How I see It

Archive for the ‘Short Stories’ Category

Love and Understanding Chapter 1


“I love you.”

Karen stopped dead in her tracks, the 95 degree heat suddenly feeling hotter. In slow motion, as though afraid to see sincerity in his eyes, she turned to face him. They stood on the sidewalk in front of a small french bistro two blocks from her apartment complex. Here she was, the six-foot-three, broad shouldered Darien King towering over her. This dark-haired, brown-eyed, ruggedly handsome Darien King. The same one to whom she’d given her heart. The same one who’d, so coldly, shred it in a million tiny pieces and flushed it down the toilet. She had pinned for this day for about 5,475 days give or take – not that she was counting. Yet here she was, speechless. The words she’d rehearsed so many times, couldn’t make their way from her heart to her lips. All she could manage was a weak and confused sounding chuckle.

It felt like the bustle of the people and cars rushing and swooshing up and down the road completely stopped. He looked so intently into her dark brown eyes, searching for something he knew was there. She gave him her coldest glare and watched him die a little inside. In fact, she almost wanted to celebrate the fact that he was hurting. So what was that thing in her heart still tugging at strings she thought she’d cut long ago? She would deal with that later. For right now, she had to get out of there before she said or did anything she would regret. So she turned away from the one man who will always have her heart. As she sashayed away, she knew he was breaking just like she had that day.


Karen Sway had never looked at him like that. Not even when he had told her she wasn’t good enough for him, and turned his back on her. That was the first time he really saw the pain he’d caused the only person he never ever wanted to hurt, and he wanted to slap himself for damaging her like that.

Now he was back and more in love with her than he’d been before he broke her heart. I had no choice.  He kept telling himself this, hoping that if he said it enough, he’d convince himself that she’d understand. Would she understand? Would she ever even let him explain? He wondered about all this as he watched her walk away from him. The love of his life was walking out of his life! What are you doing you idiot, follow her NOW!

“Karen, I’m serious. I love you. I always did. Please stop!”. She turned around so abruptly and started to say something. As he closed the gap between them, he saw her catch her breath like she’d decided not to confront him after all. She still couldn’t bring herself to say one damn word? He saw the tears start to gather in her eyes and then it hit him. She hadn’t moved on. She still hurt deep down and now here he was, bringing all her buried pain back to life. He now understood that she wasn’t ready to face him. Who could blame her? When she turned around and briskly walked away, this time he let her go. He’d have to wait.




Breakthrough Dream


I had a dream last night. I think it meant something.

Enter dreamland…

I’m driving home from work on a Friday afternoon. There’s been a storm warning which because of the sheer stubbornness in me, I decide to ignore.

I drive my way through Southeast D.C without a hiccup. The clouds are gathering; dark clouds that cover the skies in nothing but a deep  somber grey. The sun is buried so far behind these large blobs of condensed water. It’s almost like we’ve seen its last ray.

I approach the John Phillip Sousa Bridge that crosses the Anacostia River.

John Phillip Sousa Bridge Southeast D.C

Now, the fog is so thick like tons of dirty grey cotton just sitting in the atmosphere. I find myself wishing I had a large pair of scissors and a miracle so I could cut through the cloudiness and find the other end of the bridge.

The winds are hurling at unbelievably high speeds, pushing back anyone who tries to defy the angry elements.

Feeling defiant, I press down on my accelerator in an attempt to brave the force of the wind. I’m barely a quarter of the way into the bridge when I realize that my Toyota Highlander Sport is the only car on the road in either direction. What are you thinking Gabriella? I turn around and drive back. Too late!

N.B: Because this is a dream, events may or may not be completely sensible.

Next thing I know, I’m several feet in the air, no car anywhere in sight, screaming my way down as I fall.

I get an areal view of the surface that awaits my landing. I can see the demarcation of the river and it’s banks. At this point, I’m hoping I’ve done enough good in my life to warrant a place in heaven. I cannot swim.

By some miracle, I land on the soft grounds by the river. It seems like a calculated landing, something straight out of a comic book, a super landing – if you will.

Humming a sweet tune, I peruse my surroundings to see how far away from the water I am. I missed the deep end by only a few feet. The pieces of land around the river bank have fresh farm produce, sprouting from the fertile soil.

The storm has disappeared. All is calm, and the sun is even peeking through from behind the slowly brightening clouds.

I approach a farmer and ask for the way back to the city.

“With a voice like yours, you should be going that way”, he says and points in the direction of a tiny road leading out of the cultivated land. I smile, wave and follow the single file of people heading the same way.

I had been humming this song:

Lauren Daigle performing How Can It Be

You plead my cause,
You right my wrong,
You Break my chains,
You overcome,

You gave your life,
To give me mine,

You say that I am free,
How can it be.

…Exit dreamland.

The song I was sin gong is a gospel song called How Can It Be by Lauren Daigle. It testifies to the amazing nature of God and his forgiviness. It fits perfectly. I’ve just been miraculously rescued by God, from what could have been a horrendous accident that ended my life (In the dream). What did I do to deserve saving? I am only a scarred, sinful human.

I recounted this dream to a close friend of mine to which he responded;

“You should be happy. I think you will have a breakthrough. If I were to interpret that dream I would say you were going through something and God saw to amend your situation in your favor.”

I believe.
I accept.
I receive.






A Tale Of Time Wasted

tumblr_m4quq5xQl11qkxrtro1_500It’s 10:30 a.m. The babe woke me up this morning at 9. When he called, the phone vibrated so loudly under my pillow that I was startled out of sleep and almost into insanity.

Anyway, we talked for a while but he had to go to work. I’m sure you’re thinking “get to the point already”.

Well, I’ve been staring into my phone since that 25 minute conversation ended. Facebook, Youtube, and more Facebook.

In all that time, I’ve watched 1 music video and 1 velvet cake recipe video. I’ve seen serval photos, mulled over uncountable statuses, and above all, I’ve WASTED time.

That got me thinking…. is our generation really shackled to social media? Are we infinitely bound to a world painted so beautifully different than the reality that surrounds us?

In the time that I spent scrolling up and down my timeline, I could have read a book (currently reading ‘Americannah’ by Chimamanda Ngozi – you should read it. It’s… well, words can’t fully describe it’s brilliance). I could have gone for a jog (since I met the babe 10 months ago, I’ve gained ‘happy pounds’ as Dr. Oz calls them. I’m even developing a slight muffin top! I’VE NEVER HAD A MUFFIN TOP!!!!). Most importantly, I could have been working on my resumé so I can find a job (recent grad… p.s. job hunting is gruesome).

The point is; I spent time looking at other people’s impact on the world instead of getting up and doing something to make my own mark.

It’s crazy.

It’s a thing now: people spend a few precious morning hours in bed awake, just laying there chasing the virtual world. For those who can’t afford to stay in bed, they use poop time in the morning to do their share of the chasing.

I’m sure if we averaged all the morning hours lost just browsing aimlessly on the Internet, the world would be loosing an outrageously and insanely large amount of time.

So what does this mean? Is it good or bad? Will it get better or worse? I don’t know, I don’t know, and most likely worse thanks to evolution in technology.

I do know this; I’m still in bed now and it’s 11a.m. Writing this blog has been the only productive thing I’ve done this morning. Hopefully I don’t get dragged down the time sucking rabbit hole Facebook is calling ‘timeline’, after this little rant.


-Gabbie A.-

Fresh Air Inspiration

b2aa27133c7d3bf6826232c60f60e053It’s freezing outside, and her ears feel numb, like they just got pulled out of the fridge. They’re so cool they tingle with something that feels sharp. But it is a bittersweet kind of pain. The kind of pain that you can afford to endure for just a minute, another minute in that chilly night, where everything smells fresh and the air is pure. She takes a deep breath and she can’t help but smile. This crisp air makes her think of times when nature was pure, untouched, void of contamination. Times when nature was all that mattered and one could feel every creature, seen and unseen. She smiles again as reality hits her. That’s all gone now she thinks. Everything gets in the way now. Just then, her thoughts are interrupted by the door into Knight Hall, the journalism building at her university. Confirmation much?

She’s been walking to class after an afternoon of watching “The Carrie Diaries” on a borrowed computer, in the huge school library. It’s 6:55pm on a Tuesday night and she has class in 20 minutes. It’s her senior year… well almost her senior year. She wants to take an extra semester, which means starting her senior year next semester.

She’s here now. She walks into the building and the artificial warm air hits her. She’s relieved that she will soon regain feeling in her ears. Her body is tingling, as it adapts to the warmth inside the building. This unnatural, forced warmth. Thank God for Heating systems she thinks. But then the air isn’t pure anymore. It smells corrupted; a mixture of several perfumes/ body sprays, sweat and warm air. Nothing fresh about that. It doesn’t smell bad though. The scents have mixed up so well that it almost smells like nothing.

The classroom is empty except for the three professors, one of whom will leave in a few minutes because his work day is over and he has to get back to his life. “Hello” she says as she walks to her seat.

She sits down and logs into the computer. Her mind drifts back to that cool air outside. She had felt very inspired in that short walk. It was something about the coolness of the air, and that long deep breath she had taken. She wants to write and as she logs into her WordPress account, she’s thinking I didn’t know fresh air could be so inspiring.

Moment Under His Tiny Black Umbrella

Common, Now? Really? Carrie sprinted across the street, her slender legs carrying her as swiftly as possible towards the bus stop. There had been a storm warning, one she hadn’t considered well enough. Her timing had been off and her hopes of being safely seated in the bus when the rains began were shattering with every fat drop of cold liquid that hit her exposed arms. “Shit” she cursed softly as she began to run.

As if punishing her for daring to complain, the drops tripled and quadrupled and the winds hurled louder and stronger, almost hustling her to the ground. She couldn’t run fast enough, not when the heavy breeze was blowing right into her eyes, making it hard to see anything. Everyone everywhere around was rushing for the nearest sheltered place. Carrie couldn’t find shelter; she needed to find the bus stop. Missing that bus would mean going at least an hour late to her second job. Manager Justin wouldn’t like that at all. So she kept running.

She noticed someone rushing by. He wore a short-sleeved black polo T and black slacks, and had a backpack tightly strapped to his back. He was in just as much of a hurry as she was. The tiny black umbrella he attempted to protect himself with, was useless against the gust of winds that were tearing through. Its weak spokes flopped around in whatever direction the wind chose to blow it. He passed her and crossed to the other side of the road. Just then the rains doubled force and the light white cotton blouse and black pants Carrie was wearing, were now soaking with heaven’s tears.

He stopped rushing when he had reached the other side and looked over at Carrie who was hugging her novel and journal closely to her chest in an unsuccessful attempt at shielding the precious books from the pouring rain. Is he smiling at me?, she wondered and ran straight to him as though the smile meant ‘come here.’

“Haha, are you Ok?” he asked once she had joined him under his tiny suffering umbrella.

“Well, I’m soaking wet, and guess where I’m headed. To work!”

“Me too.” he laughed. “I have an extra shirt in my bag but…”

“Good for you! This is me right here. I have nothing. At least you thought to bring something with you. I’m coming from another job and I didn’t expect to get caught in this little disaster.” They chatted on; laughing at what would have been a miserable experience.

“I guess this makes for a great story to tell someday” Carrie said between smiles.

“I guess so!” he said and laughed. They exchanged first names and continued to talk. She found out he was Venezuelan and had been in the country 7 years, a tiny detail she appreciated all too much. The company was proving to be great and Carrie was yapping on about whether or not to go home considering her soaking condition, to which Tony said he couldn’t. He was the manager at his job, which meant mandatory attendance.

They were now approaching the bus terminal and she cursed every step they took closer to it. She was enjoying the bond she and Toni were sharing. Their chat had now settled on where she was going and what bus to take.

As if fate disliked that she was making such a good experience out of what could have easily been a miserable situation, his bus appeared in front of them on the other side of the street.

He pointed to it and said “I take the 38 bus. Does it go your way?”

“No.” she responded, disappointed that he was leaving, and taking away a great conversation, a sexy voice and his tiny black umbrella with him.

“Do you want my umbrella?” he asked as if sensing her feelings.

“No. You’ll probably need that later.”

He smiled at her and waved at the bus which was now almost leaving him behind. When he rushed to the door, he called back at her; “Bye!”. She smiled and waved at him as he disappeared into the closing doors.

 Why didn’t you take the Umbrella Carrie? What is wrong with you? She kept reliving that conversation over and over wishing she had taken the umbrella as a souvenir of that moment.

Standing in the train 15 minutes later after deciding to go home, she thought about how charming he had been. His slightly bearded face was cute and he was easily at least 6 feet tall. His smile was warm and he had the sexiest voice a girl could ever dream of hearing; soft, yet very manly. Maybe the gushing wind had provided some sound effects.

It was the perfect way to meet someone. Someone with whom she could have shared many dinners and late-night calls, held hands and walked on the beach. She smiled at the thought of telling the ‘how we met’ story to their mutual friends and family. It was just too perfect!

Walking home gave her time to revel in that encounter. What if she had taken the umbrella? What if she’d mustered up courage and asked for his number? What if she had followed him on the bus?

The what-ifs seemed endless and she would always wonder. But somehow, that was the beauty of it all.

She had lived that moment with Tony, a guy she most probably would never meet again. She would never know what could have been. She convinced herself it was OK. After all, the magic of that moment under the tiny black umbrella is safely preserved in the mystery of not knowing.