«This insatiable urgency that resided inside him, of
escaping the suffocating system that constrained his freedom, condemned him to
live as an outcast.»
By Raquel R. in Short Story number 4
«Few men are willing to brave the disapproval of their
fellows, the censure of their colleagues, the wrath of their society. Moral
courage is a rarer commodity than bravery in battle or great intelligence. Yet
it is the one essential, vital quality of those who seek to change a world
which yields most painfully to change.»
«He closed his eyes and felt like he did not belong to this world. As
long as he could remember he always had this annoying habit of questioning the
established rules designed to manipulate our actions and control our thoughts.»
By Raquel R. in Short Story number 4
«There is no
salvation in becoming adapted to a world which is crazy.»
«At that moment, and although he
barely had any possessions, he felt fulfilled and complete. To him, this bare
feeling was the proof that all he ever believed was real and not a possible
side effect of some unnamed mental illness. »
By Raquel R. in Short Story number 4
«Happiness resides not in possessions, and not in gold, happiness dwells
in the soul.»
«He sat under the oak tree, unpacked his belongings and initiated the
sacred ritual of recoiling in the intimacy of sleep. He prepared his sleeping
bag, removed his boots and laid flat on his back beneath the huge tree. He
looked up to the strong and long branches of the oak tree and imagined that
they were an extension of himself and felt in total harmony with the universe.»
By
Raquel R. in Short Story number 4
“Man is condemned to be free; because
once thrown into the world, he is responsible for everything he does.It is up to you to give [life] a
meaning.”
«He reached the far corner of the
street, turned left and stopped. For a moment he remained there staring in
wonder. He nodded his head and gesticulated like he was engaging in a silent
conversation with himself. He approached the focus of his attention. It was an
old and majestic oak tree standing in this peripheral part of the neighborhood.
Every time he was in town this was the perfect location for him to spend the
night.»
By Raquel R. in Short Story number 4
«The shoe that fits one person pinches another; there is no recipe for
living that suits all cases.»
«As he walked down the street his
body language revealed someone who knew exactly what he wanted, and most of
all, someone who knew where he was going. Yet, if one did not look carefully to
this frail man with shabby clothes and worn out boots, could easily overlook
the strength that burst out from all his pores, which anticipated the
unsuspicious treasures he carried inside him.»
By Raquel
R. in Short Story number 4
«The individual has always had to
struggle to keep from being overwhelmed by the tribe. If you try it, you will
be lonely often, and sometimes frightened. But no price is too high to pay for
the privilege of owning yourself.»
«While he roamed the streets,
looking for a place to sleep, the moon and the stars were his only company, for
everybody had left the stage, in which they were forced to juggle their props
and wear their masks, to seek refuge in their conventional hideouts.»
By Raquel R. in Short Story
number 4
“We all wear masks, and
the time comes when we cannot remove them without removing some of our own
skin.”
«The sound of his paced footsteps
echoed on the empty street like a heartbeat. In the dark pavement, scattered
pools of water reflected the surrounding reality like pieces of broken mirrors.
In that fragmented reality he could clearly distinguish the dim lights shining
through the windows, behind which, endless stories of anonymous people like
him, were unfolding.»
Short Story number 4: Inspired by the song «Paper Cup» by TheSwell Season from the albumStrict Joy.
The sound of his paced footsteps echoed on the empty street like a
heartbeat. In the dark pavement, scattered pools of water reflected the
surrounding reality like pieces of broken mirrors. In that fragmented reality
he could clearly distinguish the dim lights, shining through the windows,
behind which, endless stories of anonymous people like him, were unfolding.
While he roamed the streets, looking for a place to sleep, the moon and
the stars were his only company, for everybody had left the stage, in which
they were forced to juggle their props and wear their masks, to seek refuge in
their conventional hideouts.
As he walked down the street his
body language revealed someone who knew exactly what he wanted, and most of
all, someone who knew where he was going. Yet, if one did not look carefully to
this frail man with shabby clothes and worn out boots, could easily overlook
the strength that burst out from all his pores, which anticipated the
unsuspicious treasures he carried inside him.
He reached the far corner of the street, turned left and stopped. For a
moment he remained there staring in wonder. He nodded his head and gesticulated
like he was engaging in a silent conversation with himself. He approached the
focus of his attention. It was an old and majestic oak tree standing in this
peripheral part of the neighborhood. Every time he was in town this was the
perfect location for him to spend the night.
He sat under the oak tree, unpacked his belongings and initiated the
sacred ritual of recoiling in the intimacy of sleep. He prepared his sleeping
bag, removed his boots and laid flat on his back beneath the huge tree. He
looked up to the strong and long branches of the oak tree and imagined that
they were an extension of himself and felt in total harmony with the universe.
At that moment, and although he barely had any possessions, he felt fulfilled
and complete. To him, this bare feeling was the proof that all he ever believed
was real and not a possible side effect of some unnamed mental illness.
He closed his eyes and felt like he did not belong to this world. As
long as he could remember he always had this annoying habit of questioning the
established rules designed to manipulate our actions and control our thoughts.
This insatiable urgency that resided inside him, of escaping the suffocating system
that constrained his freedom, condemned him to live as an outcast. But the more
they tried to break his spirit and forced him to fit in the pattern, the more
he felt compelled to drift in uncharted lands and refuse to follow the one way
direction sign.
A cool breeze stroke his face. The
sound of the leaves swaying in the wind filled the air. He closed his eyes and felt
the serene tranquility of those who have found peace of mind. The hardships he had
been enduring and the roads he had been travelling allowed him to acknowledge
that we all can be happy with much less than we are made to believe. But, unfortunately,
we are too busy trying to accomplish the goals imposed upon us to notice that everything
we need is inside us.
«Every man should be born
again on the first day of January. Start with a fresh page. Take up one hole
more in the buckle if necessary, or let down one, according to circumstances;
but on the first of January let every man gird himself once more, with his face
to the front, and take no interest in the things that were and are past.»
