History of Father's Day

Happy Father's Day!

 The third Sunday of June is the day we celebrate the fathers of our households.  The first Father's Day was celebrated in Washington on June 19th, 1910. However, it wasn't made a national holiday until 62 years later in 1972. On the other hand, Mother's Day was made a national holiday 58 years before Father's Day. 

Father's Day was met with a lot of controversy when it was first introduced. Many men called this holiday incredibly commercial because it apparently "domesticating manliness to a high degree".

Additionally, many activists sought to make a single Parents' Day instead of Mother's and Father's Day because both parents deserve an equal amount of recognition.

This controversy ended after World War 2 because the American public had agreed that Father's Day was a good day to celebrate the young men of the American troops. Soon after, Richard Nixon declared Father's Day a national holiday.

Here are some facts about the widely-acclaimed holiday:

1) Around 111 countries celebrate Father's Day.

2)The third Sunday of June was picked by accident after it was originally supposed to happen on June 5th but the pastors weren't prepared so it was postponed.

3) Only 50% of Father's Day cards are purchased for a father, the others are for husbands, grandfather's sons, or uncles.

4) Sonora Smart Dodd was the "mother of Father's Day" as she grew up with a widowed father and appreciated the work he put into raising her.

The Enchantress

 This is a twisted version of the famous fairytale, Sleeping Beauty. This story fractures the original version of the story, not the Disney adaptation. 

The forest had inky-black branches that tangled around each other in the misty fog. It was known as the ‘Cursed Forest’ or the ‘Witch’s Woods’. Both of these are correct. The woods are mine and they are cursed… by me. 

There was once a magnificent kingdom in the place of the stygian trees. The only remains of the kingdom were the desolate ruins of the ancient castle. The ruins were covered in curling vines with a single red rose that stood in stark contrast, surrounded by the eerie white mist. The rose was a reminder of the legend of the Forgotten Kingdom. 

The entire world seemed to rejoice when the queen of the land gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. The sun’s rays danced around the castle and illuminated the area. The King threw a huge party to which the entire kingdom was invited. The entire kingdom, except me. 

I resided in the dark corner of the land. I stayed alone in my dark tower of misery with nothing but a small raven that I treated like a child. The horns on my head were a nagging reminder of the reason for my solitude. So, when I caught wind of the King’s party, I decided to grace the castle with my presence and give the young princess a gift that would be remembered for years to come. 

As I neared the castle, I could hear the celebration happening inside. I was a polite woman of course, so I gave three sharp knocks on the door. They didn’t seem to hear so I let myself in. The party turned silent. 

“Was I not invited?” I asked with a malicious grin. The King stammered and blubbered like an idiot for a long while. It was absolutely hilarious. 

“Get out of here at once,” the queen ordered. 

“I too have a cur–, I mean, gift for the princess,” I gave a sickly sweet smile that showed my pristine fangs and I batted my eyelashes. 

I observed the room, five of the six fairies were standing on one side so I suspected some of them had already given their gifts. One fairy was standing to the other side ready to redeem whatever misfortune I bestowed upon the princess. 

I made my way to the center of the room where the crib was and got my first good look at the baby princess. 

I suppressed a gasp. She was the most beautiful creature I had ever laid my demonic eyes on! Her eyes were a misty gray that sparkled like the candles she was surrounded by. She had luscious white hair with beautiful curls that had traces of silver in it. The baby’s round face lit up as she cooed under me. This child wasn’t meant to be a princess, she was meant to be an enchantress. What if she replaced me? I whispered my curse in her ear. 

“On the eve of your 16th birthday, you prick your finger with a spinning needle and everyone in the kingdom will immediately breathe their last. You will be among them.”

After I whispered those words into the ear of the princess, the entire party descended into the welcoming arms of chaos. The King shakily held his wife as she sobbed into his arms. All while I watched with pure delight on my face. 

As I expected, the last fairy emerged from behind the curtains and tried to console the heart-broken royal family. 

“I might be able to help but I can’t fully undo the curse,” the last fairy admitted as she threw me a menacing glare. Well, as menacing as you can get when you are wearing a frilly, blue, ball gown. 

“Do what you can, please,” the King begged. 

The fairy nodded.

“The princess will not die on her 16th birthday,” she started in her shrill voice as I smirked. “Instead, she will simply fall asleep. A slumber that can be woken up by another King’s son from the neighboring lands.”

 I had to restrain everything in my power not to burst out laughing. A prince! The naive fairy was under the impression that a meager prince could stop my curse from happening. I snorted to myself.

The prince will not have a kingdom to find if all goes according to plan. 

As the years passed, the King grew more and more paranoid for his only daughter’s safety. He ordered every spindle in the kingdom to be burned. Except, of course, my own, which I kept hidden in my sanctuary in the woods.

Finally, the night of the princess’s sixteenth birthday arrived. As it happened, she was wandering about the kingdom and stumbled upon an old tower in the middle of the woods. It was a blue-moon night, so her hair seemed to glisten in the light. Her caramel skin and gray eyes made it seem like she was made for the nighttime. I took my spindle outside and started spinning just as she was passing by. She stopped for a moment and peered curiously at the spindle. The dame had never seen a spindle as far she could remember so she inched closer to it.

“What is that you’re doing, madam?” she asked in a low but sweet voice. 

“Oh, I’m just spinning myself some new garments,” I laughed. 

“May I try?” the princess ran her hands across the spindle. 

I could barely contain my grin. 

No sooner had she sat down, the princess pricked her finger with a spinning needle and the world went silent.

“Oh my! I’m feeling quite drowsy.” the young woman started to sway. Then, she fell over, doomed to a never-ending coma. 

At the same time, I could hear thuds across the kingdom as everyone fell to the ground. I cackled as lightning struck behind me. 

With a swish of my hand, I commanded the mist to cover the bodies. As always, the forest listened to me. Vines curled around the houses and the castle. 

As time passed, the vines gradually pulled all the structures below the ground. The rose that was as red as blood blossomed amid the fog.  

On the other side of the land, a young man destined to awaken the princess was growing up. 

A hundred years later, the prince did come, but he arrived to nothing but a dark forest and a woman in black robes with horns on her head, waiting for him. I raised my hand and flicked my fingers. 

He crumpled to the ground and a wisp of white vapor lingered in the air for a split second before it too disappeared. I watched the rose in front of me turn as black as ebony and wilt.

Alone at last.

Empty Road

 Empty Road 

It curves around the sleeping giant,

A different sight on every bend,

Every small sound echoes like the roar of a lion,

Voices tossed in the valley and one with the wind.

People are scarce on this hidden route,

Many choose to endure the highway,

Unaware of the blessing they were living without,

So close, yet worlds away.

The few who travel here find their worries erased,

Flying away with an escaped kite,

Passersby keep the mountain’s secret and leave without a trace,

Under the glow of the silver moonlight.

A place that makes you learn 

and forget everything at the same time,

Look up and see the sky so blue,

A moment without reason or rhyme.

Your car skids as it takes a turn,

The abyss of reality comes into view as you enter wide-eyed,

The memory becomes more of a feeling etched like a terrible burn,

Wherever you go you can always remember the empty road on the mountainside. 

The Zodiac Killer

These days, I've been really interested in the psychology of serial killers. The Zodiac Killer is a cold case from around the time of Ted Bundy. He took many lives but left ciphers for the police at every crime scene. It was almost like this was a game to him. He demanded that the ciphers be published in the newspapers the following day, or he threatened more killings. His ciphers have still never been cracked. 

 The Zodiac Killer 

I laughed at their vain attempts,

Blindly groping through the darkness,

Through the night I crept,

Taking lives while making my own,

To this day, I remain unknown.

I was winning at this crooked game,

They writhed in pain and begged for answers,

I should be feeling nothing but shame,

But I couldn’t suppress my joy,

While watching the blood run down my sharp, silver toy.

No handcuff encircled my wrists,

Though I’m easy to catch,

They’ll look the other way,

As I disappear into the mist.

Real life haunted house

 I pass this house every day on the way to school. I hope you enjoy the story. 😈

Every tree around the house was pointed inward, towards it. It was on a road in the countryside that was seldom used. The door was battered and worn out. It had scratches decorating the outside, and a large chunk of wood was missing. The door’s dark shade stood in stark contrast to the rest of the house, which was once a marvelous magenta reduced to a faint cream hue. An old, blue semi-truck stood in its driveway, with two of its tires missing. The second floor of the house had two windows, each covered with overgrown poison oak. I'm sure the place was beautiful in its time, but now, it looked straight out of a horror movie

It was a Tuesday and rain was slowly misting down. It drooled down my bus window from ominous clouds that surely preceded a dangerous storm. Our bus had managed to catch every red light that day. 

I sighed as I pulled an earbud from my ear to listen to the crawling drizzle and winced as the first crack of thunder shook the sky. We screeched to a stop at the fifth red light we had encountered today. My eyes aimlessly drifted toward the structure that seemed to be waiting for me. I see it almost every day, yet today the house seemed particularly chilling. Something was different about it. 

I soon realized the reason for this notion. One of the windows on the top floor was emitting a strange glow. A yellowish light was coming out of the room. Something moved inside. I craned my neck to get a better look and instantly regretted doing that. A dark figure was stationary in front of the glass. I couldn't quite make it out but it seemed human.

As the traffic light turned green and we drove away. I could swear I heard a screechy laugh, lost in the wind.

Skellig review

 Recently, I read a book called Skellig by David Almond. This book is realistic with a touch of fantasy. 

The story starts with Micheal, a ten-year-old boy who just moved to a new house. Micheal's baby sister is very sick and they moved so she would have better access to a doctor. Their new house is crumbly and seems like it could fall down with one touch. Micheal ventures into the dark and dusty garage and finds a mysterious being down there. Together, Micheal and his new friend Mina sought to help the creature. 

I really enjoyed reading this book because this is one of the few books I've seen that starts off like realistic fiction and slowly morphs into fantasy at the end. This book isn't a thriller or unputdownable but it is short and sweet. 

I would describe this book as a break from all the adrenaline that reading a full fantasy creates. I would definitely rate this book a 5/5. 

Where do I start? A poem about writer's block

Where do I start?

Thousands of thoughts are running through my mind,

While I'm working on this art,

It feels like options make me more confined,

Where do I start?

Do I write about the luminous night,

Where there's a tale therein

Or about a bird that's just taken flight,

How, oh, how do I begin?

I play it off as good ole' writer's block,

But I've had it for a long time

There's a story inside which I have unlock,

Wen can I begin my climb

How, where, and when do I begin,

I'm back to where I started 

In an incomprehensible labyrinth,

That I still haven't out-smarted.

I'm at the dead end of a maze,

Oh the places I've been,

But something has changed in these many days,

And now, finally, I know where to begin