Tag Archives: guest blogger

Shades in the Dark

As you may know, I am an English teacher. This last month, our university was host to a group of students and professional from Mexico, as part of the Proyecta 100,000 program. They are gone back home now, I am very sad to say, but while they were here, I was their writing teacher. Among the projects we did were short stories. I asked if I could post them on my blog and they agreed. So here is the first one, Shades in the Dark, written by Frank Soria and Jorge Montesinos.

Shades in the Dark

by Frank Soria and Jorge Montesinos

It was an October night full of stars, and the moon shone in the high clear sky. There was nobody but the wind blowing outside. Deserted streets seemed to be aware that something unexpected was coming up. Everything was quiet, warm, and cozy. Emily and Kevin had just gotten to their grandpa’s home. He was an old fashioned man, rough of character, but lovely deep in his heart.

The first days passed harmoniously, soft, and warm. One night after having dinner, Kevin heard a slight creaking noise coming from the corridor. Without notice he stood up and went through it to realize no one was there. He felt how the temperature in the room dropped drastically. His legs trembled as he walked away. He was almost voiceless, nobody seemed to be there, but the whisper of a strange entity surrounded his little body, taking him to his deepest scary feelings. The lamp in the corridor flickered, announcing the inevitable encounter with the paranormal event. His heart beat as fast as a horse in the wild field. Suddenly, he felt a hand grabbing his shoulder. His breath stopped for a moment. He turned around to realize that it was his grandpa looking at him. He told his grandpa about the noise, but he said nothing about it.

The following day his sister teased him about the ghost story, laughing at him. Kevin cried for her madness. Night came back. A storm was announced in the papers. The lights went off. It was windy and cold outside. Grandpa took some candles from an old drawer and met the boys for dinner. Kevin was afraid and asked grandpa to take him to bed. Emily stayed for a while in the kitchen. Suddenly, she heard somebody coming to her. She turned around. No one was there, but an empty room in the shadows. She never had felt so lonely and frightened. A gust of wind opened the window blowing the candle out, pulling everything in its path towards Kevin’s room. She ran to rescue her little brother, but she couldn’t open the door. She yelled at him desperately. There was no answer. Lightning lit her frightened face when her grandpa hugged her and calmed her down. They heard a horrible roar coming from the inside of the room, but the door remained sealed. After a few minutes they could open it and Kevin was not there. The room smelled like a rare fragrance. They had a terrible feeling, but they could do nothing.

The little boy had disappeared. Not a single roar, strange sound or shadow was seen from that day on. No one mentioned a word about that event. Emily grew up there with her grandfather and sometimes she woke up thinking that was a weird nightmare and looked for Kevin but he had gone.


Do You Want a Guest?

Have you ever had a dinosaur bite your leg off? I haven’t, but I can tell you what it was like. Even show you the scar.

Do you know a good recipe for kryptonite soup? Not me, but I can write a recipe that will keep Superman looking at you askance whenever you pick up your spoon.

I’m not saying I’m a professional liar, but I am a writer, so yeah, maybe I am. You know what I mean.

What kind of stories do you tell? Would you like me to tell a story for you? Look back in my archives: I’ve got all kinds to share.

If you’re a blogger and would like to take a night off sometime, I’d love to guest blog for you. Send me an email at greenwalledtower(at)gmail(dot)com and we can talk about it. I won’t bring the whole Green-Walled Tower with me, but maybe I’ll give you a strand of ivy from the walls.

 

GWT logo - cropped


Witnessing the Insane – guest blogger Susannah Bianchi

I am happy to introduce my first guest blogger ever: model, writer, and New Yorker, Susannah Bianchi. She is also the genius behind athingirl.com, a blog where she shares her experiences and adventures of living in the Big Apple, all with sparkling wit and a deep heart.

She also has a great book out: Notes From a Working Cat, the memoir of a sophisticated little feline named Maya. I would definitely recommend it.

Notes from a Working Cat

Witnessing the Insane

It’s not uncommon to be on the New York subway in the company of a crazy person. It’s free advertising after all, for their insanity.

Some ask for money, some just babble and I’ll admit, from years of bearing witness, I’m more than a little removed.

You often wonder, is this legit…another well-honed act, because despite how many times you are assaulted by the unexpected pounce, you just don’t know.

There’s the man who lost everything in a fire who asks for alms in English and Spanish, but Spanish so fluent you wonder why he can’t get a job at the embassy.

We have another fellow on the 6 Train who’s been needing 18 dollars to get back home since 1993. He could have been around the world 18 times by now.

I’m a regular rider, so I see them all the time, but a tourist or visitor gets clobbered, wallets out, bills expected.

But every once in a while, a poor, legitimate soul will even get to me.

Last night on the train, coming home, a kid maybe 16 got on. He was all shriveled, like a vegetable left in the fridge too long. His right hand had that stricken fist suggesting a stroke, or some kind of permanent paralysis. His legs were puny, the right half the size of the left. What really spoke to me was his facial expression that looked as if he had been punched so hard, his face couldn’t get back to normal.

It was pain, false or otherwise, making me take an extreme pause.

He was screaming for help at the top of his lungs, his bent legs dragging him down the car. I never saw so many people so clearly affected.

He was young, like a hurt cub, and in my heart, I knew, this was not feigned.

Dollars came out like pennies from heaven shoving them in his one good hand. He said nothing as he held them, not even putting them in a safe place, as though he wasn’t even conscious of the response.

I sat there praying for him.

Suddenly my 14-hour workday felt like a grace as opposed to a grind. I remembered how I walked 30 blocks in the morning to get some exercise in…could this kid do that, let alone have a regular workday lasting that long?

My humility came and sat beside me whispering…Susannah, how blessed and blessed and blessed you are.

I got off at the 86th Street stop to take the crosstown bus, still hearing him screech in the distance.

 

– Susannah Bianchi

 


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