The Fibbers' Page

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

Mr. Keeper, known to his friends as Fat Pat, smiled as he walked away from the pantry with a hot cup of coffee and a donut on a saucer. After putting them by his computer console and before sitting down, he stretched his arms all the way up, put his hands on his waist next then twisted his body to the left and the other side. "Hmm!" he exhaled, content at relaxing the tensions which had built up on his back. Something caught his attention on one of the many monitors mounted next to each other on the wall. A young man suddenly ran off from the waiting area, startling an old man sitting silently in a wheelchair, leaving behind a white paper on the bench. "What's going on?" Pat asked scratching his curly black locks, curious why the teenage boy stormed away. Pat pressed a key for replay. Slowly, the events ran backwards. He saw the young man on the chair with a paper and a pen in hand, writing, thinking then writing again. Then the teen walked over to the

A young lady in a dark leather hooded jacket underneath a thick grey wolf fur cape ran with long strides through the redwood forest. Far behind her she could hear the genetically-modified bloodhounds barking like crazed devils. Images of their elongated muzzles and talon-sharp fangs that could split a rock into two scared the hell out of her. "Kaboom!" she heard a loud explosion coming from the direction where she was running to. She halted and hid herself behind the mossy red sequoia tree, putting a palm to her chest and gasping for air. "I got to find out what was that before I run into more trouble," she thought. A strong gust of wind blew the hood off of her head revealing a pretty oval face topped with long straight blond hair. Her brows rising gently up the brow bone then curving smoothly down. Long lashes shelters her caramel eyes from the small glint of sunshine coming through the leaves above. Her thin nose rising upwards in a smooth straight line

Angry war drums exploded from the heavens. Sharp deadly electrical spears strike towering trees "Kaboom!". Theresa, seeing a dark hole from under huge wet fern leaves, crawled quickly on her knees and elbows towards it. "Plum! Mela indi." She bid the Amazon boy named Alakba to follow her inside, not minding if there's danger waiting in it. Out in the open is not less dangerous than from inside this small muddy hole carved out by some wild territorial boars. Theresa would prefer to die from an animal attack than from her pursuers. "Arta blabakum sisiska ," the boy pleaded for them to keep walking towards the next village. "Sisikum papuri kibi sisamum impipi," Theresa reminded the boy that they can't just run impulsively for the chip she keeps have government secrets. If the NSA catches them, all is lost. "Frilakam asusmi doriritos," Alakba feared that when daylight comes they'd be dead then. It was a good point. Sh

I’d always known that I should never interfere in the affairs of humans, but I never listen. This week, I am secretly hiding in a small farming plateau. This is where Leron lives. Every day at sun break, before Leron attends to his papaya and coconut farm, he helps his neighbors by giving away sackful of dry grasses to those who need to feed their milking cows. Before noon, he is at the town market deliver ing his produce to his long-time patrons. One windy day, a golden flying pumpkin from the progressive city of the south arrived carrying a lady who walked gracefully as a cat, a dog with furs pigmented as corns’ hair and seven men dressed in dark robes who ducked their heads as they stepped out of the craft. The men walked around town interested in business particularly with Dita, the town’s healer. Meanwhile, the lady and the dog seemed to be an inseparable pair. She walked around town gaily looking at the crafts and wares peddled on the busy narrow streets. “Ayyy Dios ko

It was Monday. Miss Patterson, the fourth grade English teacher, asked her students to write an analysis of Lewis Carroll's Jabberwocky poem that she had distributed. The turnip-faced student with swirling caramel locks grinned from behind a narrow-eyed Hiroshi.  The boy  tilted forward, whispering, “Hey chopstick, does that taste good?” Hiro understood that his classmate was referring to his left middle-finger that he absent-mindedly nibbled as he worked on his seatwork.  A trio of boys nearby who heard what was said chortled. Two girls to the right also joined with a giggle. Miss Patterson caught wind of the commotion. “Greg, anything funny you'd like to share with the rest of the class?” she asked with a raised brow, and a sigh. “No, ma'am. Already shared it. Thank you.” The boy, called Greg, leaned back on his chair with one last wicked look at Hiro. After school, Hiroshi walked out by himself, slouching with his hands rubbing the back of his elbows. His ey