Analicia Monique Spivey
Bio
I love to read and to write, I feel that stories are a great way to check out of reality to allow your minds and souls to catch a break.from time to time.
Stories (3)
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Broken, but Hopeful
I can tell you that it gets better. Not right away though. Time does heal all wounds, but you have to give time...time. This is the part that is not always easy because you are more than likely still stuck in your head. Replaying every aspect of the relationship, did I miss something? Why did I stay so long when it was falling apart? What could I have done differently?
By Analicia Monique Spivey4 years ago in Humans
The Furby Incident
This incident happened after the Furby came out. So my sister, who I consider to be my best friend, and I was little girls (we are now in our 30’s, lol) that shared a bedroom. One night, our parents had to run to the store so they told us to get in bed as we had school the next day. So kids being kids, we did not go directly to sleep. We were up laughing and talking about random things that were popular at the time (1998, oh take me back). By this time it is 9 pm and we are still wide awake. One of us decided that it was a good idea to activate the Furby that we got for Christmas. Solid plan, until the moment we hear our parents’ vehicle pulling into the driveway. My sister and I rush, as quietly yet quickly, as we could back to our beds. Meanwhile, Furby McFurberson, not the name, by the way, was still chatting like we were not about to get into trouble with our parents. We’re shushing this thing, but it just keeps talking saying that it is hungry and some other things that I can hardly remember. We hear the car doors slam and our hearts are racing in our chests. Either our parents were going to think the house was haunted since this toy was just talking to no one or they were going to punish us for not doing as they told us to do. Of course, we would have hoped for the first outcome because who wants to get punished for not being obedient, right? Now they are walking up the three stairs that lead onto the porch, they are almost here. Any other time it seems like they would take their time getting inside the house, like when you really needed them for something. The Furby is still talking. For the first time in my young life, I considered murder but would get in trouble for getting out of bed. The screen door creaks open and our parents are talking with each other. I look at my sister and she’s looking at me while this darn toy just won’t stop. At the exact moment we hear the key go into the door, the Furby announces, very loudly, that it was sleepy. Great, so shut up and go to sleep already. It goes through its “sleep” routine of snoring like an owl. Just as our parents walk into the house, the Furby, blessedly, quiets down. The dreaded beast has finally sought rest. All is still in our room except for our hearts which are mocking us by running all over the place. We did our best to quiet our breathing in case one or both of our parents decided to check in on us. Our mother did. We covered our faces to pretend that we were asleep. She stood there for a minute then she walked away. We did not move until we heard their bedroom door close behind them. Even still we gave it a few seconds just to be on the safe side. Once we came up for air, we both dissolved into giggles that had us crying. We still reference that moment as The Furby Incident. I have thought about trying to find the Furby that we had and give it to her as a gift for either her birthday or Christmas. Whenever our family gets together and reminisces about the past, we will bring this story up laughing nearly the entire time. Our reaction to either hearing about Furbies or seeing them always causes us to laugh about that night all over again.
By Analicia Monique Spivey4 years ago in Humans
My Vision of Home
Home is a rest stop for the weary. A place filled with renewing love and warmth. It is where the masks of life come off, where the world-worn can lay down heavy and silent burdens. It is a place where laughter is the music that tickles the ears and lightens the soul. Home is where generations swap lessons, where the past impacts the present on the road towards the future. Home is where love accepts and love forgives. Home is where the heart ingrains itself into every fiber, every nook, and every cranny to be a haven for the everyday actors that work hard to hide their pain. Home is where the superheroes of the world find their beginnings. Home is a sanctuary for when the world becomes too much. A home is a place where children are soul-fed in order to face the harsh, unforgiven concept of life. Home is an idea realized, a dream well lived, and a desire waiting to come alive.
By Analicia Monique Spivey4 years ago in Poets
