Marina liked living in the streets, or so she was constantly telling herself during the long winter nights when the snow and the wind made her shiver so badly so she couldn't fall asleep. Marina was a survivor. She could endure any hardship.
She knew how to find the best spots to sleep at and the best places for finding leftover food and once she has found such a place she would fight like a lioness to keep them for herself - a simple survival instinct.
One day she was on her way to her favorite food scavenging place when she saw an old lady trying to cross a busy road. The old lady's shoe got stack in the sewage rail and an impatient taxi driver was about to run over her, assuming that she was just taking her time and that the sudden acceleration would make her move faster.
Marina immediately understood what was about to happen but she had no time to help that lady get her shoe out of the rail, so she just threw herself on the taxi, nothing but a few scratches and bruises and an angry driver. The taxi driver started yelling at her, shouting "You are crazy I won't pay you a dime". Marina was always terrified of conflicts so she just blurted out a scary "You owe me nothin'" and quickly ran away.
Six months afterward a courier gave her a letter inviting her to M.Shore and Associates Law Office. The letter also mentioned something about her being the sole heir of Agatha Brewnasky.
When she came to the law office she was told that she is indeed the sole inheritor of the late MS. Agatha Brewnasky, who was touched by her help, half a year ago.
"How much does it worth?", she asked.
"The estate is estimated to be worth 100,000,000USD?", the Young lawyer answered calmly.
"What do I have to do to get it? Can you repeat that, please?"
"Just sign it"
"You owe me nothin'", Marina shouted and bolted out of the office.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
The Phone Call
Sandra has definitely had a happy childhood, filled with family gatherings and joy, for as long as she can remember.
Sandra grew up in a large Victorian house in the suburbs with a massive garden, carefully taken care of by the family's gardener. She had quite a normal childhood, except for one odd thing she had rarely paid attention to - there was one room in the house which was always locked and when ever she tried to ask her parents about this room, they would blurt out a vague answer and change the subject.
On her high-school graduation day, the cook had made all her favorite morning treats for breakfast and she left with her parents to celebrate and to give the valedictorian speech. After the ceremony they went to an high end restaurant and finished up the day with her favorite ice cream, strolling around the park, dripping sticky vanilla ice cream all over. A perfect day. Sandra was looking forward to starting college and her parents were smugged with her success so far.
The day after her graduation day, Sandra woke up to a phone call. The phone kept ringing and no one answered it. Half asleep she got out of bad and picked up the phone. "Operation rainbow", a metallic voice said, and the call got instantly disconnected.
Sandra's pupils widened and she immediately went to the rose bush in the garden with a shovel. She dug out a small wooden box and took the key which was in it. She ran directly to the locked room, turned the key inside the lock and entered into the operation room.
Operation Rainbow has commenced.
Sandra grew up in a large Victorian house in the suburbs with a massive garden, carefully taken care of by the family's gardener. She had quite a normal childhood, except for one odd thing she had rarely paid attention to - there was one room in the house which was always locked and when ever she tried to ask her parents about this room, they would blurt out a vague answer and change the subject.
On her high-school graduation day, the cook had made all her favorite morning treats for breakfast and she left with her parents to celebrate and to give the valedictorian speech. After the ceremony they went to an high end restaurant and finished up the day with her favorite ice cream, strolling around the park, dripping sticky vanilla ice cream all over. A perfect day. Sandra was looking forward to starting college and her parents were smugged with her success so far.
The day after her graduation day, Sandra woke up to a phone call. The phone kept ringing and no one answered it. Half asleep she got out of bad and picked up the phone. "Operation rainbow", a metallic voice said, and the call got instantly disconnected.
Sandra's pupils widened and she immediately went to the rose bush in the garden with a shovel. She dug out a small wooden box and took the key which was in it. She ran directly to the locked room, turned the key inside the lock and entered into the operation room.
Operation Rainbow has commenced.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Wild At Heart
Greg and Stella were radiating at their 60's anniversary. They firmly gripped each other's wrinkled hands. On their faces a map of their challenges and joy was intricately drawn. Sun spots were sprinkled on their bodies and faces to commemorate tropical vacations and carefree trips in the nature.
Their children envied their perfect togetherness, their never fading love towards each other. Two of their three children are divorced and one is unhappily married. They could not have translated their parents' success onto their own lives.
The way they would perfectly understand each other without saying a word. A smile or a hand gesture was enough. The way they have gathered so many internal jokes. There were so many keywords, pictures and events that would lead them to smile to each other and perhaps share a hug, a kiss and a memory. The way they would complete each other's sentences and read each other's books. The way they enjoyed the same movies and appreciated the same songs.
After dinner, all the guests set before the fireplace and Greg and Stella set together on their love-sit, embracing each other and smiling.
"How do you do that?", their son asked.
"We always stay wild at heart", they answered simultaneously and smiled.
Their children envied their perfect togetherness, their never fading love towards each other. Two of their three children are divorced and one is unhappily married. They could not have translated their parents' success onto their own lives.
The way they would perfectly understand each other without saying a word. A smile or a hand gesture was enough. The way they have gathered so many internal jokes. There were so many keywords, pictures and events that would lead them to smile to each other and perhaps share a hug, a kiss and a memory. The way they would complete each other's sentences and read each other's books. The way they enjoyed the same movies and appreciated the same songs.
After dinner, all the guests set before the fireplace and Greg and Stella set together on their love-sit, embracing each other and smiling.
"How do you do that?", their son asked.
"We always stay wild at heart", they answered simultaneously and smiled.
Friday, August 15, 2008
Roadtrip
He switched on the engine at 8:00 a.m. and opened the radio for the morning news. The forecast for that day had been great so he started driving.
The first fours hours of driving were amazing. The scenery was breathtaking. The icecaps, the waterfalls, the volcanoes and the scattered hot springs, hiding inside lava fields. In each curve of the road the views changed dramatically. From an evergreen forest to a black wasteland. From azure blue hot springs and yellowing steaming earth to mammoth glaciers.
He didn't feel like pulling over and resting his muscles for a few minutes as the beauty and peculiarity of the place kept him alert and going.
At noon it happened.
He felt that he was losing control over the car, the earth beneath him started shaking. At first it was nothing but a weak quiver and then it started trembling violently. He could here the surface of the earth rumbling and rocks started rolling down the mountain's peak.
He looked up and became consumed in terror when he saw the fire tongues coming out of the mountain's head like a mythic creature, shooting magma all over.
The first fours hours of driving were amazing. The scenery was breathtaking. The icecaps, the waterfalls, the volcanoes and the scattered hot springs, hiding inside lava fields. In each curve of the road the views changed dramatically. From an evergreen forest to a black wasteland. From azure blue hot springs and yellowing steaming earth to mammoth glaciers.
He didn't feel like pulling over and resting his muscles for a few minutes as the beauty and peculiarity of the place kept him alert and going.
At noon it happened.
He felt that he was losing control over the car, the earth beneath him started shaking. At first it was nothing but a weak quiver and then it started trembling violently. He could here the surface of the earth rumbling and rocks started rolling down the mountain's peak.
He looked up and became consumed in terror when he saw the fire tongues coming out of the mountain's head like a mythic creature, shooting magma all over.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Clean
Clarissa was kneeling on her knees and holding the bathtub with one hand and a brush with the other hand. She scrubbed the grayish enamel surface frantically. Her knuckles were bruised from the perpetual scrubbing and her wrists were swollen but she would never stop.
A year ago Clarissa was a successful businesswoman, a wife and a mother of a three year old girl, Suzanna. Suzanna was beautiful with rosy cheeks, plump lips and wide azure eyes. Her golden curls fell softly on her snow-white forehead and doughy white shoulders. Her long and thick eyelashes were flapping elegantly with each squint.
Clarissa was in sheer heaven, finding the balance between keeping her business running while taking care of her daughter and being a friend and a lover to her husband, John.
It was the day before Suzanna's third birthday and Suzanna was already big enough to understand and to get excited about the party her parents were throwing for her. Clarissa made use of a couple of quite hours, while Suzanna played in her room with her toys, and took care of some last minute issues for her business. She had no idea Suzanna had decided to take a bath by herself, to get ready for tomorrow and surprise her mother with how big she was.
When Clarissa found out it was already too late. Suzanna's angelic body was floating in the tub, her eyes closed shut and her skin bluish. Clarissa's world had fallen apart. She could not even scream or cry to the sight of her drowned daughter. She just crumpled up and collapsed on the bathroom floor.
On the day of Suzanna's funeral Clarissa started her cleaning expedition. Every morning she woke up and went straight to the bathroom and started scrubbing all day long. The enamel was peeling off and turned gray from the harsh detergents, but Clarissa kept on cleaning, hoping to cleanse her soul.
A year ago Clarissa was a successful businesswoman, a wife and a mother of a three year old girl, Suzanna. Suzanna was beautiful with rosy cheeks, plump lips and wide azure eyes. Her golden curls fell softly on her snow-white forehead and doughy white shoulders. Her long and thick eyelashes were flapping elegantly with each squint.
Clarissa was in sheer heaven, finding the balance between keeping her business running while taking care of her daughter and being a friend and a lover to her husband, John.
It was the day before Suzanna's third birthday and Suzanna was already big enough to understand and to get excited about the party her parents were throwing for her. Clarissa made use of a couple of quite hours, while Suzanna played in her room with her toys, and took care of some last minute issues for her business. She had no idea Suzanna had decided to take a bath by herself, to get ready for tomorrow and surprise her mother with how big she was.
When Clarissa found out it was already too late. Suzanna's angelic body was floating in the tub, her eyes closed shut and her skin bluish. Clarissa's world had fallen apart. She could not even scream or cry to the sight of her drowned daughter. She just crumpled up and collapsed on the bathroom floor.
On the day of Suzanna's funeral Clarissa started her cleaning expedition. Every morning she woke up and went straight to the bathroom and started scrubbing all day long. The enamel was peeling off and turned gray from the harsh detergents, but Clarissa kept on cleaning, hoping to cleanse her soul.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
The House On Top Of The Mountain
Today my initiation test is taking place. On exactly 2 pm I am supposed to run to the top of the mountain, get to the house and knock on the door. I am not allowed to run away from the door for a minute.
I am not afraid of doing it. Everyone in the gang have done it before me. Usually the freak who lives there doesn't get to the door at all, so it's a pretty safe shot. What is a minute? There's nothing to it. Isn't it?
The guys on our gang aren't bad, but they are respected at school and no one bullies them around. I also want to be respected at school. I am sick and tired of all the pranks people throw at me. I have had enough of the beating, the name calling and the lunch money stealing. I want to belong and in order to do that I must run up the mountain and knock on the freak's door.
How hard can that be, right?
I am tying my shoe laces twice - no one needs a loose shoe lace when running away after those 60 seconds of waiting. I am running as fast as I can, sweat pours down my forehead and through the apples of my cheeks. Some drops falls down through my eye lashes and into my eyes. The salty sweat stings my eyes. I am wiping my face with my sleeve, while running. I can't stop, or they'll look at it as a sign of weakness. A moment of fear. Finally I am standing in front of the crooked house on top of the mountain.
I knock on the old mahogany door three times. The guys are watching so I knock hard and confidently and start counting.
One. Two. Three. Four... up to sixty. On my 10th count I hear heavy steps coming toward the door. My heart drops. The freak is coming to the door. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. I hear him closer and closer and my heart is racing like crazy. Pumping blood and transferring oxygen. Twenty four. Twenty five. Twenty six. I hear the key turning inside the lock. "Why me?" I am thinking. "Why does he have to be so fucking close to the door on my day of initiation?". Twenty eight. Twenty nine. The door squeaks and opens... I cannot runaway or I would turn into the laughing stock of the entire school.
The freak peeks out and invites me in.
I am not afraid of doing it. Everyone in the gang have done it before me. Usually the freak who lives there doesn't get to the door at all, so it's a pretty safe shot. What is a minute? There's nothing to it. Isn't it?
The guys on our gang aren't bad, but they are respected at school and no one bullies them around. I also want to be respected at school. I am sick and tired of all the pranks people throw at me. I have had enough of the beating, the name calling and the lunch money stealing. I want to belong and in order to do that I must run up the mountain and knock on the freak's door.
How hard can that be, right?
I am tying my shoe laces twice - no one needs a loose shoe lace when running away after those 60 seconds of waiting. I am running as fast as I can, sweat pours down my forehead and through the apples of my cheeks. Some drops falls down through my eye lashes and into my eyes. The salty sweat stings my eyes. I am wiping my face with my sleeve, while running. I can't stop, or they'll look at it as a sign of weakness. A moment of fear. Finally I am standing in front of the crooked house on top of the mountain.
I knock on the old mahogany door three times. The guys are watching so I knock hard and confidently and start counting.
One. Two. Three. Four... up to sixty. On my 10th count I hear heavy steps coming toward the door. My heart drops. The freak is coming to the door. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. I hear him closer and closer and my heart is racing like crazy. Pumping blood and transferring oxygen. Twenty four. Twenty five. Twenty six. I hear the key turning inside the lock. "Why me?" I am thinking. "Why does he have to be so fucking close to the door on my day of initiation?". Twenty eight. Twenty nine. The door squeaks and opens... I cannot runaway or I would turn into the laughing stock of the entire school.
The freak peeks out and invites me in.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Alone In The Woods
I went on an expedition facing my deepest and most gruesome of my fears - being alone in the woods.
I woke up in the morning having some second thoughts about my journey of self discovery. I thought I might actually be OK with having fears. I am a human being and as such, I am allowed to have fears. It is normal to be consumed with fears. I have no urging need to face my fears and conquer them.
I was already unpacking when I realized it was my fears speaking through me, eating through my will and making me powerless and unable to control my own ways, so I repacked my bag and went to the woods.
Being alone is a fear I have had for a long time. Regardless of where I am at any given moment - I hate being alone and I see it as a personal failure. Even if being alone is just a momentary episode, bound to elapse, I just cannot handle it. Being alone in the woods adds the elements into the equation and stir things up inside me. My fears escalate and become more powerful outside in the woods. Now I am going to to dive right into the deep water and be alone in the woods.
Will I be able to go through it? How will I come back from the woods? Will I be stronger and more potent or will I come back shattered and subsided?
I have gone on a journey into the wilderness inside me and I have no idea how this journey will come up.
I woke up in the morning having some second thoughts about my journey of self discovery. I thought I might actually be OK with having fears. I am a human being and as such, I am allowed to have fears. It is normal to be consumed with fears. I have no urging need to face my fears and conquer them.
I was already unpacking when I realized it was my fears speaking through me, eating through my will and making me powerless and unable to control my own ways, so I repacked my bag and went to the woods.
Being alone is a fear I have had for a long time. Regardless of where I am at any given moment - I hate being alone and I see it as a personal failure. Even if being alone is just a momentary episode, bound to elapse, I just cannot handle it. Being alone in the woods adds the elements into the equation and stir things up inside me. My fears escalate and become more powerful outside in the woods. Now I am going to to dive right into the deep water and be alone in the woods.
Will I be able to go through it? How will I come back from the woods? Will I be stronger and more potent or will I come back shattered and subsided?
I have gone on a journey into the wilderness inside me and I have no idea how this journey will come up.
Friday, July 25, 2008
A Segue
I have no idea what was I thinking when I assumed that moving from one country to another, one continent to another, one type of job to another, would be a segue.
My entire life changed in one bold move and I should not have expected it to be so smooth and problem free as I did. Going through this adventure while being away from my family and friends, motivated only by my wonderful husband and my daydreaming abilities, had made the transition even bumpier.
On the day we got all our belongings to our new Dublin apartment, I was overwhelmed with emotions. Just a few months before, my husband and I had gone through the same experience, only I had my sister to help with the packaging and my father to offer a huge cup of steaming chocolate milk after a harsh day of unpacking and my mom to offer a generous dinner and a bag full of boxes for several more lunches and dinners at our new home.
However, moving in to our new apartment in Dublin had been a lonely experience with no help from anyone but ourselves. We had only each other for motivation and recharging.
We have evolved. We have found great strength in our new partnership. We have found great help in the arms of each other and that is great, but it sure was not a segue...
My entire life changed in one bold move and I should not have expected it to be so smooth and problem free as I did. Going through this adventure while being away from my family and friends, motivated only by my wonderful husband and my daydreaming abilities, had made the transition even bumpier.
On the day we got all our belongings to our new Dublin apartment, I was overwhelmed with emotions. Just a few months before, my husband and I had gone through the same experience, only I had my sister to help with the packaging and my father to offer a huge cup of steaming chocolate milk after a harsh day of unpacking and my mom to offer a generous dinner and a bag full of boxes for several more lunches and dinners at our new home.
However, moving in to our new apartment in Dublin had been a lonely experience with no help from anyone but ourselves. We had only each other for motivation and recharging.
We have evolved. We have found great strength in our new partnership. We have found great help in the arms of each other and that is great, but it sure was not a segue...
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Lost
Kara's parents owned a multi-billion corporation and made sure she enjoyed the perks. She's had dream vacations. She's attended the best public schools. She had a wardrobe fit to serve a Hollywood star. She had everything she could ever dream about, except for a family.
Her parents were always working outside and had no siblings to play with. She grew up in her own silent world, embellished by VIP parties and fabulous apparel but lonely, nonetheless.
One Friday night she was getting out of one of the most fashionable clubs in her upper-class neighborhood she was living at to get some fresh air. As always, she was there alone, outside in the chilling air. The crisp air refreshed her and she warmed herself by brushing her hands briskly up and down her arms.
Then it happened, two men with ski masks came out of a screeching car and grabbed her. She was kidnapped and was taken away from her familiar environment. She felt so lost because she wasn't alone anymore.
Her parents were always working outside and had no siblings to play with. She grew up in her own silent world, embellished by VIP parties and fabulous apparel but lonely, nonetheless.
One Friday night she was getting out of one of the most fashionable clubs in her upper-class neighborhood she was living at to get some fresh air. As always, she was there alone, outside in the chilling air. The crisp air refreshed her and she warmed herself by brushing her hands briskly up and down her arms.
Then it happened, two men with ski masks came out of a screeching car and grabbed her. She was kidnapped and was taken away from her familiar environment. She felt so lost because she wasn't alone anymore.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
People Watching
They were looking down at the people with astonishment.
"Look at that man. Look how he waves his hands funnily".
"Look at that little girl. All alone without her family around. How can she cope with the hardships of the world without having the entire flock around her?"
"Can you see that women, down there?"
"The one on the right, next to the crossroad?"
"No. The other one. The tall one with the yellow hair and red nails".
"Yes. What about her?".
"Everyday she stands here at the same time of day with the white smoking stick coming out of her mouth. She looks so sad when she comes out and light her white stick".
They were keeping on the chatter for a while. Standing on one of the rooftops of the city, having a daily break from their tedious routine, getting from one place to the other, looking for food and sunshine. People watching was their way of getting a perspective on their life. Looking at their different routines and at their peculiar gestures and then flying to the next resting place with a fresh outlook.
"Look at that man. Look how he waves his hands funnily".
"Look at that little girl. All alone without her family around. How can she cope with the hardships of the world without having the entire flock around her?"
"Can you see that women, down there?"
"The one on the right, next to the crossroad?"
"No. The other one. The tall one with the yellow hair and red nails".
"Yes. What about her?".
"Everyday she stands here at the same time of day with the white smoking stick coming out of her mouth. She looks so sad when she comes out and light her white stick".
They were keeping on the chatter for a while. Standing on one of the rooftops of the city, having a daily break from their tedious routine, getting from one place to the other, looking for food and sunshine. People watching was their way of getting a perspective on their life. Looking at their different routines and at their peculiar gestures and then flying to the next resting place with a fresh outlook.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Be Careful!
Mike has been looking for his little brother for the past 4 years. His kid brother went out with his friends on his 17th birthday and never came back home. He was an apt student and a talented football player and had absolutely no reason to run away, despite what the police said.
Mike was following a lead, suggesting that his brother had been caught by devil worshipers and was brain washed. He is now living in the gutters, harvesting human and animal organs for his leader. Mike was appalled and could no believe it is true, but he was determined to follow any lead and not to give up on his little brother, like the police had done a couple of years before.
His mother was trembling and her voiced quivered when she said: "be careful!". She didn't want to lose another son, but like Mike, she didn't want to miss any opportunity to find little Ben. She pressed lightly on Mike's shoulder blade - not sure whether she wanted to hold him back or to send him away with her blessings. She said "be careful!" again, as if doubling the greeting might double the protection and Mike's level of carefulness.
Mike took a small pocketknife and a flashlight and went on his way to the gutters. The water were constantly dripping and making an echo inside the darkness of the gutters. Miked walked carefully, one small step following the next. He was afraid to open his flashlight and was led only by his wish to find his brother and save him from the evils which had caught him.
--Time's up--
Mike was following a lead, suggesting that his brother had been caught by devil worshipers and was brain washed. He is now living in the gutters, harvesting human and animal organs for his leader. Mike was appalled and could no believe it is true, but he was determined to follow any lead and not to give up on his little brother, like the police had done a couple of years before.
His mother was trembling and her voiced quivered when she said: "be careful!". She didn't want to lose another son, but like Mike, she didn't want to miss any opportunity to find little Ben. She pressed lightly on Mike's shoulder blade - not sure whether she wanted to hold him back or to send him away with her blessings. She said "be careful!" again, as if doubling the greeting might double the protection and Mike's level of carefulness.
Mike took a small pocketknife and a flashlight and went on his way to the gutters. The water were constantly dripping and making an echo inside the darkness of the gutters. Miked walked carefully, one small step following the next. He was afraid to open his flashlight and was led only by his wish to find his brother and save him from the evils which had caught him.
--Time's up--
Monday, July 21, 2008
Finding Motivation
Lately it has been hard for me to find motivation. Vast amounts of my time are going to waste on aimless and idle web surfing.
I have a routine going. First comes my e-mail account, then my rss reader, then my You Tube subscriptions and some other social networks news. When I am done with my routine, I just start all over again in a vicious cycle. Chasing after my custom made news flashes.
It isn't always like that. Sometimes I get up in the morning with an urge to write and to create. I get up with a strong will to get forward and to succeed. I get up with a great passion to excel. On these days I go through my routine only once and start working right away. Sometimes I am not even patient enough to go through my entire routine. I just want to write something myself, to create something my self and not to watch what others have created and written.
Not lately though. I am trying to find motivation everywhere. Visiting websites that usually inspire me. Speak with friends and family that usually motivate me to be more active. Reading inspiring books and rereading books I have already read. But nothing helps.
I feel like there is an enormous pothole right next to me and my motivation keeps tripping and falling inside that hole instead of getting into me and filling me up. I feel quite desperate, as this is a feeling I have been having for the past couple of weeks.
where has my motivation gone to?
--Time's up--
I have a routine going. First comes my e-mail account, then my rss reader, then my You Tube subscriptions and some other social networks news. When I am done with my routine, I just start all over again in a vicious cycle. Chasing after my custom made news flashes.
It isn't always like that. Sometimes I get up in the morning with an urge to write and to create. I get up with a strong will to get forward and to succeed. I get up with a great passion to excel. On these days I go through my routine only once and start working right away. Sometimes I am not even patient enough to go through my entire routine. I just want to write something myself, to create something my self and not to watch what others have created and written.
Not lately though. I am trying to find motivation everywhere. Visiting websites that usually inspire me. Speak with friends and family that usually motivate me to be more active. Reading inspiring books and rereading books I have already read. But nothing helps.
I feel like there is an enormous pothole right next to me and my motivation keeps tripping and falling inside that hole instead of getting into me and filling me up. I feel quite desperate, as this is a feeling I have been having for the past couple of weeks.
where has my motivation gone to?
--Time's up--
Friday, July 18, 2008
Strawberries & Whipped Cream
As a personal exercise I am trying to look at a child murderer from a different perspective, only I am giving him the proper punishment....
Here it goes ==>
Samir was born at the Dakhia neighborhood in Beirut. His father was recruited as a fighter by the Hezbollah and was killed by Israeli troopers when Samir was 3 years old. His mother was forced to clean other people's houses in order to bring home some food for Samir and his five siblings. Times were tough for the Al'Mukhtar family.
When samir turned 15 he was recruited as a fighter for the Hezbollah and followed his father's footsteps. He wanted to make an impact, to be commemorated on the pages of history. Somewhere in the dark corners of his heart he just wanted to revenge his father's death and the harsh poverty he grew up in due to his father's death.
Samir Al'Mukhtar was an exemplary fighter thus chosen to serve as a Shahid at the early age of 17. He went on an operational mission inside Israel, in a city the Zionists call: Qiriat Mozkin, which is located near Haifa.
Samir was smuggled across the border, carrying a gun and a picture of his late father. He was constantly repeating verses from the Koran. When he got to the city of Qiriat Mozkin he penetrated a Zionist apartment building and broke into one of the apartments.
It was pitch dark inside and his eyes had to adjust to the darkness. He started walking across the room and shot everyone on his way. The first to be killed were the father and the mother in their bed and from the shouting and the gun shots, their eldest son woke up. Samir had shot him in a breeze and than he could hear the crying of a small child. He followed the crying voices and found a small baby girl in her crib, crying her lungs out from all the commotion. At first he stopped moving and thought about his kid brother, Ibrahim, who was born shortly before his father got killed.
Samir heard the sirens, the police is on its way. He was sweating and started shivering. The magnitude of his deeds has daunted him. What has he done? He shook his head to take away these weak thoughts and remembered how small Ibrahim was when he had to work at the food market, waking up everyday at 3 am and carrying heavy baskets of fruits. Then he raised his gun and smashed its shaft onto the crying baby's skull.
He immediately put his gun into his mouth for the final deed. It is time to turn into a shahid so the Israeli police won't catch him and interrogate him. He squeezed the trigger and could already hear the policemen entering the apartment, but there were no more bullets in the magazine. Samir was caught.
Samir was a bit surprised that no one had hit him. No one had tortured him in a dark basement. He was even given an Arabic speaking lawyer by the state of Israel to represent him during his trial and there were several appeals, served by Israeli organizations, for calling off the death sentence he was given.
On his last hour, before the death sentence was carried out, he was asked what would he like to eat for his final meal. He thought for a short minute and confidently said: "Strawberries and whipped cream", Ibrahim's favorite.
--Time's up--
Here it goes ==>
Samir was born at the Dakhia neighborhood in Beirut. His father was recruited as a fighter by the Hezbollah and was killed by Israeli troopers when Samir was 3 years old. His mother was forced to clean other people's houses in order to bring home some food for Samir and his five siblings. Times were tough for the Al'Mukhtar family.
When samir turned 15 he was recruited as a fighter for the Hezbollah and followed his father's footsteps. He wanted to make an impact, to be commemorated on the pages of history. Somewhere in the dark corners of his heart he just wanted to revenge his father's death and the harsh poverty he grew up in due to his father's death.
Samir Al'Mukhtar was an exemplary fighter thus chosen to serve as a Shahid at the early age of 17. He went on an operational mission inside Israel, in a city the Zionists call: Qiriat Mozkin, which is located near Haifa.
Samir was smuggled across the border, carrying a gun and a picture of his late father. He was constantly repeating verses from the Koran. When he got to the city of Qiriat Mozkin he penetrated a Zionist apartment building and broke into one of the apartments.
It was pitch dark inside and his eyes had to adjust to the darkness. He started walking across the room and shot everyone on his way. The first to be killed were the father and the mother in their bed and from the shouting and the gun shots, their eldest son woke up. Samir had shot him in a breeze and than he could hear the crying of a small child. He followed the crying voices and found a small baby girl in her crib, crying her lungs out from all the commotion. At first he stopped moving and thought about his kid brother, Ibrahim, who was born shortly before his father got killed.
Samir heard the sirens, the police is on its way. He was sweating and started shivering. The magnitude of his deeds has daunted him. What has he done? He shook his head to take away these weak thoughts and remembered how small Ibrahim was when he had to work at the food market, waking up everyday at 3 am and carrying heavy baskets of fruits. Then he raised his gun and smashed its shaft onto the crying baby's skull.
He immediately put his gun into his mouth for the final deed. It is time to turn into a shahid so the Israeli police won't catch him and interrogate him. He squeezed the trigger and could already hear the policemen entering the apartment, but there were no more bullets in the magazine. Samir was caught.
Samir was a bit surprised that no one had hit him. No one had tortured him in a dark basement. He was even given an Arabic speaking lawyer by the state of Israel to represent him during his trial and there were several appeals, served by Israeli organizations, for calling off the death sentence he was given.
On his last hour, before the death sentence was carried out, he was asked what would he like to eat for his final meal. He thought for a short minute and confidently said: "Strawberries and whipped cream", Ibrahim's favorite.
--Time's up--
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Parallel universe
I live my life on two parallel universes. One is happy and filled with joy and bliss and the other is a sad, sad universe, filled with my fears and frustrations.
The portal through which I move from one universe to another is continuously changing and is always found in the most unexpected corners of my heart and mind, flipping me from one universe to another without a control panel for me to handle with care and with thought.
My husband's sweet words, whispered in my ears. My nephews' wide and radiant smile. My niece's smart observations. All are triggers for being launched back into my happy universe. Sometimes I need a higher doze of my little helpers to get there, when the gravity of my dark universe is getting stronger and pulls me in with no sympathy and no remorse.
When I am in my happy universe, I can create freely. I feel inspired and full of ideas. In my sad universe, I feel blocked and any glimmer of inspiration on this universe only yields ugly and miserable creations.
Living on two parallel universes helps me remain sane. It helps me keep all the sorrow and despair confined to one place and to achieve bliss on the other side of my personal solar system.
--Time's up--
The portal through which I move from one universe to another is continuously changing and is always found in the most unexpected corners of my heart and mind, flipping me from one universe to another without a control panel for me to handle with care and with thought.
My husband's sweet words, whispered in my ears. My nephews' wide and radiant smile. My niece's smart observations. All are triggers for being launched back into my happy universe. Sometimes I need a higher doze of my little helpers to get there, when the gravity of my dark universe is getting stronger and pulls me in with no sympathy and no remorse.
When I am in my happy universe, I can create freely. I feel inspired and full of ideas. In my sad universe, I feel blocked and any glimmer of inspiration on this universe only yields ugly and miserable creations.
Living on two parallel universes helps me remain sane. It helps me keep all the sorrow and despair confined to one place and to achieve bliss on the other side of my personal solar system.
--Time's up--
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Out for A Run
Today's write is a personal journal entry, following the events that took place today in Israel.
As I woke up this morning, I woke up into a darker universe. I was still half asleep when my husband told me with sadness that our two soldiers - Ehud Goldwasser and Eldad Regev - came back in coffins.
I was devastated to hear about the death of two Israeli soldiers who were captured two years ago inside the Israeli border. Soon after their abduction missiles were shot from Lebanon to northern Israel. It is still difficult for me to hear the sound of the siren, which signaled the coming of the missile, two years ago when I was in Haifa and under attack.
However, I am even more heartbroken from the price that Israel had to pay for these soldiers' decomposing bodies. 29 years ago, in 1979, a group of terrorist had penetrated the Israeli border and had managed to go as far inside as the Israeli city, Naharia. I was not yet born when that horrific event took place.
The terrorists had entered a civilian apartment building. Among the terrorists was the Lebanese shameful "hero" Samir Quntar. Quntar had found it in his heart to kill the father in front of his 4 year old daughter and then to put a bullet through the little girl's head. After shooting the poor orphan, he had smashed her sweet little head with his rifle's shaft. While this horror story had occurred, the child's mom and baby sister were hiding inside a kitchen cabinet. The baby started crying and her mom tried to keep her quiet, not knowing that by hashing her little baby in panic, the baby was suffocated to death.
This animal, Quntar, was 17 years old at the time. He was trialed and sent to life in prison for numerous counts of murder in the first degree (2 police officers were also killed by him after the raid). In prison Quntar had put on much weight and had attained an academic degree.
This animal is now released and an entire nation is celebrating his release. In my ideal world no one would have wanted his release and not a soul would have celebrated it. I am not living in an ideal world and I feel ashamed and nauseated by it.
today was a sad day for me and for the world's morality.
Trying to quiet my head and tunnel my frustration into positive channels, I'm now going out for a run.
As I woke up this morning, I woke up into a darker universe. I was still half asleep when my husband told me with sadness that our two soldiers - Ehud Goldwasser and Eldad Regev - came back in coffins.
I was devastated to hear about the death of two Israeli soldiers who were captured two years ago inside the Israeli border. Soon after their abduction missiles were shot from Lebanon to northern Israel. It is still difficult for me to hear the sound of the siren, which signaled the coming of the missile, two years ago when I was in Haifa and under attack.
However, I am even more heartbroken from the price that Israel had to pay for these soldiers' decomposing bodies. 29 years ago, in 1979, a group of terrorist had penetrated the Israeli border and had managed to go as far inside as the Israeli city, Naharia. I was not yet born when that horrific event took place.
The terrorists had entered a civilian apartment building. Among the terrorists was the Lebanese shameful "hero" Samir Quntar. Quntar had found it in his heart to kill the father in front of his 4 year old daughter and then to put a bullet through the little girl's head. After shooting the poor orphan, he had smashed her sweet little head with his rifle's shaft. While this horror story had occurred, the child's mom and baby sister were hiding inside a kitchen cabinet. The baby started crying and her mom tried to keep her quiet, not knowing that by hashing her little baby in panic, the baby was suffocated to death.
This animal, Quntar, was 17 years old at the time. He was trialed and sent to life in prison for numerous counts of murder in the first degree (2 police officers were also killed by him after the raid). In prison Quntar had put on much weight and had attained an academic degree.
This animal is now released and an entire nation is celebrating his release. In my ideal world no one would have wanted his release and not a soul would have celebrated it. I am not living in an ideal world and I feel ashamed and nauseated by it.
today was a sad day for me and for the world's morality.
Trying to quiet my head and tunnel my frustration into positive channels, I'm now going out for a run.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Addicted
We had the best time of our lives when we were together. Strolling barefoot on the shore. Hugging and kissing under the sunset. Awakening together into a beautiful sunrise. Exploring lost pieces of heaven across the globe. Walking through vibrant and colorful markets and picking up fresh vegetables and fruits for our dinner around the fire.
We had had the time of our life but I lost you.
You are no longer in my life and I find it difficult to concentrate, now that I am without you. I find it difficult to breathe. To enjoy life. To taste food. Everything is so dull and colorless without you.
My skin is yearning for your touch. Hanging on to its memory of your smooth hand caressing it softly. The memory starts to break down as time passes and the skin grasps any illusive and broken fragment of memory tightly. My lips are awaiting your soft and luscious lips, craving to get lost inside them.
But you are gone. You are no longer taking an active part in my life, but still I have such vivid feelings. I am addicted.
--Time's up--
We had had the time of our life but I lost you.
You are no longer in my life and I find it difficult to concentrate, now that I am without you. I find it difficult to breathe. To enjoy life. To taste food. Everything is so dull and colorless without you.
My skin is yearning for your touch. Hanging on to its memory of your smooth hand caressing it softly. The memory starts to break down as time passes and the skin grasps any illusive and broken fragment of memory tightly. My lips are awaiting your soft and luscious lips, craving to get lost inside them.
But you are gone. You are no longer taking an active part in my life, but still I have such vivid feelings. I am addicted.
--Time's up--
Monday, July 14, 2008
Transparent
Mike has had a hard day. His entire world has crumpled up. He has lost his wife, kids and job today and it seems like he is very close to losing his sanity as well. He was thrown away from the house he had built by his own hands and checked into a sleazy motel.
On his way to the motel he stopped at the liqueur store and bought a few bottles of Vodka and from there he moved on to the drug store and bought a large bottle of sleeping pills.
On the motel's dirty bed he sat and cried like a small child. He swallowed all the pills with long gulps of Vodka and slowly drifted into a deep sleep, hopeful that he would never wake up.
Mike did wake up. His head was pounding and his body felt as light as air. He was sweating and trembling and somehow had managed to drag himself towards the filthy mirror. He looked at the mirror in bewilderment as all he could see was the room behind him. The messy bed and the empty bottles of booze and drugs.
It took mike a couple of minutes to comprehend that he has turned transparent.
--Time's up--
On his way to the motel he stopped at the liqueur store and bought a few bottles of Vodka and from there he moved on to the drug store and bought a large bottle of sleeping pills.
On the motel's dirty bed he sat and cried like a small child. He swallowed all the pills with long gulps of Vodka and slowly drifted into a deep sleep, hopeful that he would never wake up.
Mike did wake up. His head was pounding and his body felt as light as air. He was sweating and trembling and somehow had managed to drag himself towards the filthy mirror. He looked at the mirror in bewilderment as all he could see was the room behind him. The messy bed and the empty bottles of booze and drugs.
It took mike a couple of minutes to comprehend that he has turned transparent.
--Time's up--
Friday, July 11, 2008
Snap, Crackle, Pop
Andrea and her father worked hard on the project for the science fair. Her father, especially, got drown in the project. For the first time in Andrea's wee life, her father came back early, every single day, do work side by side with her on the project.
He made her actively participate in it and study all the background information and by the second month they were working together on it, she was also drown into the wonderful world of the reptiles.
Her mother was delighted about the quality time they spent together and smiled lovingly, whenever they would get to the dinner table, their cheeks rosy and their eyes bright and wide with excitement, talking about the latest development on the project.
At the day of the science fair, Andrea's dad took the day off and they both went together to school, excited and giggly, like two kindergarten children on their first day of school. Her father carried the project in a padded suitcase they had made together.
Andrea was explaining the details of the project and her father was filled with pride. She stood confidently in front of the class and gave a lecture that wouldn't put his fellow professors at MIT to shame.
Then she turned on the switch and waited. At first nothing happened and she nervously looked at her father for an extra boost of confidence. After a few minutes, the class began to lose its patience. Andrea, consoled by her father's gentle eyes, said: "these processes take time. You all need to be patient" and just as she finished her last word, all of a sudden there was a peculiar sound coming from the project. Snap, crackle, pop and the starch white egg she had brought to the class opened.
The entire class stood, with their mouths opened and their eyes squinting in disbelief, a tiny little dinosaur jumped out of the egg.
--Time is up--
He made her actively participate in it and study all the background information and by the second month they were working together on it, she was also drown into the wonderful world of the reptiles.
Her mother was delighted about the quality time they spent together and smiled lovingly, whenever they would get to the dinner table, their cheeks rosy and their eyes bright and wide with excitement, talking about the latest development on the project.
At the day of the science fair, Andrea's dad took the day off and they both went together to school, excited and giggly, like two kindergarten children on their first day of school. Her father carried the project in a padded suitcase they had made together.
Andrea was explaining the details of the project and her father was filled with pride. She stood confidently in front of the class and gave a lecture that wouldn't put his fellow professors at MIT to shame.
Then she turned on the switch and waited. At first nothing happened and she nervously looked at her father for an extra boost of confidence. After a few minutes, the class began to lose its patience. Andrea, consoled by her father's gentle eyes, said: "these processes take time. You all need to be patient" and just as she finished her last word, all of a sudden there was a peculiar sound coming from the project. Snap, crackle, pop and the starch white egg she had brought to the class opened.
The entire class stood, with their mouths opened and their eyes squinting in disbelief, a tiny little dinosaur jumped out of the egg.
--Time is up--
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Bright Lights, Big City
For the past few years Donna was living in hell. Her parents were constantly fighting with each other and as their battles worsened, so was the way they have treated Donna. She was constantly yelled at and sent to her room and the blue and purple bruises on her arms, legs and back made it difficult for her to fall asleep and turn off the havoc in her life.
One day she decided to run away. She packed some clothes and took all the money from her piggy-bank. There wasn't much there, only money her grandparents gave her from time to time, when they were able to remember her birthday. That didn't happen often but she was saving every penny.
That day she didn't come back home after school. Instead, she took a bus to the big city and started life away from her predatory parents.
When the bus arrived at the city it was already dark. Donna was startled by the bright city lights and its fast pace. She was standing in the light drizzle, her skinny knees were shaking and she didn't know what to do next. She was trying to find a dry bench to lie on, but each time she found one, someone shouted at her "Go away. This is my bench".
Donna didn't know what to do and started crying. She was pouring all the tears that were aggregated inside her eyeballs all these years. She never cried when she was beaten or yelled at or when her mother passed out from either alcohol or her father's pasting. Now she let her tears loose and cried.
--Time's up--
One day she decided to run away. She packed some clothes and took all the money from her piggy-bank. There wasn't much there, only money her grandparents gave her from time to time, when they were able to remember her birthday. That didn't happen often but she was saving every penny.
That day she didn't come back home after school. Instead, she took a bus to the big city and started life away from her predatory parents.
When the bus arrived at the city it was already dark. Donna was startled by the bright city lights and its fast pace. She was standing in the light drizzle, her skinny knees were shaking and she didn't know what to do next. She was trying to find a dry bench to lie on, but each time she found one, someone shouted at her "Go away. This is my bench".
Donna didn't know what to do and started crying. She was pouring all the tears that were aggregated inside her eyeballs all these years. She never cried when she was beaten or yelled at or when her mother passed out from either alcohol or her father's pasting. Now she let her tears loose and cried.
--Time's up--
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Homeward bound
Taylor was recovering from a bad breakup when he decided to sign up to an extreme travelers group online. When Taylor received an e-mail announcing a challenging trip to the Himalayas he didn't think twice about it and registered immediately.
A month later he was at the starting point with a heavy backpack and brand new hiking shoes. The group had planned this trip carefully and had had a clear route. On the third day the weather became really bad. Heavy snow was falling down from the sky and the wind was picking up strength and speed, threatening to blow them all away to the mountain's gap. They decided to assemble their camp and stop hiking for the day.
At night an avalanche went through their camp and wrecked havoc in it. When Taylor woke up his tent was covered in snow and after he had dug himself out he found out he was alone and lost.
About a month later Taylor was still on the Himalayas, trying to find his way out. He was exhausted and his food supply was emptying rapidly, despite his desperate rationing. All odds were against him and he had no idea what happened to the rest of the group but he was determined to get homeward bound.
-Time's up--
A month later he was at the starting point with a heavy backpack and brand new hiking shoes. The group had planned this trip carefully and had had a clear route. On the third day the weather became really bad. Heavy snow was falling down from the sky and the wind was picking up strength and speed, threatening to blow them all away to the mountain's gap. They decided to assemble their camp and stop hiking for the day.
At night an avalanche went through their camp and wrecked havoc in it. When Taylor woke up his tent was covered in snow and after he had dug himself out he found out he was alone and lost.
About a month later Taylor was still on the Himalayas, trying to find his way out. He was exhausted and his food supply was emptying rapidly, despite his desperate rationing. All odds were against him and he had no idea what happened to the rest of the group but he was determined to get homeward bound.
-Time's up--
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
The Time Has Come
Tanya sat on her naked bed. She was leaning against the wall and her small 10-year-old hands were gripping her ankles. She looked at the window, watching her mom and dad overloading their belongings in the big truck they have rented. Their entire life went into that run-down truck. They were moving away today. A few thousands mile away - to be exact.
Tanya got off her bed and strolled around the house. She lightly caressed the lines on her bedroom wall, where her father used to mark her changing height. She went to her parents' bedroom and jumped up and down the mattress for the last time. She went to the living room and has noticed there was a bright white mark where the piano used to stand and she remembered how they all stood by it and listened to her mother playing. She looked at the kitchen table, where she used to paint with her crayons while her mother was making dinner and while her father was preparing his famous pancakes and chocolate milkshake.
"Tanya, come on. It's time to leave now", her father called her.
She quickly ran outside and climbed on her tree house she had built together with her father for the very last time and than slowly came down. The time has come to leave and to aggregate new memories.
--Time's up--
Tanya got off her bed and strolled around the house. She lightly caressed the lines on her bedroom wall, where her father used to mark her changing height. She went to her parents' bedroom and jumped up and down the mattress for the last time. She went to the living room and has noticed there was a bright white mark where the piano used to stand and she remembered how they all stood by it and listened to her mother playing. She looked at the kitchen table, where she used to paint with her crayons while her mother was making dinner and while her father was preparing his famous pancakes and chocolate milkshake.
"Tanya, come on. It's time to leave now", her father called her.
She quickly ran outside and climbed on her tree house she had built together with her father for the very last time and than slowly came down. The time has come to leave and to aggregate new memories.
--Time's up--
Monday, July 7, 2008
Lights. Camera. Action!
Every morning has been a struggle for Hannah, dragging herself out from under the covers and into the emptiness of a new day without him.
Hannah didn't bother to brush her teeth in the mornings or to dress up when she went outside. She thought that these were actions for living people and not for people who simply existed. After his death she had lost her appetite and her withered figure has alarmingly showed that she barely existed as well.
She strolled down the streets, looking around feverishly. Perhaps she was hoping to catch a glimpse of her deceased loved one among all the living or maybe she was planning their reunion among the dead.
She has abandoned the last shreds of interest in life and each day was nervously anticipating the night, when she could freely throw herself into dreamland.
But each morning the pale rays of a cold sunshine invaded her dreamland and her alarm clock shouted: "Lights. Camera. Action" and again she had to wake up into another day of misery.
--Time's up--
Hannah didn't bother to brush her teeth in the mornings or to dress up when she went outside. She thought that these were actions for living people and not for people who simply existed. After his death she had lost her appetite and her withered figure has alarmingly showed that she barely existed as well.
She strolled down the streets, looking around feverishly. Perhaps she was hoping to catch a glimpse of her deceased loved one among all the living or maybe she was planning their reunion among the dead.
She has abandoned the last shreds of interest in life and each day was nervously anticipating the night, when she could freely throw herself into dreamland.
But each morning the pale rays of a cold sunshine invaded her dreamland and her alarm clock shouted: "Lights. Camera. Action" and again she had to wake up into another day of misery.
--Time's up--
Friday, July 4, 2008
Fire In The Sky
I have always loved fireworks. I still do. The beautiful visual effect. The excitement involved. Not to mention that it always signals that there is something to be happy about - an independence day, a wedding, a party of some sorts. There is always a happy occasion that follows the fireworks.
My nephew doesn't share my attitude towards fireworks. He is petrified when ever he hears the explosion sound and sees the fire in the sky.
When my nephew was almost 3 years old, we were celebrating one of the intermediate days of Passover. My mother had made a huge lunch, full of color and flavor, and my uncle and his family were with us as well. It was a lovely spring day and we all hanged out on my parent's porch. All of a sudden we heard a huge explosion and saw fire coming out of the gas station below the street. My nephew saw that as well.
As always (...), we immediately opened the television and the radio and our fears verified. There had been a terror attack in Haifa. A suicide bomber exploded inside a crowded restaurant near the gas station. Probably aiming to explode the fuel reserve and causing maximum harm. My nephew saw that. He saw the views of the injured and killed people. He heard everything.
From that point on, my nephew doesn't like fireworks anymore. He celebrated his 9th birthday yesterday.
--Time's up--
My nephew doesn't share my attitude towards fireworks. He is petrified when ever he hears the explosion sound and sees the fire in the sky.
When my nephew was almost 3 years old, we were celebrating one of the intermediate days of Passover. My mother had made a huge lunch, full of color and flavor, and my uncle and his family were with us as well. It was a lovely spring day and we all hanged out on my parent's porch. All of a sudden we heard a huge explosion and saw fire coming out of the gas station below the street. My nephew saw that as well.
As always (...), we immediately opened the television and the radio and our fears verified. There had been a terror attack in Haifa. A suicide bomber exploded inside a crowded restaurant near the gas station. Probably aiming to explode the fuel reserve and causing maximum harm. My nephew saw that. He saw the views of the injured and killed people. He heard everything.
From that point on, my nephew doesn't like fireworks anymore. He celebrated his 9th birthday yesterday.
--Time's up--
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Knock Knock
Knock. Knock.
Sarah had heard someone knocking on the front door and slowly got out of bed to open it. She was so sedated that didn't even ask "who's there"... and just put on her silk robe and her bunny slippers and sluggishly stepped toward the front door.
A man with a wide brim hat and a trench was standing at the door. He had his sun glasses on, although it was pitch black outside. Dark and pouring. A lightening had struck just as she opened the door. Thunders were roaring soon after.
Her eyes widely opened with terror but she didn't manage to close the door shut. The man grabbed her and took her away in the rain to his black Volvo. Inside the car he tied her hands and gagged her. She noticed that the handle on her side was broken. There's no escape.
They were driving for about an hour until they got to the lake. He took her out of the car and she already knew where were they going and why had he come over to get her.
It was time to pay for what she had done 20 years ago at the same place and on the same time.
--Time's up--
Sarah had heard someone knocking on the front door and slowly got out of bed to open it. She was so sedated that didn't even ask "who's there"... and just put on her silk robe and her bunny slippers and sluggishly stepped toward the front door.
A man with a wide brim hat and a trench was standing at the door. He had his sun glasses on, although it was pitch black outside. Dark and pouring. A lightening had struck just as she opened the door. Thunders were roaring soon after.
Her eyes widely opened with terror but she didn't manage to close the door shut. The man grabbed her and took her away in the rain to his black Volvo. Inside the car he tied her hands and gagged her. She noticed that the handle on her side was broken. There's no escape.
They were driving for about an hour until they got to the lake. He took her out of the car and she already knew where were they going and why had he come over to get her.
It was time to pay for what she had done 20 years ago at the same place and on the same time.
--Time's up--
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Customer Service
I have had my share of run-ins with customer service. some experiences were more pleasing than the others. Sometimes I have gritted my teeth after talking to a customer service person and other times I was a spectator in other people's run-ins and could understand why the customer service person eventually got mad and impatient.
Despite the many flaws one can find in a customer service, it is very comforting to know that you have a place to go to when you have problem. A place to approach and be attended to. A place to refer your needs and wants to.
Unfortunately, you do not have such a place for your day-to-day life. You cannot call customer service and complain about not losing weight or for losing yet another day to procrastination. You have no customer service to e-mail and request a manual for how to handle an annoying co-worker or how to take care of your relationships.
Or maybe you do have such an establishment in life. Your day-to-day customer service is actually a FRIEND.
--Time's up--
Despite the many flaws one can find in a customer service, it is very comforting to know that you have a place to go to when you have problem. A place to approach and be attended to. A place to refer your needs and wants to.
Unfortunately, you do not have such a place for your day-to-day life. You cannot call customer service and complain about not losing weight or for losing yet another day to procrastination. You have no customer service to e-mail and request a manual for how to handle an annoying co-worker or how to take care of your relationships.
Or maybe you do have such an establishment in life. Your day-to-day customer service is actually a FRIEND.
--Time's up--
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Do I Have An Accent?
My father immigrated to Israel in 1950 as a toddler. He was born into a family which had survived the holocaust and had lived under horrible conditions. He had a sister he didn't know, as she passed away during the war when she was 4 years old.
My father's family of five was situated in a transit camp, called "Ma'abarah", and they had lived there in a tin house, under the burning sun of Israel for a couple of years. My father was blond and fair skinned and it didn't take him long to get awful sunburns. His hair turned red and his skin was beaded with freckles.
My father had picked up the language very quickly and had forgotten his mother tongue completely. Instead he had picked up some juicy words in Polish, Hungarian and Arabic from the other kids in the transit camp.
My father had no foreign accent. He spoke Hebrew fluently and no one could tell he was a new immigrant (shy of his red hair and freckles). Both his parents and him like the way he was integrated so quickly in Israel but years later he decided to adopt the rolling 'r' of the Romanians. He does not use it all the time, but some times - in times of happiness or distress - maybe in times he wishes to reconnect with his roots, a rolling 'r' would flicker in his speech.
--Time's up--
My father's family of five was situated in a transit camp, called "Ma'abarah", and they had lived there in a tin house, under the burning sun of Israel for a couple of years. My father was blond and fair skinned and it didn't take him long to get awful sunburns. His hair turned red and his skin was beaded with freckles.
My father had picked up the language very quickly and had forgotten his mother tongue completely. Instead he had picked up some juicy words in Polish, Hungarian and Arabic from the other kids in the transit camp.
My father had no foreign accent. He spoke Hebrew fluently and no one could tell he was a new immigrant (shy of his red hair and freckles). Both his parents and him like the way he was integrated so quickly in Israel but years later he decided to adopt the rolling 'r' of the Romanians. He does not use it all the time, but some times - in times of happiness or distress - maybe in times he wishes to reconnect with his roots, a rolling 'r' would flicker in his speech.
--Time's up--
Monday, June 30, 2008
It Used To Scare Me
I have finally got out of the hospital. After two and a half years inside the institution my eyes squinted when they caught up with the shiny rays of sun. After a short adaptation period, my pupils narrowed back and my gaze widened and I started perceiving everything around me. The trees moving slightly with the wind, the busy road, people everywhere and I knew I have to raise my head high and go through all the hustle and bustle.
It used to scare me. Life used to scare the hell out of me. I could not handle life. Life are too unpredictable, too noisy. I needed silence. I needed order in my life, a routine that would not change every so often. I needed boundaries, tight boundaries and life did not offer the right conditions to satisfy my needs.
After I freaked out once I checked myself in the hospital. I liked it there. It was white and clean. Everything was in order. There had been a routine. Everything was predictable and I could handle it. I was thriving in the hospital. Writing my first two novels. They turned out to be best sellers. Who knew that people were so interested in the outlook of someone who's scared of life. But they were.
After two and a half years I have decided that I'm ready. That I am not scared anymore. I can handle life and I have checked myself out.
I am outside right now. Trying to conceal my terror. Trying to hide the slight shiver in my knees. The shaking of my lips. Trying to keep my head high and to live.
--Time's up--
P.S-
Though I'm using the first person - this piece of writing is totally fiction.
It used to scare me. Life used to scare the hell out of me. I could not handle life. Life are too unpredictable, too noisy. I needed silence. I needed order in my life, a routine that would not change every so often. I needed boundaries, tight boundaries and life did not offer the right conditions to satisfy my needs.
After I freaked out once I checked myself in the hospital. I liked it there. It was white and clean. Everything was in order. There had been a routine. Everything was predictable and I could handle it. I was thriving in the hospital. Writing my first two novels. They turned out to be best sellers. Who knew that people were so interested in the outlook of someone who's scared of life. But they were.
After two and a half years I have decided that I'm ready. That I am not scared anymore. I can handle life and I have checked myself out.
I am outside right now. Trying to conceal my terror. Trying to hide the slight shiver in my knees. The shaking of my lips. Trying to keep my head high and to live.
--Time's up--
P.S-
Though I'm using the first person - this piece of writing is totally fiction.
Friday, June 27, 2008
Catastrophe Averted
Lauren celebrated her new promotion with her girlfriends. They were hanging out in a posh bar downtown, drinking Manhattans and talking cheerfully to each other. Little did Lauren know that this meeting would be the last for a long time.
From her first day on her new role at the office, Lauren was bombarded with documents, phone calls, meetings, business trips. Her inbox kept on piling up. No plan she had made has ever came through. She was living from one event to another. No weekends, no holidays. No time to live.
On her birthday her friends had rented a fabulous beach house on a magical sandy shore. She had taken the day off and was waiting for that celebration like the farmers are waiting for the first drop of rain after the drought.
A day before her birthday the piles on her desk had reached a new height. She was working like a maniac, preparing for tomorrow, making sure she is going to have the day to herself and her girlfriends. It has almost been a year since they last saw each other at the promotion-party downtown.
She left her office at midnight. Exhausted and completely drained. The piles on her desk haven't even reached the half mark yet. She was worried. The next day, at 9 a.m., she got a phone call from the office. "There's an emergency. I wouldn't have called if it weren't so urgent. I'm sorry" The secretary said.
Lauren took a cab to the office and was frantically trying to handle the situation. More documents. More faxes. More phone calls and video conferences. At 10 PM she had left the office. Another catastrophe averted, but what about the havoc which is running in her private life?
--Time's up--
From her first day on her new role at the office, Lauren was bombarded with documents, phone calls, meetings, business trips. Her inbox kept on piling up. No plan she had made has ever came through. She was living from one event to another. No weekends, no holidays. No time to live.
On her birthday her friends had rented a fabulous beach house on a magical sandy shore. She had taken the day off and was waiting for that celebration like the farmers are waiting for the first drop of rain after the drought.
A day before her birthday the piles on her desk had reached a new height. She was working like a maniac, preparing for tomorrow, making sure she is going to have the day to herself and her girlfriends. It has almost been a year since they last saw each other at the promotion-party downtown.
She left her office at midnight. Exhausted and completely drained. The piles on her desk haven't even reached the half mark yet. She was worried. The next day, at 9 a.m., she got a phone call from the office. "There's an emergency. I wouldn't have called if it weren't so urgent. I'm sorry" The secretary said.
Lauren took a cab to the office and was frantically trying to handle the situation. More documents. More faxes. More phone calls and video conferences. At 10 PM she had left the office. Another catastrophe averted, but what about the havoc which is running in her private life?
--Time's up--
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Silence
Dana felt that something is missing in her life. She was living her life, waking up in the morning, going to work and going back to sleep at night, but she wasn't really living. Life was missing from her life.
A friend had sent her an e-mail a while ago with some information on vipaśyanā workshops in India. At first she wanted to delete it immediately, but for some reason she kept it in her inbox and she was reading through it again and again. Looking it up on Wikipedia. Checking up the prices of flights and accommodations and listing all the vaccinations which are required for a trip to India.
About a month later Dana found herself sitting on the ground in the heat of South Eastern Asia pressing down on her bare face. She was sitting in a meditating position and silently thinking to herself. It has been a week since she has last spoken to another person. Speaking weren't allowed, you could only speak to your heart and soul and reconnect with your inner will, but not have any oral connection with the people there.
She was in a deeply concentrated state, or maybe just dehydrated... Finally she saw clear visions of that evening. The evening her soul was stolen from her. The evening when she had sold her soul to the devil. This was the beginning of the end. She wanted to erase these memories completely but instead the workshop has brought back her darkest secret and most suppressed memory. She was shouting: "the silence does not bring meaning to my life. It brings me only misery" and then she felt the gentle touch on her shoulder. The priest brought her a glass of water and kindly motioned the way to the door. She was not talking to herself anymore. She has broken the silence.
--Time's up--
A friend had sent her an e-mail a while ago with some information on vipaśyanā workshops in India. At first she wanted to delete it immediately, but for some reason she kept it in her inbox and she was reading through it again and again. Looking it up on Wikipedia. Checking up the prices of flights and accommodations and listing all the vaccinations which are required for a trip to India.
About a month later Dana found herself sitting on the ground in the heat of South Eastern Asia pressing down on her bare face. She was sitting in a meditating position and silently thinking to herself. It has been a week since she has last spoken to another person. Speaking weren't allowed, you could only speak to your heart and soul and reconnect with your inner will, but not have any oral connection with the people there.
She was in a deeply concentrated state, or maybe just dehydrated... Finally she saw clear visions of that evening. The evening her soul was stolen from her. The evening when she had sold her soul to the devil. This was the beginning of the end. She wanted to erase these memories completely but instead the workshop has brought back her darkest secret and most suppressed memory. She was shouting: "the silence does not bring meaning to my life. It brings me only misery" and then she felt the gentle touch on her shoulder. The priest brought her a glass of water and kindly motioned the way to the door. She was not talking to herself anymore. She has broken the silence.
--Time's up--
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Boredom
Chris grew up in a very busy family. He had a busy mom, a busy dad and a busy big sister. Only Chris was not busy. He couldn't have been too busy, as no one in his house had paid any attention to him. They were all so too busy.
Chris had many toys but he wasn't interested in playing with toys.
Chris had many books but he wasn't interested in reading.
Chris had many DVDs but he wasn't interesting in watching them.
Chris wasn't interested in any of those things. Chris just wanted a friend. Someone with an attentive ear who would sit down and listen while Chris describes his day and tells what dreams was he dreaming last night. However, Chris did not have a friend. His family was too busy to become his friends and also too busy to introduce Chris to another friend.
In his boredom, Chris decided to go on a journey and to find a friend. His little hands turned the knob around and his little feet started walking down the street. No one noticed. They were all busy. Chris continued in his quest to find a friend. His little eye balls moving from side to side, searching for a friend.
Chris saw a man strolling with a huge bin and a broom and asked him "Do you want to be my friend?" but the man was busy and didn't answer. Then he saw a little girl riding on her red bicycle. "Do you want to be my friend?" he asked, but the girl was too busy, enjoying her ride, so she didn't answer.
Chris continued his search but everyone were too busy for him. He lowered his eyes and saw a ladybug crawling on the grassy path beside the sidewalk. He asked the ladybug "Do you want to be my friend" and the ladybug stopped and turned and started crawling again. Chris thought it might be a 'yes' the language of ladybugs so he followed it around, his eyes stuck on the ground, watching the ladybug crawl around.
The busy mom and the busy dad and the busy sister. The busy street cleaner and the busy littler girl on the red bicycle all stopped what they were doing when they heard an awful screeching sound. A car had run over a small kid who was following his new ladybug friend to his death.
--Time's up--
Chris had many toys but he wasn't interested in playing with toys.
Chris had many books but he wasn't interested in reading.
Chris had many DVDs but he wasn't interesting in watching them.
Chris wasn't interested in any of those things. Chris just wanted a friend. Someone with an attentive ear who would sit down and listen while Chris describes his day and tells what dreams was he dreaming last night. However, Chris did not have a friend. His family was too busy to become his friends and also too busy to introduce Chris to another friend.
In his boredom, Chris decided to go on a journey and to find a friend. His little hands turned the knob around and his little feet started walking down the street. No one noticed. They were all busy. Chris continued in his quest to find a friend. His little eye balls moving from side to side, searching for a friend.
Chris saw a man strolling with a huge bin and a broom and asked him "Do you want to be my friend?" but the man was busy and didn't answer. Then he saw a little girl riding on her red bicycle. "Do you want to be my friend?" he asked, but the girl was too busy, enjoying her ride, so she didn't answer.
Chris continued his search but everyone were too busy for him. He lowered his eyes and saw a ladybug crawling on the grassy path beside the sidewalk. He asked the ladybug "Do you want to be my friend" and the ladybug stopped and turned and started crawling again. Chris thought it might be a 'yes' the language of ladybugs so he followed it around, his eyes stuck on the ground, watching the ladybug crawl around.
The busy mom and the busy dad and the busy sister. The busy street cleaner and the busy littler girl on the red bicycle all stopped what they were doing when they heard an awful screeching sound. A car had run over a small kid who was following his new ladybug friend to his death.
--Time's up--
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Falling
This Daily Write is dedicated to the soldier Gilad Shalit who was abducted exactly two years ago from Israel and is now held by the Hamas.
Sometimes I dream that I'm falling and the shatter from the fall wakes me up. Sometimes I dream that I am crying for help but no body can hear me because the words don't come out. Sometimes I dream I am being followed and I cannot run fast enough and when I am captured, the trauma wakes me up.
About a year ago, around the first sad "anniversary" to Shalit's captivation, his evil captors had released a video with pictures of Gilad and his voice was at the background. He was crying for help. His face looked swallen and his evil captors had said that he needs urgent medical care but they won't treat him as long as he's there.
The tears started dropping from my eyes in long and wide perpetual streams. I was shivering when I heard Gilad's cracked voice, calling for help. Hundreds of thousands of people have heard him - if not millions - but he was not heard.
Gilad cannot wake up from his nightmare. He could not wake up when he fell captive. He could not wake up when he was followed and captured - on Israeli soil. He cannot wake up from his awful nightmare, he is crying for help but his voice isn't heard.
--Time's up--
Sometimes I dream that I'm falling and the shatter from the fall wakes me up. Sometimes I dream that I am crying for help but no body can hear me because the words don't come out. Sometimes I dream I am being followed and I cannot run fast enough and when I am captured, the trauma wakes me up.
About a year ago, around the first sad "anniversary" to Shalit's captivation, his evil captors had released a video with pictures of Gilad and his voice was at the background. He was crying for help. His face looked swallen and his evil captors had said that he needs urgent medical care but they won't treat him as long as he's there.
The tears started dropping from my eyes in long and wide perpetual streams. I was shivering when I heard Gilad's cracked voice, calling for help. Hundreds of thousands of people have heard him - if not millions - but he was not heard.
Gilad cannot wake up from his nightmare. He could not wake up when he fell captive. He could not wake up when he was followed and captured - on Israeli soil. He cannot wake up from his awful nightmare, he is crying for help but his voice isn't heard.
--Time's up--
Monday, June 23, 2008
Legal Tender
Lucy could barely stand up straight after the judge's ruling. Lucy was shaking and felt faint. How can she come up with half a million? She could barely cover the monthly rent and grocery payments.
She stood there on the defendant's chair for a long while after the ruling had been given. The court room had cleared out but Lucy remained seated. Stuck to her chair, unable to get up. In the back of her mind she wished love could have been a legal tender. She has love in abundance and she is delighted to share her love but it is promissory notes that she lacks.
The world would be such a beautiful place if love was accepted as a legal tender. There will be no hatred. No financial interests which are blind to people's suffering. No more fraudulence and bigotry as everyone is capable of loving thus will have no need for these awful regimens.
However, this is not the case and Lucy has to find a way to raise 500,000USD to pay her dead parent's debt.
--Time's up--
She stood there on the defendant's chair for a long while after the ruling had been given. The court room had cleared out but Lucy remained seated. Stuck to her chair, unable to get up. In the back of her mind she wished love could have been a legal tender. She has love in abundance and she is delighted to share her love but it is promissory notes that she lacks.
The world would be such a beautiful place if love was accepted as a legal tender. There will be no hatred. No financial interests which are blind to people's suffering. No more fraudulence and bigotry as everyone is capable of loving thus will have no need for these awful regimens.
However, this is not the case and Lucy has to find a way to raise 500,000USD to pay her dead parent's debt.
--Time's up--
Friday, June 20, 2008
Misconceptions
How do you meet up with a killer?
How did Abigail meet up with a killer? She woke up that morning. Brushed her teeth. Took a shower. Dressed up. Ate her favorite cereals and went off to meet a killer.
All the way to the meeting point, her mind was working relentlessly, thinking about the meet up and going through possible exit ways or horror scenarios, in which she won't get it to the way out of the building. Traffic was bad this morning and Abigail's brain was working overtime. She was seriously considering giving up on the meeting. At that moment, she was not only meeting with a killer, but a cold blooded terrorist who can kill with his own bare hands without a blink of an eye, only because of her roots and because of the land she was born and has been living in.
She was terrified. She was shaking and beads of sweat started dripping from her pores. She couldn't breathe and was sitting in the driving seat thinking over and over on all the fabulous reasons she had when she had first started to plan the meeting.
How do you meet up with a killer?
Ibrahim had the same crippling thoughts on his way to the meeting place. How do I meet up with a killer. How can I face a Zionist who kills children and steal the livelihood out of his people. How can I meet someone who was being breastfed with hatred and wanted me dead on the spot.
How do I meet up with a killer, they both thought. Until they have met.
In the meeting they have found out non of them was actually a killer. Non of them wanted to exclude the other person from the face of the earth. They were both people with individual interests. They even had some mutual interests. They could possibly even like each other.
They are not killers. Non of them. Just poor beings being caught in an age of misconceptions.
--Time's up--
How did Abigail meet up with a killer? She woke up that morning. Brushed her teeth. Took a shower. Dressed up. Ate her favorite cereals and went off to meet a killer.
All the way to the meeting point, her mind was working relentlessly, thinking about the meet up and going through possible exit ways or horror scenarios, in which she won't get it to the way out of the building. Traffic was bad this morning and Abigail's brain was working overtime. She was seriously considering giving up on the meeting. At that moment, she was not only meeting with a killer, but a cold blooded terrorist who can kill with his own bare hands without a blink of an eye, only because of her roots and because of the land she was born and has been living in.
She was terrified. She was shaking and beads of sweat started dripping from her pores. She couldn't breathe and was sitting in the driving seat thinking over and over on all the fabulous reasons she had when she had first started to plan the meeting.
How do you meet up with a killer?
Ibrahim had the same crippling thoughts on his way to the meeting place. How do I meet up with a killer. How can I face a Zionist who kills children and steal the livelihood out of his people. How can I meet someone who was being breastfed with hatred and wanted me dead on the spot.
How do I meet up with a killer, they both thought. Until they have met.
In the meeting they have found out non of them was actually a killer. Non of them wanted to exclude the other person from the face of the earth. They were both people with individual interests. They even had some mutual interests. They could possibly even like each other.
They are not killers. Non of them. Just poor beings being caught in an age of misconceptions.
--Time's up--
Thursday, June 19, 2008
War
In the winter of 1991, Taly's parents were carefully following the news. As an elementary school student, Taly didn't know what was going on, except for the fact that someone, with a huge mustache, which rules a country far, far away that is called Iraq, is threatening to send "dirty" missiles to Israel.
Taly didn't know what "dirty missiles" mean. In school there were very frightening demonstrations on how to wear the gas masks and how to shoot a drug with a special syringe in your thigh. She felt suffocated inside the mask and couldn't stand it, but the nice female soldiers who came over to her school for the demonstartions had told her it is very important to wear those whenever she heard a siren.
Not a week has passed by and already the siren started shouting. It was a Shabbath eve and everyone were in their beds when the high pitched sound of the siren started, going up and down. Up and down. Taly's parents were rushing her to the "safe room" and pulled out the wet towels and shoved them beneath the doors. Taly's father was rushing her to wear her mask quicklier, but he wasn't wearing his and Taly felt very frightened for his safety which had made her fight longer with the straps of the mask. She started crying and wanted to drink some water right away, which was difficult at the moment because of the mask. She could hear the explosions and saw her father's uncovered face turning as white as the sink in the safe room.
No one knew whether the missiles were dirty or not. It took a long hour before they were relieved. Not long afterwards it had happened again, and again, and again - until the war was over.
No dirty missiles were sent.
--Time's up--
Taly didn't know what "dirty missiles" mean. In school there were very frightening demonstrations on how to wear the gas masks and how to shoot a drug with a special syringe in your thigh. She felt suffocated inside the mask and couldn't stand it, but the nice female soldiers who came over to her school for the demonstartions had told her it is very important to wear those whenever she heard a siren.
Not a week has passed by and already the siren started shouting. It was a Shabbath eve and everyone were in their beds when the high pitched sound of the siren started, going up and down. Up and down. Taly's parents were rushing her to the "safe room" and pulled out the wet towels and shoved them beneath the doors. Taly's father was rushing her to wear her mask quicklier, but he wasn't wearing his and Taly felt very frightened for his safety which had made her fight longer with the straps of the mask. She started crying and wanted to drink some water right away, which was difficult at the moment because of the mask. She could hear the explosions and saw her father's uncovered face turning as white as the sink in the safe room.
No one knew whether the missiles were dirty or not. It took a long hour before they were relieved. Not long afterwards it had happened again, and again, and again - until the war was over.
No dirty missiles were sent.
--Time's up--
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Living In A Plastic World
Karen was excited about attending her high-school's 10 years reunion. She has become a successful business woman. She was pretty sure no one would recognize her. From a chubby girl with braces and thick eyeglasses she has turned into a beautiful and regal swan. Slim, tan and magnificently stylish.
On the night of the event she was standing in front of the mirror for a long time, examining herself, admiringly. She was wearing a figure-hugging Channel dress and a matching 8 inches Manolos. She looked stunning in black and the flashy diamond necklace, dangling and shining on her sculptured collar-bone, has finished off the look. She looked stunning and successful. She looked fabulous.
When Karen entered the conference hall all the eyes turned and all the jaws opened. Just like she had imagined. She has succeeded yet again. But was she really that successful? Living alone in her 5th Avenue mansion, wearing designer clothes and an exotic tan while most of her high-school friends had a life companion and a relaxed expression on their faces.
The reunion had snapped her out of the plastic world she is living in and into reality and she didn't particularly like what she saw.
--Time's up--
On the night of the event she was standing in front of the mirror for a long time, examining herself, admiringly. She was wearing a figure-hugging Channel dress and a matching 8 inches Manolos. She looked stunning in black and the flashy diamond necklace, dangling and shining on her sculptured collar-bone, has finished off the look. She looked stunning and successful. She looked fabulous.
When Karen entered the conference hall all the eyes turned and all the jaws opened. Just like she had imagined. She has succeeded yet again. But was she really that successful? Living alone in her 5th Avenue mansion, wearing designer clothes and an exotic tan while most of her high-school friends had a life companion and a relaxed expression on their faces.
The reunion had snapped her out of the plastic world she is living in and into reality and she didn't particularly like what she saw.
--Time's up--
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
A Fork In The Road
Tammy was perspiring greatly, her heart was throbbing and her eyes looking forward in an earnest glare. She was not looking down nor was she looking sideways and she was definitely not looking back. Tammy was afraid of taking her eyes off the road.
For the past 6 hours she has been walking in a steady pace and hasn't stopped for once, not even for a sip of water. She would not admit it but she was lost. Lost in the great planes of her childhood and the familiar paths of her early adulthood. She was lost and had no idea which way to turn. Looking forward was her best bet and so she kept walking.
Another hour has passed and Tammy was still walking. Slightly slower now. Her pace was less stable. She became a bit dizzy. A sudden rush of shivers has stricken her but she kept looking forward and walk.
Another hour has passed and Tammy could hardly see anything at all. Her eyes were watery and beads of sweat were blinding her. She felt drowsy and was about to give up when she finally got to the fork in the road.
Only there Tammy finally understood it wasn't the choice of each path to walk through but the journey itself that matters. Knowing she had failed she collapsed and shut her eyes, for the first time in her journey.
--Time's up--
For the past 6 hours she has been walking in a steady pace and hasn't stopped for once, not even for a sip of water. She would not admit it but she was lost. Lost in the great planes of her childhood and the familiar paths of her early adulthood. She was lost and had no idea which way to turn. Looking forward was her best bet and so she kept walking.
Another hour has passed and Tammy was still walking. Slightly slower now. Her pace was less stable. She became a bit dizzy. A sudden rush of shivers has stricken her but she kept looking forward and walk.
Another hour has passed and Tammy could hardly see anything at all. Her eyes were watery and beads of sweat were blinding her. She felt drowsy and was about to give up when she finally got to the fork in the road.
Only there Tammy finally understood it wasn't the choice of each path to walk through but the journey itself that matters. Knowing she had failed she collapsed and shut her eyes, for the first time in her journey.
--Time's up--
Monday, June 16, 2008
A Secret Wish
Danny Springhalm had it all. He was a handsome and bright young man who was destined for greatness. He was handpicked by the Secretary of State immediately after graduating Harvard, with honors. Nothing could have stopped him.
About 15 years later he was the most popular candidate for the presidency. His well planned route to success has proven itself. His popularity was skyrocketing and some experts said he might be supported by the highest percentage of the population in the history of the state.
Two days before the final elections, there was a news flash. "MR. Springhalm has had a car accident. A drunk driver had crashed into his car. It was a hit and run. The driver was killed on the spot and Mr. Springhalm is in a critical condition at the general hospital".
It seems the entire state has sighed at that moment. How could that have happened to their favorite candidate.
Suzi has entered her car park in a harry and the brakes have screeched. She was breathing heavily and all shaken. She couldn't forget that day in college, when she felt like the luckiest girl on earth, having such a perfect date with Danny. Until he drove to a secluded part of the university and turned into an octopus. She felt like he's all hands when he started grabbing her regardless of her never-ending pleadings.
This day Suzi had a secret wish, she wished Danny Springhalm dead.
--Time's up--
About 15 years later he was the most popular candidate for the presidency. His well planned route to success has proven itself. His popularity was skyrocketing and some experts said he might be supported by the highest percentage of the population in the history of the state.
Two days before the final elections, there was a news flash. "MR. Springhalm has had a car accident. A drunk driver had crashed into his car. It was a hit and run. The driver was killed on the spot and Mr. Springhalm is in a critical condition at the general hospital".
It seems the entire state has sighed at that moment. How could that have happened to their favorite candidate.
Suzi has entered her car park in a harry and the brakes have screeched. She was breathing heavily and all shaken. She couldn't forget that day in college, when she felt like the luckiest girl on earth, having such a perfect date with Danny. Until he drove to a secluded part of the university and turned into an octopus. She felt like he's all hands when he started grabbing her regardless of her never-ending pleadings.
This day Suzi had a secret wish, she wished Danny Springhalm dead.
--Time's up--
Friday, June 13, 2008
Hazy Hot & Humid
It was a Sunday on a hazy hot and humid day. The first day of the work week, but with this special feeling of summer joy and up and coming long yearned vacations. A goodbye party was being organized for our German intern.
It has been a week since the two soldiers was abducted in northern Israel and in the background we carefully followed after the dropping map. What an horrible map. A map that showcases the exact places in which missiles have fallen into houses, schools, hospitals and even kindergartens.
However, all that was happening in the north. Not far from Haifa - just about a half an hour drive up the road. But still, in the north.
As in every Sunday morning, I was chatting with the secretary and interns while slowly sipping my first cup of filtered coffee. Letting the caffeine to penetrate my veins and wake me up. We were joking and having a good laugh when I heard a huge explosion sound and the office, very modern and covered with floor to ceiling glass windows - shook violently.
I froze and turned as pale as the only wall we had at the office (in the bathroom) and shortly after began shaking myself. Involuntarily. Another two explosions occurred and my shaking got worse. The secretary tried to reassure me by saying it must be the digging of the Carmel Tunnels, when the siren began ...
The war has arrived to Haifa. There is no doubt now.
I hate wars. Especially on a hazy hot and humid summer days while staying at a glass castle.
It has been a week since the two soldiers was abducted in northern Israel and in the background we carefully followed after the dropping map. What an horrible map. A map that showcases the exact places in which missiles have fallen into houses, schools, hospitals and even kindergartens.
However, all that was happening in the north. Not far from Haifa - just about a half an hour drive up the road. But still, in the north.
As in every Sunday morning, I was chatting with the secretary and interns while slowly sipping my first cup of filtered coffee. Letting the caffeine to penetrate my veins and wake me up. We were joking and having a good laugh when I heard a huge explosion sound and the office, very modern and covered with floor to ceiling glass windows - shook violently.
I froze and turned as pale as the only wall we had at the office (in the bathroom) and shortly after began shaking myself. Involuntarily. Another two explosions occurred and my shaking got worse. The secretary tried to reassure me by saying it must be the digging of the Carmel Tunnels, when the siren began ...
The war has arrived to Haifa. There is no doubt now.
I hate wars. Especially on a hazy hot and humid summer days while staying at a glass castle.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Lighter Than Air
It was a hot summer day and the park was crowded with people. Some were catching a tan with skimpy little bathing suits and some were sitting next to the lake, under a bushy tree which casted shadow over their heads. Blankets were spread on the ground and there were fresh fruits, lemonade and sandwiches in abundance. Children were playing around ball games and hide and seek. Laughing and enjoying the day outside.
One of the sunbathers shouted "look up" and, like a magic, thousands of small and big eyes raised and looked at the sky. A big, shiny, red balloon was floating in the blue sky. In the absence of clouds the contrast between the shiny red ball and the azure sky was noticeable and beautiful.
All of a sudden there was a big explosion and the big red balloon was ripped. A transparent liquid, lighter than air, came out of it, floating around and masking the sky.
This day was the last day these children had seen the sun shining above their heads or the azure color of the sky.
--Time's up--
One of the sunbathers shouted "look up" and, like a magic, thousands of small and big eyes raised and looked at the sky. A big, shiny, red balloon was floating in the blue sky. In the absence of clouds the contrast between the shiny red ball and the azure sky was noticeable and beautiful.
All of a sudden there was a big explosion and the big red balloon was ripped. A transparent liquid, lighter than air, came out of it, floating around and masking the sky.
This day was the last day these children had seen the sun shining above their heads or the azure color of the sky.
--Time's up--
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Ruby Slippers
Lilly curled up at the corner of her room. She closed her eyes and shoved her little fingers in her ears to mask off the shouting and the horrible sounds of smashed furniture and her mother crying.
"What have you bought potatoes for, you know I hate potatoes. You are just wasting my money, you cow".
The noise kept creeping in Lilly's small room and she couldn't bare it anymore. She knew that it is just the beginning. In a moment or two a glass would break and shortly after a whole cabinet can be slammed onto the floor. It depends on how much did her father's boss put him down today and how big of a whole he has left in her father's soul to fill in with abusing her mom.
Lilly knew that after the meltdown her father would gently knock on her door, enter and sweet talk her to death. She would give him the benefit of the doubt while still hearing her mom crying in the background and then she would go to her mom and hug her and kiss her and try to consolidate her. "I know these potatoes were for me. I know this mommy. I love you, mommy".
At these times Lilly always wished she had those ruby slippers that Dorothy had. She would just wear them and run towards her mom and hug her really hard and knock her heels three times and go to a wonderful quiet place - away from her father's tantrum.
--Time's up--
"What have you bought potatoes for, you know I hate potatoes. You are just wasting my money, you cow".
The noise kept creeping in Lilly's small room and she couldn't bare it anymore. She knew that it is just the beginning. In a moment or two a glass would break and shortly after a whole cabinet can be slammed onto the floor. It depends on how much did her father's boss put him down today and how big of a whole he has left in her father's soul to fill in with abusing her mom.
Lilly knew that after the meltdown her father would gently knock on her door, enter and sweet talk her to death. She would give him the benefit of the doubt while still hearing her mom crying in the background and then she would go to her mom and hug her and kiss her and try to consolidate her. "I know these potatoes were for me. I know this mommy. I love you, mommy".
At these times Lilly always wished she had those ruby slippers that Dorothy had. She would just wear them and run towards her mom and hug her really hard and knock her heels three times and go to a wonderful quiet place - away from her father's tantrum.
--Time's up--
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Historical Fiction
Moses was on his way to the labor camp in Lodz. His 5 year old daughter held underneath his thin coat. "It is better she will be close to me. This way I can also give her my bread portion" he said to his wife.
Gaunt and droopy he started his long walk to work in a place that used to be owned by his family - the fabric factory in Lodz. He was almost there when a German soldier saw his little bulge. "halt!!" he shouted at Moses and motioned for him to go out of the line of workers.
Moses understood and closed his eyes, shedding a tear and saying a silent prayer. "Maybe you'd be better there, my sweet Sara". The soldier ripped his coat and than took Sara and shot her before her father's tearing eyes. His heart was ripped together with his coat.
The day afterwards the transport to Auschwitz was already on its gloomy way and on it, Moses and his wife stood silently, without their daughter.
The moment they got there, they were separated once again and Moses already knew what it meant. He said goodbye again. Another part of his 70 pound body had been ripped away from him and he no longer had his strength, so he shouted: "Hear me, my lord as, my lord, you are my god, my only lord".
I wish this story was indeed a fiction and not the story of my late grandfather, who I loved dearly.
--Time's up--
Gaunt and droopy he started his long walk to work in a place that used to be owned by his family - the fabric factory in Lodz. He was almost there when a German soldier saw his little bulge. "halt!!" he shouted at Moses and motioned for him to go out of the line of workers.
Moses understood and closed his eyes, shedding a tear and saying a silent prayer. "Maybe you'd be better there, my sweet Sara". The soldier ripped his coat and than took Sara and shot her before her father's tearing eyes. His heart was ripped together with his coat.
The day afterwards the transport to Auschwitz was already on its gloomy way and on it, Moses and his wife stood silently, without their daughter.
The moment they got there, they were separated once again and Moses already knew what it meant. He said goodbye again. Another part of his 70 pound body had been ripped away from him and he no longer had his strength, so he shouted: "Hear me, my lord as, my lord, you are my god, my only lord".
I wish this story was indeed a fiction and not the story of my late grandfather, who I loved dearly.
--Time's up--
Monday, June 9, 2008
Constrained
I want to live my life authentically. I don't want to be unique and I don't want to follow the herd. All I want to do is to lead a normal life in which I do only things I'm passionate about and enjoy the process of doing them.
All my life I feel constrained by other people's thoughts and common practices. If it is popular to be unique, I'm trying to be unique by wearing what the current fashion moguls dictate as unique. I'm reading the first book on the best-seller's list. I'm building my play list according to the rankings on the radio. Even my vacations are formed by the current "travel fashion", Choosing my destination from the latest travel magazine. One year it was the far east and now it's tropical heavens...
I have had enough. I want to live my own life. I want to take control over my choices in life and not to follow other people's opinions.
My journey towards unconstrained life begins at the day-to-day living. Before canceling all my magazine subscriptions and turning off the radio, I need to make sure I am doing exactly what I want to do every day from the moment I wake up to the moment I go back to sleep. Every step I take - be it the choice I make for my breakfast plate - is truly mine.
--Time's up--
All my life I feel constrained by other people's thoughts and common practices. If it is popular to be unique, I'm trying to be unique by wearing what the current fashion moguls dictate as unique. I'm reading the first book on the best-seller's list. I'm building my play list according to the rankings on the radio. Even my vacations are formed by the current "travel fashion", Choosing my destination from the latest travel magazine. One year it was the far east and now it's tropical heavens...
I have had enough. I want to live my own life. I want to take control over my choices in life and not to follow other people's opinions.
My journey towards unconstrained life begins at the day-to-day living. Before canceling all my magazine subscriptions and turning off the radio, I need to make sure I am doing exactly what I want to do every day from the moment I wake up to the moment I go back to sleep. Every step I take - be it the choice I make for my breakfast plate - is truly mine.
--Time's up--
Friday, June 6, 2008
It Was A Conundrum
Mike was sitting at his desk coding and listening to an upbeat music. His life has revolved around computers ever since he was a small child, playing around with his father's old Commodore. He has much evolved since than and he was now a top notch programmer in his field.
Mike was completely concentrated with his software when all of a sudden he heard a big blast and a flash of florescent light flashed his eyes. The next time he opened his eyes, a couple of days later, there was no light, no electricity. Almost every thing was either burnt down completely or scorched. The thick smell of the smoke made him sick.
Mike stood up. It was extremely difficult for him and he felt dizzy and weak, but slowly he managed to get up and go to the door. He opened it up and was stricken by the sight he saw. Everything was burnt down to the ground. Every thing that was once alive was now dead. From ashes to ashes, he thought.
He had no idea what had happened a couple of days ago, just after compiling his masterpiece. It was a conundrum to him, or wasn't it...
--Time's up--
Mike was completely concentrated with his software when all of a sudden he heard a big blast and a flash of florescent light flashed his eyes. The next time he opened his eyes, a couple of days later, there was no light, no electricity. Almost every thing was either burnt down completely or scorched. The thick smell of the smoke made him sick.
Mike stood up. It was extremely difficult for him and he felt dizzy and weak, but slowly he managed to get up and go to the door. He opened it up and was stricken by the sight he saw. Everything was burnt down to the ground. Every thing that was once alive was now dead. From ashes to ashes, he thought.
He had no idea what had happened a couple of days ago, just after compiling his masterpiece. It was a conundrum to him, or wasn't it...
--Time's up--
Friday, May 30, 2008
I Feel Trapped
Though the walls that are closing on me are made of air, I feel like I'm trapped in an iron vault. I am weaker than air and I can't get out.
All my life I was thinking about the great breakthrough. Setting free. But actually getting to this point can be a very disappointing experience, in which you need to prove yourself by materializing your dreams.
Unfortunately, the omnipotence of my dreams is not following through in the real world. The enthusiasm I was practicing when my plans were nothing but a sweet dream is vaporizing in these walls of air, when it is time to fuel myself on that motivation and carry on.
Sometimes it is the weightlessness of air that traps you. It is the vacuum and not the material that holds you back. It is the nothingness that emerges out of the endless possibilities that paralyzes you.
Trapped inside walls of air I am calling for help.
--Time's up--
All my life I was thinking about the great breakthrough. Setting free. But actually getting to this point can be a very disappointing experience, in which you need to prove yourself by materializing your dreams.
Unfortunately, the omnipotence of my dreams is not following through in the real world. The enthusiasm I was practicing when my plans were nothing but a sweet dream is vaporizing in these walls of air, when it is time to fuel myself on that motivation and carry on.
Sometimes it is the weightlessness of air that traps you. It is the vacuum and not the material that holds you back. It is the nothingness that emerges out of the endless possibilities that paralyzes you.
Trapped inside walls of air I am calling for help.
--Time's up--
Thursday, May 29, 2008
In My Neighborhood
In my neighborhood there are butterflies in all the colors of the rainbow. In my neighborhood there are birds singing Mozart. In my neighborhood there is a lake with crystal clear water and a huge tree who offers shadow and rest for the tired people who come to drink the lake's fresh water.
In my neighborhood there are carpets upon carpets of soft and bright green grass which are fondly stroking the bare legs of the children who walk and run and dance on them.
In my neighborhood the rain falls only at night and the sun is softly warming us during the day, with a light friendly southern breeze.
In my neighborhood everyone gets a fresh bread roll and a tall glass of sweet lemonade each morning and a cup of hot cocoa each night.
In my neighborhood the stars are shining at night like a trail of fairy dust in the sky high, high above.
In my neighborhood every single detail is perfect, because my neighborhood doesn't exist but in my mind. My neighborhood is a place for me to run away from the cruelty of the world. It is a place of comfort and relaxation which is situated deep inside my brain.
In my neighborhood there are all the things absent from my world.
--Time's up--
In my neighborhood there are carpets upon carpets of soft and bright green grass which are fondly stroking the bare legs of the children who walk and run and dance on them.
In my neighborhood the rain falls only at night and the sun is softly warming us during the day, with a light friendly southern breeze.
In my neighborhood everyone gets a fresh bread roll and a tall glass of sweet lemonade each morning and a cup of hot cocoa each night.
In my neighborhood the stars are shining at night like a trail of fairy dust in the sky high, high above.
In my neighborhood every single detail is perfect, because my neighborhood doesn't exist but in my mind. My neighborhood is a place for me to run away from the cruelty of the world. It is a place of comfort and relaxation which is situated deep inside my brain.
In my neighborhood there are all the things absent from my world.
--Time's up--
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Is this love?
What is love anyway? I am not sure I can tell, as I have been struggling with that notion forever. I always thought love is coming my way, just to discover there had been another detour on its way.
"This time is going to be different", I thought to myself, "This time it's real".
My heart was bitting faster. My breath speedier. I could only think about my love, my dear love and couldn't concentrate in anything else.
At that time, I wasn't free to follow my love. I had another one in my life. I couldn't bare the thought of leaving something valid for the unknown. The unsought. I was too engaged in life for taking risks and following a new path towards my love. I was too afraid to do that. Too afraid of changes. Too afraid of claiming the fulfillment of my secret desires and deepest wishes.
At the end I did that. I left my job and followed my dream, my love - my own business. Only than I started questioning myself again - Is it real love or just a fling ???
--Time's up--
"This time is going to be different", I thought to myself, "This time it's real".
My heart was bitting faster. My breath speedier. I could only think about my love, my dear love and couldn't concentrate in anything else.
At that time, I wasn't free to follow my love. I had another one in my life. I couldn't bare the thought of leaving something valid for the unknown. The unsought. I was too engaged in life for taking risks and following a new path towards my love. I was too afraid to do that. Too afraid of changes. Too afraid of claiming the fulfillment of my secret desires and deepest wishes.
At the end I did that. I left my job and followed my dream, my love - my own business. Only than I started questioning myself again - Is it real love or just a fling ???
--Time's up--
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Femme Fatale
Ever since I have heard this phrase as a little girl, I was always yearning to be one but somehow never managed to play that role.
I was trying to put on make-up, wear high heels and figure hugging dresses but I wasn't a real femme fatale. I could have looked like one, on a first glance, but I couldn't act like one.
I couldn't be as nonchalant, relaxed and relentless as a femme fatale. I could have never acted like I deserve what I wanted and owned the world. I was shy and self conscious and most of all - I was so afraid of failing that I never tried.
Everything I did came easily to me, because I kept a safe distance from anything that was more challenging.
This is how I have learned that a femme fatale isn't just a beautiful woman who makes guys fall to her feet, but rather a strong woman who isn't afraid of failing. Femme fatale is a woman who can control her feelings and her acts and is so strong on the inside, that it reflects outside and shines through.
The femme fatale's beauty does come from the inside !
--Time's up--
I was trying to put on make-up, wear high heels and figure hugging dresses but I wasn't a real femme fatale. I could have looked like one, on a first glance, but I couldn't act like one.
I couldn't be as nonchalant, relaxed and relentless as a femme fatale. I could have never acted like I deserve what I wanted and owned the world. I was shy and self conscious and most of all - I was so afraid of failing that I never tried.
Everything I did came easily to me, because I kept a safe distance from anything that was more challenging.
This is how I have learned that a femme fatale isn't just a beautiful woman who makes guys fall to her feet, but rather a strong woman who isn't afraid of failing. Femme fatale is a woman who can control her feelings and her acts and is so strong on the inside, that it reflects outside and shines through.
The femme fatale's beauty does come from the inside !
--Time's up--
Monday, May 26, 2008
Tell It Like It Is
Maureen always liked people to tell her things like they are. She never appreciated the embellishment of hard truths.
She was an harsh executive, flying the corporate ladder like a meteor - non stop promotions ever since she had graduated business school. She knew her job well and she was notorious for giving investors only one and only number - the first and last offer. A take it or leave it approach.
The pains started at a business trip in Shanghai. She was tired and dizzy and she felt sharp pains penetrating her bones and cutting through her muscles. As an over worked woman she knew how to handle pains and how to go on and work regardless of being sick. These pains wouldn't stop her. She told herself it must be all the stress and the long hours that had made her feel bad and she didn't feel it was necessary to go to the doctor.
The pains started worsening and the fatigue had made getting out of bed almost impossible. However, she did not go to a doctor until she had collapsed at the office during a conference meeting.
The doctor could easily find the lump under her left breast and all she was asking was to tell it like it is.
--time's up--
She was an harsh executive, flying the corporate ladder like a meteor - non stop promotions ever since she had graduated business school. She knew her job well and she was notorious for giving investors only one and only number - the first and last offer. A take it or leave it approach.
The pains started at a business trip in Shanghai. She was tired and dizzy and she felt sharp pains penetrating her bones and cutting through her muscles. As an over worked woman she knew how to handle pains and how to go on and work regardless of being sick. These pains wouldn't stop her. She told herself it must be all the stress and the long hours that had made her feel bad and she didn't feel it was necessary to go to the doctor.
The pains started worsening and the fatigue had made getting out of bed almost impossible. However, she did not go to a doctor until she had collapsed at the office during a conference meeting.
The doctor could easily find the lump under her left breast and all she was asking was to tell it like it is.
--time's up--
Friday, May 23, 2008
Choreographed
Lately I've been feeling like a marionette, tied and handled by a big hand thats is held above my head. I don't choose my path nor do I choose my pace. I have no idea where am I going to or what is the motivation for my next step.
I go to the office each morning. Sit behind my desk. Go to lunch. Go back to the office. Go home. Go to sleep.
Feelings are totally absent from my life. Both feelings of happiness and feelings of despair. My heart is as blanc as an untouched canvas. Along the feelings also the colors of my world are beginning to fade away, turning in my head into a bland mixture of grays. Scents and tastes tag along the hollowed path of dullness.
I have no dreams and no desires. I have no secret wishes and I am starting to loose my essential needs as well.
I am living my life as a marionette. Getting controlled by the mundane routine rather than controlling it myself. I am choreographed by life itself.
--Time's up--
I go to the office each morning. Sit behind my desk. Go to lunch. Go back to the office. Go home. Go to sleep.
Feelings are totally absent from my life. Both feelings of happiness and feelings of despair. My heart is as blanc as an untouched canvas. Along the feelings also the colors of my world are beginning to fade away, turning in my head into a bland mixture of grays. Scents and tastes tag along the hollowed path of dullness.
I have no dreams and no desires. I have no secret wishes and I am starting to loose my essential needs as well.
I am living my life as a marionette. Getting controlled by the mundane routine rather than controlling it myself. I am choreographed by life itself.
--Time's up--
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Fishbowl
I am a very introverted child, or so my teacher said to my parents. I am not sure what introverted means. I thought it is really bad and I was afraid to get punished. So I looked it up in the dictionary and I'm still not sure whether it's good or bad.
I don't have many friends. My favorite activity is looking at the ceiling. Sometimes I see colors in there and figures floating around and they comfort me. I try to reach for them and I stretch my hands and try to grab them, but my parents don't understand why I am doing this. They don't see the figures on the wall as I do, so they keep telling me to keep my hands quiet.
When they do that, I feel numb so I try to pinch my fingers really hard and flap my hands so I can feel them. But my parents don't like that either.
Other children also can't see the figures on the wall as I do, so that's why I have nothing to talk to them about and my parents get worried because I don't speak much.
Bob and John are my only friend. They understand me. They are silent as I am and they keep on moving their fins and tale as I keep moving my fingers. Bob and John are the only ones that can understand me in the whole wide world. Swimming in their fishbowl and kept to themselves - just like me.
--Time's up--
I don't have many friends. My favorite activity is looking at the ceiling. Sometimes I see colors in there and figures floating around and they comfort me. I try to reach for them and I stretch my hands and try to grab them, but my parents don't understand why I am doing this. They don't see the figures on the wall as I do, so they keep telling me to keep my hands quiet.
When they do that, I feel numb so I try to pinch my fingers really hard and flap my hands so I can feel them. But my parents don't like that either.
Other children also can't see the figures on the wall as I do, so that's why I have nothing to talk to them about and my parents get worried because I don't speak much.
Bob and John are my only friend. They understand me. They are silent as I am and they keep on moving their fins and tale as I keep moving my fingers. Bob and John are the only ones that can understand me in the whole wide world. Swimming in their fishbowl and kept to themselves - just like me.
--Time's up--
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Framed
Vicky's parents were the people framed inside the pictures in the study. Vicky was born an orphan. On her birthday both her parents were killed in a horrible car accident and only she was salvaged by the doctors at the general hospital.
Her parents were rich philanthropists who were well rooted in the social elite of the big city. Money was always there for them, in abundance, and they were able to worry about subjects such the global warming and the white whales.
Vicky's aunt, her late mother's sister, couldn't stand the easiness in which money came into her sister's hands and moreover, she couldn't bare the way her sister spends her money on anything but her own sister. So many times she had asked for a loan to start her own business and time after time she was dismissed by Vicky's mother and turned back empty handed and ashamed.
The double accident had almost made her happy.
As the lawyer of Vicky's parents had no idea about the tension among the sisters, he was willing to approve the adoption and by that her aunt kept her tight hand over the family's wealth. She was more than happy to raise Vicky as the ultimate revenge against her sister. Raise her in the big and luxurious house in a state of neglect and near starvation.
Vicky had no one to turn to. Her parents to her were nothing but a couple of framed pictures, hung in the study.
--Time's up--
Her parents were rich philanthropists who were well rooted in the social elite of the big city. Money was always there for them, in abundance, and they were able to worry about subjects such the global warming and the white whales.
Vicky's aunt, her late mother's sister, couldn't stand the easiness in which money came into her sister's hands and moreover, she couldn't bare the way her sister spends her money on anything but her own sister. So many times she had asked for a loan to start her own business and time after time she was dismissed by Vicky's mother and turned back empty handed and ashamed.
The double accident had almost made her happy.
As the lawyer of Vicky's parents had no idea about the tension among the sisters, he was willing to approve the adoption and by that her aunt kept her tight hand over the family's wealth. She was more than happy to raise Vicky as the ultimate revenge against her sister. Raise her in the big and luxurious house in a state of neglect and near starvation.
Vicky had no one to turn to. Her parents to her were nothing but a couple of framed pictures, hung in the study.
--Time's up--
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Barrel of Laughs
Christine didn't know what to expect when she first volunteered to join the aid team in Sudan. She had read a lot about the situation there in the internet but nothing she had read could really prepare her to the horrors she was about to see, first hand.
The sun was burning over the volunteers' heads and the mosquitoes had declared a war against their pale skin, which was bright and shiny with sweat. Christine was a bit dehydrated and she had developed a fever.
The fatigue of her body was nothing compared to what was going on in her soul. She was heart broken. In the week she spent there she had already seen 3 year-old boys whose hands and ear lobes had been amputated by the rebels. Small girls who'd been raped violently. Infants whose rib cages were sticking to their backs and their big wide eyes were showing such sorrow, even an old person should not have come across in his life.
Christine could not understand how people can get to such levels of evil that they would not spare the kids, but rather target them with their diabolic acts.
She had almost lost hope, but then she saw this amazing vision. Scattered along the way was an abandoned rocket launcher. Inside its barrel there was a small child laughing gingerly. This abandoned weapon of mass destruction had literally become a barrel of laughs. A process that only kids can render.
--Tine's up--
The sun was burning over the volunteers' heads and the mosquitoes had declared a war against their pale skin, which was bright and shiny with sweat. Christine was a bit dehydrated and she had developed a fever.
The fatigue of her body was nothing compared to what was going on in her soul. She was heart broken. In the week she spent there she had already seen 3 year-old boys whose hands and ear lobes had been amputated by the rebels. Small girls who'd been raped violently. Infants whose rib cages were sticking to their backs and their big wide eyes were showing such sorrow, even an old person should not have come across in his life.
Christine could not understand how people can get to such levels of evil that they would not spare the kids, but rather target them with their diabolic acts.
She had almost lost hope, but then she saw this amazing vision. Scattered along the way was an abandoned rocket launcher. Inside its barrel there was a small child laughing gingerly. This abandoned weapon of mass destruction had literally become a barrel of laughs. A process that only kids can render.
--Tine's up--
Monday, May 19, 2008
The Flute
On a Monday in an unknown month at an unknown year, the leaders of the free world had decided to start a war against each other. It had only lasted a couple of days, in which nuclear missiles were dropping from the sky like rain in November.
Everything had happened so suddenly and life on earth had ceased so abruptly.
Few were the survivors. Trying desperately to find food, but most of the world's food supply had been nullified by the fire and the acidic rain that followed. Humanity was nonexistent and the only rule was to survive. The hunger had made the survivors deranged and they started eating each other.
What was left from the world was in complete silence which was dotted by sporadic screams.
One day the silence had been cut with a magical sound. Charm and beauty had been long gone but this sound was both beautiful and charming. In the midst of horror a small child was standing, holding a piece of hollow wood, which was carved by a rusted metal, and whistling wonderful melodies through it.
Among the living dead there was a young boy playing music of hope and dreams on the flute.
--Time's up--
Everything had happened so suddenly and life on earth had ceased so abruptly.
Few were the survivors. Trying desperately to find food, but most of the world's food supply had been nullified by the fire and the acidic rain that followed. Humanity was nonexistent and the only rule was to survive. The hunger had made the survivors deranged and they started eating each other.
What was left from the world was in complete silence which was dotted by sporadic screams.
One day the silence had been cut with a magical sound. Charm and beauty had been long gone but this sound was both beautiful and charming. In the midst of horror a small child was standing, holding a piece of hollow wood, which was carved by a rusted metal, and whistling wonderful melodies through it.
Among the living dead there was a young boy playing music of hope and dreams on the flute.
--Time's up--
Friday, May 16, 2008
Dear Diary
Dear diary,
It has been long since my last entry. Life happens, you know. Nothing special but the mundane routine that is life.
Today is going to be different, though. Today I am going to show the world what I'm made of. No more laughing behind my back. No more whispering around me when happy hour arrives. No more pointing fingers at me. No more forgotten birthdays. No more ignoring. No more !!
Today I am going to teach them a lesson they won't forget. Especially to that Lorry bitch who thinks she's better than me. I've had it with her condescending attitude. I'll show her who's better. She is going to get on her knees and beg for her pitiful life. I am not going to spare her. But I am going to let her beg and I will enjoy it.
Today I took the shotgun out of the attic and I am going to go to the office and show them what Jerry Smith is made out of. things are going to be different today, dear diary.
Today is the day.
--Time's up--
It has been long since my last entry. Life happens, you know. Nothing special but the mundane routine that is life.
Today is going to be different, though. Today I am going to show the world what I'm made of. No more laughing behind my back. No more whispering around me when happy hour arrives. No more pointing fingers at me. No more forgotten birthdays. No more ignoring. No more !!
Today I am going to teach them a lesson they won't forget. Especially to that Lorry bitch who thinks she's better than me. I've had it with her condescending attitude. I'll show her who's better. She is going to get on her knees and beg for her pitiful life. I am not going to spare her. But I am going to let her beg and I will enjoy it.
Today I took the shotgun out of the attic and I am going to go to the office and show them what Jerry Smith is made out of. things are going to be different today, dear diary.
Today is the day.
--Time's up--
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Snowflakes
Kerry knew she had to come back home when the first snowflakes came down. They were so soft and fragile that they melted as soon as they fell down, but still they were able to signal two hurtful truths: first, that a year had passed; and second, that it was Christmas again - a lonely Christmas away from her family.
Kerry could not bare it anymore. She could not bare another season without her family. Another holiday alone without the loud laughs of her nieces and nephews. Another day without the familiar taste of her father's eggnog. She had to come back home.
A year before, she left home filled with anticipation and excitement. The Pomerantz Museum had invited her to be a collector and a contributor and she couldn't resist the offer. She had been waiting for this opportunity ever since she graduated from college as an art and history major.
Working at the museum and enjoying the great social life inherent to her job description had been wonderful, but she could never get herself totally engaged. She could never really enjoy the cocktail parties to the fullest as she always felt this lump in her throat and the burst of tears pushing her eyeballs. This unrelieved sadness of being there all alone. She had to come back home.
--Time's up--
Kerry could not bare it anymore. She could not bare another season without her family. Another holiday alone without the loud laughs of her nieces and nephews. Another day without the familiar taste of her father's eggnog. She had to come back home.
A year before, she left home filled with anticipation and excitement. The Pomerantz Museum had invited her to be a collector and a contributor and she couldn't resist the offer. She had been waiting for this opportunity ever since she graduated from college as an art and history major.
Working at the museum and enjoying the great social life inherent to her job description had been wonderful, but she could never get herself totally engaged. She could never really enjoy the cocktail parties to the fullest as she always felt this lump in her throat and the burst of tears pushing her eyeballs. This unrelieved sadness of being there all alone. She had to come back home.
--Time's up--
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Habits
Roger was a creature of habits.
Each morning he woke up at dawn with the first rays of sun. He came out of bed - right foot first and then the left. He wore his right sock and right sleeve of pants and then his right shoe, followed by the left sock, the left sleeve of his pants and his left shoe. Shirt and sweater were worn the same way - right then left. He started shaving his right side, than moving to the left and ate a toast from right to left. He was washing his right hand - twice, and then moved to the left.
Each morning this ritual was repeated again and again. Every thing he did was right first and then left.
In times of absent mindedness, when a left move had preceded a right one, he would flip out. Covered in sweat and shaking he would punch his right hand and kick his right foot, until he could feel them well enough so such a slip won't happen again.
Roger was a friendly guy with a funny smile - first his right half of his mouth curled then his left. People at his small neighborhood were fond of his peculiar walking and his odd ways. It was the incident with beautiful Jenny that had changed the way things were.
This awful summer morning. When the sun was shining and the birds were twittering and Jenny was found dead in the park - her throat cut from right to left ...
--Time's up--
Each morning he woke up at dawn with the first rays of sun. He came out of bed - right foot first and then the left. He wore his right sock and right sleeve of pants and then his right shoe, followed by the left sock, the left sleeve of his pants and his left shoe. Shirt and sweater were worn the same way - right then left. He started shaving his right side, than moving to the left and ate a toast from right to left. He was washing his right hand - twice, and then moved to the left.
Each morning this ritual was repeated again and again. Every thing he did was right first and then left.
In times of absent mindedness, when a left move had preceded a right one, he would flip out. Covered in sweat and shaking he would punch his right hand and kick his right foot, until he could feel them well enough so such a slip won't happen again.
Roger was a friendly guy with a funny smile - first his right half of his mouth curled then his left. People at his small neighborhood were fond of his peculiar walking and his odd ways. It was the incident with beautiful Jenny that had changed the way things were.
This awful summer morning. When the sun was shining and the birds were twittering and Jenny was found dead in the park - her throat cut from right to left ...
--Time's up--
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Compromise
Julie had led a worry free life. She was a career woman. Sitting comfortably with her power suit at the corner office. She had made good money and had been proud of her accomplishments - both professionally and financially. She used to buy her loved ones thoughtful presents and pamper herself as well. Money, for her, had been a mean for being happy and she had a lot of it.
She had an entire team of helpers - a personal trainer, a hair dresser, a cook and a cleaner. She had all she ever wanted but a happy husband.
Her husband was trying to lead his business off but had always failed. He was a foreigner and he could not speak the language, nor could he understand the culture and the way business are made there. He was miserable and it showed.
Their once flourishing romance was getting wilted.
One day her husband decided that he had had it. He was leaving. He told her that she could join him if she wanted but he was leaving one way or the other. He would go back to his hometown and start over.
Julie was furious at first but decided to make this compromise for the love of her life. Only a few months along the way, in the new country and without the team of helpers, she understood that before it was the money she was compromising for. She was compromising her life.
--Time's up--
She had an entire team of helpers - a personal trainer, a hair dresser, a cook and a cleaner. She had all she ever wanted but a happy husband.
Her husband was trying to lead his business off but had always failed. He was a foreigner and he could not speak the language, nor could he understand the culture and the way business are made there. He was miserable and it showed.
Their once flourishing romance was getting wilted.
One day her husband decided that he had had it. He was leaving. He told her that she could join him if she wanted but he was leaving one way or the other. He would go back to his hometown and start over.
Julie was furious at first but decided to make this compromise for the love of her life. Only a few months along the way, in the new country and without the team of helpers, she understood that before it was the money she was compromising for. She was compromising her life.
--Time's up--
Monday, May 12, 2008
It Was A Learning Experience
I could see the big wide fist coming from above. I saw that with the corner of my eye. My father's masculine and thick arm all stretched out, accelerating towards my cheek. I closed my eyes and stretched my muscles in order to soften the blow of his fist. I had my methods ... The blow was still overwhelming and had knocked me down to the floor, blood streaming from my nose.
"That should be learning experience for you, Billy boy" My father shouted "I hope it is the last time I find your toys scattered all around on the floor. I almost broke my leg slipping on one of your cars. Now go to your room".
I had had many learning experiences like that. I had gone to sleep without dinner more times than I care to remember. I had been hit in any possible place and with a variety of tools. I was forced to shove my face into the ground and stay like that for long periods of times. What can I say, I have been a bad boy.
The worse learning experiences I had had were when dad came back from the pub. His clothes were reeking of beer and stained with blood and vomit. I felt ashamed because it had made me hate my father though I knew these were merely learning experiences.
--Time's up--
>>This time it is important for me to stress out that this is 100% FICTION. The inspiration came from many books and articles I've read and movies I've seen. Both my parents are great persons and I love them dearly. My parents - like me - do not drink. Not even social drinking !!!
"That should be learning experience for you, Billy boy" My father shouted "I hope it is the last time I find your toys scattered all around on the floor. I almost broke my leg slipping on one of your cars. Now go to your room".
I had had many learning experiences like that. I had gone to sleep without dinner more times than I care to remember. I had been hit in any possible place and with a variety of tools. I was forced to shove my face into the ground and stay like that for long periods of times. What can I say, I have been a bad boy.
The worse learning experiences I had had were when dad came back from the pub. His clothes were reeking of beer and stained with blood and vomit. I felt ashamed because it had made me hate my father though I knew these were merely learning experiences.
--Time's up--
>>This time it is important for me to stress out that this is 100% FICTION. The inspiration came from many books and articles I've read and movies I've seen. Both my parents are great persons and I love them dearly. My parents - like me - do not drink. Not even social drinking !!!
Friday, May 9, 2008
Clarity
Lizzy is sitting on the stone floor. Her knees are bent and she is holding her ankles tightly and shaking. Sweat is running down her temples and join with her salty tears at the apple of her cheeks.
Noises keep appearing in her head and she tries to shut them off. She is shaking her head feverishly but it doesn't help so she starts bumping her head into the brick wall. She bangs it repeatedly in a constant rhythm. The place where her forehead clashes with the wall starts to swell and change colors - from pale, almost white to rosy, to crimson red, to blue, to deep purple.
Lizzy thinks the pain can make the noises go away so she ignores it and go on slamming her head against the wall, stronger and stronger. "Why don't the noises go away, I just want a minute of clarity", she shouts silently.
--Time's up--
Noises keep appearing in her head and she tries to shut them off. She is shaking her head feverishly but it doesn't help so she starts bumping her head into the brick wall. She bangs it repeatedly in a constant rhythm. The place where her forehead clashes with the wall starts to swell and change colors - from pale, almost white to rosy, to crimson red, to blue, to deep purple.
Lizzy thinks the pain can make the noises go away so she ignores it and go on slamming her head against the wall, stronger and stronger. "Why don't the noises go away, I just want a minute of clarity", she shouts silently.
--Time's up--
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Concrete
Joanna was walking on the asphalt pavement, wondering around the concrete skyscrapers of the big city. She was struggling breathing the smoggy air but at the same time fascinated by all the lights and the variety of food and bottled water you could find everywhere.
The feeling of the pavement pushing through her soles was new to her, as less than a week ago she was still running barefoot in a village in southern India. The air was fresh and the blades of grass had been stroking her feet softly and lovingly when she was walking on them.
Less than a week ago she was still single, still in the hands of her loving family but now she is in a foreign country, sharing her bed with a foreign man she had just married.
The concrete buildings were daunting and she felt suffocated by them, yearning for the softness of the fresh blades of grass.
--Time's up--
The feeling of the pavement pushing through her soles was new to her, as less than a week ago she was still running barefoot in a village in southern India. The air was fresh and the blades of grass had been stroking her feet softly and lovingly when she was walking on them.
Less than a week ago she was still single, still in the hands of her loving family but now she is in a foreign country, sharing her bed with a foreign man she had just married.
The concrete buildings were daunting and she felt suffocated by them, yearning for the softness of the fresh blades of grass.
--Time's up--
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Rain
Big drops of rain are falling down. Drenching my soul, diving dipper than the bones and drilling inside me as they fall. The sky is gray and thunders are roaring. The chill is getting unbearable but I have nowhere to hide.
I start running and running, faster and faster trying to increase my heartbeat and get myself warmed up this way but I am just getting colder and colder.
I cry, big salty tears are running on my gaunt cheeks mixing with the raindrops. I can't stop crying.
I have no idea how will I ever get over it. How will I ever be alive again, now that he is gone. Now that he is enjoying the angles in his eternal and final rest. How will I be able to pick up the pieces of my life and make it whole again. I won't. I cannot.
I remember how we used to go outside in the rain and try to catch the drops with our mouths, like toddlers. We would stand with our mouths open for a long time and than burst into a hearty laugh and kiss. Let the whole world know about our love.
I try to open my mouth and catch some drops of rain, imagining they are sent to me by him but then I realize that it is only raining in my mind and for the rest of the world the sun is shining today.
--Time's up--
I start running and running, faster and faster trying to increase my heartbeat and get myself warmed up this way but I am just getting colder and colder.
I cry, big salty tears are running on my gaunt cheeks mixing with the raindrops. I can't stop crying.
I have no idea how will I ever get over it. How will I ever be alive again, now that he is gone. Now that he is enjoying the angles in his eternal and final rest. How will I be able to pick up the pieces of my life and make it whole again. I won't. I cannot.
I remember how we used to go outside in the rain and try to catch the drops with our mouths, like toddlers. We would stand with our mouths open for a long time and than burst into a hearty laugh and kiss. Let the whole world know about our love.
I try to open my mouth and catch some drops of rain, imagining they are sent to me by him but then I realize that it is only raining in my mind and for the rest of the world the sun is shining today.
--Time's up--
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
These Boots Are Meant For Walking
Paul had nothing to put his name on but a ragged shirt and a used pair of jeans. His shoes had more holes than fabric in them and he could barely stay warm in the frosty weather of the mountains with his buttonless wool coat.
What mostly got to him was not the cold and not the hurtful blisters which were formed on his feet. He had learned to live with these. What really bothered him was the looks on people's faces. The look of pity and disgust. The looks were more difficult than the hunger and there were times he thought the hunger would consume him.
One day, on his way back from the quarry, he had stumbled upon a pair of brand new boots. Just standing on his path, exactly at the point where the daffodils grow and the butterflies fly and the birds sing for him every day and paint the way with colorful colors of hope.
The boots were exactly his size and were made out of the softest leather he had ever touched in his life. Softer than the silky fur of the rabbit who warms him at night.
Paul had put on the boots and walked happily home.
At the foot of the mountain, next to the stream, stood a beautiful woman with wings coming out of her spine. She smiled and thought to herself: "These boots are meant for walking - by angles".
--Time's up--
What mostly got to him was not the cold and not the hurtful blisters which were formed on his feet. He had learned to live with these. What really bothered him was the looks on people's faces. The look of pity and disgust. The looks were more difficult than the hunger and there were times he thought the hunger would consume him.
One day, on his way back from the quarry, he had stumbled upon a pair of brand new boots. Just standing on his path, exactly at the point where the daffodils grow and the butterflies fly and the birds sing for him every day and paint the way with colorful colors of hope.
The boots were exactly his size and were made out of the softest leather he had ever touched in his life. Softer than the silky fur of the rabbit who warms him at night.
Paul had put on the boots and walked happily home.
At the foot of the mountain, next to the stream, stood a beautiful woman with wings coming out of her spine. She smiled and thought to herself: "These boots are meant for walking - by angles".
--Time's up--
Monday, May 5, 2008
The Key
As a kid I was hooked on "Once upon a time" stories. Every princess, king or hobbit had caught my attention and had me sink into their world for hours and hours at a time. I would take an fairytale book and dive right in.
One day I was reading one of these books while moving my arm aimlessly along the wall above my bed. I was stroking the wall as if I was touching the flowers of the imaginary world of the book I was reading. Suddenly I felt a small bump in the wall. I had laid the book down and looked carefully at the bump in the wall.
I then took a screwdriver from my dad's office and started chipping the lime off while trying to excavate what was inside the wall. Trying to find out what had formed a bump in the wall just above my bed. About two inches down the window and twenty inches left to my pillow.
As the lime came down I could already notice a shiny spark coming out of the wall and that got me digging in even more forcefully. Until I had found, shoved inside a secret hole in the wall, a golden key with a folded paper on which a map was drawn.
I had found the key to dreamworld.
—Time's up—
One day I was reading one of these books while moving my arm aimlessly along the wall above my bed. I was stroking the wall as if I was touching the flowers of the imaginary world of the book I was reading. Suddenly I felt a small bump in the wall. I had laid the book down and looked carefully at the bump in the wall.
I then took a screwdriver from my dad's office and started chipping the lime off while trying to excavate what was inside the wall. Trying to find out what had formed a bump in the wall just above my bed. About two inches down the window and twenty inches left to my pillow.
As the lime came down I could already notice a shiny spark coming out of the wall and that got me digging in even more forcefully. Until I had found, shoved inside a secret hole in the wall, a golden key with a folded paper on which a map was drawn.
I had found the key to dreamworld.
—Time's up—
Friday, May 2, 2008
Drink Up
Mary was holding the glass firmly in her hands. The grip was so hard it felt like the glass is planted in the thin air of her one room apartment.
She had opened the windows to accentuate the view they were offering - a view to the bleak brick wall of the apartment building next door. The paint was chipping from the walls and roaches were roaming everywhere.
All her life she had dreamed about the moment she would leave her parent's farm and move into the big city. She was never like them. She was never a simple peasant. She was a sophisticated artist and couldn't bare the rural leaving anymore. The move had broken her parents' hearts, but they were supportive. They had no money to give her but the one way ticket to the big city and a big warm hug.
Mary could not have admitted to their faces that she had failed. She couldn't go back to the farm. She could not stand it.
So she took the glass and drank up.
—Time's up—
She had opened the windows to accentuate the view they were offering - a view to the bleak brick wall of the apartment building next door. The paint was chipping from the walls and roaches were roaming everywhere.
All her life she had dreamed about the moment she would leave her parent's farm and move into the big city. She was never like them. She was never a simple peasant. She was a sophisticated artist and couldn't bare the rural leaving anymore. The move had broken her parents' hearts, but they were supportive. They had no money to give her but the one way ticket to the big city and a big warm hug.
Mary could not have admitted to their faces that she had failed. She couldn't go back to the farm. She could not stand it.
So she took the glass and drank up.
—Time's up—
Thursday, May 1, 2008
First Step
On my first birthday I had made my first step. By than I was already talking fluently and had made my parents very proud of their small but genius daughter.
The overzealous atmosphere had made me continue striving to achieve more than is expected of my age.
By the age of five I was already reading and writing by myself and at six I had started learning a second language. My father was teaching me Algebra and Geometry before I had even set foot in school.
As I was already reading by myself in kindergarten, I started reading long - 500-1000 word - epics in elementary school. In junior high I had decided to read only in a foreign language and by the age of 14 I was already in the process of studying a couple more languages.
However, as I kept growing up the shelf, by which I was being measured, kept raising and I needed to exert myself more and more.
At a certain point I had had enough of this never ending chase, leading nowhere, and realized that although making my first step as a toddler might be very exciting, keeping myself stable and balancing myself at 27 - going on 28 - is quite mundane.
—Time's Up—
The overzealous atmosphere had made me continue striving to achieve more than is expected of my age.
By the age of five I was already reading and writing by myself and at six I had started learning a second language. My father was teaching me Algebra and Geometry before I had even set foot in school.
As I was already reading by myself in kindergarten, I started reading long - 500-1000 word - epics in elementary school. In junior high I had decided to read only in a foreign language and by the age of 14 I was already in the process of studying a couple more languages.
However, as I kept growing up the shelf, by which I was being measured, kept raising and I needed to exert myself more and more.
At a certain point I had had enough of this never ending chase, leading nowhere, and realized that although making my first step as a toddler might be very exciting, keeping myself stable and balancing myself at 27 - going on 28 - is quite mundane.
—Time's Up—
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Willpower
Beads of sweat were dropping off her and her vision started fading away. Each and every part of her body ached and weakened. "I must succeed! I can do it!" she mumbled over and over again. Her heart throbbed and she had gradually lost feeling of her arms and then her legs went numb. Regardless of her fraying body she kept running.
For months she had been ignoring the hairs and flaky skin. She had dropped her calorie intake to the absolute minimum and had been ignoring the dizziness and the difficulty to breathe. In her mind everything had happened because she wasn't fit enough, thus she kept increasing her treadmill millage.
Little by little she had stopped working. Stopped cooking. Stopped painting. Stopped knitting. Stopped reading. Stopped laughing. Stopped breathing.
She had a very strong willpower, but now - willpower is all there is left from her ...
---time's up---
For months she had been ignoring the hairs and flaky skin. She had dropped her calorie intake to the absolute minimum and had been ignoring the dizziness and the difficulty to breathe. In her mind everything had happened because she wasn't fit enough, thus she kept increasing her treadmill millage.
Little by little she had stopped working. Stopped cooking. Stopped painting. Stopped knitting. Stopped reading. Stopped laughing. Stopped breathing.
She had a very strong willpower, but now - willpower is all there is left from her ...
---time's up---
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
The Truth
Is there a truth? I think not. Unless the truth is made out of bits and pieces of fantasy, belief and shreds of realism.
Thus how can the truth differ from one to the other. How can one's truth be considered as a myth to another person?
Growing up I was always seeking the truth, but had gradually gave up, coming to the conclusion that truth does not exist. If there is no ONE truth than there is no truth at all - at least under my definition of "truth".
The nonexistence of truth is manifested in many different ways.
It is manifested by the difference in the religions.
It is manifested by the influence the monster under the bed has on the memory of childhood.
It is manifested in the variety of tastes and
it is manifested in the ability to find a solution to a single problem in several completely different ways.
Can the truth be diversity itself? I think not. I think there is no truth.
--- time's up ---
Thus how can the truth differ from one to the other. How can one's truth be considered as a myth to another person?
Growing up I was always seeking the truth, but had gradually gave up, coming to the conclusion that truth does not exist. If there is no ONE truth than there is no truth at all - at least under my definition of "truth".
The nonexistence of truth is manifested in many different ways.
It is manifested by the difference in the religions.
It is manifested by the influence the monster under the bed has on the memory of childhood.
It is manifested in the variety of tastes and
it is manifested in the ability to find a solution to a single problem in several completely different ways.
Can the truth be diversity itself? I think not. I think there is no truth.
--- time's up ---
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