Another Story written many years ago

Juliani was a middle aged man who spoke little english. What english he did speak was laden with heavy Itlalian undertones, coming from his native Sicilian dialect. Juliani had come to England in 1975 to start his own Olive Oil business, "Juliani's". Juliani avidly tells anyone who'll listen that of all his grandfather's estate, he was left but a toy car while the bulk of the money went to his enterprising brother.

Juliani worked hard for 10 years to raise the money to start his business and every year since then he has made just enough money to pay his workers well and have a little on the side to feed his passion: toy cars. On the twentieth year, to the day that he opened his business his workers bought him a miniature 'Maserati'. With his European passion, Juliani burst into tears thanking everyone personally with two kisses on each cheek.
On the 20th of December 2005, "Juliani's" was forced out of business. The papers claimed that "Juliani's" Olive Oil had caused a food poisoning incident. Incensed by the horrible happenings Juliani wept and prayed for forgiveness. He sold his factory and his equipment and amassed the money to give his loyal workers their christmas bonus and with that taken care of, he hung himself.

Some days later his workers all received a strange parcel in the mail. The parcel, addressed personally to each member contained three items. A poem about each worker, a wad of money and a toy car. Juliani had given each of his workers one of his prized toy cars as a keepsake for them to remember him by. His most prized toy car, the 'Maserati' which his workers had given him, he sent to the house in which he grew up with an inscription on the bottom.

"Money is the puzzle of man, The solution...is priceless"

A story I wrote many years ago

Winter was her favourite season and teddy was her favourite toy. She was a young girl whose aspirations rarely exceeded that of having the "bestest" friend in the world. However, deep inside this girl was a longing, a longing of something other than teddy and winter. Something inexplicable. She knew what it was, yet at the same time she had no idea.

Hours she spent playing in the snow, creating castles, all of which her favourite teddy was king. A wonderland she had created in her mind, one which was only ever interrupted by a sudden urge for some sweets. One day she was out playing in the forest and realised she was lost. So long had her and teddy spent fighting off imaginary hordes of wicked fairies that it was now dark and finding the way home was too hard.

She began to cry and clenched teddy as tightly as she had clenched her mother's hand the day of her father's funeral. It was at that precise moment she realised what she longed for; some time alone to grieve. As she sat on the damp forest floor she remembered the times that her and her father had spent together. For he had given her the teddy she loved so much and it was he who had introduced her to her imagination.

After what seemed like hours, she sat up. Her tears ceased to stream from her deep blue eyes and she noticed a woman running towards her. Her mother hugged her tightly and began to cry as well. Then the little girl said:
"Mummy look, Teddy is crying too..."

In The Beginning...

This will be the first correspondence with the unknown from this blogger. Have I blogged before? No. I always admired people that blogged, those of the 'blogger' realm. Now that I start to blog myself I have a feeling that admiration will dwindle. One can hardly admire a clique to which they belong.

I have a class presentation to give in exactly 20 hours. I don't understand the question entirely, it is badly worded. Malformed. That awkward clunky way of over complicating a simple sentence. Perhaps if my teacher was of the bloggerhood I would get it. Still, I must persevere.

Adieux