Delgado Zellini

Time's Puzzle

2011-10-23T01:06:00.005-04:00

Time's Puzzle Copyright © 2011 Pia Zellini

Written for Sunday 160

The key to the puzzle lies within my veins. Many have tried to sever my flesh from time’s altar. I’ve risen from each burial, laughing at their failed attempts.

Back To Writing

2011-10-21T14:29:00.001-04:00

Delgado Zellini are happy to announce that after a short hiatus, they are working on The Garret, their first novel, as well as a book of flash fiction and short stories.

What Was I Thinking?

2011-10-20T14:24:00.000-04:00

"You're not going to waste the entire week sitting around. As long as you're visiting you'll pull your weight."

I was starting to rethink my plans of ever accepting grandma's invitation. I've forgotten how much of a grouch she is but I didn't want to share that my true reason for visiting was to see if Sarah O'Connor was still around. We went to the same high school before I moved east. Nobody knew how to brighten my day like Sarah.

I remembered how Sarah and I would sit on the hilltop and listen for the ambulance sire to come rushing into town--especially during the community parade. Someone was always being carried away to the hospital for something. Most folks blamed their sickness on a local named Erma Washington. Her blackberry pies were deadly. Some complained about severe stomach cramps but many others were carried away to Creek County Hospital.

"Are you still sitting here?" Grandma's voice breaks my concentration. "Well Josh, why don't you take this basket of bread to the Parker's residence up the street, past the windmill. I gather any minute now her old man will be home and wanting to eat. You know he's manager now, don't you?"

Sighing, "I don't really remember where he works, grandma."

"Sure you do. Remember the little tool shop where you and that girl use to steal candy from?"

"Terry's Hardware Shop," I smiled. "He had the best caramel in town."

"Well, now," she exhaled. "You do remember something."

I'll remember to stay home next time, I thought, frowning.

"There might be hope for you after all," grandma continued teasing.

I fought to ignore her little smart remark. I've always disregarded them. The only person I want to know about is Sarah and yes, we stole candy. We stole a ton of candy and ran to the fields to eat them. That was our secret. Wonder how grandma knew about it.

"So, grandma...whatever happened to the O'Connor's?" I watched while grandma placed warm bread slices neatly inside a cloth before placing them into a woven basket.

"Well, now, let me think. You know George and Mary O'Connor got a divorce right?"

I didn't know about the divorce but I said yes just so she wouldn't spend the next hour explaining what had happened. "Yes, you mentioned that earlier," I swallowed.

"Oh ok, well Mary, that old crow, she was always cheating on him anyway. The divorce was bound to happen, you know. Now, the kids all grew up and moved into the city. Mark married a cute young lady named Amanda and Brenton, well, he's always been a rebel. He's still in jail."

"What about Sarah?" I interrupted.

Where did I put the apple butter?" grandma muttered.

I rolled my eyes and kept quiet. Sometimes talking to grandma is like talking to a damn wall. I figured Sarah had probably moved on like everyone else.

I took the basket of bread and slowly walked out the door. I can see the Parker's residence as I neared the windmill. I lowered my head to the gravel road. I could feel my heart dropping as I became certain this trip was a sure waste. I kicked a few rocks and took in a deep breath.

When I finally reached my destination, I walked up the stairs and knocked on the door. Of course, no one answered, so I peeked into the living room window. I saw nothing and heard nothing--except the echoing voice of my grandma ringing in my head. There might be hope for you after all.

I took a seat on the porch swing next to a potted sunflower. I guess I'll wait, I thought, while gazing at the hilltop, smiling. Sarah and I would race to the top everyday after school and throw rocks into the town street right below, sometimes breaking windows. Poor Mr. Marks. He made the best brownie cookies in the world. Sarah would tell me it wasn't our fault for breaking his window and that his baker was just in the wrong place. It was difficult explaining to him, the first time, that were aiming for the stop sign. I'll never forget the punishment from grandma. Even though it was Sarah's rock. I took all the blame. It was worth it. She kissed me for the first time.

A voice whispered from outside of the house, "Is that for me?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't think anyone was home." I couldn't see a soul I just heard a voice, so when I walked down the stairs to meet Mrs. Parker, my mouth dropped open.

"Well, don't just stand there. Give me a hug, Josh."

Sarah!" I bellowed before embracing, almost dropping the basket.

"What? I mean...my grandma told me this was..."

"Well, Josh, after the Parker's left town I bought their house."

I said nothing. I concentrated on her voice and her beautiful smile. So many memories ran through my mind while listening. She's still as beautiful as ever. Her brown hair was shorter but perfectly framed her oval face. She was a little heavier and more inviting than before.

"I always ask your grandma about you. I often give her rides into town."

"Well, I have to give my grandma some credit. She can be nerve racking but she means well." My voice crackled a bit, still spellbound by her beauty. I felt a rush running through my head and fought hard to maintain my composure.

"How long are you staying?" Sarah asked.

"For a week," I smiled, still mesmerized.

"Long enough to catch up on things," she added.

I didn't know what to say, so like an idiot I stood there grinning and staring at her dimples. We both spent most of the evening catching up while eating bread and drinking iced tea.

I had a feeling she too knew I was coming. I suppose grandma hasn't lost her touch after all. Seems as if I'll be making frequent trips to check up on her...now that I know Sarah is doing well. Thanks grandma.

Strawberry Rush

2011-10-19T14:19:00.000-04:00

I'm missing little Eva and Amber Rae. This weekend they're with their father. You would think I'd enjoy a little rest and relaxation but some parents, such as myself, would rather hear the screaming, fighting, laughing and fussing over which vegetables are better tasting with melted cheese than sit here in this big quiet house alone for two days. I haven't had the energy to enjoy much of anything since our divorce but the twins keep me quite entertained.

Saturday, noon--normally I'd be fighting Eva to comb her hair--her pretty raspberry hair. That's one good trait she did inherit from her father. Amber got his freckles and my dimples. Actually, I'm a bit shocked Raymond didn't bail out on the girls again like he did last weekend. Since it rained, the three of us danced around the house putting on our own concert. Of course, a show is incomplete without Amber's tiny feet prancing around inside my size eight dress shoes--and I bet my shoes are still in her room.

"I don't know how many times I've told Eva to hang up her jacket and put away her toys. I think I'll leave them on the stairs along with her crayons leading all the way to her bedroom."

Mom sits on Eva's bed, smiling and staring over at a sun-lit corner where a large white teddy bear sits. The wind blows softly through an open window, dressed with a light, pink, sheer curtain. Pretty silk bows are tied neatly at each side.

"Looks like Eva forgot her gloss--Amber likes the bubble-gum," she mumbles while thinking. "I remember wearing gloss in high school. I always wore a gloss. I think I still have some in my room, somewhere."

As mom walks down the hall nearing her own bedroom, she stops at a gold framed, hallway mirror and slowly glides a little gloss over her puffy lips while taking in the fruity scent. Blushing, she drops the gloss and buries her face in her palms, grinning.

"Oh my God--this the same flavor I wore on my first date with Raymond." She giggles as her tongue rubs over her bottom lip sampling the inviting, memorable scent that brings her back to her high school days.

"He always complimented my eyes, too," she whispers while walking into her bedroom, searching her closet and pulling out a large tapestry cosmetic bag. Her face stretches to grin while layering coats of black mascara. While observing her transformation, a burst of energy quickly spreads throughout her body. Grabbing her purse, she bolts downstairs and out the door.

"I'm going in today," she whispers. "Normally I would sit here and wait for him to bring the girls out but no more." Leaning into the rear view mirror, she checks her make-up and glides on a little lip gloss--strawberry.

"Mara!" exclaims Raymond, scanning her up and down.

"Hello Raymond," Mara smiles. "Are my girls ready?"

Raymond, still mesmerized by Mara's appearance, is standing with his jaws slightly dropped.

"Raymond, is there something wrong?" Mara asks, looking over his shoulders.

"Mara, you look beautiful," still observing.

"Oh, thanks Ray." Trying not to grin, she fluffs her now cut, auburn and black striped colored hair while flashing her French manicure. The girls run toward the front door calling for their mother. Bending over, "Hey girls, did you have fun with dad this weekend?"

"Mommy, you look so pretty!" The girls smile and run to the car.

"Thanks again, Raymond. I'm glad we were able to work out a schedule for the girls."

"Mara," Raymond pauses, lowering his eyes. "I know we separated over our differences but what's not to say we could try again?" his voice quivers.

"Ray, I think it's best this way. You know it as well as I do. You cannot submit to only one woman and I'm not going through the battle again." I lean in to give Raymond a hug and kiss the corner of his mouth. "I'll always love you but I'm not in love with you," Mara explains.

As she ends her embrace, Raymond gently grabs onto her arms, "Wait," his eyebrows wrinkled. "What is that?"

Lowering her eyes, trying not to grin, "What is what?"

"That flavor--it's familiar," he says, trying to remember.

"I--I have to go. The girls are waiting." She takes Raymond by the hand and places the lip gloss into his palms before walking back to the car and driving off.

Mom and her daughters played in the back yard that evening. The girls made a floral arrangement from the flowers in the garden. They plan to take it to their dad next weekend. Later, after everyone showered, the three watched movies while eating pizza and popcorn--well, Amber did. Eva took the comb to mom's hair over and over, although she wouldn't let anyone comb hers. The butter from her tiny hands helped the comb glide through with ease.

Who would of thought the scent of strawberry lip gloss and a trip down memory lane would help regain life to a once shattered woman.

Grandpa's Farm

2010-04-18T13:49:00.006-04:00

I knew the meaning of freedom at the age of four. A hard lesson I learned on grandpa’s farm. He used to trap birds in a netted funnel. Well, that’s what I called it anyway. I used to sit and watch them for hours, fluttering around inside. My ears were amazed at the loud shrilling sounds they used to make. My imagination would run wild, picturing my grandpa, the great hunter of birds.

One August evening, while resting on the back porch, my grandma told me a story. A history lesson of sorts about our family. She spoke of her mom and dad, their struggles. How they fought adversities while remaining faithful to their goal - a better life for their children.

My grandma was born in Russia. At the age of 12, the family immigrated to America. She said they ‘rode the wings of freedom, like a bird soaring towards Heaven’. All night, that line ran through my head.

The call of the rooster woke me early the next morning. I made my way to the backyard, opening the barn doors. There they sat, nine birds - caged. Without hesitation, I picked up the funnel and made my way to the street. My grandparents found me 15 minutes later. It was all over at that time.

They asked me why I did it. I told them grandma’s story made me think. How can we soar towards Heaven like the birds? Wouldn’t we have to ride their wings? They looked down at me with a smile and carried me back to the house.

I still make a yearly trip to my grandparents house. It’s empty now, they’ve passed on. Now 25, I tell myself that I was just a child back then - young, innocent. Wide-eyed, full of imagination. But the lesson I learned that night still lingers. Freedom is something everyone should have no matter how old or young. Regardless of race, religion.

Sitting on the back porch, I look towards the sky and smile. Birds soaring towards Heaven. No longer caged, once again tasting freedom.

Perfect

2010-04-18T12:27:00.000-04:00

Written for 55 Flash Fiction Friday

I need implants in order to wear this. Maybe C or D cup. No need for liposuction. A girdle will suffice. Maybe a nose job as well. More lips, juicier. My hair’s short, I’ll need extensions. I don’t know what Bryan likes but he spends more time in bed with this thing than with me.

I Still Remember

2010-04-04T11:58:00.004-04:00

Written for Thursday Tales

Photo by BenoitPaille

We used to walk in the snow through town, just the two of us. I barely recall the unbearable traffic and flashing headlights. The crowds that used to gather in front of shops and restaurants always seemed to disappear. Unnoticeable faces of time. The only memory that hasn’t faded are your warm hands wrapped tightly around my tiny fingers, grasping on for dear life.

Stretched across my bed, I begin to dance with memories. I’ll never forget the times you brushed my hair, helped me get ready for school. Your encouraging words still echo throughout the walls of this house.

Each recollection brings a smile to my face, yet tears roll down my cheeks, warming the cool of the day.

Making my way to the window, I glance over at the park across the street. One lone swing sways in the breeze. It’s amazing how peaceful things can be. At the same time, it’s astonishing how empty life can feel.

As I begin to lower my eyes, the snow begins to fall. Once again, I’m back in comforts arms. Each flake whispers your name. Each footstep I hear brings me back to those times when even silence was beautiful.

Wiping the tears, I can’t help but wonder if you’re still walking with me. Through town, through the snow filled streets. Are you hiding behind the headlights, lingering within the crowd?

Sometimes I can still feel your hands, wrapped tightly around my fingers. No longer tiny, I’m still grasping on for dear life. I still remember my mother’s love.

Happy New Year

2010-01-01T00:06:00.002-05:00

Have a safe and wonderful New Year.

Official Site

2009-12-13T17:19:00.004-05:00

Ofira Sephiroth's and the Delgado Zellini official sites have been moved. The links in the above navigation bar have also been updated. To visit Ofira Sephiroth's Official Site, click here. To visit the Official Delgado Zellini site, click here.

Martyrdom

2009-11-20T16:24:00.000-05:00

Written for Flash Friday 55

"I can’t believe you’re suggesting this!"

"Why not?"

"Because it’s wrong."

"Martyrs gain a certain level of respect. So while you’re sitting here, trying to convince me that killing Michael is wrong. Think about what this will do for the cause."

"We’re supposed to be helping people."

"We’ll be helping Shelly. She can’t stand Michael."

The Job

2009-11-16T14:45:00.000-05:00

Written for Microfiction Monday #5

I set fire to my parents house in ‘74. I swore I’d never come back, but there are rumors going around town about the house being haunted. So I’ve returned to finish the job.

Frozen

2009-11-03T02:16:00.000-05:00

I've always been afraid of spiders. Tarantulas mainly, but they all are quite scary. Freezing when the lights come on, like Johnny did last month at the opera house. Our one year anniversary, we figured we should celebrate in style. I wore a gorgeous dress, it was to die for. We took our seats and held hands. The lights dimmed down and the show began. Just like that he disappeared.

He said he had to go to the bathroom, but honestly how long does that take. He missed the whole show. When the lights came back on he was kissing Barbara. You don't remember her do you? We went with her to the mall, met her mom and aunt on the train.

They were talking about their family get together. I felt so out of place. Frozen, like the mannequin that was wearing the jacket and sunglasses.

God, I wanted that jacket, but I could never afford it. Well, I could if I was a pornstar. But I would be one with specific tastes. I mean, I would never sleep with Ron Jeremy.

I don't care how big he is, he still wouldn't have the balls to put up with a woman like me.

One Night

2009-11-01T23:38:00.000-05:00

Written for Microfiction Monday #3.

One night, two long years ago. I keep telling myself that it didn't mean anything. Jason must never find out that you belong to his brother.

Happy Halloween

2009-10-31T01:16:00.002-04:00

I hope everyone has a wonderful Halloween. I plan on watching horror movies all day with Delgado and the pets and ducking the rain storm that we're in the middle of.

The Untamed

2009-10-25T20:57:00.001-04:00

Written for Microfiction Monday #2

Never cared much for his opinion. 'You're too loose for a relationship, too tight for true love.' He still hasn't learned, I can't be tamed.

Eraser

2009-10-23T10:13:00.000-04:00

Written for Friday Flash 55

"Received an email this morning - picture of my mom. Don't Delete This Message!!! was typed in the subject. Unfortunately, I did and now I can't find her. She hasn't been to work all day. It's like she just vanished."

"Holy shit!. I got the same email an hour ago, with my picture. I deleted it."

Dissemble

2009-10-22T14:05:00.003-04:00

Eating raisins, I watch as he jostles an elderly woman while boarding an overcrowded train. He places what appears to be a hat on the seat beside him. As he continues taunting passengers, shouting expletives and making obscene gestures, I can’t help but notice how different he is today.

We ride the train together every morning with me normally getting off first. Some days are better than others. For instance, it was a smoother ride yesterday. Not because of his horrible performance, but because it was less crowded. I was also eating grapes yesterday. Today it’s raisins. Opposites, yet the same.

Approaching my exit, I stand clutching onto my briefcase, waiting for the train to come to a complete stop. I can’t help but stare, wondering where the difference in his behavior can lie. Can it be the raisins? Do I need to eat grapes every morning instead of switching back and forth?

After the train stops, I walk over to the mysterious passenger. "You’re a two-sided coin, never sure who I’m going to be riding with."

He just stands there glaring - no smile. Glancing over at the empty seat next to him, I notice there’s no hat, just a face, his face - the same, yet opposite.

I finally realize what can make a man seem so different from one day into the next. A smile forms on my face as I lean in closer to him and whisper, "I like you better when you wear the mask."

Butterfly Watcher

2009-10-18T20:35:00.003-04:00

She moves like a Black Widow, southern of course. My northern eyes tend to navigate towards the cannibalistic type. Long legs, brunettes - never been much into blondes. Race doesn’t matter. Interrupting the natural flow of life by bickering over skin color perverts desire’s intentions.

Women - a rare species. They’re those colorful winged angels that fly by day and haunt each night. Visually appealing, charming - seductive.

I seek out the most attractive that I can find, granting them their finest hour. Champagne, dinner, dancing - everyone should have at least one moment when they feel like the world is at their feet. I whisper promises I never intend to keep. Well, that’s not completely true. I do offer the fight of their life and ultimately render eternal rest.

Does that make me a monster, an animal? The morning paper refers to me as a vile creature, only a semblance of a man.

I prefer to call myself the Butterfly Watcher and tonight I have my eye on the Black Widow at the bar. The one drinking the martini. Long dark brown hair, olive colored skin. She’s not dry like the vermouth she presses against her lips but sweet, wet - a taste you’d savor.

Have I become infatuated? Have the tables turned? Looking down at my empty glass I begin imagining what venom would taste like. How would it feel to break someone of that stature? Would trying bring my reign to an end? Would I let it?

As my eyes slowly reach the peak of my brow I realize the vision before me. Black Widow places her martini glass on the tobacco oak bar table and takes a seat across from me. We stare for awhile, lost in each others gaze - intrigued at what the night might bring.

She raises her left hand, slowly tracing the outline of her lips. Strokes her cheek with the back of her hand, gradually, in downward motion until she traces her neck. We smile, taunting each other.

Visually appealing is the Black Widow, vile is the Butterfly Watcher. The morning paper will tell how it ends.

Past Regrets

2009-10-16T16:53:00.004-04:00

Past Regrets Copyright © 2009 Zora Delgado
(100 word flash fiction)

Disgusted, Evan threw both arms into the air. "Don’t turn away I’m talking. You’ve given me the cold shoulder for the past week."

Her eyes dropped. "I made a mistake."

"What does that mean? I thought we had something special - the trips, our morning love making routine..."

"Feelings change, Evan." Her eyes met his. "He’s my boss! What am I suppose to do?"

"Clever," he murmured.

"I don’t think this has anything to do..."

"Sure it does. I slept with his girlfriend so he sleeps with mine. Tonight, when you crawl into my father’s bed, tell him I said bravo."

NaNoWriMo 2009

2009-10-16T14:45:00.006-04:00

Zora and I are participating in NaNoWriMo this year. It will be a first for both of us. We're going to try to keep ourselves on a NaNo posting updates schedule and have a tentative one in place. It might not change but if it does we'll update the information.

Zora will be posting updates on C. R. Stone's blog as well as weekly updates here.

I'll be posting updates on Pia Zellini's blog as well as weekly updates here.

We're both looking forward to working on our novels. We'll be posting information on outlining and characters throughout the rest of the month.

Novel Affair

2009-10-16T13:56:00.007-04:00

I came across Mr. Knowitall's blog earlier this week and found out that he does a Friday Flash 55. It was a challenge since I tend to write longer pieces of flash fiction but I gave it a go.

Standing over her lifeless body, I recall her final words - she’ll never know. Picking up the shovel, I begin digging my way out of consciousness. Returning to Brookhaven was never planned. If it wasn’t for Sean’s affair I would be basking in the sun on a Bondi Beach in Australia. Instead, I’m writing this novel.

I plan on writing some more as the day moves along.

Richard

2009-10-10T18:35:00.004-04:00

Opening the front door, a smile graces the serene glow of the street light across the street. This has definitely been one of the best nights of my life. A romantic dinner by candlelight and dancing - I can’t believe I’m blushing. I feel like a schoolgirl again.

Entering the house, I drop my keys while humming one of the songs that swept me away during the course of the evening. “Clumsily in love”, escapes my lips as I kneel to feel around on the soft carpet. The slam of the door behind me brings an end to loves’ ballad.

In a state of panic, I slowly make my way to my feet. Darkness envelopes the living room. I reach my right hand out, feeling for the couch while my left advances for the lamp on the end table. The click of the lights quickly shatter the silent heartbeats of two. Slowly turning to face the intruder, a familiar deep voice awakens a fear that has been dormant for two years.

"Did you have a nice evening?"

"Richard, wh...what are you doing here?"

"Finishing what I started three years ago."

What Have We Been Up To...

2009-10-10T11:33:00.007-04:00

Zora an I are going through the home buying process so things have been a little hectic on our part - and we haven't even moved yet. Some changes have been made to the Official Site - new layout, some things added, some deleted. Some changes have also taken place here. As you can see we have a new layout. We've also gone through where we had links to our flash fiction pieces and removed the links and just posted the stories here in the blog. It makes things a little simpler for everyone. There's no need to view them on the site to leave comments, you can now do that right here on our blog.

Speaking of blogs, I'm getting ready to set up a blog strictly for Pia Zellini. I'll be posting my flash fiction pieces here as well as on the new blog. I'm hoping to have that up and running some time today. Keep an eye out for information on NaNoWriMo which both Zora and myself are going to be doing this year. It'll be the first one for both of us.

The Souls' Plea

2009-06-04T17:40:00.004-04:00

I travel to the gallery everyday at 2:30 pm. Each visit takes me back to my one true passion. My desire lies in the exquisite tastes of others. Masterpieces line the walls. Treasures hidden from our daily existence synchronize with heartbeats longing for a voice. Galleries, museums and libraries hold the beat of time - refreshing our souls, feeding our minds and telling stories we've never heard.

Marbled floors welcome willing footprints. Written words evaporate. Images and patterns form voiceless expressions of torment, heraldry and temptation. Art is the ultimate religious experience. Standing in front of a Picasso, a smile forms on my face. "The Visit (Two Sisters)" mesmerizes hazel eyes. Shadows dancing within a frame tell of longing while welcoming the closeness of family.

Making my way down dim lit halls, I embrace the silence that harmonizes with fascination. Every glance takes me on a journey through life's heartache while welcoming the tranquility we never reach for. Hustling hands point in glory's direction, cursed tongues no longer speak of life's foul odor that lingers, tainting our senses and hindering growth. One building in the center of town becomes immaculate, erasing every sin.

Elegance becomes the design of time, art the fountain of truth we drink from. Parched lips thirst for emotion - rage, hope, love, hate - we destroy ourselves with coldness becoming bitter and numb. Beauty is found everywhere, even in pain. Some say Constantinovich's "Moonlit Seascape With Shipwreck" welcomes nature's fury while others embrace the hidden message of unity, comradery and the power found in leaning on others for help. Torrential downpours open the youngest of eyes but wisdom and hope form lasting bonds and a way through life's storms.

Hidden messages within each painting, I often wonder if some artists are tormented. The depths of one's soul can always be measured with visual guidance. A disguise, masked martyrs - geniuses before their time - a true artist reaches inside the minds' struggle, pulling out what others dare not see. Their pain echoes throughout our lives, bringing us back to that one moment in time when agony existed, love blossomed and hope prevailed.

Murillo's "The Young Beggar" leaves me in awe, awakening an imagination that has lied dormant for many years. Art, an escape - perhaps, but even a wandering mind stands still long enough to welcome the splendor of true craftsmanship.

Heading home, I welcome the suns' rays. Summer was always the best time for creation. There's something romantic about Heavens' warmth and the stroke of a paintbrush. Life awakens with the suns' call and sleeps when the eye of night whispers its promise of peace. Nature's breath envelopes the trees that line frightened streets. There are moments when fear closes its' eyes and welcomes earth's innocence and revelation.

Entering the home, I drop my purse on the white Park Place velvet sofa and kick off my dark brown sandals before heading upstairs. Framed passions line the walls and the soft touch of Saxony is all that's felt between my toes.

One door separates dreams from reality. Touching the handle, memories of childhood flood an open mind. I started drawing at the age of five and painting at the age of six. By the times I was 14, I had caused so much damage to my parents' house I was beginning to think I would be banned from painting ever again.

My parents' bought my first easel when I was 16. It was one of the happiest moments in my life. I guess the bathroom wall and kitchen table weren't the perfect canvases but when the muse awakens, it can't be stopped. I've had many easels throughout the years, but the first was always the most special.

Entering the attic, white walls and flowing curtains surround a perfectly placed Halley Easel holding a cotton duck canvas. I haven't painted in years. The desire has always been there. Unfortunately, time no longer permits my inner demons to be released. Demons may be too strong of a word but I have no doubt that one must be moved by another force in order to piece together what the mind and heart separate.

Taking a seat on the stool, I stare at a blank canvas begging for a little red, green and black. Landscapes enter my mind as my soul pleads for the right to speak. Picking up the paintbrush, I begin my life's journey, allowing what's separate to once again unite and awakening a childhood dream that has lied dormant but has never died.

Internet Issues

2009-05-27T17:46:00.004-04:00

I've been having some internet issues these past few weeks and have decided to change service providers. My service should be up within a week or two. I'm also working on new flash fiction pieces for the official site.

Never Believe

2009-05-03T20:55:00.005-04:00

"They've done frightful things...those children across the street."

"Can you explain, Mrs. Potts?"

"It all started when little Sally was two years old. Strange things started happening. Even last week, Mr. Billows..."

"Mr. Billows was killed in a hit-and-run accident."

"Accident! Ha ha ha. And where is the car detective?"

"These things take time."

"Time, he says. Hmm. There was no car, just a figment of our imaginations. Ask around. Everyone will tell you the same thing - there's something wrong with those children."

"Do you have any proof Mrs. Potts?"

"They think we don't see."

"See what?"

"How they gather around her. She has three older brothers, protectors is probably a better word. We all have noticed how they guard her, make sure she's safe."

"Well, um...we have to go and talk to a few of the other neighbors. If we have anymore questions, we'll give you a call."

"Be careful! They're aware of your presence."

Closing the door all I can hear are their footsteps going down the sidewalk. They never believe anything I say. For the past five years I've been warning them. All I get is another turned ear.

Preparing to relax for the rest of the evening, the doorbell rings. "Oh dear," escapes my lips as I walk to the door. "Sally?"

"Mrs. Potts."

"Well...what are you doing here?"

"Making sure you keep your mouth shut."

Three teenage boys force their way through the door. Sally follows behind them with a smile on her face.

"Mrs. Potts, we've been watching you."

"Watching...why would you be watching me?"

"What did you tell the police?"

"N...nothing. They were asking about the fire last night. I saw nothing and that's what I told them."

"A Christian woman with a serpents' tongue. Salvation is at hand."

Reaching in her jacket, Sally pulls out a knife.

"God has sent me to cleanse you. Heaven will not allow such foul lies."

Running towards the kitchen, two of her brothers follow. Grabbing hold of my hair, they pull me back and throw me on the floor. I continue fighting as they hold me down.

"Johnny, open her mouth."

"No...no!"

"Shh. Mrs. Potts, don't you want to go to Heaven?"

Sally walks toward me with the knife. She kneels on the floor, straddling me while two of her brothers hold me down and Johnny forces my mouth open. Sally pulls out my tongue and begins cutting.

"There, that wasn't so bad."

Moaning in agony, I place my hands over my mouth. The four children leave as I lie on the floor bleeding. Crawling towards the back door, I manage to bring myself to my feet and run over to the Beckers' house. The only sound I can make out are the sirens coming up the street.

"Detective Thompson, it's Mrs. Potts."

"We just left her about a half hour ago. What happened?"

"She said the children came for her. They cut off her tongue - come see."

"Oh my God! Did you see them do this?"

"Well...no, but she said..."

"You don't expect me to believe that four innocent children did this, do you?"

Turning my head, all I can see are the Beckers and Detective Thompson staring at me. They'll never believe - never.

A Little Faith

2009-05-03T18:46:00.005-04:00

A blinding mist sweeps across the night. Nothing can be seen for miles. Stillness surrounds one lone pier. I stand on the edge, tears streaming. As each one falls, I can sense its connection with the still waters below - no sound is heard. How could this have happened?

Glancing at my feet, I realize how far I've come in my life. A wild child by nature, maturity didn't take hold until I hit my late twenties. It was then that I started to get serious, concentrating on where my life is going instead of on past failures.

Paul and I met three years ago. I wouldn't say it was love at firt sight, but we had a connection that we both felt. We met at the church. My first time there, I was a little nervous. Even though I've always been an outgoing person, a blanket of shyness always came upon me when entering any place of holiness. I never went to church much as a child. It wasn't required by my parents. I'm not even sure what religion they were seeing that we never had that conversation.

Most of the Christians I've come across in my life were judgmental. Some, I would even label as being fake. Paul was different though. He had a kind spirit. I used to always tell him that he was the last true believer left on earth. He would just laugh. He made me feel comfortable with myself. I've never had that in my life before. Maybe that's where our connection came into play.

I became a member of the church about a month after my first visit. Growing stronger in every facet of my life, I sometimes felt like that still wasn't enough. Paul used to always tell me "Just believe, all you need is a little faith'. That's what I've strived for these past few years, strengthening my relationship with God. I began to feel His closeness with me always and my faith grew stronger every day. Apparently, that wasn't enough.

Paul and many others were taken today, but not me. Standing here alone, contemplating in silence, I question why I was left behind.

Site Changes

2009-05-01T01:22:00.006-04:00

I've made changes to the official site. There's a whole new layout. I got rid of the black layout, it was a little too hard to read. I love black, probably a little too much, but decided that a lighter background would probably look better.

To visit the official site, click here.

Research

2009-04-18T13:50:00.005-04:00

The first chapter to our novel is moving along pretty well. The past two weeks Pia and I have done a lot of research and character development. Pretty exciting so far.

Pressure

2009-04-15T17:12:00.005-04:00

Finally the end of the work week and I was headed toward Mack's Bar on nineteenth and Main. My head throbbed for days thinking about this and that; maybe it was the heat, but life is one big obstacle for sure. I followed a crowd of pedestrians and made my way over to the other side of the street. The perpetual sound of frisson broke my concentration coming from a nearby park. My eyes narrowed as I gazed the landscape before me where men and women lined around a large community swimming pool. Some were professionally dressed holding brief cases, some in work uniform. I proceeded behind a crowd of lethargically walking individuals, as curiosity peaked.

I don't understand, are they insane? I thought, at first.

The line moved rather quickly, I felt a warm sensation from everyone that made their exit from the park after their turn. It was a look and feel that was missing in my life.

Everything's a damn puzzle, I thought while fully submerged under five feet of water.

I sat cross-legged holding my breath and waving at the person across from me. He smiled back. When the time was right, I lifted myself from the water and cleared my eyes from tears. I felt great.

By now a larger crowd had formed near the parks' entrance. The looks on their faces were too familiar - grief, anger, fatigue and more. I left knowing they too will soon start a new day. I was handed a ticket on my way out and was told to pass it along to anyone that is in need of a free pass to the park. I also grabbed a towel.

A Little Behind

2009-04-14T22:58:00.006-04:00

Forgive me, I'm a little sick right now so...I'm behind. You can now add feedback/comments to and rate individual pieces on the official site. As of right now, Pressure is the only flash fiction that is available. I was supposed to write one today but I was in bed most of the day. I'll have to try again tomorrow.

Pressure

2009-04-11T00:16:00.005-04:00

Added a new flash fiction from Zora Delgado titled Pressure to the official site.

2009-04-10T23:32:00.002-04:00

You can now follow both Zora and Pia on Twitter.

To follow Zora Delgado Click Here

To follow Pia Zellini Click Here

Official Site

2009-04-05T23:16:00.004-04:00

We almost didn't make it. We're still adding things as the days go along but the site is up and running and functional.

Delgado Zellini Official Site

Editing, Editing, Editing

2009-04-04T02:29:00.008-04:00

I love to write - hate to edit. Today was basically our "clean some things up" day. Straightened some things out on the webpage. Went through a few folders and rearranged some of my paperwork. Edited the biography section for Ofira Sephiroth and Delgado Zellini, then had the nerve to edit the first chapter of The Garret. I'll probably have nightmares tonight.

Those Poor Trees

2009-04-02T22:07:00.006-04:00

I've never hated paperwork until today. Zora and I have been trying to condense. I should have done it last year but I hoard paper. I'm responsible for the devastation of forests. I know that's a bit much, but if you were here and could see the piles of notes I have scattered throughout the house...sigh. What makes it even worse, I'm going to the store tomorrow to get more tablets.

Progressing

2009-04-02T00:11:00.005-04:00

Notice the template change. It was hard to let go. Finding the right colors for any site is painstaking. White can be bland, believe it or not - black doesn't always work. Beige/Light Brown is a healthy balance. I'm glad this template is working out because it took me over an hour to find it.

Progress is slowly being made on the official site. I made a lot of changes today with the navigation bar. Added a few more sections as well. I'm still pushing for a Sunday unveiling of the site.

Zora and I were having a discussion about book covers earlier. We have a couple of ideas for the first novel but are undecided at the moment. We're throwing around the idea of doing a book cover poll. It's not definite as of yet, but more than likely that's the route we'll probably end up going. We cherish and trust our fans feedback. We'll probably discuss it a little more tomorrow, get all our resources together and then make a poll posting schedule. Keep checking back for more details.

Template

2009-04-01T14:13:00.004-04:00

I love this template but I may have to change it. For some reason when I go to edit the layout, it won't show me the full screen. I'm assuming it's a template issue because my other blogs are fine. So, I'm in the process of looking for a similar colored template now.

Website Work

2009-03-31T21:29:00.005-04:00

Made more progress on the site today. I believe there are a few more pages I have to finish working on plus some minor tweaks, make sure all the links work. It's interesting working on a site that's meant for a collaboration. Usually I'm the only one to please...seeing that I usually do it for myself. It's different when someone else will be utilizing the site as well. Do you like the same color scheme, graphics, layout...everything is a negotiation. The good thing is that Zora and myself have similar tastes when it comes to web design and layout, maybe that's why it's getting done so fast.

Way Too Many Names And Websites

2009-03-31T01:40:00.009-04:00

Just when you think I'm done with pseudonyms, here comes another one. So, let's see I compose music under three names (Lady Venom, Beautifully Dead, Versucht zu Toten), write poetry, song lyrics and flash fiction under Ofira Sephiroth and now I've adopted Pia Zellini.

My sister and I have been talking about collaborating on novels for awhile now and have finally made the decision to just go for it. I was extremely excited earlier, but now I'm exhausted. I've worn myself out with websites. I figured the blog would be the easiest so it should be done first. Gives us a place to complain about all the noise and how we never have enough paper in this house.

The official Delgado Zellini site will be up soon. I'm hoping at least by Sunday. I'll keep everyone posted on the sites' progress throughout the rest of the week.

Introduction

2009-03-30T20:51:00.007-04:00

Delgado and Zellini are the writing team of authors Ofira Sephiroth and C. R. Stone. We are combining our talent to write our first novella in the horror genre.

We have always discussed collaborating in the past while working on separate projects and now the time has come to focus on the dream. This is our shared journey of the ins and outs of what we will learn. Since our writing styles are somewhat the same, yet different, this partnership will not only be a success but worthwhile and fun!

Delgado Zellini

Time's Puzzle

Back To Writing

What Was I Thinking?

Strawberry Rush

Grandpa's Farm

Perfect

I Still Remember

Happy New Year

Official Site

Martyrdom

The Job

Frozen

One Night

Happy Halloween

The Untamed

Eraser

Dissemble

Butterfly Watcher

Past Regrets

NaNoWriMo 2009

Novel Affair

Richard

What Have We Been Up To...

The Souls' Plea

Internet Issues

Never Believe

A Little Faith

Site Changes

Research

Pressure

A Little Behind

Pressure

Follow Us

Official Site

Editing, Editing, Editing

Those Poor Trees

Progressing

Template

Website Work

Way Too Many Names And Websites

Introduction