The Fibbers' Page

Many years ago, there was a plump King with thick brown hair who greatly fancied new codes that he spent so much effort and money in fashioning and parading them for all to see. He cared not a bit on mending the concerns of colored laborers, consulting the women's guild, or limiting coal pollution. His ultimate desire was to constitute a legislation that could be more famous than the Code of Hammurabi or the Mosaic Law. The King's passion for laws was evident in the castle's architecture. On his first year of reign, a museum was erected in his honor. It was filled with codes. Everything inside the building was engraved with all of his edicts and commands. He had them printed on walls, sheepskins, elephant hides, mammoth's wools, and turtle shells. Another quirky thing about the King was his appetite for introducing a new code every turn of the hourglass. Citizens would hear about them from his ministers proclaiming on every street corner. Silly thing was - They wer

It was hard for Mrs. Crumple to balance herself down the muddy road. The rain drenching them cold. The sky grumpy and threatening. Flashing them lights and scaring them with exploding thunder. Mrs. Crumple brushed away the water dripping from her lashes. "A very nice Sunday, this is," she said at the top of her lungs. Mr. Crumple held on to her by the hand. Even with him, the ground remained tricky to tread on. If she put too much of her weight on her feet, she'd get stuck. If she doesn't, she'd slip. "Don't drop my apples and peaches. Give me that basket. They're my apples, and I don't want any mud on them." "They won't fall. It's just hard for me to hold on to the basket and keep you steady," he reasoned. "Give me the basket. If they fall at least I won't have to blame you," she said. "No! Don't bring your muddy shoes up the porch nor the house. I don't want any dirt in the house! O

Christina Baller, the 156 cm tall Libero of the Green Archers, walked to the bench, head bowed. Coach Ramil rubbed his temple, looked down and shook his head as she walked past him.  Christie looked at the scoreboard. Her heart pounded. The game got stretched to the deciding fifth set. If they lose this, she would retire without any medal to her name. As she watched from the bench, Adalina, the redhead Volleyball Grand Prix's best attacker, leaped high and fast from the back of the court like a cobra springing to its target. She slapped the ball; creating an explosive sound like a whip hitting a wooden wall. It reverberated across the huge, well-lighted, audience-filled stadium. The ball flew downwards banging on the wooden floor before bouncing off.  Two of Christie's teammates fell flat on the floor parallel to each other, arms extended with their faces looking like it was ravaged by constipation. That look was not uncommon to Christie this season; however, seei

At 11:30 pm, June 6, 2016 Manila. Late night shows were suddenly interrupted by a breaking news that also hit the media globally. It was one of those rare occasions where people from around the world glued to their television sets like that of the Apollo landing on the moon or that of the September 11 terrorist attack. "What is this?" Ilaw [EEL-aw] thought as his internet surfing was suddenly interrupted by a pop-up window. The video showed the sun filtered by some technology which made it appear dark orange. Its surface had those usual dark circular regions which widely pigmented the sun and those huge golden circles which release huge pillars of fire into space. Ilaw clicked on the cancel button but the video won't go away. He notices the "Live" icon appearing on the top right of the screen. It was followed by the logo of CNN appearing on the lower left corner. A text began running right above the news channel's logo indicating the video as live fee

"I'm so excited, and I just can't hide it..." you sang delightfully as you rose from bed, stretching your arms up, relieving the tension at the lower back. After splashing your face with a handful of cool water, you looked at the post-its stuck on the mirror with the to-do-list. There were just two items there - the cake and the flowers. You smiled at why you still had to write those down. In less than ten minutes, you were out of your room and heading downstairs. The grandfather's clock in the living room said 9:00 and you fear that your grandma may already be up in her nursing home room anxious at your absence. You rushed to the 150 square foot greenhouse at the back of the house beside the shed. Upon entering the sliding glass doors, on the multistep plant racks, sits about 60 pots of lilies on both opposite sides of the wall followed by 40 pots of red roses and to the far end were your grandma's prized ornamental flowers sitting in full vibrant bloom.

“Thank you dearie,” Hope said as she reached slowly for the coffee cup from her first-born teenage grandchild, Nerissa. Doing that takes out a lot from her. It is very trying for her to keep her hand twitching in check. Nerissa sat down across from her in the small round wooden table in the upstairs landing right after one enters the front door. On a corner of this 40 square feet landing is a wooden stair case which leads down to the small modest kitchen adjoining the living room and bedroom. Most of the surfaces of this underground home is wooden, glossy to the touch due to their reddish brown plant extracts that they were brushed with. In the kitchen counter tops, there are clean white ceramic pots arranged in increasing sizes. The pans are hung neatly underneath the overhead glass cabinets containing white plates, cups and mugs. Many of the table adornments and living room furnishings are white with some having hand-painted floral designs. Nerissa putting the second cup