to be my slave master. But this is happening way too often. He wants to do it for every lovemaking session.
Last night, he pulled my dress down about my waist and turned me around so that my bare back was to him and had me hug the bedpost. He got the whip he had bought from one of those sex stores and started to use it on me. It didn’t hurt but Rodrigo wanted me to pretend that it did. When he was done, he dragged the dress off and threw me down on the bed. I lay there while he ravaged me, staring up at the ceiling and wondering if this nightmare would ever end. What had started out as harmless fun had become something I dreaded and desperately wanted to stop. I wanted to be his wife and lover again not his slave.
I’m sitting here in the kitchen, staring out at the window. I have made up my mind to tell Rodrigo that I’m not going to be his slave in the bedroom anymore. And if he cares about me and our marriage, he will respect my wishes. Worst case scenario, I will pack up and leave. And of course, take Bento and Mafalda with me.
Hours later, I’m in the bedroom and Rodrigo walks after taking a long, hot shower. He’s stark naked and by the looks of him, he’s in the mood. I’m standing by the bed, wearing one of my nightgowns. The slave girl garb was tossed in the garbage along with the whip. I was very determined not to subject myself to that again. Before he could say anything, I said, “Rodrigo, I’m Ezra, your wife, not your slave girl. I don’t ever want to play that role again. I didn’t mind doing it the first few times but you want to do it every time and it’s no longer fun for me. It has become degrading. I refuse to do it any more.”
Rodrigo stared at me. Silence filled the room and I found myself holding my breath as I waited for him to say something. He came over to me and putting his hands on my shoulders, he said as his eyes met mine. “Me desculpe, querida. I’m sorry. I should have realized that this particular type of role playing would affect you. It was very insensitive of me. Please forgive me.”
Relief washed over me like a tidal wave and I hugged him around the waist and buried my face in his chest. He will never know how close I came to leaving him if he had not respected my wishes.
Role-play in marriages is healthy and exciting but make sure that both of you are having fun. Never indulge in role-play which will demean or devalue either of you.
The atmosphere is festive as tourists and locals celebrate Dasara, the autumnal equinox festival and public holiday. It’s the day in the Hindu legends when the goddess Chamundeshwari killed the demon Mahishasura and good triumphed over evil. Dasara is observed through special prayer meetings and food offerings to the gods at home or in temples, outdoor fairs, large parades and bonfires in the evening.
I watch my husband and our children as they celebrate. One day, I will have victory over him too.
83 Words
Photo by Sylvester Dsouza
This is for the Weekend Writing Prompt by Sammi Cox. For instructions, click HERE.
Sources: Wikipedia ;Time and Date; Your Dictionary
“You’re such a hypocrite, Kaito” Hana told her brother. “You object to my relationship with Danny because he’s not Japanese and yet you’re sleeping with Duana, my African American friend.”
Kaito looked up from his laptop, his expression darkening as he met his younger sister’s incensed gaze. “I don’t have to explain myself to you,” he retorted. “After our parents died, I became responsible for you. Danny may be a nice guy but he’s not the right one for you. You should be with someone like Riku.”
“Riku? You know very well that I’m not in love with him.”
“That could change.”
“It won’t,” she insisted. “I’m in love with Danny and he’s in love with me. I don’t care what you say. I’m not a child. I’m not going to marry Riku or anyone else for that matter.”
“Has Danny asked you to marry him?”
“Not yet but when he does, I will say yes.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it.”
“You’re my brother not my father. You being responsible for me doesn’t give you the right to dictate who I marry or who I love. Riku is a nice guy. We’ve known each other since we were children but I don’t love him. I’m not going to marry someone I don’t love just to please you and your love for tradition. I hope Duana does the smart thing and dumps you.”
His mouth tightened. “I don’t want to discuss my relationship with Duana with you.”
“You won’t have a relationship with her much longer. I will see to that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Tonight, we are going out on a date with Danny and his friend, Leshawn.”
“What?” Kaito rose to his feet. His eyes flashed and his fists clenched. “How could she be going out with someone else while she’s still in a relationship with me?”
Hana watched him. She never saw her brother act like this before. He was always so calm and reserved which sometimes annoyed her. Nothing seemed to faze him and here he was now, like a volcano about to erupt. “You made it clear that you didn’t want there to be anything serious between you. You were fine with the way things were–purely physical.”
He dragged his fingers through his hair. “This guy she’s seeing tonight, has she been out with him before?”
Hana shook her head. “No, this is the first time and I hope it won’t be the last–”
“Imaimashī!” He grabbed his keys off the desk and headed for the door.
“Where’re you going?”
“Where do you think I’m going and why do you care?” he retorted before he stormed out of the room.
As soon as he was gone, Hana picked up the phone and called Duana. “Kaito’s on his way over. He’s as mad as hell. I’ve never seen him like this. I think he’s jealous.”
“You told him about Deshawn?”
“Of course.”
“Oh, Hana. I didn’t want him to think that I was interested in Deshawn or anyone else.”
“Well, maybe you ought to be. You can’t continue hoping that things will change, Duana–that Kaito will change. He’s set in his ways. He’s been a bachelor for so long that marriage isn’t a possibility right now and if he did get married, it would be to a Japanese woman. You’re better off moving on.”
“I wish I could but you know I love him.”
“Yes, I know. He’s my brother and I love him too but I think he’s a jerk. You deserve better, Duana.”
“Right now I can’t imagine being with anyone else but Kaito. Thanks for calling, Hana. I’ll see you later.”
“All right. Call me on my cell if you need me.”
“I will.”
Hana hung up the phone and left the study.
Duana was about to change out of the white dress she had worn to church when the doorbell rang. Her heart began to beat faster. It was probably Kaito. It was and Hana was right. He looked furious. As she slid the latch back, she asked herself why she had allowed her friend to talk her into to going on a double date tonight.
“Hello, Kaito,” she said when she opened the door. 
“Don’t hello Kaito me,” he snapped as he brushed past her. He swung round and faced her as she closed and locked the door behind him. His eyes were blazing with anger and jealousy. “How could you go out on a date with another guy when you and I are in a relationship?”
“It–it was Hana’s idea and–”
“I know it was her idea but you didn’t have to agree to it.”
“She called me and told me that you were coming over. She warned me that you were very angry.”
“Don’t you think I have reason to be? How would you feel if I were going out for dinner with another woman?”
“I would be angry and jealous,” she admitted.
“That’s how I feel right now, Duana. The thought of you going out with another guy is making me crazy.” He reached for her hand. His expression was drawn and tormented. “Don’t do it, please. Don’t go out for dinner with this guy, please.”
She swallowed hard. “I won’t,” she promised huskily.
He released his breath in a shaky sigh. “Thank you,” he muttered.
“Why don’t you spend the night?” she asked. “I didn’t make any dinner because I was going to eat out tonight but we can order in.”
He nodded. “Yes, I’ll spend the night.”
She smiled. “Good. Let me call Hana and tell her that I won’t be joining her and the guys for dinner tonight or any other night.”
He nodded again and removed his jacket as she called his sister. As soon as she finished the call, he took her into his arms. “I’m sorry for the way I’ve been,” he said. “I grew up believing in family traditions and determined to honor them at the expense of Hana’s happiness and my own. I love you, Duana and tonight when I realized how close I came to losing you, it opened my eyes to what really matters. When you meet that special someone, making a commitment to him or her is more important than holding onto tradition. Tomorrow, I will let Hana know that I no longer object to her relationship with Danny.”
Duana put her arms around his neck. “She’ll be happy to hear that,” she told him.
“Yes, she will be,” he agreed.
“I love you, Kaito.”
Kaito lowered his head and kissed her.
“Just because something is traditional is no reason to do it, of course.” – The Blank Book
I am sitting in front of the mirror. A bruised face with haunted eyes are looking back at me. The cut on my temple needed stitches. I used to be a nurse before I got married. I pick up the threaded needle and proceed to sew the cut. I bite down on my lip at the pain but I won’t stop until it’s done.
I examine my handiwork. It looks a bit crude but it will do. I didn’t want to go to the hospital because I would have to explain the bruises on my face and hands. No, it was better to do this myself.
I sit there staring at myself for a while longer, watching the tears, silent and unabated run down my cheeks. What have I done to make him hate me so? It has to be hate. No man would hit a woman he loves. I have been a good wife to him. When he wanted me to give up my job at the hospital, I did so without any argument. I take care of him, our home, do the laundry, cook the meals and everything else. I don’t complain even though I am bone tired by the end of the day. I make sure that his food is piping hot and ready when he comes home. I don’t resist when he wants us to make love even though I’m not in the mood.
Yes, I have been a good wife to him. Why then, does he hate me? Why does he get angry for no reason and hit me? In the past, when he hit me, he used to be sorry right after and beg me to forgive him. Then, the beatings became more frequent and the apologies were less until they were no longer expressed.
Once he threatened to kill me if I left him. So, I stay not out of love but out of fear. How much longer could I live this nightmare? How many more blows and insults can I take before I decide that leaving him is worth the risk?
I place my finger on my lips to silence the voice screaming inside me. I am afraid of what would happen if I were to unleash it. I have been living with an abusive husband and suffering in silence for six years. I was beaten during pregnancy and suffered a miscarriage as a result. I can’t have children because of the damage that was done. My mother knew about it but still she insisted that I stay with Anil. “A woman’s place is with her husband. It’s against our religion for you to leave Anil and you will only bring shame to our family.” She even made me think that it was my fault that Anil was beating me. “He’s a good man. You must be doing something to make him so angry that he beats you.”
So, I listened to her and I stayed. I didn’t want to bring shame to our family. That was two years ago. One of these days, though, I am going to leave Anil and I don’t care if that brings shame to my family. I don’t owe them anything. They don’t care about me so why should I care about them?
I make a solemn promise to myself now on the eve of my thirtieth birthday, that one of these days, I will walk out of here and never look back.
Leaving an abusive marriage/relationship isn’t as cut and dry as many of us believe. Women remain in these situations for various reasons–self-blame; damaged self-worth; fear; the desire to change the abuser; the children’s safety; family expectations and experiences; financial limitations and isolation. Some women eventually leave while, sadly, others don’t.
This was written for the Ragtag Daily Prompt for Monday which is Needle. For more information, click HERE.
Source: Institute for Family Studies
Photo Credit: C.E. Ayr
“What’s the matter, Matt?” Dad asked. The seven year old stood there looking disinterestedly at the fierce dragon on display. All around them people were taking photos, children were chattering with excitement as they took turns standing next to it. Matt had been looking forward to this for weeks but for some inexplicable reason he had lost his enthusiasm.
“I thought Josh was going to come with us,” he said despondently. Josh was his older brother whom he worshipped.
“I’m sorry, Buddy, but your brother had already made plans to go to see something really interesting.”
“But what could be more interesting than seeing a real live dragon?”
“Well, the dragon isn’t real but that doesn’t matter. Josh wanted to do something to celebrate Black History Month so he went to see a Black Opera.”
“What’s a Black Opera?”
“It’s opera which features black singers, performers, etc.”
“Why would Josh want to see that?”
“Well, since he started dating Macy, he’s become interested in Black History and culture.”
“Do you like Macy, Dad?”
“Of course, I do”
“We all like her except Grandpa. Why?”
“I’ll explain why later.”
“Is it because she’s black?”
“Let’s just take some photos.”
“Okay, Dad.”
200 Words
This was written for Sunday Photo Fiction hosted by Susan Spaulding. For more details visit Here. To read more of the stories based on this week’s prompt, visit Here.
Source: Evenbrite
