Unpacking Adoration | Short Story

Unpacking Adoration
by Miranda Innaimo

 

It would seem by the contents of her luggage, the trip had been a success: there were trinkets obtained at memorial sites, receipts from extravagant restaurants, museum pamphlets, and a signed copy of a music album.  Yet these things were tossed aside, and sorted garments of clothing brought swelling emotions to the woman’s heart.

A pale blue cardigan with a sleeve spotted by champagne: the woman could still recall the handsome man handing her the tall, slender flute, his eyes sparkling joy beyond the bubbly.  They had sat near each other while upon the flight oversees, his elbow gently brushing against her own, her breath fluttering not only from the altitude. After sharing a bottle, it soon became obvious the woman would not use the services of a tour guide; the gentleman upon flight 403- with a relaxing personality, carefree poise, and with well-founded understanding of their destination- he suited her standards for exploration far better than whomever the travel agency had chosen as her guide.

A silk handkerchief, embroidered with his initials: attending an opera in a language neither could understand, quietly whispering their interpretations of the saga; the woman occasionally silently laughing to tears while the pageantry’s storyline unfurled in hushed giggles. He put his arm around her, the handkerchief slipped into her purse.  Now, fingers tracing the embroidered letters upon the silk, and she bit her lip with the desire to be held like that again.

An evening gown, the shoulder strap broken at dawn after an evening of dancing: they had commemorated their final night overseas by swinging together upon a rooftop dance floor, the city lights shining upon them as they moved together. They were radiant, and the entire crowd melds together as a fading glow compared to their shimmering happiness. Held close, the woman felt his breath upon her hair while hearing him whisper sincerely, “I’ve never felt like this before.”

___

That morning at breakfast, the woman looked languidly across the kitchen table. “More coffee?” she asked. Her husband slid his mug towards her and continued scanning his business files.

After another moment of silence, she asked, “Would you like to go kayaking this weekend? We could go downstream, camp on the shore and see the stars come out.”

He lifted his chin from the manila folder, “We don’t own a kayak.”

“How about we attend a lesson Thursday evening? I’ve always wanted to learn swing dancing. There is a big band performing.”

Between sips of coffee, he casually reminded, “You know trumpets give me a headache.”

She continued, trying, “we could see the Hungarian movie playing at the theater tonight?” After he had consumed several bites of toast while putting a note in the margin of his paperwork, she nudged again, “the Hungarian movie, darling?”

He looked up, snapping close the file. “I’m working on a special account this evening, so I will be home later than I would like.” Her husband rose and left the table.

Bidding him farewell at the door, the woman placed the silk handkerchief in his breast pocket.  “Thank you again for our lovely vacation,” she said, her fingers trailing the embroidery initials on the cloth.

“Hmm?” her husband gazed into the foyer mirror, adjusting his tie and straightening his collar.  “Oh, yes, you’re welcome.” He smiled, “I’ve got to go.”  With a hurried kiss, he was out the door for the remainder of the day.

The woman shuffled her feet into the laundry room: the clothes from their trip clean and dry without as much as a spot upon them; no lingering stain of adventure embracing the cotton, no scent of the exotic airs they gasped together in romance.  It seemed that all residue of their experience was washed away, yet, she knew, the adoration unpacked would reside forever.

Flicking the light off, she carried the laundry away and went about her daily routine.

 

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Remarkable Inquiry | short story

The question proposed to me was like the diamond on my hand; taken with a blush and a gasp, extended towards me with vigorous love.  I knew nothing else for a moment, but the sheer brilliance of glimmering promises.

To answer, I was mute; ideas flourished, abounded so greatly, no one particular statement offered assurance by voice; my heart enraptured, traded on a string, a chord binding our agreement; tied so tightly no unraveling could achieve our demise.  We were blissfully bound, tangled together; achieving the subtle satisfaction capable of completing my response.

When silence gave way to sing-song reply, I knew- with certain caliber of comfort- my life would never be the same.  The remarkable inquiry managed to shake me like an earthquake; my perspective as an environment shifting, the map rearranging, my path forward veering now toward profound destiny.

If I could carry such concern- amounting to greater value than gemstones or metal-our love would surely sustain: encountering adventure, our mutual respect maintained by valiant struggle: we could conquer the sequence of life, overcoming any obstacle endured.

“Will you marry me?” he asked.

 

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Intonation Satisfaction | a poem

I gander with awe
at your persona,
the refelction
of your character:

pristine humility,
loyalty, and strength;
seen viably- I am
assured openly

of your dignity
(promising maturity),
confidence in
a glance-

my eyes behold
the glorified union,
stares of adoration:
our marital state.

I hear intonation
satisfaction, the valiant
vibrations of life:
ours to discover;

sustaining upon
my heartstrings,
perfect pitch plucked
by your hands-

which hold justice
with balance,
a harmony maintained-
capable of chords:

audible acceptance
between two unique
individuals, echos of
respect ascertained.

 

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MI Life Book 3

The third installment of the MI Life series.  Once again Miranda Innaimo uses colorful words to paint  an extraordinary image of strong, valid emotions. Her photography captures joyous moments in time worthy of admiration. She invites you to share her documented  anthology of a life well-lived, celebrated in the highest, and regarded as truly beautiful.

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Available on Amazon:

Paperback $3.99
Kindle $2.99

Love with Friendship | a poem

And like all good
simple yet beautiful
brilliant people

I found myself
welcoming warmth
genuine and pure

life and color,
the countless truths
moving through the air.

It was through me like a wind,
the answers
the deep, vibrant,

brilliance of justice
of love within friendship,
and how beautiful it was.

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Something Awesome That Way Goes | Memoir

While sight still remains,
my vision will change;
new lands abroad,
my home to reclaim.

I am moving! The time of healing has been achieved, I am going home. My kittens, Rico and Charlie, and I will be moving to Michigan state to reunite with Mr. Innaimo some time at the end of this week.

I am over joyed, at peace, and serene within my heart. MI Life has been sanctified in the Lord, and I am healthy again; my marriage can flourish once more, firm upon the promises of our Lord: provided in grace, we shall overcome and stand strong.

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My husband and I have exchanged new rings, a symbol of a renewed future, a testimony of daily reminder to remain true to one another, with love, truth, and friendship, a discipleship joined following after the God we believe mighty and most high.

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Life continually proves the valleys and the peaks, and while I arise from the mire of the past, I see with a renewed mind the hope the future contains.

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Off | Part 1 | Fiction Story

OFF

By Miranda Innaimo

Everyone thought the zombie apocalypse would have been caused by a mass bacterial infection, a black plague of sorts, an illness spread through modern society crippling the central nervous system of our race, something causing the dead to rise.

That didn’t quite happen.

I would tell you what people think the cause of the zombie apocalypse to be now, but I can’t, because hardly anyone thinks at all anymore.

I was always rather “rural,” one of those country bumpkins who was never quite up-to-date on modern fashion or the latest trends; I couldn’t tell you who was running for the Senate or which politician was on the outs for the most recent scandal. If it wasn’t about the weather or farming techniques, I couldn’t point my way north on any of those situations. Now, pointing my way north, that I could do; drop me in the middle of a summer-high cornfield, I could find my way home without the use of GPS or smart gadget.

Living without modern technology had never seemed like a bad thing. I still had my morning coffee brewed hot on a wood burning stove; I ate my lunch out in the fields among the produce, half the time, recently gathered as part of my meal. Life was simple. Life was good. I was happy, in that, I didn’t realize- while the rest of the world needed their technology, so did I; if for nothing else, but their sake.

It isn’t quite prudent of me to say, “it started slow,” as for some effects were instantaneous. First the internet went down, which was well enough, as only my neighbor three farms down had an old dial-up line- one of those screeching connections that tore through the soul and made me wonder what anyone saw as worthwhile about it.

Then bank cards and government assisted food cards failed, which, again, didn’t effect me much; our town stores still allowed bartering, and my tomatoes alone would bring home enough bacon for a cold winter’s haul.

No, it wasn’t until some slow, meandering pedestrians ambled onto my property line, just north of the creek and through the backwoods, that I realized something was amiss; they were scorched about the eyes; burnt from staring towards the sun as they moved. Sometimes they would reach up towards the bright light of the sky until their muscles ached (I assume) before collapsing and lying panting on the ground. After a while, you’d see them get up again- these vague wanders- and you’d watch them resume reaching towards the sunshine.

I tried to help, only that first time: when I approached they turned on me; it was easy enough to fight their fatigued limbs away from myself; a quick shove or a swift jab would knock them back to the ground. Then I felt sorry for my brute force used against these weak vessels, and moved to help them back to their feet. The first one- when looking into my eyes- must have thought the light from my own optical orbs was as brilliant as the sun, for they tried to gouge my face, their long nails scratching at my eyelids; another one tried to bite me.

So I did as any self respecting land owner should do: I blew their brains out. It was more of a civilized thing to do; take them out of their misery. Turns out I was right, as when I rushed to my neighbors, they had encountered similar folks, wandering around; my neighbor tried locking them down in the cellar, but after jars of pickled eggplant and cans of corn beef had been smashed and cracked open (merely for destruction, not for eating) I realized I had been in the right, and something was awfully wrong with the state of the world.

Audiobook Audition | Rehabilitation by C.B. Stone

It is with great pleasure, much delight, and titillating anticipation that I announce my audition for the first book of the Unbelief Series by the talented C.B. Stone.

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I found C.B. Stone on acx.com, and immediately delighted in her audition script. I spent three days rehearsing, rereading, and practicing my dynamics before finally- just today- making my official demo and submitting it.

 

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Rehabilitation, Unbelief Series Book 1 is a dystopian fiction, about a world where belief in anything irrational is considered highly illegal: this most certainly means believing in GOD is a punishable crime.

FREE on Amazon for Kindle

The series continues with two other books:

Ruin Cover CB Stone

Ruin, Unbelief Series Book 2

Revelation Cover CB Stone

Revelation, Unbelief Series Book 3

 

About C.B. Stone


CB Stone

Author Bio from Amazon:

C.B. Stone is sometimes called author, writer, or purveyor of stories. One might even dub her a yarn spinner if you will. It’s very possible she might be considered just a little left of normal by most, but she’s cool with that. Really, she’s too busy avoiding normal to care. On any given day, you might find Stone pounding away at a keyboard in sunny Miami, contemplating waves, contemplating life and dreaming up more exciting stories to share with readers.

Except Sunday’s of course. Sunday’s are God’s day, so you’ll often find her making her best “joyful noise” with her local church praise team. When not pounding poor fingers to bloody nuggets and reinventing the definition of eye strain, C.B. Stone enjoys living it up, doing the family thing, the kid thing, and the friend thing. And in her downtime, reading the minds of fans.

Also being invisible. Being invisible is fun.

 

Want more C.B. Stone? Here she is around the internet and social media sites:

C.B. Stone Books.com

C.B. Stone on Facebook

@AuthorCBStone on Twitter

C.B. Stone on Goodreads

 

So, wish me luck. I hope to obtain this glorious project!

Your Mind | a poem

Your Mind
poetry by Miranda Innaimo

 

If I could drift
down the halls
of your mind

what doors would
open for me?

Could I find
valiant memories
or salient dreams?

May I notice
the light you cast
upon my image:

basking in the aura
of love you have for me.

 

If I could sift
through the sands
of your mind

what gems would
await for me?

Could I find
gallant memories,
extravagant dreams?

May I notice
the glimmer you cherish
set by my image:

a diamond in the rough,
the woman you see in me.

 

If I could lift
up the spirit
of your mind

what answers would
await, opened for me?

Could I find
brilliant memories,
talented dreams?

May I notice
the glow you procure
seeing my image:

true friends forever,
the wife you have as me.

 

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Image provided by Flickr

Stacked Stones | Memoir

My backyard leads to an expanse of forest preserve, access attained by crossing a creek.  Yesterday- amidst the lovely spring weather of Chicagoland- I traipsed about the woods. On my return, I had to cross the threshold of the creek once more.

Now, on the bank of the creek, there is a large pile of stones. I needed to come to a decision about the best use of my free time during the final moments of my afternoon adventure: to build a stone bridge, or a rock pile?  Given the impending wet season, there was no way I could build a bridge worthy of crossing with dry feet: whatever I built would be either under the current or washed away with a few heavy rains.

This rock pile was built instead.

:)

 

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The Past Month | Memoir

As March ended, and April began, I realized- with some contempt- that I haven’t maintained many articles on my lovely blog. I digress, I’ve been very preoccupied with many creations, but not of the literary sort.  This post is an update of what’s been going on in MI life, and the joy encountered, of which I hope to share with you all today.

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It won’t be long now before I leave my hometown to move from the suburbs of Chicago, Illinois, up to the great state of Michigan.  My husband took a job up there, and- after some weeks- we’re ready to allocate our own Michigan dwelling place, and reunite in the marital blissful situation of cohabitation.

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We were fortunate enough to have some time together last month; Mr. Innaimo came to visit me for a week, and it was as if no time apart had ever happened. He is my best friend, and our hours united are comfortable, soothing, a balm for my soul which aches daily in his absence.

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One of the most loving comforts I have during my daily routine are these two kitty boys, Charlie (right) and Rico (left).  They are a profound source of companionship and love.  Their hourly cuddles or occasional naps upon my lap remind me of the family Mr. Innaimo and I have together, and soon, oh so soon, we will all be together again.

I will admit, have the two kitty jerks has made finding adequate housing difficult. No matter. Why would we want to live in a place that believes pets (the joy! the joy) to be a burden or nuisance within life? We don’t, we won’t.  The hunt goes on.

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The biggest time-thief I have encountered has been my new skill set of crochet. I’ve been a mad-crochet artist these past few weeks, learning many skills from YouTube, as well as taking a four-week crochet class.

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I’ve made serval hats, scarves, infinity scarves, and fingerless gloves. I’ve collected a half dozen hook sizes, and worked with a variety of yarn types.  This craft has prove very therapeutic, as well as beneficial. I’ve made gifts for many friends- including the lovely and talented Katie Cross.

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This is my current project, of which I’m four skeins (rolls of yarn) accomplished so far. You’ll never guess what I’m making, so I’ll just show you my inspiration photo:

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It’s called a mermaid lapghan, and I’m making it for my little sister’s birthday in September; while I know I have months to go before her special day, I’ve been dedicating the past few days towards the project; I hope to work daily until it’s done, ’cause that’s just how I stitch. Ha!

Well, thank for tuning in, stopping by, and giving a care towards MI life.  I appreciate your support; as I can’t believe how well my site’s stats have appeared to being doing even without my maintenance.  Thanks pals! Much love.

 

 

Flexible Soul | a poem

Flexible Soul
a poem

The extremities of a soul
reach for honest love;

and while the stretch
may seem strenuous-

taking time, truth,
perseverance-

flexibility is faithfully acquired
by genuine dedication,

the merit of enduring patience
throughout vigorous trials,

becoming limber
in hope sustained:

the grasp is attainable.

 

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More Poetry by Miranda Innaimo

Portrait Session | Throwback | Photography by Julie Hermes

Back in the spring of 2013, my husband, our new fur-babies, and I enjoyed a spectacular photography session with the talented photographer, Julie Hermes.  This throwback post includes photos not yet seen on this blog.

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Find more of the exquisite work by Julie Hermes on Facebook.

Or visit her website juliehermes.com

Book Country Valentine Sweepstake

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FLASH SWEEPSTAKES ALERT! With Valentine’s Day just 4 days away, Book Country thought it would be fun to give away one Book Country notebook to 10 random contestants of Book Country’s Give a Character a Valentine Sweepstakes! To enter, answer in the discussion thread: What fictional character would you give a valentine to? 

You may also email your submission to info@bookcountry.com with the subject line “Give a Character a Valentine Sweepstakes.” You have until 11:59pm ET TONIGHT to enter! Good luck!

 

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Without question, the recipient of my Valentine would be ten-year-old Fanny Price, from Jane Austin’s Mansfield Park. Removed from her home, taken to live with rich relatives, poor Fanny was neglected, verbally abused, and emotionally accosted. This poor child, without the comfort of her eight siblings, must have felt awfully lonely within the grounds of Mansfield Park.  And while she is my least favorite heroine of all the Jane Austin books, this is why I have chosen her: she is timid, shy, and most deserving of a lovely Valentine card.

On the Inside | Memoir

When I was in high school, I read a lot.  I remember, my freshman year, the month of February, I read a book a day.  Granted, they were YA books, meticulously selected from the school library, and only roughly three-hundred pages each, but I poured over them and blazed through each tome as if it were my best friend.

As high school progressed, my avid love of reading did not dissipate. My school was massive, with nearly three thousand people within the East campus.  As the hallways were so crowded- where I felt like cattle being steered into the barn- I was able to read during passing periods. How? you may ask.  A simple technique of simultaneously seeing the words on the page, and the feet of the person in front of me: I shuffled along from class to class, reading whatever my heart desired.

The point of telling you all this is simple: I found out after graduation that many of my peers thought I was some sort of snob, an intellectual “too good” to engage with my classmates.

I was confounded when I heard this “well-understood” opinion of myself.

Why?

Because I read to ease my own loneliness.  I read because it was easier to bury myself in literature than to join in the banter of my schoolmates. Books would never reject me.  Books would never think my ideas petty or stupid, inadequate or lame.

It amazes me, to this day, how others can form opinions of us based on their own observations. Natural enough, what else can be done?

We each move through life with our own perspective, making judgments and assessments of those around us.

I write today with a simple message at the core: if we look at ourselves closely enough, we realize that who we are on the inside is much greater, more beautiful, more profound and wonderful than most of us have the ability to express onto others.

That said, it is my hope that the next time you form an opinion about someone else, remember this message: who we are on the inside is not often easily seen.

We are given fleeting moments to make an impression upon others; like snapshots, these occurrences happen so fast, they are usually over before we realize what impression has been made.

This last summer, I underwent a series of “manic episodes,” some so severe, I am ashamed to this day.  I have all but disgraced my own name, the name of my husband and his family.  This is something I live with daily, and will spend the rest of my days overcoming; because what others see of us can effect so many things: career opportunities, community respect, friendships and family relationships.

While I accept that I must and do take responsibility for my actions during this past Summer, I can’t help but hope that people will understand: mental illness can be socially damaging.  While some may see and hear me acting erratic, speaking nonsense, and making a downright fool of myself, what is happening on the inside can only be described as traumatic: a misfiring of neurons within the brain is occurring, and without medication, I am powerless to control myself.

I have been back on my medication for some months now, and it’s been a journey of picking up the broken pieces of my life. While many family members have been loving and forgiving, others will still not speak to me: I still love and miss them truly.

In closing, I just ask, once more, that before you assign anyone with your opinion of who you think they are as a person, you will realize: it takes a long time to really know someone, and it is a continual effort we must put forth to love, honor, and cherish those around us as much as we hope they would feel the same for us. This life is too short to hold grudges, and more-so, too precious to sacrifice time that could be spent together by feeling angry or hurt over the past: forgiveness is something required even for our own inner peace; and to withhold such, causes more pain than the scathing incident does to begin.

I hope the best for you all.

 

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At A Little Distance | a poem

At a little distance, love emerged, entirely. I began to think about it, now unforgettable- day and night for the best; with him somewhere far away as he was, I assured, now I told myself- I wanted to see him again: I thought in those months- thought fondly, we’re married; realized that he as his right, his duty to start whole, might try to be ready. image

Proverbs 31 Verse 11 | Flash Fan Fiction

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Photo Curtesy of modernmedievalism.blogspot.com

Proverbs 31:11

The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil.

Flash Fiction:

In the days to follow the wedding and during the month of King Lemuel’s honeymoon with his wife, he noticed a new peace wash over him, as if his inner man was attributed with another half: his wife was the perfect complement to his knowledge-hungry life; they spent as much time embracing marital bliss in the royal bedchamber as they did in King Lemuel’s extensive library. The pair of reigning monarchs was secure in studying the scriptures, the writings of Kings and Queens gone by, and the wisdom of generations was ascertained in the unity of mutual respect and fondness. King Lemuel felt that GOD had blessed his providence with a wise woman, one fit to assist in leading the land, governing the women and servants of his household, and rearing children that would one day uphold his throne.

The new Queen bid the King’s mother to stay much longer at court; for the prophecy included instructions for a life as a good wife in the eyes of their shared GOD. It was of the Queen’s utmost aspiration to serve King Lemuel and their people with a pristine heart, one with understanding and fortitude of righteousness.

“Tell us more, mother,” the Queen bid to her elder.

The mother of King Lemuel- with joy in her heart, at last a woman whose son was introduced to the joys of marriage- cleared her throat with temperance, and continued where she left off. “The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil.”

King Lemuel looked to his wife, and with a shrewd idea, offered a test unto his new bride. “My dear Queen of all my lands, and partner in all of my estate: I’ll have you know that my vaults below are heavily guarded, day and night, for I have the most esteemed treasures within all the land. If I were to allow you full access and disposal of my riches, what would you have done, in the name of our reign?”

The new Queen pondered deeply for a few minutes; the court was a bustle of mirthful noises of glee and anticipation, to hear what deed she would have done.

“My Lord,” the good woman began, “it is my belief in our GOD that I will serve you so that you may be confident in my decisions; I hope to make you secure in my ideas, and bold in support of that which I shall do.” She smiled, the beauty of love upon her face. “Therefore, I would do nothing to your riches, and allow the best governor of our finance, which is you, my lord, to be handled directly.” The crowd within the throne-room burst into hushed whispers and deep murmurs. “That said, I would hope you allow me to achieve other tasks, to complete duties to further our income opposed to depleting our wealth. Once a surplus is added to our vaults, I would hope- together, you and I- would offer assistance to the poor and the needy, the fatherless and the widows, providing ourselves as benefactors to them, and enriching the lives of the less fortunate.”

The King found his trust in his new wife to grow greater and more valuable in the days and weeks to follow.

Read More of the Story

Proverbs 31:1

Proverbs 31:2

Proverbs 31:3

Proverbs 31:4

Proverbs 31:5

Proverbs 31:6

Proverbs 31:7

Proverbs 31:8

Proverbs 31:9

 

MI Public Apology

 

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Today, I am honored to present my public apology. While it has taken several weeks for me to compose this, even the delay comes with great explanation.

I have bi-polar type one, which- when unmediated- causes serve mental delusions in the form of psychoses. Without the aid of modern medicines, I become another person: a person I am not and a person to become: I would not wish on my worst enemy.

This past summer, I chose to deliberately stop taking the medicines; this is not an uncommon occurrence among people with mental health issues: they believe- after a period of much help from the medicine- they are capable, without assistance, to maintain mental regularity: this simply is not the case.

While my intentions were good- to prove to myself and those around me that I could maintain mentally, allowing a “natural state” of biology, and having the ability to procure healthy children- the results were detrimental.

It took but a few weeks off of the medicine before I become someone that I am not: an unstable mess, making decisions I would never make when of right mind. This hurt those around me as much as it hurt me; while I could not understand longevity or ramification of my decisions, I acted impulsively, flippantly, hurtfully, and belligerently.

I want to clearly state: my actions were not of my own control; without going into the actual, in-depth, scientific explanation of misfiring neurons within the brain, all I can say is that I do take responsibility for choosing to stop the medicine; and yet, the actions that followed thereafter were not of my control. As hard as it is to believe, please ponder this scenario: should a diabetic or someone with heart disease stop taking their insulin or blood pressure medicines, would there not be drastic ramifications, occurances outside their control, such as pancreatic or heart failure? Death, or unfortunate hospitalizations would probably also occur. This is much the same of someone with mental illness.

This apology comes so late because I wanted to wait until I had regained full mental stability before making such an announcement; I wanted to be sure that I was, once again, within the spectrum of my true nature, my genuine thought processes, and healthy mindset before allowing such a dictation to be made. It is with the utmost sincerity that I apologize for the embarrassment I have procured upon my Innaimo and Gothard names. I hope for forgiveness, and understanding: I will do my part to achieve redemption.

I long for nothing more than to be reunited with my husband; to achieve a natural state of marital living is my greatest aspiration. How I took for granted the blissful state of rising each day in his presence, something I miss more than anything; the ability to complete simple chores alongside my husband, to discuss matters and make decisions together.

I know now that there is no reason I would ever again jeopardize our marriage, for it is the greatest treasure within this earthly life.

Thank you. I love you. And I hope the best for our promising future.

-Miranda Innaimo

 

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Proverbs 31 Verse 10 | Flash Fan Fiction

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Photo Curtesy of cracked.com

Proverbs 31:10

Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies.

Flash Fiction:

Meanwhile, the chief official of King Lemuel’s dealings had been busy seeking out the fairest maidens and most noble daughters within all the land; set on finding a wife for the King, many beautiful and wealthy women were brought to court for the King’s inspection.

The women were rude- shoving their ladies off on hurried errands within remote locations within the city, only to show little gratitude when the task was complete. All of them were lovely, but in arrogant and highly superficial ways: King Lemuel assumed these women spent as much time getting ready each day as he when preparing for battle; and while he respected their efforts (only in the slightest way) he found them all ill-suited as a partner in his most important business matters and strict royal affairs.

“Mother, what can be done?” The King inquired, leaning close to her before continuing, “My peoples need a queen! There are many issues that must be handled by a woman, and yet I see no one woman capable of upholding such pertinent issues. Maybe I should do as past Kings have done and take up a quorum?”

The mother of King Lemuel, slightly aghast at such a notion of seven wives, rolled her eyes, and continued- as a GOD fearing woman- with the prophetic wisdom she had traveled so far and stayed so long at court for the intention of sharing wisdom and aiding her son in finding his perfect wife: “Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies.”

Frustrated, the King adjourned the noblemen and their brood of haughty daughters from his court; some of them had begun bickering among themselves, and when dismissed without their pride and vanity satisfied by royal marriage, at last broke into attacks upon one another: the women’s gowns were ripped and hair was pulled amidst shrieks; their fathers threatened war upon each other’s land in deep, booming shouts: the attendants worked vigorously to remove them all from the King’s throne room.

Still, with much business left upon the daily agenda, King Lemuel called for his three stealthy servants, still set at the task daily of following the woman of the city; but one returned within the hour of his call.

“Where are your partners?” the King asked, eyeing the manservant- who was very much winded and his clothes were torn asunder.

“My lord,” he begun with great effort, panting slightly and attempting to straighten his attire. “My lord, the woman,” he gasped heavily, “the woman of the city… she is in great peril. I left my fellow servant at her aid! It seems those who practice the occult upon the high mountain know not of your fondness of her, and have chosen her as their next blood sacrifice.”

“Where is she?“ King Lemuel jumped from his throne, bidding his mother to stay put; a troop of guards could barely assemble themselves as quickly as King Lemuel, who- in a mad dash- grabbed his sword and mounted his stead.

The team on horseback, led by their king, raced through the city and towards the outskirts; the high mountain lay just beyond the river, which was crossed in a moment, the horses splashing and moving with their riders still atop them.

“Hurry, men! We must reach the top now!” The horses were no match for the steep climb and were left tied within a mountainside olive grove.

As King Lemuel climbed farther and faster than any one of his guardsmen, he could hear the woman of the city mocking the occult practices, “My blood will not be spilled today! Your gods are dead! Your idols are made by your own hands! They cannot help you! They will not protect you! They cannot hear you! Your worship but the demonic forces, the legions of angels fallen from the Heavens my GOD made. You will be destroyed before any harm will come of me!”

Rejoicing as such fierce faith, and the fortune of their timing, King Lemuel and his men reached the pinnacle height of the mountain.

“My Lord!” A man dressed in a hooded gown singled to his fellows to bow low to the King. “Have you come to gain your share of power? We have found the perfect sacrifice: a woman unspoiled by man, and a believer in a phony god.”

King Lemuel- of regal poise and shrewd craftiness- chuckled at the words of the hooded man. “Hahaha, let us see which of you- this woman who believes on the Most High God, or you all, who believe in many gods, can first achieve that which is believed should happen today?”

The members of the occult practice began laughing along with the King; the man dressed in the hood bowed again, “As you wish, my Lord,” and pulled a slender knife from within the depths of his robe.

In silence and profound understanding, the woman of the city remained quiet and still atop the alter of which she had been tied upon many hours earlier, and watched the events unfurl: as the chief member of the occult moved to lower the dagger into her heart, King Lemuel made one swoop of his sword, cleanly removing the head of the occult leader. In a flash of brilliant metals and swift movements, all of the occult members were dead, and the mountaintop was stilling with pools of their blood.

“Are you all right?” King Lemuel asked of the woman as he loosened her ropes and helped her sit upright up on the alter.

“I knew my GOD would not allow me to die today; not by the hands of the heathens I have dedicated my life to overcoming in His good name. Thank you my Lord. Our GOD smiles upon us today.”

“He does indeed,” King Lemuel announced, taking the woman’s hand and bringing it to his lips. “And now I ask of you but one favor: in return for bringing my men up here today, and for rescuing your life.”

The woman of the city smiled keenly, “Anything my Lord! I am forever your servant! Ask of me and it shall be done!”

King Lemuel, without a moment’s pause, continued, “Be my wife, and queen of all my lands.”

Within a fortnight. it was upon that very mountaintop that King Lemuel and the woman of the city were sealed in holy matrimony. 

Read More of the Story

Proverbs 31:1

Proverbs 31:2

Proverbs 31:3

Proverbs 31:4

Proverbs 31:5

Proverbs 31:6

Proverbs 31:7

Proverbs 31:8

Proverbs 31:9

 

Proverbs 31 Verse 9 | Flash Fan Fiction

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Photo Curtesy of womeninthebible.net

Proverbs 31:9

Open thy mouth, judge righteously, and plead the cause of the poor and needy.

 

Flash Fiction:

Returning to the castle at the end of a long day, the three servants came from their royal errand of following the woman of the city. King Lemuel saw their entrance into his throne room; yet before he would hear of what they had witnessed, he bid his mother to tell him the next portion of the prophecy.

His mother spoke stoutly, “Open thy mouth, judge righteously, and plead the cause of the poor and needy.” She folded her arms across her chest and watched the expression on her regal son’s face.

Within the ornate chamber of the King’s palace, many officials and dignitaries met to speak with the King. Fully away of protocol, the reigning patriarch took certain measure to attend business matters before speaking with his stealthy servants; he listened to the merchants complaints about taxation; he instructed the tax collectors more leniency towards the merchants; he turned his nose up at a noble from a distant land who had brought his daughter for marriage unto the King; the young noblewoman was haughty, proud, and loud: the very sound of her voice was scathing to the Kind’s ears.

At long last, when all matters of the court were finished, the three servants came forward, looking as eager and as full of anticipation as King Lemuel felt. “Tell me: what did you observe of the woman?”

The chief servant announced, “My Lord, no such woman of faith and strength resides in all of your city! We saw her today attending to the sick, those also ridden with unclean spirits; visiting some of the worst slums of the city, she ministered to the pour souls who cannot take care of themselves, often praying over them and calling on the One True God. Not once,” he continued, “Not once today did we see her eat more than a morsel of bread, of which she shared with some beggar children.”

When the servants had told of the woman’s affairs, the court began to assemble for dinner; the woman of the city slipped quietly into her usual seat at the far end of the chamber, reserved for the lowliest of the court.

“Bid her to come here,” the King said to a nearby attendant, pointing towards the woman and watching as she was summoned; at first, she looked startled, but rose swiftly, approaching the King boldly, and making a low and humble bow before his throne. “Tell me of your day, my lady.” King Lemuel inquired, intrigued to hear of her day from her own perspective.

With full modesty and in such dignified brevity, she spoke, “Just my usual tasks, my Lord. Nothing extraordinary, nor worthy of the King’s ear.”

The King asked, with straightforward concern, “How many are there? How many possessed are within my city?”

The woman stood upright, and met the King’s eye with fierce composure. “More than I can number, my Lord.”

“Why do you think this is so?”

For the first time since they had met, the woman of the city looked mortified; she thought heavily on her own words before speaking. “Oh, good King, I know of your faith in the One True God, and yet, the priests within the city are…” she paused, weighing carefully what she intended to say, “lax, and frankly, they are lazy. They take of the offering for themselves, and do not minister to the sick or give to the poor. They seem to scorn those of unclean spirits and keep to the wealthy and healthy members of their congregation, those who are pleasing to the eye and of sound mind.

“Furthermore,” she continued, “the occult of the city run ramped; they summon dark spirits they cannot control, and then the dark forces are let loose upon those already of weak minds. I know not what to do, but pray and attend to them daily.”

With his hand upon his beard, King Lemuel was perturbed by this information; he felt that this lacking by the priests was upon his own shoulders, and knew something must be done to aid the sick in spirit. “Come, sit here by my mother and I, and tell us what you would have done.”

The woman of the city bowed again, and took her place of honor near the King’s throne.

 

Read More of the Story

Proverbs 31:1

Proverbs 31:2

Proverbs 31:3

Proverbs 31:4

Proverbs 31:5

Proverbs 31:6

Proverbs 31:7

Proverbs 31:8

 

Proverbs 31 Verse 8 | Flash Fan Fiction

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Photo Curtesy of magnoliabox.com

Proverbs 31:8

Open thy mouth for the dumb in the cause of all such as are appointed to destruction.

 

Flash Fiction:

King Lemuel saw to the care of both the woman of the city and her father possessed of unclean spirits; the King pitied the man, and enjoyed the pleasant sight of the young woman.

Staying at court as well, the mother of the King allowed the prophecy to be told slowly; her son thought it prudent, allowing keen wisdom to be absorbed slowing, ascertaining sound doctrine within subtle and lasting increments.

After breakfast one day, when the servants were clearing the banquet hall, the mother of King Lemuel was asked to utter forth the next portion of her prophecy: “Open thy mouth for the dumb in cause of all such are appointed to destruction.”

This sensible instruction weighed upon the king, who- sitting upon his throne- could still see the lovely woman of his city and her ill father: struggling on the other side of the royal feast chamber, ushered away by the King’s physicians and prayer warriors, the sick man was taken from the window ledge of which he was currently trying to throw himself. The wise King observed the woman’s composure; she was lovely, without hysteria, and entirely refined.

She rose smoothly from her place at the table, kindly thanking the doctors and servants assisting her father, and when she moved to leave the chambers of the palace- with full intention of maintaining her duties and obligations within the city- a disheveled manservant burst through the door and was thrown nearly at her feet.

The woman of the city let a quick gasp escape her. “Oh, Holy God, have mercy!“ she said unto herself a bit louder than intended. “This man! He is of my father’s household, and he is also possessed!”

The captain of the guard and his men were laughing together. “Your highness,” the captain announced, making a low bow and rising again, ignoring the words of the woman. “We found this trespasser. He is quite the nuisance. What shall you have us do with him?”

King Lemuel, fully aware of the state of this wretched man, called for his royal doctors, and commanded the guards return to their duties. Meanwhile, the woman bowed her head in submissive appreciation, and quietly slipped from the palace: the King bid three servants discretely follow her and report directly to him of her daily business affairs.

 

Read More of the Story

Proverbs 31:1

Proverbs 31:2

Proverbs 31:3

Proverbs 31:4

Proverbs 31:5

Proverbs 31:6

Proverbs 31:7

 

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