Showing posts with label Corina Fiore. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Corina Fiore. Show all posts

Sunday, April 14, 2013

Corina Fiore Week 42: The Photo

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Corina Fiore’s Picture Choice: 2

Title: The Photo

Natalie shuffled through the volumes on her grandmothers shelf. Her grandmother was quite the bibliofile. Hundreds of books lined her shelves: some worn from love, some pristine first editions, some aged and yellowed.

Navigating the shelves brought back so many happy memories. Natalie recalled sitting at her Grammie Ruth’s feet, her lilting, dynamic voice reading a classic tale. Natalie’s relationship with her grandmother was built on those reading sessions, the love for the written word, the life connections found in the stories. They shared their own stories over tea, talked about how they could relate to characters, and how they might react differently. They often spoke in quotes that somehow captured the exact essence of the moment, whether it was funny, sad, poignant, celebratory, or insightful. It seemed only right that, as Natalie held her hand in her dying moments, Grammie Ruth whispered a final quote in Natalie’s ear. It was a quote from Dante’s Inferno, a text they had spent hours and hours on together.

“Midway on our life’s journey, I found myself. In dark woods, the right road lost.”

She took her last breath, and died. That last dying utterance caused Natalie much turmoil. What had she meant?

When Natalie came across Dante’s Inferno on the shelf, the draw was too powerful. Natalie pulled the book from the shelf, its leather soft and supple. The top and bottom of the spine was curled under and worn. She held the book close to her chest as she crossed the room. She grabbed an embroidered pillow and a knitted afgan off the chair. It still smelled like Grammie Ruth. She sat down on the couch, legs curled to the side, propped up on the pillow and covered herself in the blanket. Natalie felt safe, warm. She took a deep breath and cracked open the book. An old photograph fell into her lap.

It was a black and white photo of an old farm-type house. An old car resided in the driveway. The roof of the garage sagged. Linens hung on a line in the garage. Nine windows graced the front of the house. Most of them had the shades drawn. However, there were two windows on the upper floor that had the curtains drawn. A figure was shadowed in one of the windows but Natalie could not quite make it out.

She turned the photograph over. The words, “Never forget. Summer 1952.” were inscribed on the back in red ink. She turned to the page opened before her, the page the photo fell from. There was a single underlined passage in the same red ink.

“And after he laid his hand on mine,
With joyful mien, whence I was comforted,
He led me in among the secret things.
There sighs, complaints, and ululations loud
Resounded through the air without a star,
Whence I, at the beginning, wept thereat.”

Natalie blinked hard, and turned back to the photo. There was a story here, one that Grammie Ruth in her dying moments asked her to explore with that quote. Grammie Ruth never quoted something unless she wanted Natalie to think long and hard on it. She knew Natalie would turn to this text. She knew Natalie would find the photo. She knew Natalie would find the underlined passage. It was a message. But a message about what?

Natalie was curious and her curiosity always won out. On this day, she started her investigation into what Grammie Ruth meant with these clues. Little did she know how far this investigation would take her, the stories it would reveal. This one simple photograph and passage were about to change Natalie’s life forever.

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Corina Fiore is passionate about learning and considers herself an education advocate. She currently writes textbooks and voice-overs for science software. When not blogging to evoke change in educational policies and women’s rights issues, she trains for her black belt.

#DailyPicspiration

Sunday, March 31, 2013

Corina Fiore Week 40: She Thirsts

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Corina Fiore’s Picture Choice: 1

Title: She Thirsts

She thirsts
She hungers
She craves
Her fingernails pull at her skin
Tearing
Clawing at the crawling sensation just below the surface
Lips parched, skin cracked
Twitching from the DT’s
Unable to cope, the pull to great
She reaches for the only thing that can satisfy her need
Her insatiable need for more
She raids the Earth
Feasts
Gorges herself
Drinks from Gaia’s teat until the milk runs dry
Sucking air
She thirsts
She hungers
She craves
She leaves destruction in her wake
And cries

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Like what you just read? Have a question or concern? Leave a note for the author! We appreciate your feedback!

Corina Fiore is passionate about learning and considers herself an education advocate. She currently writes textbooks and voice-overs for science software. When not blogging to evoke change in educational policies and women’s rights issues, she trains for her black belt.

#DailyPicspiration

Sunday, March 3, 2013

Corina Fiore Week 36: A Second Chance

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Corina Fiore’s Picture Choice: 1

Title: A Second Chance

I sat center stage, alone. The lights were dimmed, the curtains drawn. From behind the curtain, I could see the house lights flashing, beckoning the audience members back to their seats. The muffled rustle of the audience taking their seats and hushed voices subsided. Silence enveloped me.

I always loved the moment before the curtain parts. There is something exhilarating in that stillness. But that day, the sensation was significantly more intense. My limbs twitched. My heart raced. My palms were sweating. Blood pumped in my ears as my vision narrowed. I felt woozy, as if I was somewhere between sleep and consciousness.

During Act 1, I saw a well-dressed man three rows back. He was scribbling furiously in a notebook. As he glanced up, smile upon his face, I recognized him immediately. It was Nicolai Gavrikov, head choreographer and admissions officer at a world class dance academy I had applied to months prior.

Time stopped. The events of the past three years swirled in my head.

The argument.
The screeching tires.
His eyes through the windshield, cold and calculating.
The impact.
The blinding, searing pain in my legs.
The darkness.
People in scrubs, hurried in a flurry of activity.
The scissors cutting away at my blood soaked clothes.
The sounds.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
The words: compound fracture, left femur. Broken pelvis.
The staccato nature of the words: You. Will. Never. Dance. Again.
The despair.
The grueling physical therapy.
The hope.
The soft supple leather of my jazz shoes my first day back.
The audition.
The call-back sheet.
My second chance.

And here it was: the exact moment between my worst nightmare and my ultimate dream. I took a deep breath, calmed my center and pulled back into my body.

The curtains parted, the music cued. I popped my head, and shielded my eyes from the bright lights.

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Like what you just read? Have a question or concern? Leave a note for the author! We appreciate your feedback!

Corina Fiore is passionate about learning and considers herself an education advocate. She currently writes textbooks and voice-overs for science software. When not blogging to evoke change in educational policies and women’s rights issues, she trains for her black belt.

#DailyPicspiration

Sunday, February 17, 2013

Corina Fiore Week 34: Blood for the Innocents

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Corina Fiore’s Picture Choice: 2

Title: Blood for the Innocents

Enyo surveyed the village from her perch high in the Carpathian Mountains. The town bustled with a flurry of activity, but there was an undercurrent of fear. The villagers scuttled about with their heads down and held their children close to their sides.

“This is where they took her,” she thought. “This is where they took them all.”

A van squealed around the corner and came to an abrupt halt in front of a yellow stucco house. Pillow cases stained with specks of blood hung from the line. Those in the street hurried to their homes and nearby businesses, doors slamming behind them, windows drawn. The driver hopped out of the van. His skin was weathered, his clothes dirty. Smoke curled from his nose as he took a long drag of his hand-rolled cigarette as he approached the back of the van, dust kicking up behind his feet. He paused at the back of the van, his hand resting on the door handle. Dropping his cigarette on the ground, he stomped it out with his boot and swung open the back door. Harsh light filled the rear of the van. The girls, some as young as nine, squinted against the blinding light.

Upon seeing the girls file out of the van, Enyo shifted in her perch and gripped the steel of her gun tighter. She swallowed hard. A fire burned in her belly. They had unloaded another batch of fresh “recruits.” In a few days, these girls would be trafficked across globe, sold into slavery. Her own sister, her friends, were rounded up just like this. They had been taken from the streets, from their homes, from their families too burdened to care for them. Enyo? She was considered too damaged to be sold, hardened by circumstance of living as a Serbian orphan.

But Enyo made a promise. A promise to keep her sister safe from the harsh realities of the world. She had done just that. Her sister had been shielded from the very circumstances that hardened Enyo. Until now.

She intended to right that wrong.

She shifted again and awaited nightfall.

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Corina Fiore is passionate about learning and considers herself an education advocate. She currently writes textbooks and voice-overs for science software. When not blogging to evoke change in educational policies and women’s rights issues, she trains for her black belt.

#DailyPicspiration