Nearly Dead

8047397c6fc630e6fe700918472543e1There I was, laying in bed. 55 degrees felt like 35 degrees. A blanket was wrapped around my naked body.  A peace making flag?  Or the tool of my destruction? Who knows?

I held it up close to my chest, then I stood up slowly.

I began walking to the open door. Then I was running on a dark empty field. I felt people, someone, running, behind me. Steps were following me. Then everything went dark. Everything was pitch black. But I saw a light…

I saw fire too, and a handsome man smiling to me. Where was I?  Where?

Chapter 1-
I woke up, and found myself in my bed. My feet were barefooted and I was covered with my oldest quilt, also dark blue, and green. I loved earthy dark colors then. It matched my exotic mood. My favorite color is blue, but I also love green. It’s the color of the money. The money that I needed, but I never seemed to find. I was in hole, covered up in depth from my foot to my neck. All my debts were killing me slowly. I had heart palpitations each time I had to pay my rent and the other always late bills. I could barely buy groceries, go shopping, let alone to save.
You may say, Oh, Boohoo! I agree. I was on my own pity party. Couldn’t afford the trip on this world. I was to tired to keep fighting and the b.s. my life was. The mess I found myself in felt so big that I didn’t cared to leave this world. I was simply a visiting butterfly who was ready to find new lairs, a new home, whether it was heaven or hell. The hell could not be worst than what I was living then. I was death inside already, a temporary host in my body; a hunted gypsy soul who was ready to “pick-up camp” and take her life’s circus to another place, and foreign bodies… I was drunk a lot, too drunk to make sense of anything. My thought were as random as my actions in those few years, before the night that I died. An old car had run my sports car over. A stranger was my savior, and my killer. But I was revived. Yet I died for 10 long minutes. So my doctor said. He fought to revive me even after he was supposed to let me go. He said I was to pretty to die. A doctor with pervert eyes brought me back to this earth and to my sufferings.
I suddenly heard a noise by the door and there he was looking at me. He stood in front of me calling my name softly, repeatedly. I open my tired eyes and saw him in the dark as he said, “I saved you from that terrible accident. You’ll live”. The Dr. smiled kindly at me and then he turned and walked out of the room slowly, just as he had came in. I was still in the hospital not my room, I soon realized. Everything was so confusing then.  I waived. I had no idea there had being an accident. But I couldn’t speak, there was some blood on my upper lips and they felt swollen and painful. Everything was shaking and moving in circles around me. “Hey!” I yelled at him. He turned back and as he got near he smiled. “Did you drugged me?” I asked him. He smiled, “I gave you something for the pain. That’s all” I tried  to see if he was telling the truth by staring at his face. But nothing his expression was totally blank. Nothing there. I have no idea he was my doctor, as my mind was in a confused haze.
“Yes, I remember now, someone was following me in the dark. Then I was driving, really fast. The next thing I knew, I was here in bed. But this is not my room.” He nod and said, “Well you are save now. Where you drinking? If you were, I have to report it to the police.” I looked at him in disbelief. “What a nerve! Why in the hell I’m naked?” I said to him when I saw my breasts and nipples peering out of the blanket. He smiled again and shook his head. “You had pieces of glass all over your body. I’m going to get a nurse to clean you up and get you a hospital gown to cover you up.” I was angry and had no idea why. I yelled at him, “You should have done that already and not be staring at me like that!”
He didn’t replied. He just went to grab some alcohol and wipes and began to wipes my hands, my fingers, and arms. I stood quiet as he did that. Then I said, “My head and neck hurts really bad. Can you please give me something from the pain.” “In a few minutes, I fetch you something for that, just relax. You are in the best hands now.” Everything he said and the way he said it, seemed to have some innuendo, some hidden meaning. But I was beginning to feel at ease near him. He walked out of the room and came back with a cup of water and two pills and instructed me to drink it up. I obeyed and drank them from his hands he held my neck and poured the pills and water into my mouth.
“It will make you feel better. Your friend, in the other room. She is already awake.” He said and smiled again. “I wasn’t alone then?” I said surprised. He nodded. “You weren’t. . When I found you you had blood all over you. You were hurt badly. For I could see from looking at you. And you were declared death by the Paramedics. But I gave you CPR and managed to stabilize you. You were death for long 10 minutes. One of the longest time I’ve seen someone coming back from. When I thought you were gone. You breathe. I was very happy for you.”
I remain quiet, listening to his strange account of my accident. “As I waited for you to come through, back to life, I prayed for you. You were almost death. Then you were death. And I was sad for you.” He recounted the accident as if he was still there, “I have an office across from the street from where your accident was. I heard the commotion and ran out my office and helped you.” I tried to interrupt him to thank him, but he said that I didn’t needed to thank him that it was his duty to save a life. Specially such a young one as mine. He seemed really sincere and sweet. All my worried and confusion were dissipating. I felt glad that he had being there and also that he was my Dr. now. I was beginning to feel that we knew before, and that is was no coincidence that he was there. I grabbed his hand making him jump. “Please don’t let me die!” He caressed my hand and my finger, “Don’t be scared, you are recovering fine. You will survive this. We may have to take you to the surgery room soon.” “What are you going to do?” “We need to operate your hips and see how bad your spine is.” “Please, don’t. Put a cast or something. Keep me in bed for as long as it needs for me to recover, but I do not want more scars and metals or screws in my body. I’m a model and I don’t want you to ruin that for me.” “We will see what we can do but you have two broken pelvis, and your spine was affected too. We can’t guarantee that you’ll walk again.” “I do not authorize any surgeries! You should have done it before. But now that I’m awake I will not sign for any surgery. There may be another option.” He seemed mad at me then, “We will see what we can do. For now we are waiting for the CT scan and the other X-Rays to see what we need to do. Relax try to sleep.”
Chapter 2-
I needed to stay relaxed, but as I took my last breath in I felt dizzy, as usual, with the difference that this time my left hand went numb. Next was my right hand. And there were small traces of blood on each one of my hands, right in the middle of my palms, there was drop of blood, like a dark black dot inside of my palms. “Not again!” Last time I got a scar that lasted me over a month, and people began to ask me what it was. I had a blood shot mark on the superior part of my hand and also inside my palms. It was strange, but not unusual to me. I had seen it before.
Last night was not last night. Last night was centuries ago. I had blood on my clothes, blood on my scarred palms and I was followed by people calling me Witch. But it was in another other time. Old times. Another life, it seems. In this life there was a strange man in the doorway of my room, a Dr. he said, staring at me and calling my name softly. In my previous life, I was being persecuted and called Witch. How both of my lives collided with each other it was a mystery that I had no answers for.  I simply knew that in this life I was a mere mortal and human, but in a previous life I was a powerful Sorceress that loved to play a Sitara, and Harp music too until her hands bled.
 “I’m Ivan Vincent, you can find me in the Yellow-book”, the Dr. said when he returned to my room, finding me half awake. I smiled and said to him, “You just put your number on my cellphone Dr. Vincent. I’m sure we are both adults here so quit it with the surprise look on your face.” He closed his mouth and pretended not to blush. Then he said “You kissed me earlier, when I was watching you sleep near your bed. I kissed you back. I’m sorry for that. This never happened to me before and it never will. I promise you that.” Saying this he left looking remorseful and somewhat upset at himself, or was he mad at me for kissing him? I looked out the window and smiled. I could not believe that I had actually kissed my Doctor. I was not totally asleep. I was just dazed.  saw the sky turning a dark shade of gray. The rain fell in large silvery droplets and the wind and clouds looked like a tornado was forming. The trees near by were making a cracking loud sound and a branch felt over a car at the Hospital’s parking lot. There was a big storming coming soon. I felt it inside my bones. They hurt somehow and my muscles were tight around my joints. I felt a light shiver and had goosebumps all over my arms. Suddenly knew it. This wasn’t the first time I had being near dead. This was actually the second time that I had being nearly DEAD!
I had being dead before. But the strange part about it was that it wasn’t the first time either. I had died years ago for close to 5 minutes. The first time I died I saw a handsome man staring at me with long hair and green color eyes. I saw a light and fire all over me. I guess he was an angel because when I asked for him, after waking up from a short coma, no one had seen him. I saw a bright light and smiley faces in all shapes and colors. But the Doctors and Nurses had said that the lights that I saw were  just the surgery room lights. I knew he had made that up. Then the second time my own light was out and I was out of this world for what it seemed like a very long time.
I met my killer weeks before. This man was a mystery to me. But I knew how and where to find him. I looked outside and more flashbacks of the night before my first death came to me abruptly and painfully. I remember seeing a light. But what I saw was not a beautiful bright light. It was a pale light, but a light nevertheless, still. I soft light with fog around it. There was fire ahead.  And somewhere in there there was a bad lit road in the middle of  all the darkness. I stood there and stared long at it. I stared at the light, then at the fire, then back to that badly lit road an I knew and felt that I was drifting towards it, sort of floating over the road. Then a man was smiling at me and everything was pitch black.
But then I found myself awake, laying on my hospital bed still staring a that darkness through the window. Looking out at the parking lot and the bad lit road ahead. A bright light passed through the trees, that were still shaken by the strong winds and making cracking noises, then just as swiftly the light disappeared. And I was still there, alive and confused. Just as I am now, telling a story that might be real or might be pure fiction. But I’ll let you be the judge of it. Yet, don’t haste. This story is not over yet. There’s so much more to tell. So many details I’ve avoided on purpose to have you all feel somehow the same confusion state my character here was filling.
To Be Continued!!!
___In the meantime I am again laying on my bed and stretching out my body as I stare at my bloodshot scars over my palms, maybe my long nails have being pressing to hard on my skin causing them, or maybe I’m really a the ghost of a Sorceress with past life scars, or a young woman with a pretty vivid imagination. Who knows? That’s sometimes difficult to discern, even to myself. Then I conclude that I’m all of the above.
Please read my story in full, comment, and share!
Author/ Writer: Evelyn Rodriguez – Lallave

For the ones gone on 2014

This year we lost great people, two of them were Robbing Williams and Maya Angelou. Great actors with such a special souls. And regardless that they were famous and that most of us never met them in person a lot of us shared a tear or two when we learned of their passing away to a much better place. Because they were and still are a household name. To me it was very sad knowing that these great people were gone, just like that. It made me think of the family members I lost this year and the year before. These past two years were very difficult. Loosing two of my young cousins in such tragic manners was very hard but we all become strong and go on with our life. Humans have a survival shield that make us overcome many strong things and continue with our routines and daily tasks as if a wind has blown through our hair and simply pased. How about you? Have you lost someone this year? Would like to publish here and share in their memory a little message and a picture? Feel free to post it in the comments. Their moment and your moment is now. If you missed telling them something, get it out of your chest feel free to share it with us!

Little Fool!


Little Fool!

I feel you can be

just like a mean Scroodge.

But who I am to judge you.

I usually hate Christmas too.

Let’s cancel Christmas and make

a big early Spring parade.

Let’s call it “Humbug Factice!”,

our little disambiguation,

or phoney sham;

Who cares?

skipping Christmas

could be our Grand Slam…

Being Moody

I really feel identified with this. My mother was one of the first and few people that read some of my work and encouraged me writing. Others refused to read me including my children because to their eyes my work is sad, cheesy, self centered and borderline pathetic, in other words, a self pity fest. But if I wrote anything else and more cheerful thing or dedicate myself to paint I would do a lot better. Some of these things have being said to me by few family members and friends, others simply laugh, and few believe that I waste my time writing, have to much of an odd imagination, they rather read my old sensual poems and critics of that sort. But I know every writer goes to hell and come back for one reason or the other and that is what make us good writers….

No Regrets; By an Unapologetic Woman


“I live with no regrets. Unapologetic. And one day at a time.”  _Evelyn R.L.

( Poema al Cristo Crucificado; No Me Mueve Mi Dios Para Quererte)

“No me mueve, mi Dios, para quererte
el cielo que me tienes prometido,
ni me mueve el infierno tan temido
para dejar por eso de ofenderte…

Tú me mueves, Señor, muéveme al verte
clavado en una cruz y escarnecido,
muéveme el ver tu cuerpo tan herido,
muévenme tus afrentas y tu muerte.

Muéveme, en fin, tu amor, y en tal manera,
que aunque no hubiera cielo, yo te amara,
y aunque no hubiera infierno, te temiera.

No me tienes que dar [nada, ni golpes] porque te quiera,
pues aunque lo que yo espero no esperara,
lo mismo que te quiero, te quisiera.” _Anonimo 😉

*(Feel free to use a translator to translate this poem avobe)

Author’s Note:

Part I-

Hello World!

As I began to write this blog, I wondered why would anyone want to read my blogs? What is it that will finally bring you, readers and followers, to my pages or books? And what can I do better, (besides re-taking English grammar lessons and improving my spelling), to get people to read me and finally see me as a Writer & Author and not just a regular Sales person trying to sell them Articles/ Adds or a Self-Published Poetry books?

I often ask myself that.

Am I able and talented enough to achieve that? (Well, I’m def. a talented story teller and not a square person for sure, as someone once called me.) I’m pretty much out of the box, fierce, and very unapologetic, as the title states. So there is def. a change for you (reader) to find and read some of my blogs, articles, and poems, and even a good chance that YOU will share it in Facebook, Twitter, or Tumbler, etc… (At least I hope you do. Pretty please do share it.) But am I a good enough writer and Poetess, or I’m I just some just Multi-dimention personality type of person with the delusions of a big Best Seller Writer complex. ( My dream was becoming a NY Bestseller Author like Danielle Steel (Answered Prayers) or a great renoun famous writer like Isabel Ayende ( The House of the Spirits Author) or Gabriel Garcia Marquez ( One Hundred Years of Solitud Author) But I’ve hit the roof cradhing my head, and I’ve hit rock bottom and I’m barely crowling out of it now. No more grandious dreams for me. Yet I still have a slight hope that you will fall in love with one of my Poems or my short novels and tell the rest of the world about it, and that maybe one day you scrape enough pennies from your curse jar and use it to buy one of my poetry books or recently published novels. I have few around, they are hard to find. Check out this link to make it easier to find them:

I hope that you will read me and then go tell people about this blogger who calls herself @EvelynBlogger, and loves to write every single thing that comes to her mind from fashion articles, to family activities, movies or places reviews, and lots, lots of poetry, both Spanish and English, and share lots and lots of photos here, on Twitter, and Instagram too. (@Evelynblogger101 in Istagram and @EvelynBlogger in Twitter) Sorry, I tend to overshare. If you are still with me thus far 🙂 please read on…


Part II-  Every morning, as the sun penetrates the sheer lime green curtains of my windows, and bathe me with its glistening warm, I hesitantly open my eyes and curse at the sun for waking me up so untimely and begin my wondering. I say to myself,

“I’m awake. I’m alive. I exist! What now? What’s next? Where was I in my writing projects or ideas. What did I left of to complete last night, last month, or maybe last year, in last 15 years to be exact?” I take a deep breath, and sighting I say.

“Is it all worth it? Who will ever read you?

That’s always a hunting question in my mind, will anyone ever read a Novel I write, or a short story? Will I finally have the courage to turn all these scribbles into a book, a novel, or just a poetry booklet to share in open mic. days, with friends and relatives? What will I be sharing with you, my few readers and followers that somehow read me, but rarely comment me, in Instagram, Twitter, or Facebook?  These book lovers, who follows me and my random short stories and novellas, will they ever buy my book?

But what if I’m sharing to much, or maybe to little? What if I’m to bold, or to reserved. What things will interest them, hook them to my work? Do the same things I so candidly write about will interest me, if it was the other way around?  Will I even click on one of my own titles if I were them? You?

I wander, and wander. How can I get people like me, and read me, and then share my stories with the rest of world? Will you help me do it. Will that ever happen? Will these blog really help me reach my followers, create a following chain of avid lovers aka readers. Maybe yes. Maybe not. I’m leaving it all to fate. If you do happen to enjoy reading me, as much as I hope you do, please check out my book below:


I have so many many questions. Writing has become an obsession. Almost in an Autistic or OCD way.  Yet, this is not what I am really writing about on this post. There is more about me and my art. So much more. You may ask, why do I care so much? Well yes, I really care too much! I want to be liked, and admired. Not judged, or ever feel irrelevant. Writing and being appreciated has made me grow as a person. It has passioned me, involved me in a dream of words and letters that wasn’t important for me before.

Fashion and makeup was my passion and main love once. Reading too, but writing was something I only used to do to kill time, but not something I was interested in really sharing or in making it a blog, specially not write a book. Until one day, when I found nonowrimo ( and the defunct site Script Frenzy, and out of boredom and curiosity I decided to write stories and novels.  I decided to give it a shot and discover my own potential. And a miracle happened. I did not won their writing contests. But I met great people who didn’t judge me and were extremely supportive .

So I began to relearn myself through writing. And appreciating myself more for all the many varied things I was able to discover through my writings. I learned that I was stronger and fearless too when it came to share my emotions, and my deepest thoughts.

Like the old adage say , “The pen is mightier than the sword” Yes, words are mightier than the sword. I think bloggers, journalists, writers, and artists, in general, have a bit of need for approval, and some small form of exhibitionism too, if you may.

We are a little bit of attention-addicts, opinionated people, and dreamers, just like I am. Some of us may be gifted, or geniuses turned crazy. Some are a bit crazy turned into geniuses. Or maybe a just a healthy mix of both. I consider myself to be a little bit of both. There is a fine line for everything. So I try to concern myself in being  myself, unapologeticaly me! Nothing more, nothing less_and breathe. Namaste!

Part III

Most of the time people only get to see half of who I am, unless we are really  close friends. Writing help me share with them a bit more about myself. I have created an outer wall, even from the closest people to me. There’s many levels of friendship to me, more than the levels in Scientology, I believe.

And is not  that I don’t trust people, is that as a person I can be a bit distant  when I don’t know or like someone. Being hurt,  turn you into an onion, with many thin or hard layers, all unique, and different, and not always easy to peal. And people may take me as superficial when they don’t know how deep of a person I am. Unless I open up to them  and let them in in my life.

But in turn, as a writer I can just be bold, let my walls down, and cloaks fall. I get to express my opinions bluntly and sometimes being brutally honest. It’s a total thrill to me being bold when people don’t expect me to be.

I love sharing my controversial ideals, and my out of the box, points of view. Many people may not agree with me, yet they do like my sincerity and will follow me or form a discussion, a healthy discussion about this or that subject. I respect all ideas and point of views, just don’t insult mine. You won’t like my comebacks.

I hate injustice and bullying. It makes me feel so helpless and hurt when people think they can abuse others, hurt other people’s feelings, and treat others as less. I really hate bullies. Maybe not hate but I dislike them a lot. Greatly!

I was always this sort of person that stepped forward and voiced out my feelings to help someone else.  I wanted to be the hero who solved everyone’s problems, and listened to everyone’s issues. I always been unapologetic and fierce.  Lately not so much.

I’ve changed, by becoming cynical, distant, and a bit cold and reserved. Those are some of the not so great things I’ve picked up since living in Florida. So many things have changed since I came here. Not the best place to make friends or grow a family. Not a great place to have dreams or follow them. Is just another sink hole by the water. A quick sands kind of place.

I felt  my heart sinking as the years passed and there wasn’t a way out of here. Not a way to “go back home” to New York or Puerto Rico. Nothing to do, besides work and probably write some and fatten up.

But when I write, I feel better with myself and my surroundings. I am honest, soft, kind, open, and even fierce again. Overall, people’s opinions are important to me. It’s not what you say, it’s how you say it that really matters.

I would usually speak up my mind, when it comes to stand for myself, though I pick my battles. But if I stay quiet when someone offends me, it will still be bothering me later on, and will linger on my pillow at night like a funky smell, with the akin thought that I wasn’t really there for myself, to defend myself. But you can’t just fight everyone or take people to seriously these days. The world is near its end and it’s crazier than ever. So I try to ignite lots of things and lots of stupid people.

Someone once told me, when I first came to Florida, and was all about running my mouth like any regular teenager would do, “Chill-out kiddo, and learn to pick your fights!” and “you carry your heart on on your sleeves. That’s not a good thing…”

So nowI pick my fights more carefully. But I won’t stay quiet when I face or see injustice. I will find a way to speak up even if its by writing and Blogging. That’s just who I am.

And I certainly have no regrets of being Me! I am an Unapologetic Woman. And I’m proud to be that way. And I’m proud to share a bit of myself to  those wants to befriend me, follow me, read me, and get to know me and know a little more about me and what moves me in this life.

Besides God, friends, and family, writing moves me, people moves me. You move me! 🙂 Thank you for supporting my writing with likes and comments here, on Facebook, Twitter and so on.

Come back for some more of my stories, blogs, or poems. Thanks again!

Author: Evelyn R. Lallave /  @EvelynBlogger

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