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Postby **Elena** » Thu Jul 05, 2007 10:12 am

Appointment With Love

Six minutes to six, said the clock over the information booth in New York's Grand Central Station. The tall young Army Officer lifted his sun-burned face and narrowed his eyes to note the exact time. His heart was pounding with a beat that shocked him. In six minutes he would see the woman who had filled such a special place in his life for the past thirteen months, the woman he had never seen, yet whose written words had sustained him faithfully.

Lt. Blanford remembered one day in particular, with worst of the fighting when his plane had been caught in the midst of a pack of enemy planes.

In one of his letters, he had confessed to her that he often felt fear, and only a few days before this battle, he had received her answer: "Of course you fear … all brave men do. Next time you doubt yourself, I want you to hear my voice reciting to you: Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, for Thou art with me… " He had remembered, and it had renewed his strength.

Now he was going to hear her real voice. Four minutes to six.
A girl passed close to him, and Lt. Blanford stared. She was wearing a flower, but it was not the little red rose they had agreed upon. Besides, this girl was only about 18, and Hollis Maynell had told him she was 30. "What of it?" he had answered. "I'm 32." He was 29. His mind went back to that book he had read in the training camp. "Of Human Bondage" and throughout the book there were notes in a woman's writing. He had never believed that a woman could see into a man's heart, so tenderly, so understandingly. Her name was on the book plate: Hollis Maynell. He got hold of a New York City telephone book and found her address. He had written, she had answered. The next day he had been shipped out, but they had gone on writing. For thirteen months she had faithfully replied. When his letters did not arrive, she wrote anyway and now he believed he loved her and she loved him.

But she had refused all his pleas to send him her photograph. She had explained. "If your feeling for me had any reality, what I look like won't matter. Suppose I'm beautiful. I'd always be haunted that you had been taking a chance on just that, and that kind of love would disgust me. Suppose I'm plain, (and you must admit that this is more likely), then, I'd always fear that you were only writing because you were lonely and had no one else. No, don't ask for my picture. When you come to New York, you shall see me and then you shall make your own decision."

One minute to six… he flipped the pages of the book he held. Then Lt. Blanford's heart leaped. A young woman was coming toward him. Her figure was long and slim: her blonde hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears. Her eyes were blue as flowers, her lips and chin had a gentle firmness. In her pale green suit, she was like springtime come-alive.
He started toward her, forgetting to notice that she was wearing no rose, and as he moved, a small, provocative smile curved her lips. "Going my way soldier?" she murmured.

He made one step closer to her, then he saw Hollis Maynell.

She was standing almost directly behind the girl, a woman well past 40, her hair tucked under a worn hat. She was more than plump; her thick-ankled feet were thrust into low-heeled shoes. But she wore a red rose on her rumpled coat. The girl is the green suit was walking quickly away.

Blanford felt as though he were being split in two, so keen was his desire to follow the girl, yet so deep was his longing for the woman whose spirit had truly companioned and upheld him; and there she stood. He could see that her pale plump face was gentle and sensible; her gray eyes had a worn wrinkle.

Lt. Blanford did not get hostile. His fingers gripped the worn copy of Human Bondage which was to identify him to her. This would not be love, but it would be something precious, a friendship for which he had been and must be ever grateful…

He squared his shoulders, saluted and held the book out towards the woman, although even while he spoke he felt the bitterness of his disappointment.

"I'm Lt. Blanford and you… Miss Maynell. I'm so glad you could meet me. May…may I take you to dinner?"
The woman's face broadened in a tolerant smile. "I don't know what this is all about, son," she answered. That young woman in the green suit who just passed gave me a rose to wear and said that if you asked me to go out with you, I should tell you she is waiting in the restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of a test."


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A beautiful story from a guy's personal diary

Postby **Elena** » Fri Jul 06, 2007 6:14 am


1.The story began when I was a child; I was born as a son of a poor family. Even for eating, we often got lack of food. Whenever the time for eating, mother often gave me her portion of rice. While she was removing her rice into my bowl, she would say "Eat this rice, son. I'm not hungry". That was Mother's First Lie.
2.When I was getting to grow up, the persevering mother gave her spare time for fishing in a river near our house, she hoped that from the fishes she got, she could gave me a little bit nutritious food for my growth. After fishing, she would cook the fishes to be a fresh fish soup, which raised my appetite. While I was eating the soup, mother would sit beside me and eat
the rest meat of fish, which was still on the bone of the fish I ate. My heart was touched when I saw it. I then used my chopstick and gave the other fish to her. But she immediately refused it and said "Eat this fish, son. I don't really like fish." That was Mother's Second Lie.
3.Then, when I was in Junior High School, to fund my study, mother went to an economic enterprise to bring some used-matches boxes that would be stuck in. It gave her some money for covering our needs. As the winter came, I woke up from my sleep and looked at my mother who was still awoke, supported by a little candlelight and within her perseverance she continued the work of sticking some used-matches box. I said, "Mother, go to sleep, it's late, tomorrow morning you still have to go for work." Mother smiled
and said "Go to sleep, dear. I'm not tired." That was Mother's Third Lie.
4.At the time of final term, mother asked for a leave from her work in order to accompany me. While the daytime was coming and the heat of the sun was starting to shine, the strong and persevering mother waited for me under the heat of the sun's shine for several hours. As the bell rang, which indicated that the final exam had finished, mother immediately welcomed me and poured me a glass of tea that she had prepared before in a cold bottle. The very thick
tea was not as thick as my mother's love, which was much thicker. Seeing my mother covering with perspiration, I at once gave her my glass and asked her to drink too. Mother said "Drink, son. I'm not thirsty!". That was Mother's Fourth Lie.
5.After the death of my father because of illness, my poor mother had to play her role as a single parent. By held on her former job, she had to fund our needs alone. Our family's life was more complicated. No days without sufferance. Seeing our family's condition that was getting worse, there was a nice uncle who lived near my house came to help us, either in a big problem and a small problem.
Our other neighbors who lived next to us saw that our family's life was so unfortunate, they often advised my mother to marry again. But mother, who was stubborn, didn't care to their advice, she said "I don't need love." That was Mother's Fifth Lie.
6.After I had finished my study and then got a job, it was the time for my old mother to retire. But she didn't want to; she was sincere to go to the marketplace every morning, just to sell some vegetable for fulfilling her needs. I, who worked in the other city, often sent her some money to help her in fulfilling her needs, but she was stubborn for not accepting the money. She even sent the money back to me. She said "I have enough money."
That was Mother's Sixth Lie.
7.After graduated from Bachelor Degree, I then continued my study to Master Degree. I took the degree, which was funded by a company through a scholarship program, from a famous University in America. I finally worked in the company. Within a quite high salary, I intended to take my mother to enjoy her life in America. But my lovely mother didn't want to bother her son, she said to me "I'm not used to."
That was Mother's Seventh Lie.
8.After entering her old age, mother got a flank cancer and had to be hospitalized. I, who lived in miles away and across the ocean, directly went home to visit my dearest mother. She lied down in weakness on her bed after having an operation. Mother, who looked so old, was staring at me in deep yearn. She tried to spread her smile on her face; even it looked so stiff because of the disease she held out. It was clear enough to see how the disease broke my mother's body, thus she looked so weak and thin. I stared at my mother within tears flowing on my face. My heart was hurt, so hurt, seeing my mother on that condition. But mother, with her strength, said "Don't cry, my dear. I'm not in pain."
That was Mother's Eight Lie.
After saying her eighth lie, my dearest mother closed her eyes forever

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Postby Melek » Sat Jul 07, 2007 11:12 am

spasibo,Elena ,ochen dlinnaya i k tomu je ochen interesnaya istoriya.it really touched me.I have one question,'whose diary is this cut from?' I wonder it very much

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Postby **Elena** » Sat Jul 07, 2007 11:52 am

I dont know whose diary it was, I have found it from the other site.

Best ragards!!!

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Postby Tora » Fri Jul 13, 2007 8:07 pm

yay! really really very nice! You wrote that?? FANTASTIC!!!
do you really believe this can happen though? I doubt that, but the idea itself is encouraging!

nice to see moscovites in EC :wink:

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Postby **Elena** » Sat Jul 14, 2007 6:53 am

no no no of course its not my own story, I found it in the Internet and decided to share with all of you :wink: :wink: :wink:

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~Story of Regret~

Postby **Elena** » Mon Jul 23, 2007 8:00 am

There was this guy who believed very much in true love and decided to take his time to wait for his right girl to appear. He believed that there would definitely be someone special out there for him, but none came.

Every year at Christmas, his ex-girlfriend would return from Vancouver to look him up. He was aware that she still held some hope of re-kindling the past romance with him. He did not wish to mislead her in any way. So he would always get one of his girl friends to pose as his steady whenever she came back. That went on for several years and each year, the guy would get a different girl to pose as his romantic interest. So whenever the ex-girlfriend came to visit him, she would be led into believing that it was all over between her and the guy. The girl took all those rather well, often trying to casually tease him about his different girlfriends, or so, as it seemed! In fact, the girl often wept in secret whenever she saw him with another girl, but she was too proud to admit it. Still, every Christmas, she returned, hoping to re-kindle some form of romance. But each time, she returned to Vancouver feeling disappointed.

Finally she decided that she could not play that game any longer. Therefore, she confronted him and professed that after all those years, he was still the only man that she had ever loved. Although the guy knew of her feelings for him, he was still taken back and have never expected her to react that way. He always thought that she would slowly forget about him over time and come to terms that it was all over between them. Although he was touched by her undying love for him and wanted so much to accept her again, he remembered why he rejected her in the first place-she was not the one he wanted. So he hardened his heart and turned her down cruelly. Since then, three years have passed and the girl never return anymore. They never even wrote to each other. The guy went on with his life..... still searching for the one but somehow deep inside him, he missed the girl.

On the Christmas of 1995, he went to his friend's party alone. "Hey, how come all alone this year? Where are all your girlfriends? What happened to that Vancouver babe who joins you every Christmas?", asked one of his friend. He felt warm and comforted by his friend's queries about her, still he just surged on.
Then, he came upon one of his many girlfriends whom he once requested to pose as his steady. He wanted so much to ignore her ..... not that he was impolite, but because at that moment, he just didn't feel comfortable with those girlfriends anymore. It was almost like he was being judged by them. The girl saw him and shouted across the floor for him. Unable to avoid her, he went up to acknowledge her.

"Hi......how are you? Enjoying the party?" the girl asked.

"Sure.....yeah!", he replied.
She was slightly tipsy..... must be from the whiskey on her hand. She continued,
"Why...? Don't you need someone to pose as your girlfriend this year?" Then he answered, "No, there is no need for that anymore......"
Before he can continue, he was interrupted, "Oh yes! Must have found a girlfriend! You haven't been searching for one for the past years, right?" The man looked up, as if he has struck gold, his face beamed and looked directly at the drunken girl. He replied, "Yes......you are right! I haven't been looking for anyone for the past years."
With that, the man darted across the floor and out the door, leaving the lady in much bewilderment. He finally realized that he has already found his dream girl, and she was.....the Vancouver girl all along! The drunken lady has said something that awoken him.

All along he has found his girl. That was why he did not bother to look further when he realized she was not coming back. It was not any specific girl he was seeking! It was perfection that he wanted, and yes.....perfection!!
Relationship is something both parties should work on. Realizing that he had let away someone so important in his life, he decided to call her immediately. His whole mind was flooded with fear. He was afraid that she might have found someone new or no longer had the same feelings anymore..... For once, he felt the fear of losing someone.

As it was Christmas Eve, the line was quite hard to get through, especially an overseas call. He tried again and again, never giving up. Finally, he got through......precisely at 1200 midnight. He confessed his love for her and the girl was moved to tears. It seemed that she never got over him! Even after so long, she was still waiting for him, never giving up.

He was so excited to meet her and to begin his new chapter of their lives. He decided to fly to Vancouver to join her. It was the happiest time of their lives! But their happy time was short-lived. Two days before he was supposed to fly to Vancouver, he received a call from her father. She had a head-on car collision with a drunken driver. She passed away after 6 hours in a coma.
The guy was devastated, as it was a complete loss. Why did fate played such cruel games with him? He cursed the heaven for taking her away from him, denying even one last look at her! How cruel he cursed! How he damned the Gods...!! How he hated himself....for taking so long to realize his mistake!! That was in 1996.

The moral of this story is :
Treasure what you have...
Time is too slow for those who wait;
Too swift for those who fear;
Too long for those who grief;
Too short for those who rejoice;
But for those who love...
Time is Eternity.

For all you out there with someone special in your heart, cherish that person, cherish every moment that you spend together that special someone, for in life, anything can happen anytime. You may painfully regret, only to realize that it is too late.

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**A short story**

Postby **Elena** » Mon Jul 23, 2007 12:22 pm

A woman came out of her house and saw 3 old men with long white beards sitting in her front yard. She did not recognize them. She said "I don't think I know you, but you must be hungry. Please come in and have something to eat."
"Is the man of the house home?", they asked.
"No", she replied. "He's out."
"Then we cannot come in", they replied.
In the evening when her husband came home, she told him what had happened.
"Go tell them I am home and invite them in!"
The woman went out and invited the men in"
«We do not go into a House together," they replied.
"Why is that?" she asked.
One of the old men explained: "His name is Wealth," he said pointing to one of his friends, and said pointing to another one, "He is Success, and I am Love." Then he added, "Now go in and discuss with your husband which one of us you want in your home."
The woman went in and told her husband what was said. Her husband was overjoyed. "How nice!!", he said. "Since that is the case, let us invite Wealth. Let him come and fill our home with wealth!"
His wife disagreed. "My dear, why don't we invite Success?"
Their daughter was listening from the other corner of the house. She jumped in with her own suggestion: "Would it not be better to invite Love? Our home will then be filled with love!"
"Let us heed our daughter's advice," said the husband to his wife.
"Go out and invite Love to be our guest."
The woman went out and asked the 3 old men, "Which one of you is Love? Please come in and be our guest."
Love got up and started walking toward the house. The other 2 also got up and followed him. Surprised, the lady asked Wealth and Success: "I only invited Love, Why are you coming in?"
The old men replied together: "If you had invited Wealth or Success, the other two of us would've stayed out, but since you invited Love, wherever He goes, we go with him. Wherever there is Love, there is also Wealth and Success!!!!!!"

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Postby Dixie » Mon Jul 23, 2007 12:31 pm

Very nice.

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**O. Henry**

Postby **Elena** » Tue Jul 24, 2007 10:41 am


The Gift of the Magi

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
certainly 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 seriously 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.
Della 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. Something 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. Perhaps 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 shining
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, panting.
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
'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 m 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
Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, closelying
curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. Me
looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and
'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 he
back of the stove, hot and ready to cook the chops.
Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and ,at
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
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
'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
Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the
'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,
And then Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, '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
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 uneventful
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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Postby Dexter » Tue Jul 24, 2007 10:25 pm

I like this story very much!

Thanks for posting it here, Elena, you made me read it once again! :D

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Postby Bambang » Wed Aug 08, 2007 3:50 am

Dera Elena,

Keep posting short stories.

I like them.

Thank you.

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Postby Bambang » Wed Aug 08, 2007 3:57 am

Well written.

I like this.

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Postby Bambang » Wed Aug 08, 2007 3:59 am

Great :!:

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Postby Bambang » Wed Aug 08, 2007 4:08 am

a very touching diary.

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**Collection of stories**

Postby **Elena** » Thu Aug 09, 2007 6:31 am

Hello! A person from forum told me abt his need in stories, I promised to help so I am going to keep my promises :wink:

Funny True Story

On a weekend in Atlantic City, a woman won a bucketful of quarters at a slot machine. She was ready to take a break from the slots for dinner with her husband in the hotel dining room. But first she wanted to stash the quarters in her room. "I'll be right back and we'll go to eat," she told her husband and carried the coin-laden bucket to the elevator.
As she was about to walk into the elevator she noticed two men already aboard. Both were black. One of them was big, very big. . . an intimidating figure. The woman froze. Her first thought was: These two are going to rob me. Her next thought was: Don't be a bigot, they look like perfectly nice gentlemen. But racial stereotypes are powerful, and fear immobilized her. She stood and stared at the two men.
She felt anxious, flustered and ashamed. She hoped they didn't read her mind-but God, they had to know what she was thinking! Her hesitation about joining them in the elevator was all too obvious now. Her face was flushed. She couldn't just stand there, so with a mighty effort of will she picked up one foot and stepped forward and followed with the other foot and was on the elevator. Avoiding eye contact, she turned around stiffly and faced the elevator doors as they closed. A second passed, and then another second, and then another.
Her fear increased! The elevator didn't move. Panic consumed her. My God, she thought, I'm trapped and about to be robbed! Her heart plummeted. Perspiration poured from every pore.
Then one of the men said, "Hit the floor." Instinct told her to do what they told her. The bucket of quarters flew upwards as she threw out her arms and collapsed on the elevator floor. A shower of coins rained down on her. Take my money and spare me, she prayed.
More seconds passed. She heard one of the men say politely, "Ma'am, if you'll just tell us what floor you're going to, we'll push the button." The one who said it had a little trouble getting the words out. He was trying mightily to hold in a belly laugh. The woman lifted her head and looked up at the two men. They reached down to help her up.
Confused, she struggled to her feet. "When I told my friend here to hit the floor," said the average-sized one, "I meant that he should hit the elevator button for our floor. I didn't mean for you to hit the floor, ma'am." Hespoke genially. He bit his lip. It was obvious he was having a hard time not laughing.
The woman thought: My God, what a spectacle I've made of myself. She was too humiliated to speak. She wanted to blurt out an apology, but words failed her. How do you apologize to two perfectly respectable gentlemen for behaving as though they were going to rob you? She didn't know what to say.
The three of them gathered up the strewn quarters and refilled her bucket. When the elevator arrived at her floor they insisted on walking her to her room. She seemed a little unsteady on her feet, and they were afraid she might not make it down the corridor. At her door they bid her a good evening.
As she slipped into her room she could hear them roaring with laughter as they walked back to the elevator. The woman brushed herself off. She pulled herself together and went downstairs for dinner with her husband.
The next morning flowers were delivered to her room-a dozen roses. Attached to EACH rose was a crisp one hundred dollar bill. The card said: "Thanks for the best laugh we've had in years." It was signed, Eddie Murphy and Michael Jordan. :lol: :lol: :lol:
Last edited by **Elena** on Thu Aug 09, 2007 6:41 am, edited 1 time in total.

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Postby **Elena** » Thu Aug 09, 2007 6:35 am

A lady in a faded gingham dress and her husband,dressed in a homespun threadbare suit, stepped off the train in Boston, and walked timidly without an appointment into the president of Harvard's outer office. The secretary could tell in a moment that such backwoods, country hicks had no business at Harvard and probably didn't even deserve to be in Cambridge.
She frowned. "We want to see the president," the man said softly. "He'll be busy all day," the secretary snapped. "We'll wait," the lady replied. For hours, the secretary ignored them, hoping that the couple would finally become discouraged and go away.
They didn't. And the secretary grew frustrated and finally decided to disturb the president, even though it was a chore she always regretted to do. "Maybe if they just see you for a few minutes, they'll leave," she told him.
And he sighed in exasperation and nodded. Someone of his importance obviously didn't have the time to spend with them, but he detested gingham dresses and homespun suits cluttering up his outer office. The president, stern-faced with dignity, strutted toward the couple. The lady told him, "We had a son that attended Harvard for one year. He loved Harvard. He was happy here. But about a year ago, he was accidentally killed. And my husband and I would like to erect a memorial to him, somewhere on campus."
The president wasn't touched, he was shocked.
"Madam," he said gruffly. "We can't put up a statue for every person who attended Harvard and died. If we did, this place would look like a cemetery". "Oh, no," the lady explained quickly. "We don't want to erect a statue.
We thought we would like to give a building to Harvard." The president rolled his eyes. He glanced at the gingham dress and homespun suit, then exclaimed, "A building! Do you have any earthly idea how much a building costs? We have over seven and a half million dollars in the physical plant at Harvard." For a moment the lady was silent. The president was pleased. He could get rid of them now. And the lady turned to her husband and said quietly, "Is that all it costs to start a University? Why don't we just start our own?" Her husband nodded. The president's face wilted in confusion and bewilderment. And Mr. and Mrs. Leland Stanford walked away, traveling to Palo Alto, California where they established the University that bears their name, a memorial to a son that Harvard no longer cared about.

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Postby **Elena** » Thu Aug 09, 2007 6:38 am

A thriller Love story

Jane is a typical college girl who enjoys life to the fullest. She loves her boyfriend so much and texts him every now and then.
Mark is Jane's boyfriend who works in a call center in los angeles. He's always busy doing so many things. He only manage to reply to Jane's texts when he got off from work.
One time Mark receive a message from Jane : "hi baby! how are you? i miss you! call my house when u get home..take care! i love you!"
Mark ignored the message because he always receive the same message whenever it is time for him to go home from work.
"baby, i miss you..did u eat yet?! take care when you get home! ill be waiting for your call..i love you!"
"baby, where are you?! its unfair that you dont reply to my texts... well, im just gonna wait for your call..i love you!"
Mark reaches home and lay on his bed.
The last time he knew is that he's reading Jane's text.
He was so tired he fall asleep and wasn't able to return jane's call. He can still hear his phone beeps but he's too tired to take a glimpse on the message.
When he woke up the next day, he remembers that he needs to call Jane. He ignored the messages and dialed Jane's .. No one's answering in her house. He called up her cellphone and he was surprised that her father answered the call.
In his voice you can feel his tears and hear his heart tearing apart.
"Mark, why havent you called?. Jane was waiting for your call all night!"
"Dad im sorry. i fell asleep being so tired from work... i was calling ur house but no one was answering. where are you? so i can come over."
"Just meet me at jane's house." Mark went to Jane's house and much to his
surprised he saw a lot of people inside.
The house were so lighted but you can see the gloomvon every person you'll meet there. He was greeted by Jane's mom on tears. She hug him tight and cried on his shoulders.
"Jane was waiting for you. She didnt come with us because she was waiting for your call. She was killed by robbers that broke in our house. Shes gone, Mark. She's gone."
"thats impossible..she texted me..how could this happen!"
Mark can't look who's inside the coffin. He can't move and it feels like his whole body is stuck on the chair he's seating on. He wanted to cry
but it seems that something is blocking his tears to fall down. He turned to his phone and read the messages of Jane.

"baby, im not coming with my mom and dad..im just gonna wait for your call.."

"baby..im so scared... it seems like theres someone downstairs..please call me

"babe..someones here..they might kill me..please call me now, where are you?
i need you here..."

"baby.... i love you!..."

He wanted to shout and cry so loud. It's true that Jane is waiting for his call. Up to her last breath she only thinks about him.
He stared at Jane inside the coffin. Suddenly tears starts flowing down his cheeks. He can't say anything. The only words he uttered...

"My baby, i'm so sorry! I could have known, i could have fought for you! i'm really sorry! I love you so

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Postby Bambang » Fri Aug 10, 2007 3:48 pm


Keep posting dear Elena.

Thank you a million.

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Postby **Elena** » Mon Aug 13, 2007 7:09 am

The story begins like this...

'How long will you be poring over that newspaper? Will you come here right away and make your darling daughter eat her food?'

I tossed the paper away and rushed to the scene. My only daughter Sindu looked frightened. Tears were welling up in her eyes. In front of her was a bowl filled to its brim with Curd Rice.

Sindu is a nice child, quite intelligent for her age. She has just turned eight. She particularly detested Curd Rice. My mother and my wife are orthodox, and believe firmly in the 'cooling effects' of Curd Rice!

I cleared my throat, and picked up the bowl. "Sindu, darling, why don't you take a few mouthful of this Curd Rice? Just for Dad's sake, dear. And, if you don't, your Mom will shout at me.'

I could sense my wife's scowl behind my back. Sindu softened a bit, and wiped her tears with the back of her hands. 'OK, Dad. I will eat - not just a few mouthfuls, but the whole lot of this. But, you should...' Sindu hesitated. 'Dad, if I eat this entire Curd Rice, will you give me whatever I ask for?'

'Oh sure, darling'.


'Promise'. I covered the pink soft hand extended by my daughter with mine, and clinched the deal.

'Ask Mom also to give a similar promise', my daughter insisted. My wife slapped her hand on sindu's, muttering 'Promise', without any emotion.

Now I became a bit anxious. 'Sindumma, you shouldn't insist on getting a computer or any such expensive items. Dad does not have that kind of money right now. OK?'

'No, Dad. I do not want anything expensive'. Slowly and painfully, she finished eating the whole quantity. I was silently angry with my wife and my mother for forcing my child eat something that she detested.

After the ordeal was through, Sindu came to me with her eyes wide with expectation. All our attention was on her. 'Dad, I want to have my head shaved off, this Sunday!' was her demand!

'Atrocious!' shouted my wife, 'a girl child having her head shaved off? Impossible!' .

'Never in our family!' my mother rasped. 'She has been watching too much of television. Our culture is getting totally spoiled with these TV programs!'

'Sindumma, why don't you ask for something else? We will be sad seeing you with a clean-shaven head.'

'No, Dad. I do not want anything else', Sindu said with finality.

'Please, Sindu, why don't you try to understand our feelings?' I tried to plead with her.

'Dad, you saw how difficult it was for me to eat that Curd Rice'. Sindu was in tears. 'And you promised to grant me whatever I ask for. Now, you are going back on your words. Was it not you who told me the story of King Harishchandra, and its moral that we should honour our promises no matter what?'

It was time for me to call the shots. 'Our promise must be kept.'

'Are you out your mind?' chorused my mother and wife.

'No. If we go back on our promises, she will never learn to honour her own. Sindu, your wish will be fulfilled.'

With her head clean-shaven, Sindu had a round-face, and her eyes looked big & beautiful.

On Monday morning, I dropped her at her school. It was a sight to watch my hairless Sindu walking towards her classroom. She turned around and waved. I waved back with a smile. Just then, a boy alighted from a car, and shouted, 'Sinduja, please wait for me!'

What struck me was the hairless head of that boy. 'May be, that is the in-stuff', I thought.

'Sir, your daughter Sinduja is great indeed!' Without introducing herself, a lady got out of the car, and continued, 'That boy who is walking along with your daughter is my son Harish. He is suffering from ... leukaemia.'

She paused to muffle her sobs. 'Harish could not attend the school for the whole of the last month. He lost all his hair due to the side effects of the chemotherapy. He refused to come back to school fearing the unintentional but cruel teasing of the schoolmates. Sinduja visited him last week, and promised him that she will take care of the teasing issue. But, I never imagined she would sacrifice her lovely hair for the sake of my son! Sir, you and your wife are blessed to have such a noble soul as your daughter.'

I stood transfixed. And then, I wept. 'My little Angel, will you grant me a boon? Should there be another birth for me, will you be my mother, and teach me what Love is?'

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Postby Bambang » Mon Aug 13, 2007 7:55 am


Keep postinggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg.

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