30.07.2013, Tuesday, 7:47 pm


I AM SO SORRY THAT I HAVEN’T BEEN ABLE TO BLOG FOR SO MANY DAYS!!!!!!!!!! I have so badly wanted to share with you, dearest diary, the results of my karate exam. You know, the one that I have been violently sick for… Anyway, I guess feeling queasy was worth it because…

I TOPPED THE CLASS AND EARNED THREE GOLD MEDALS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YYYYYYYEEEEEEEAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I AM SO ON TOP OF THIS WORLD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I am so happy. I am SO SO SO SO SO happy. You know what the truth is?? WORDS cannot describe my intense emotions. I feel so rejuvenated, so FRESH… I know, I sound like a total LOSER, but I guess that’s what I’m feeling right now.

And one of the best parts is [the ultimate best part being the {duh!!} medals], mum has promised me a number of treats because of my examination success [no, she did not bribe me. After she found out that I had, in fact, done considerably better than my class mates at my martial arts session, she assured me:

1. An extra large, thin-crust, margarita pizza from ‘Mamma Mia,’ the BEST pizzeria in town.

2. A tub of ‘Royal Vanilla’ ice cream from the London Dairy parlor nearby.

3. Four bars of crunchy, nutty, frozen chocolate Popsicles from… BASKIN ROBBINS!!!

There’s lots more, but I guess I’ve forgotten. Oh, and another great thing that happened to me this weekend is that one of my poems got published in the paper. Well, I guess I’m happy about that, too. But not as proud as I am about my medals. Not even half as proud. But I guess you already figured. 🙂 I’ll try and snap a couple of photos and paste that the next time I come online, okay??

Till then, my dearest pal, keeper of my secrets and guardian of my innermost passions. Till then.


27.07.2013, Saturday, 9:27 am




1. Send “High Expectations” to publishers

2. Write [at least] five short stories  Write [at least] three more stories {I already wrote two!!}  N/A No need to write any more stories!! [I already wrote five!!]

3. Type at least twenty posts on your blogs [easy-peasy lemon squeezy!]  Type at least sixteen posts on your blogs [easy peasy lemon squeezy!] {I already typed out four [two on my other blog, two on this blog] including this one!!}  Type [only] ten more articles [including this one!!]

4. Boast of at least one article in the newspaper N/A One of my poems is already published in yesterdays Times!!!

5. Send something to Creature Companion [a national pet magazine. One of my articles have already been previewed there] N/A I already sent a newly typed article to Creature Companion last night and… [to know what happened after that, READ FURTHER!!]

You see?? Now all I have to do to FINISH this list once and for all is to type ten posts in… EIGHTEEN days!! Easy as pie. No kidding. Anyway, I’d like to let you know about ANOTHER blog I’ve created [you must be thinking why in the world I’d need so MANY blogs. Well, authors {professional or unprofessional] have quite a lot to write, that’s all I’m saying]. It’s URL is WoofDiaries.wordpress.com so do check it out. 

Anyway, as you probably know, my exam is tomorrow, and to be honest with you, I’m not quite that nervous. Sure, my stomach feels just a bit queasy every time I think about it, but I’ve trained my mind to just calm down and relax. What’s the worst that can happen??

And I’ve read this really cool book that let’s you in on the secret to success. I’m not sure whether its a 100% true, but I’m sure willing to try it out tomorrow [sorry, I can’t tell you the novels name or the tactic which I’ve learned… A thousand apologies!!]. So I guess I’ll just lie down all day today and maybe read the newest book I’ve dug out from the district library “TO SIR, WITH LOVE.” Tata for now, buddy,



23.07.2013, Tuesday, 7:30 pm [exactly]


Wow. I’m not really keen on this week. All through June, whenever I thought about this fortnight, it sent shudders down my spine. You want to know why?? Well, it’s because of my karate exam that’s in FIVE DAYS!!!!!! I’m really nervous and my stomach is knotted up so tight, I can hardly breathe. For once, I am SO NOT exaggerating. Worse luck!! 😦

WHY??? Why do competitive sports even exist?? Believe me, the joy and satisfaction after winning at a    REAL TOUGH and professional tournament is TEN fold as exciting, but is it really worth all that fear and giddiness prior to the actual event?? Some people say yes, the others disagree. I personally don’t know what to think. Not that I can ponder on any issue right now except my martial arts examination…

NO!!!! Taylor, control your emotions, dudette!! You are who you make yourself to be [or something like that]!! You can do it!!! Why, the whole karate class is afraid of your warrior avatar!! C’mon!! HAVE FAITH IN YOURSELF, GAL!!!

As much as I wish I could say that the above pep talk [to myself] was comforting in the least, it has had no effect whatsoever. You know what I’m most afraid of?? I’ll tell you:

There’s this fellow class mate at my karate class, her name is Serena. She’s my age and my belt category. We also have same-length [and colour] hair, younger sisters and spectacles propped on our noses!! [Can two people GET any similar??] The only difference is she’s had more experience in karate. I’ve had exactly 7.09 months less practise than her, but we don’t even think about that anymore.

Anyway, the thing that’s bothering me is that, even though I’m senior to her [karate wise, not age wise] I’m afraid she may overtake me. You know, do better than me this exam. She has never done it before, but there’s always a first, isn’t there??

Oh, yeah. There’s one more HUGE difference that separates us. I’m asthmatic, and that causes me to bunk a hundred too many karate sessions, whereas, she’s perfectly well [the health part of it]. In that way, she’s real lucky. I mean, I can’t do my karate as well as I could do it, and I’m 100% sure of that. I have to abort fights half-way because of wheezing attacks and ditch classes because of sudden bouts of asthma.

Whatever. I pursue karate because I love it, not so that I can prove that I’m better than Serena. Right???

And she hasn’t done better than me in ANY competition so far [except one, where I had a freaking spell of severe asthma. [What’s new??] So why am I getting panicky?? I have continuously topped my class in karate exams, championships and the like. [Not to boast, or anything. Wait, why did I write that?? This is MY diary. I can boast if I want to. It’s not like anybody else is actually going to read it. Except the scumbags who peak into my journal]

Hah!! I’m not scared of you anymore, karate exam!!! Gimme’ all you’ve got!!!!!!!

I’m scared…  Mommy help me!!

20.07.2013, Saturday, 6:38 pm


I was SO BORED last night because mum, grandma and my sis were watching a weird movie on the telly and I was in no mood to watch stupid films on the T.V. So I curled up on my bed and composed a poem. It goes like this:

FLAWLESS –by Taylor Skarr aged eleven

With teeth so fine and sunburnt hair

My mummy’s like a gem, so rare!!

So good, so kind, a fine example

Take some of her talent, coz’ she’s got ample!

She’s tall, she’s strong and she’s good at heart

She’s smart, she’s lovely, a lover of art

She’ll brighten your day like a lamp in a room

Her smile, her smile, it’ll make you swoon!!

My mother is perfect, not a flaw in her being,

Her courage is unlike anything you’ve ever seen

She spreads her joy like a Sun, its rays

Just hearing her voice will leave you in an untameable daze

She’s got a massive heart of the purest gold

Around her one can never feel cold

She makes me eat some ghastly green stuff

Though she does know when enough is enough

I’m not being mushy, that’s something I hate

But how can one shut up about someone so great??

I love my mum as she loves me

But I’m sure I love her more, you see?

She’s a selfless, loyal, devoted friend

She’s also one who ever pretend

Now, these lines I’m about to convey

I say them repeatedly, day after day

But I want to voice it again and again


Please don’t tell me you enjoyed that poem. It’s full of clichés and whatnot, but I’m working on it. Mum says she liked it a lot, and if she’s happy, then I’m happy. I mean, if not for making her smile, what is the use of me writing this poem??

Phew, today was hectic. I woke up at around nine, and after that, everything is fuzzy because it happened so fast. I vaguely remember wolfing down three banana-and-Nutella pancakes before zipping into the car which transported me, my mum and Kathryn [my sis] to “Theatre”; a posh auditorium. The reason we were going there was because it was our school’s annual day.

Last year, I for our school’s yearly assembly, I was singing a solo and taking part in the choir [the club I chose] so I was definitely included. This year… well, let’s put it this way; there was too little time for all the classes to perform in the assembly, let alone a couple of little girls belting out  unaccompanied tunes, so my chances of a solo were kicked out. Plus, I couldn’t even perform in the choir because if you wanted to do that [sing with the choir], you’d have to stay after-school-hours to practise every single day for a whole month!! Mum made it very clear from the beginning of my schooling at George Bush Middle School that there would be NO WAY that she’d allow me to stay after-school [EVER!] because that would mean that she’d have to personally drive all the way to my school and that “not over her dead body” was she going to travel thirty kilometres [one-way] in the choke-full highways to pick me up just for a measly hour of rehearsal and I’d jolly well have to come back home in the bus like everybody else. [That’s, like, the longest sentence I’ve every typed, let alone written]

So that’s that, I guess. >Shrugs nonchalantly<

19.07.2013, Friday, 4:36 pm



Yes. So where were we?? Oh yeah, I was about to share with you another tale that I have scripted, right?? Here goes!!


WHISPERS – by Taylor Skarr, aged eleven

Travis Beer playfully ruffled his younger brother’s mop of blonde hair. The younger sibling, Jake, just grinned from ear-to-ear, no tattle telling, no complaining to mum.

That’s what Travis liked best about his brother, the fact that Jake wasn’t a sneak. Travis heard his mum bellow their names, calling them down for lunch. He shoved random odds-and-ends into a chest of drawers before trotting down the carpeted stairs, two-at-a-time. As usual, Jake mumbled some excuse or the other. To Travis, Jake seemed like he survived on candy dispenser chewing-gum and tomato crisps. In fact, Jake had ditched lunch so frequently in the past that his mother had stopped enquiring about his absence.

‘You have a doctor’s appointment today, Travis,’ Mrs. Linda Beer began, daintily chopping up clusters of coriander and sprinkling it over an appealing veggie salad. ‘Oh… okay t..then,’ Travis stammered. He was used to “doctor’s appointments.” You see, he had dyslexia, a syndrome that made him unable to read. To add to that, he had a wild -almost dangerous- imagination that made him believe in things that simply didn’t exist.

It was because of these genetic traits that he had inherited from his ancestors that he was mercilessly taunted by his peers, but his strong character helped him laugh off the hurtful remarks.

Travis’s dad, Liam, clanked down the stairs from his study and plonked himself down on one of the chairs that surrounded the lovely, polished teak dining table. He hardly ever spoke to Linda any more, and so Travis took that as a sign that his parent’s were breaking up.

With an exaggerated sigh, Travis recalled the happy days when his parents, Jake and he himself were as close knit a family there ever was. Nowadays, Liam didn’t even mention his youngest son or his wife. He didn’t even eat the food Linda prepared for him, just tinned sardines and T.V dinners. As a result, Linda just made food for herself and ate at any nook or cranny around the house where Liam was not likely to chance upon.

Liam rapidly scoffed down the microwave pasta and gruffly announced that at 5:00 pm they would have to travel to Main Street for a psychiatrist check-up. Travis nodded his head while wiping of the last bits of noodle. Liam pushed his chair and strode over to the drawing room where he switched on their 42 inch telly.

Travis dumped the trays into the kitchen sink and nipped to his room. He slammed the poster-clad door shut and flopped on the bed. Jake emerged from the wardrobe with a BRAINFREEZE smoothie in one hand and a PSP in the other.

The afternoon passed in a flash. The two brothers played violent games on their play station and stuffed themselves with caramel popcorn. Their joyful moment ended when Liam barged into the room. He ignored Jake, as usual, and commanded Travis to put on his coat.

Travis scrambled down the steps and pulled on a sweater as well as his black Doc Martens. He followed his father to the car and they were soon pulling up in front of “Dr. Jarvis’s Nursing Home.” Travis walked into the looming building and made a beeline for the receptionist. He told her the reason for his visit and the scheduled time of the appointment. She glanced at the register, mumbled something into a cordless receiver and then ushered Liam and Travis into a parlour with “JARVIS” embossed on the front door.

Inside, the chamber boasted an array of gold-plated certificates and two gleaming trophies. Travis sighed for the second time that afternoon as he seated himself on one chair.

After exchanging introductions, Liam and Dr. Jarvis talked in hushed tones. Travis let his mind wander. He thought about his mum and his little brother. How they used to be so bold and confident but had recently become withdrawn and private. Travis wished his mother was sitting next to him at that very moment. He would’ve flung his arms around her and never let go.

Travis also recognised the change in his father. Liam a man who used to be just and cheerful had suddenly developed a gloom about him. He seldom spoke and had abandoned his passion for football months ago.

Travis snapped back into the real world when he heard his father mention his mother’s name. He unscrambled bits of the exchange between his dad and the accomplished doctor. ‘Car accident…three months have passed but… Linda and Jake…’ Mr. Beer said, trailing off. Travis wished he’d heard the full sentence. Maybe then he’d be able to understand a little more about the ongoing conversation.

Dr. Jarvis finally cleared his throat and said, ‘Travis? Would you mind sitting on that chair over there?? I’d like to ask you a few questions.’ Travis seated himself on the sofa that Dr. Jarvis had gestured to and deftly answered while Dr. Jarvis interrogated. It seemed to Travis that Jarvis was psycho-analysing him.

At the near end of the session, Dr. Jarvis related an accident that had occurred a few months ago. Travis nodded his head vigorously. His father had narrated that particular accident many a time, but he wasn’t sure why.

‘The reason I’m telling you this is because,’ Dr. Jarvis began, directing his sentences. ‘Your mum and your brother and your brother were in that car when it flipped into the lake. They died three months ago.’

19.07.2013, Friday, 1:10 pm


                                                          TAYLOR SKARR’S FIRST EVER GOAL LIST:


1. Send “High Expectations” to publishers

2. Write [at least] five short stories  Write [at least] three more stories {I already wrote two!!}

3. Type at least twenty posts on your blogs [easy-peasy lemon squeezy!]  Type at least sixteen posts on your blogs [easy peasy lemon squeezy!] {I already typed out four [two on my other blog, two on this blog] including this one!!} 

4. Boast of at least one article in the newspaper

5. Send something to Creature Companion [a national pet magazine. One of my articles have already been previewed there] N/A I already sent a newly typed article to Creature Companion last night and… [to know what happened after that, READ FURTHER!!]

Yeay!!! As you can see from the above chart, I’ve already finished a TON of stuff on my list. Now I just have to send my novel to publishers, pen a couple of stories and blog [which, as you probably know, I do regularly enough]. 

About the Creature Companion [CC] article thing, what happened is that last night, just before dinner and just after listening to “Here’s to never Growing up” [for the billionth time] by [duh!] the amazing Avril Lavigne, I decided to sit down and jot a short write-up to submit to CC. In a few minutes, I was furiously typing on my mum’s keyboard, oblivious to the external world. 

In exactly thirteen minutes, the whole thing was typed out, and I badgered her till she send it to CC that very same day. Today morning, after I woke and yawned a terrific yawn, mum asked me to come to the study. I drowsily trudged to the RED ROOM [as we call it] and LO AND BEHOLD!!!!!!! On the monitor, mum had opened up an affirmative email from CC. They decided to publish my article!!! I was quite amazed when I heard this, because I was expecting a reply in, I don’t know, a week’s time??

Wait, let me cut that article and post it here… One second….

Hello there!! The name’s Feni. In case you didn’t notice from the photo above [sorry!! Couldn’t paste the pic!!! A thousand apologies!!!! 😛 ], I’m a canine, a Labrador, to be more specific.

I currently reside in a heritage, Portuguese-styled manor located on a sprawling one and a half acre property tucked in the suburbs of beaches-galore, sunny-side-up Goa. On the twenty eighth January, 2011, the world was a drastically better place, because I was born on that very same day [Funny how coincidences work, eh??].

My foster family consists of four members; mummy, daddy, Taylor and Trikaya. To give you an idea of my [not so] lavish lifestyle; let me take you through a typical day of yours truly. Here goes nothing:

I am woken up at the crack of dawn with voices grumbling [done by my adopted sisters], mumbling [that will be indulged by daddy] and persuading [dear old mummy!]. After a lot of urging, my siblings stir from their comfy duvets and begin their “getting-ready-for-school” process which includes scrubbing their teeth, tying their braids and waiting expectantly at the front porch for the driver.

After about five minutes of killing time, the driver finally shows up and bundles Taylor [the elder one] and Trikaya [the younger one] into his rickety van. Both the siblings wave at us till the vehicle rambles out of sight. My emotions, at this time, are hard to explain. You see, when the two girls leave for school every morning, I feel devastated because, all said and done, I really love those kids. On the other hand, I also feel pleased, because their constant chatter and futile attempts to get me to “run-a-bit-of-that-fat-off” [as they unkindly put it] really gets me slapping my head in frustration.

Moving on, as soon as the bus disappears behind the thickets, mummy trudges inside and beckons for me to follow. I oblige by prancing off the steps and darting next to her. She pats my head and murmurs something that’s inaudible to my ears [however sensitive they might be].

Mummy ushers me inside and shuts the heavy teak front door. I lick her right foot as if to say, ‘You dealt with that situation well, mummy. Kudos to you!’ She smiles at me like as if she understands, but I know she didn’t. I’m smart enough to know that when I try to say something to her [or any human, for that matter], it comes out as a weird, croak-of-a-bark. That’s not at all how I hear it, but maybe human ears are made with different stuff, you know?? Like salt… Nah, just kidding.

Anyway, I curl up in my special bed and snooze for a few more hours. If I don’t get my eight hours of beauty sleep every night, my face gets all wrinkly like Grandma Patricia [no, she not my foster grandmother. She’s myreal paternal, doggie grandma] and, believe me, you don’t want your dog to sport that look. *SHUDDER!!*

In a couple hundred minutes, mummy wakes up for the second time that day. Only difference is, this time she’s waking up for good. I faithfully follow mum around the house. The maids have arrived half-an-hour ago, and mummy takes her daily inspection tour of the house. After she’s satisfied about the Chinese figurines being dusted well, she scoops some bread and milk and serves it to me for breakfast. I gulp it down before you could say ‘Madagascar!’

Mum plonks around the table and feasts on her breakfast, mostly consisting of some Indian delicacy and a mug of chai.  I throw myself on top of her feet and rest for a little while more, squeezing naps out of every second like nobody’s business. Eventually, mum straightens herself, indicating to me to vacate her feet.

The next few hours are spent lying around in some nook or the other. In my defence, I’m not a lazy dog. I just have a few sleep-related issues, no biggie.

At around two o’clock, my sisters arrive from a tiring day at George Bush Elementary. I recognise the driver honking away to glory, and scamper to the front of the house to greet them. Upon seeing me, they screech “FENI!!” at the top of their lungs and fuss over me like we hadn’t seen each other for a few decades. To tell you the truth, I kind of like all the attention, but maybe they over-do it a few times…

In the evening, the sisters head off for their karate class. I bid them good-bye and settle down on the front porch itself for a few hours of shut-eye [what can I say?? This sleeping thing gets addictive!!]. They’re back in a bit, and narrate all the incidents that took place to mummy. Mummy listens to their tales while preparing dinner for the whole family [boy, experience tells me that being a good mummy sure isn’t a piece of cake!!]. Sometimes grandma Kelsey and Grandpa Joe drop in for a visit, and mummy has to make even more food. I try to help relieve her  strain [though she seems perfectly happy cooking meals for her loved ones] by flashing motivating smiles at her periodically, and I think it helps, because she bursts into fits of laughter. Even though it’s a bit mean to laugh when someone is trying so hard to please you, if it’s a stress-buster for mummy, I’m okay.

When the moon hangs solemnly over the rooftops and owls hoot themselves hoarse, mummy patiently tucks her two children into bed. I faithfully tag along behind mummy wherever she roams for the rest of the night.

I’m guessing you know what comes next. My favourite part of the day; night, the only time I get to rest in the span of a whole twenty-four hours [what can I do?? I can’t even tell mummy to reduce my workload, she just wouldn’t understand!!! Literally]. I wearily crawl into my crib and say a silent prayer for my kin. I guess I haven’t actually stressed on how important daddy’s role is in maintaining family order. I mean, he works so hard and is ready to sacrifice anything for his three daughters [namely Taylor, Trikaya and ME!!!] and has a permanent smile plastered on his face.

I would like to end this narration with a short note: Thank you, the Almighty, for blessing me with the most wonderful family there ever was.

 Lieutenant Feni,

Over and Out

 Do you like it?? Well, the editor of CC sure did. Mum’s calling me for lunch. Don’t worry, I have another post to share with you today, so I’ll be back!!!

17.07.2013, Wednesday, 6:39 pm


                                        TAYLOR SKARR’S FIRST EVER GOAL LIST:


1. Send “High Expectations” to publishers

2. Write [at least] five short stories

3. Type at twenty posts on your blog [easy-peasy lemon squeezy!]

4. Boast of at least one article in the newspaper

5. Send something to Creature Companion [a national pet magazine. One of my articles have already been previewed there]

Now that my priorities are straight, I can focus on what to do instead of just lazing around and watching VH1. Okay, I think I’m gonna’ write a story now so that I’l be able to actually say something if someone asks me how much I’ve completed out of that list [which NOBODY SHOULD ASK ME BECAUSE, HELLO??? THIS IS MY PERSONAL JOURNAL, NOT SOME PUBLIC BOOKLET!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!]. Here goes nothing:

‘Oh my God. Please… NO!!! God, please don’t so this to me… Please!! Why??? WHY ME???? NO!!!!!!!!’ Thirty-something Karen Fletcher cries into her drenched palms. Her husband puts his arm around her, gently sobbing himself. A gust of icy wind blows past them, causing Jacob, the husband, to take out his coat and wrap it around his wife. Karen feels a tear trickle down her cheek. She swiftly mops it up with one finger.

They are plonked on the sidewalk, weeping uncontrollably. Pedestrians snicker viciously, but don’t allow themselves a second glance at the unruly sight of a couple clinching each other in the moonlight, tears of sorrow streaming down their flaxen faces. Jacob withdraws his arm and swears violently. Just as the cure leaves his mouth, Karen shakes her head and stammers, ‘It’s all my fault… I should have made you pay attention to the road…’ ‘It should be blamed on me. I was the one driving,’ Jacob reasons. A thousand thoughts flutter through Karen’s mind. The day had been tragic, but it had started like any other, thought Karen, beginning to day dream.

It had started with Karen packing her briefcase while simultaneously making an appointment with a nanny for her one year old infant, Flora. Jacob had descended the stairs while Karen ignited the stove. He was decked out in a formal suit and polished leather shoes. He pecked his Karen o both cheeks and seated himself at the round dining table adjusting his scarlet tie.

‘Honey,’ Karen began, smiling at little Jamie cuddled up in her crib, but directing her words to Jacob. ‘Your car has gone for services, remember?? So you’ll have to drop me off at my office,’ informed. ‘My pleasure, madame,’ Jacob replied, tucking into the blueberry pancake that Karen had laid down for him. She grinned at him before adding, ‘Oh, and we’ll have to leave Flora at the baby-sitters,’ she added. ‘The more the merrier,’ Jacob responded, sipping up a spoonful of sweet syrup. 

In half an hour, Jacob was smoothly surfing through the rush-hour traffic in a way that mystified his spouse. Karen was humming a lullaby and Flora was beginning to feel a bit drowsy. After dropping their baby at the sitter’s place on Aiken Avenue, one of the busiest streets in Twigg County, Jacob left his wife in front of her agency, a glass building constructed over a sprawling three acre property the accommodated its share of belching fountains and manicured lawns. He reversed the silver automobile and accelerated at break-neck speed all the way to his office. The dashboard clock read 8:36 am just as he backed the sedan into the parking lot and exitted the car, folder in one hand, case in the other.

Eleven hours, three meetings and dozens of profit-and-loss charts later, a weary Jacob had trudged back to the grey van. He inserted an ABBA disc and drove off to pick up his family. At least, when the youngest member of the Fletcher family had been safely tucked into the carriage, Karen let out a sigh. She massaged her throbbing temple while scanning her emails on a newly purchased Blackberry Curve. 

Karen is abruptly jerked out her flashback by her partner who squeezed her hand lovingly and whispers, ‘Its going to be all right, Karen.’ She hears a siren go on and off, indicating that either a ambulance, fire brigade or police van is close at hand. Karen let herself reminisce again, recalling the days events from where she left off.

Jacob sped the car along the highway, sharply swerving the car on the edges of the hair-pin bends. Karen didn’t notice that her man was speeding a little too fast. She didn’t see the massive pick-up truck heading their way. At the last moment, she looked up. The first thing she observed her husband gazing at her adoringly. She jolted her head in the direction of the windshield just in time to detect the lorry that was hurling their way. Her motherly instinct forced her reflexes to fling herself between the front seat and her child. 

Miraculously, the couple emerged without a scratch. Unfortunately, that was a lot more than what could be said about Flora. As soon as Karen realized that she was alive, she yanked her stare to the back seat and was reduced to tears when she saw her child… the rest is best left unspoken.

Karen forces herself to return to the cold, harsh world. She is devastated about her loss, but she can’t help being a little glad about the fact that Jacob, at least, was safe. As if he’d heard her repeat his name in her mind, Jacob tugs her sleeve and gestures to the car wreck. Karen stands up, rubs her eyes and straightens her cranberry tee. They briskly march to the remains of their brand-new Ford. Man and wife peer down at the ruins and jump back in utter astonishment when the recognize the people they see perched on the front seat of their coupe…..

[The Next day…]

                                                                                           THE NEW YORK TIMES


              At around seven yesterday evening, Karen and Jacob Fletcher were driving homeward with their little one, Flora Fletcher, when a rapid vehicle collided with their car. Karen and Jacob died instantly although the baby survived. contd. on pg. 3

So?? Spooky isn’t it?? Anyway, mum’s calling me in for an “early dinner.” ‘Nighty-night!!