I sat at the restaurant car sipping my cold coffee. I tried to sort out my thoughts, as if I was sorting socks in pairs from a huge pile of laundry. I’ve never been good at either one or the other. So I looked through the window at the changing landscape. It was after sunset, in a moment everything was going to shroud in darkness.
I stood in a place. I wanted to do so much and at the same time I was paralyzed by the thought that everything was so painfully temporary, so fleeting and consequently – of little importance. Have I achieved anything significant, anything valuable in my life? Existential fear seized me and the longer and harder I dug deep into the issues of my existence, the more everything was spinning in my head. I started to see blackness, I had to take a deep breath and close my eyes. After all, it all was going to fade away, I comforted myself.
I opened my eyes. Right in front of me stood a guinea pig of human size. It looked at me in an unobstrusive way, as if with care.
-I know a solution to all your problems – started guinea pig and took a seat in front of me. She was dressed in a tailored, formal suit consisting of a jacket and dark blue trousers. On its small feet it wore black leather shoes. It held its tiny hands in its blazer’s pockets.
-Is it even possible? – I asked myself surprised. I rubbed my eyes and watched around to see if the guinea pig caught the attention of other passengers. However, they intently kept reading the newspaper or checking the phone. Everything looked like before.
-Yes, it is. I can give you the elixir of youth, so that you’ll never have to worry about your own mortality. This is the only chance in your life, it will never happen again, so you need to decide quickly .- said pig rummaging in the pocket of its blazer. She pulled out a small vial with fluorescent purple liquid inside. She shook the potion.
-It Costs nothing – said with encouragement.
I thought it was a dream. It must have been a dream. Most likely I lost consciousness and a huge pig was a figment of my imagination. I was amazed with my own visions. I was also incredibly intrigued by the whole situation and pulled my hand towards the bottle. Guinea pig gave me the mysterious fluid saying that I should drink all in one go.
I pulled a tiny plug easily and sniffed the liquid. It smelled like a mixture of sweet blueberries and rinse. I wasn’t frightened, for the first time I actually felt as if I was doing the right thing. With unusual for me trust to strangers I drank the whole potion without any second thoughts. Elixir, although smelled fruity, was extremely bitter and astringent. I saw a smile on the face of the rodent. Immediately I began to notice changes in its appearance. Pig’s fluffy hair disappeared, took on human skin color. On its head the brown hair sprouted, eyes turned green. Before I even realized, I saw a 30-year old woman who looked exactly like me - right in front of me.
-I forgot to add that the agreement was tied- answered the woman with my voice, finished last sip of my cold coffee and left the dining car. I looked out the window, it was pitch dark outside. I saw my reflection in the window. So now I was the guinea pig.
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 10:21 AM UTC
never in a church made with human hands
never in shiny portraits and golden carvings
but in eyes of others, sharing meals, exchanging kisses.
never in plastic figurines from the souvenirs
never in fear of sin nor condemnation
but in assistance, in the beauty of wonders,
in the world's enchanting melody.
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 7:55 AM UTC
It was the story of that one boy and me, like thousands other stories.
And his smile gave me the feeling of ever lasting happiness. God's favor and protection, experience of simple beauty and overall vulnerability which made me feel like a girl who once again fell in love for the first time. Made me ache for spending every sunrise of my life just holding on his smile.
You could take everything from me if You wanted, but never the memory of that boy.
And I could trade all the rays of the setting sun in this world for the warmth of his smile.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 2:33 PM UTC
Keeping me awake at night, haunting in my dreams,
Making me unaware of what is now, how it´s now and of the feeling in your arms.
The force that holds me in old memories of your arms years ago, force which pushes me violently in the anxiety of wonder if they´ll be here in the future and if yes, then where and for how long?
I want to feel it all now, be aware of how it´s now in this particular second, not through the memory of this moment tomorrow. To feel the happiness of your arms right now.
Please go away Sentiment, let me feel the present time.
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 6:27 AM UTC
In Life as in Art, seek for the most genuine and positive feelings.
Do not demoralize to arouse the feelings as the world can be cruel and sore without us repeating the same circles. Strive to get the best out of people, believe in the better world that You can create.
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 7:06 AM UTC
If one day I shall die from the pain of longing,
I know this love was worth-suffering.
And I won't regret counting days, as long as I could count them for You.
I won't regret making plans, as long as they lead me to the places where I could find myself in your everlasting arms.
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 12:56 PM UTC
I have a pretty good life, happy family, sweet wife, three kids and stable job. That´s why it hit me out of nowhere when this freaky clown started following me in last few days. I don´t know exactly where was the first time I noticed his creepy red nose which he tried to stick into my life, but I couldn´t really talk about it to anyone. Because who would take seriously a 48 year old man talking about clown who is stalking him? It scared the **** out of me, still I pretended I didn´t see him at all and ran as fast as I could when I realized the clown was around.
When I was eight, and I remember it well as it was the night when my dog died, I had that creepy nightmare about the clown who was climbing on the roof to get inside my room through the window, but as it was closed, he kept knocking through the glass quietly. I hated clowns since that day and always got anxious when I saw one on the festivals or at the circus. Scared to death I always made sure the windows were closed before I went to sleep, I didn´t want anyone to come inside my room, especially freaky clowns.
This night, when I was going out of the office, I noticed the clown at the parking lot hiding behind the trash bin. I ran to my car, but as soon as I closed the door I realized that the clown was already inside. I left the **** window opened.
-I don´t have much time and you are always running away from me like crazy- said Clown very calmly, not like a clown, more like a person that is embarrassed to have that conversation with me.
-What do You want from me? - I asked, rather scared and confused.
-Tell your daughter to feed the hamster, she keeps forgetting to do it and I can´t do much with the windows closed. –he said calmly but with a concern, and disappeared a second after.
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 4:27 PM UTC
He was sitting still in front of his majestic grand piano, looking for an inspiration in the most desert part of his heart. He couldn’t create something wonderful if it hasn’t touched him, it must have been part his, part universal, connected and combined in the purest art of all.
Silence.
The memory of sweet homeland and childhood.
In his mind he could see a little boy, lost in the water while the storm was getting closer and closer. The fear of unknown was getting from the fingertips till the top of his head, this image was haunting him. Nobody could save him, it was getting darker and colder, he was losing his breath, his will was taken, he was left alone in despair.
But then his fingers touched the keys and the charm was thrown. His pain revealed in the enchanted melody of nostalgia which he could never express with his words. Everything around seemed to follow the captivating tune, with his music he bewitched the world. It was his way of screaming for help, revealing the pain, but this would never be understood, the others only followed the sweet melody which was too wonderful to make it stop. The water kept floating.
Frederick kept playing, reaching further sheets and layers of his mind, his body in convulsions, sweat falling on the keys. Was he crying? I missed it so many times, just like everyone else, I just wanted to listen to his melody. He would never be understood by us, just a rare paradise bird singing his song using his fingers. Maybe he loved his piano because it was the only thing which let him be, let him reveal all the secrets of his soul that only music could understand. Behind the instrument he knew exactly what to do, he drew unforgettable images, wrote words of love, lasting, romance and pain, mostly pain.
The music was his fortune, the music was his torture, letting him see more suffering inside him, feeding him with uncertainties about himself and life… but keeping him aware, that it is in deed the only reason for him to be alive. Even though the rest never understood the sharp notes and the essence of sad melodies, he was still reaching their souls, the parts of the souls which would always answer to the pure beauty. There was that part of art which would never be understood, even by the author, but you would still feel the shivers.
Apart from his music he was lost, out of space, lonely in affairs of life. The feelings were connecting and breaking at the same time, love and hate, joy and sadness, he must have kept playing faster and faster, running away and getting closer. He was the lonely boy losing his breath under the water, he needed support and logic in this crazy world. Things were breaking into pieces with every note, nothing in life was just black and white, at least in music he could see the beauty of mathematical perfection, every sentence put in the right tempo gave him comfort and peace. Sharp notes which exposed his anxiety made him sure of the concrete stability in music, the only thing he had under control, the only thing he could really understand, the only thing in which he didn’t need to pretend, he was himself, with his goods and bads, and mostly the bads.
His fingers were reaching to the final chords. He touched the keyboard once again, giving it gentle goodbye, his confession was over. He had to rest now, the little boy for safe for a moment, the music has rescued him.
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 1:50 PM UTC
This boy was one of a kind. I knew he was the love of my life, but I was afraid I wasn’t the only one sharing the same belief. As I said, he was the one of a kind, special in the natural and comforting way he made You feel around him. He was too humble for the talents he had and way too smart for the beauty he owned.
I couldn’t always guess what he felt when he played his music, but I could always know when he felt sad. He didn’t talk much, but he enjoyed writing little stories about other people, capturing them as they were. I believe he knew much more about them then they knew about themselves.
I didn’t always know what his purpose was, but somehow he was amazingly sure in his uncertainty. I wished I could see the world with his eyes, I wished I could look to the people as he did. In his eyes You could see the reflection of the world’s loveliness. He always found a way to surprise me, either with the things he knew, could or have done. He knew exactly how to touch your soul, or at least he knew how to reach mine, and as he was the only person able to do this I knew that he was special and made for the greatest things.
Sometimes I feared I loved him enough to die of pain of belonging. I couldn’t stand the thought of life without him or of life with different him. I couldn’t stand the pain of being close enough to feel the envy of losing him for something else and I knew I simply couldn’t live without that pain either. But I was happy though. I was extremely fortunate as he loved me and I loved him back like nothing else in the world. I wouldn’t trade any moment with me lying on his chest, kissing my forehead, touching my hair for anything in the world. He was simply the sweetest thing and the aim of all my actions.
I wished for the long and happy life with him as I was sure everything would turn out to be wonderful in his hands. He was the first boy who made me dream of getting married and I loved him dearly, praying to God every single night to keep him from danger and misfortune.
Still I lost him.
I have felt I was going crazy in madness of late hour, noises and images were blurred, my actions automatic. I was living, but I wasn’t alive, all my will was gone, his absence was unbearable. Nothing was ever going to make any sense. I was lost without him for ever.
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 5:40 PM UTC
Eating a tomato soup made her more sentimental, as if there was a whole history
of shared meals with her family in that single bowl.
She couldn't deny who she was and from where she came from, as soon as her tongue got used to the richness of her country taste. The weirdness of cuisine and the specifics of character defined her and reached her bottom, which she couldn't discover without knowing what ground has shaped her body and a soul.
The day she went she could only see a fraction of her father's despair in his eyes full of love and pride. She couldn't feel more puzzled with all the sour-sweet emotions, but the train has already started, and the image of her father, standing straight on the platform number three trying to smile while waving his hand, was moving away. (...)
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 6:56 PM UTC