Short story: The investigation.

-“I’m sorry”. The pathologist said.
The words were swirling in his mouth like bullets when pushing the trigger. I was staring at him, watching his lips making little motions that were big enough to dump a hefty rock on the left side of my chest. The only rhythm I was feeling was the rhythm of my heart, getting crushed like an annoying fly. The doctor was still giving his traditional speech about the time and cause of death. But I didn’t listen to any of that. I was succumbing to the heaviness of my head. I was mute. I was very sad.
-“You should tell the rest of your family. And you better start the funeral procedures as soon as possible.” A hand was patting my shoulder. Even though the police officer was standing right in front of me, all I was really seeing was my sister in her most beautiful dress, waving at me.
-“Goodbye sis”. I whispered despite the fact that my lips were sore and pasted. I could hardly eject a word.
The police officer was gone before I even realize it. I was standing alone in a raw hall. I turned my head to the right, there was a large size sign reminding me again of something that doesn’t need to be reminded; “The morgue”.
My remorse was emitting poison in my veins. For a moment, I felt anemic.
-“I should’ve never shown her the documents… I should’ve never shown her those photos…I should’ve not…” I was repeating desperately and continuously the same sentences until I was out of that gloomy place. For a few seconds, I forgot my home address. The panic attack swooped down on my pulse then quickly moved to my brain in order to jam my settings. It was more of sadness than fear. But the unshakable feeling of terror was getting the best of me.
I was leading a peaceful normal life, and then I accidentally swallowed the wrong pill. Do we really decide for ourselves? Do we really choose our destinations? Or, is what we choose, is the chosen for us? On this earth that is dating approximately to four thousands of million years, I only wanted one thing: calm and tranquility. But it was too much for a history teacher like me. I don’t lie and I don’t hurt people if I didn’t count the time when I punched a man with a rose tattoo on his cheek ; thanks to my skills at martial arts. But still, I’m a good citizen. Why would bad things find me within hundreds of criminals who are specialists in all sort of shady businesses? Why would misery overlie my carrier? I had questions, but no answers. I had doubts, but no convictions… I had proofs, but no clues. I was pushed to an affair like a prisoner pushed to his cell. I had dreams and now I have fears.  I’m jobless, but fortuitously I’m not broke. And there it was a brand new chapter: ambiguity of a sudden death. Was I the author? Hell, no I wasn’t. I was only a character who doesn’t know his role yet. I was missing many facts. But one thing I wasn’t missing: my sister wasn’t suicidal. My sister was so pacific, so gentle with everyone and anything including plants. Why would she put an end to her life? She wouldn’t.
-“Do you need somebody to give you a ride?” A disembodied voice said.
A mid thirty woman appeared. She had an authority aspect emphasized with the sillage I smelled, when she approached me.
-“I believe it was a homicidal”.
-“Excuse me?”
-“I’m an ex-detective. We can talk about it all, on our way to your house.”
I shook my head swiftly with my red puffy eyes slightly closed, indicating that I had no idea where was she going. But, she was my only shot and I wasn’t going to let it go to waste. If that means something, it only means that there was hope for me to get my mission well done. And my mission was to find my sister’s killer.
-“Just so you know, I have trust issues”. I said with a fake smile.
-“So do I”. She replied with a silvery tone.
-“Let’s go then”.
We got into her grey Mercedes, and then the talk began.
-“See, like I’ve told you, I’m an ex-detective and …”
-“But you’re so young. Why did you leave your position?”
She heaved a deep sigh and said: -“I didn’t. They made me do it”.
“Surprised” was written on my forehead. In fact, I never knew how to hide my emotions.
-“Who’s they?”
-“The state… It’s a long short story and for now we better focus on more important things like your sister’s death”.
-“You’re right”.
-“I’ve been following this kind of incidents lately and my intuition tells me that someone was sewing something that is not pretty. Your sister isn’t the only victim. There are three people killed so far and they all died in weird circumstances just like your sister.”
-“I know.” I said with a wobbly voice.
The woman that I didn’t even ask her name, was a little shocked, but happy even though I didn’t know what’s so happy about all of that.
I continued talking, but this time I was confident.
-“I found some things unwittingly and…”.
-“Shit! Stay down and hand me the gun beneath your seat!” She shouted.
-“What is going on?”
-“My dear, this isn’t the right time to ask questions. We’re been followed and I guess they’re trying to remove us from their list. We know too much.”
-“ What we’re going to do?”
-“Just stay calm. I can deal with this. This was my job”.
When we dodged the mafia-looking-classic car, I released a long breath. She was driving to the hills and she seemed like she knew where she was heading.
-“We’re going to my safe house. We can no longer visit your home. As you can see, it’s a little bit perilous.” And there it was my answer without even asking her.
-“A little?” I said in a taut manner.
-“Anyways, getting back to our main topic; what do you know? Or let me put it this way: What do you have against them?”
-“Wait! I need to know exactly who are they, you keep talking about this anonymous group and it makes me more nervous.”
-“Well, they’re not a group. As far as I’m concerned, it’s a secret society that worships money and power. Their ultimate goal is to reach the summit, to break the records and to be unbeatable.”
-“This sounds familiar to me…Something like Illuminatis?”
-“No, it has nothing to do with that. Now, tell me what kind of documents you have!”
-“…Some odd photos and papers with big numbers.”
-“Okay, it could help us. How did you find these goodies by the way?”
-“Last week I was leaving my history class, and then a man in a dark blue suit was rushing to the director office carrying a satchel. He dropped the documents and I went after him with the scattered papers in my hands. But I couldn’t find him. I decided that I will leave them in the reception but when I took a look at them. I changed my mind. I knew something was fishy.”
-“Okay, I understand.”
When we finally arrived at her house, it was already dark.
-“Make yourself comfortable”. She said.
-“You know after I found those documents, I started getting weird private calls…One time, I thought I was being robbed by someone who has a tattoo on his face! But when I thought about it, I knew something was off”.
-“Wait, wait…What have you just said?”
-“I thought that a man with a tattoo was stealing me…”
-“How was his tattoo? Describe it for me please!”
-“It was a rose on his cheek.”
-“This is a relevant detail!”
-“Was it the same man in the suit?”
-“I don’t know. It could be.”
-“I’m going to study those photographs and papers. I’ll provide you in the morning with the maximum of information I could extract from them. For now, you can rest. It was an exhausting day for you.”
-“Thank you!”
-“Your room is upstairs; the one on your right.”
-“Okay! I got it.”
I had terrible nightmares and I couldn’t sleep. At 4am, I joined the detective in her study room.
-“My name is Sarah by the way”. She raised her head smiling at me.
I laughed.
-“Nice to meet you Sarah. So can I help you with something?”
-“Indeed, you can. What was your sister’s birthday?”
-“The fifth of June, 1997”.
-“Well then, I guess I discovered the answer to one of my questions.”
-“I feel like we’re living one of Agatha’s novels.”
-“Look, your sister didn’t die because she knew about the documents; you could’ve died instead of her. You’re the one who found it at the first place.”
-“Meaning?”
-“Meaning; your sister was involved with this society. One of their membership conditions is that you must be in your twenties and you will absolutely agree to obey any of their leaders’ commands. Your sister wasn’t aware of the degree of seriousness of their contract…The punishments were very severe that it could lead to death.”
-“What? No, my sister wouldn’t do such a thing!”
-“I know you’re shocked, but this time you have to trust someone and it’s got to be me”.
-“And how did you figure out all of that?”
-“That’s why I was an ex-detective. Like I said, it was my job.”
-“Okay. Can we go to the police now and tell them everything?”
-“No, not yet, we have to show them other concrete proofs.”
The investigation was on and I was impatient to get rid of the weight on my shoulders.
At 9am, I was drinking tea while Sarah was still working on the case.
-“Yeeeessss!” Sarah screamed.
I ran to the other room to see Sarah’s victory. And what a victory it was!
-“You should hear this!”
-“Tell me!” I was thirsty to know about it.
-“One of the bank accounts on these papers you gave me belongs to Julio: their leader. See, Julio have been transferring millions of dollars to this bank account which also belongs to the man with the tattoo: Edwardo. The interesting fact about this; is that Julio have been giving money to Edwardo three times at row. The first time was a coincidence with the first murder…The second time when, the twenty year old Frank was found dead in his kitchen. And the third time, when your sister died. But they can’t all be coincidences. Can they?”
-“You’re super smart!”
-“Now, all we have to do is go to the police and they’ll take it from here.”
-“That’s it?”
-“That’s it my dear! Bad people always leave marks behind them, because their intelligence is slightly covered by maliciousness.” She laughed.
The nightmare was gone and so was my sister. But I had to move on.
Sarah became my best friend. She tried to fill the gap in my heart, however, the gap was always there reminding me, just like that big sign of something tragic…

Feelings.

I had wings. I flew far away. I fell when I realized it wasn’t real. I fell into a river that couldn’t carry me. I wasn’t floating like a small boat that lost its way. I was going down to where rocks and pebbles were guarding their aquatic kingdom. Coins, necklaces, faded photos…anything that reminds of a mournful past was resting beneath the stars and sunny skies, when only fine strings of light pierce the surface and those inauspicious pieces finally see the day. It was a well that keeps secrets and archives of sad incidents. It was a place where tears were mingled with water. And seldom, it was a place where joy was blended with the scent of seaweed and algae…
I found myself in an unknown desert. I kept walking on the hot sand as if my feet were stepping on burning coal. The scarf on my dizzy head wasn’t protecting me from the sun that made my mind melt. Not even a living creature was crawling. My heart was crawling though. When I arrived at a forsaken oasis, it was too late. I was letting my body to the heat. I collapsed. The desert was an accurate personification of loneliness and despair…
At some point, everything was so confusing like questions with multiple answers. At first, it was meant to make me forget, then it turned into a challenge with myself and then the wheel was spinning so fast I couldn’t stop it. I thought I was playing safe but I was fooling myself and my heart. I was drowning so deep…I was wandering alone in a deserted place; no one could’ve saved me.  I can’t say if I’m really happy or if it’s only one of my sweet illusions. But one thing is sure: feelings don’t lie.  My feelings are real.

Madness.

Her weight was too heavy for the ground to carry her. She fell swiftly like a caducous feather of a migrating bird…Like a yellow roaming leaf in a cold autumn that the wind has displaced…Like a shooting star that no longer belong to the blue space. She was lying on the ground like an unwatered rose. Red has became ten shades lighter. She died for ten minutes, not because she was suffering from cardiovascular disease, but because of twisted lies and disappointments. The kind that makes one takes a deep breath but then never releases it… The kind that makes his eyes pop out staring thoroughly at vacuum. When she woke up after a brief experience of decease, her eyes were a phlegethon, throwing sparks of anger and rage. They couldn’t kill her, but they did inject her with few doses of paranoia and it was very enough to take her on an endless melodramatic journey…
Her heartbeats were scampering like a child who saw a ghost. Her body was extricating big amounts of adrenaline. Fear and anger were her gasoline. Without them, she was going to be bound to a bitter reality; a reality of weakness and incapacity of revenge…
What is it with people that they can’t mind their businesses and live their lives without interfering with others affairs? They won’t calm down, until they give you an insignia of madness and make you one of them. They’ll live to watch you stare at them with idiocy and despair. And when they know that their sins cannot be purified, they make you a sinner like them. Such a bizarre world we live in…
The story of that girl didn’t end well. The antagonists were not leading the story to a stream of positivity and happiness. They were leading everyone, including themselves to disaster and destruction…

Thoughts.

Thoughts: thoughts are like a garrulous friend; a one you can’t bare its never-ending-senseless-conversations… A trivial discussions about closed cases and overlapping topics like the curls of your hair that haven’t been brushed for two days… A scattered words and grammatically mistaken expressions, which annoy your brain… Irritating questions and aggravating reminders that make you want to itch your skin. That’s how thoughts are like… They harass you and hunt you down every time you put your head on a pillow, trying to rest. And just when you attempt to shut them up, the intensity of commonplace ideas flow rises like hot lava in an erupted volcano. They push you to over think and over react to uncomplicated situations.
Thoughts: a word which itself makes you think and rethink about anything that occurs to your mind. Thoughts are an enemy who knows your spots of weakness and can make you break down, like a crashed computer with a damaged motherboard… A director with a competent staff and an excellent action movie scenario… A noisy class full of rowdydowdy students with a teacher who can’t control them…  A heavy rain that makes you wet and cold in a day when you forgot for the first time your umbrella….
Most of the time, thoughts are not the kind of thoughts you would want to think about. But, sometimes they could be interesting and accurate. And if the negativity is replaced with positivity, the sun will be brighter, the sky will be lighter and your life will be better; meaning: even though we’re dominated by our thoughts, we can still reverse the spell and control what we think about in a way that will bring eagerness to our daily lives.

My condolences…

My sincerest condolences to you… to the person I used to hold in high esteem. You’ve lost one of the most precious gifts; the ability to love. Today is the day when we’re all in black and all the eyes behind the dark sunglasses are looking down, when even the crows are shedding tears for your loss.  Just like in movies… I’ll put some lilies on your tomb and pray that you rest in peace among the soil’s bosom. It’s not as warm as your bed used to be, but you’ll get used to it…
This is your miracle: You’re dead and alive…
You’re alive; you can still inhale the air that poisoned your soul in that town of yours… It is so overcast that the ominous clouds perched on your heart…But you’re dead. You can’t feel anymore, you can’t even feel your own heartbeats… And what a terrible incident my dear! Few people were lucky enough to savor affection and still appreciate it even when it’s sour. And today, one of them is gone and forgotten. It’s so easy to hate, to hold a grudge towards someone, to despise even the oxygen he/she breaths. However, it’s so hard to love. It’s so arduous to still find reasons to love someone. Our world has to be pacific, has to be safe and sound for the next generations… Because wars not only destroy building facilities and factories, wars kill people. And that’s a commit of murder in the sake of justice. But what if justice thinks that war is the ultimate solution? well then our world is in serious danger. And that’s why the capacity to love and to forgive is as important as the greenhouse effect. They both impact the stability of our earth… They both can change so many things on a global scale.
And so, my condolences to every human being who lost the most powerful elixir that can cure almost everything; humanity, to every person who lost her/himself and can no longer be called a human. Because love is what keeps us alive, is what provide our bodies with energy and heat and love is what makes us humans.

How to write a spell.

It all started with a broom she rode under the inviting fluorescent moon fibers, which made her want to never land and overhead the fog that was hiding landscapes and wooden roofs. She wasn’t a witch neither a fairy. She was Alice in wonderland… The broom was taking her to a place not so far from where she came from. It was only following the map of her heart. And her heart belonged to where the memories of her childhood remained. Every time she went to that magical bosom place, she was spellbound…
It occurred to her many times to just drop the cards and the dices, because she wasn’t the type of a gamer: the type who can put his neck on the line and still think can win. She was the kind who believes in dream catchers and happy endings.  The scared little girl inside of her would never let her to taste a bit of peril. Her only escape was the place where the broom was taking her; an escape from nightmares and bad days.
Even though she wasn’t a witch, she could write a spell which enabled her to fly away. The spell was so easy that it only took her to close her eyes and fall into a deep peaceful sleep…

Dear world

Dear world,

it is an utter fact that the content’s type greatly matters to readers, in general viewers. Thus, the author should be very careful about the ideas he generates into the text which should also be interconnected via paragraphs and words. But, people don’t take under consideration the efforts an author make to deliver such a good content.
Nowadays, there are some individuals who navigate through the internet and lamentably do not know how to differ between an entertaining post and a stupid one. The internet is full of videos about a girl who accidentally shaved her brow or a little boy who fell when riding his bike… And I think that’s not what people really need to see. As a blogger/ writer, I have noticed that they would rather watch a scandalous video than read a couple lines about a certain topic.  Literature is underrated, neglected and considered as a tedious theme, the thing which is unfortunate. Now, I don’t know if it’s only the case in my country or if it’s international. However, I do know one thing; I don’t want to see someone posting an insignificant photo and seeking likes in a facebook group, or a useless video circulating in instagram. I want to see what’s happening currently in the world: interesting news and big titles… I want to read others thoughts; I want to see how people think. I am more curious about their opinions concerning a certain article or a certain event than about some girl who shaved her brow. Is that how our minds will flourish and our skills will improve? No, that’s not how. We need to read useful stuff. Not any random meaningless posts.
If you’re still wondering about the link between the salutation above and the underestimated literature, well then, the world has to take into account the writers and the bloggers who are passionate for sharing their work and has absolutely to recognize their remarkable efforts to create a pertinent content.

Our silent moments.

The curtains were swinging around the windows like little girls chasing butterflies in a flowery orchard…The breeze was kissing softly our cheeks like an old lover whose kisses still trigger smoke and flames in our hearts… The moon was spotlighting the lenses of our eyes like actors on a theatre stage…The dark blue sky was looking like a deep rambunctious ocean in a stormy day, where ships could sink…And the few stars that were assembled around the moon were making the performance compelling and gleaming, like a classical ballet show where the moon was the first dancer… The hot cups in our hands were getting cold as we swam in our own thoughts and fought our own deafening minds. The blankets which were only covering our legs were slipping down, but we didn’t care about the frostiness which was gnawing our bones. The night was hushed and the silence was keen, our mouths couldn’t speak a word even though each one of us had a story to tell; a story of his own chaotic life. It was chilling how we were just sitting there like puppets in a somber dollhouse. We were like prisoners in a raw cell, condemned to cut our tongues, we couldn’t sleep even though we were very tired; tired of what the universe has put us through. We didn’t know we were dealing with liars and traitors. Now, each one of us has trust issues and can’t trust even his mind. The world stole our dreams and threw them in space. The stars were our only hope to find them again within other inconceivable wishes. We were petrified of what might comes next, of the nightmares we couldn’t get rid of and of the luck that was never smiling to our ashen faces…

Defining beauty.

Defining beauty is a labyrinth where you can get lost, a crossword game that can never be solved and the holy grail of the Knights of the Round Table which can never be found. It is acutely complex and can lead to many dead end roads seeing that beauty cannot be concentrated in a simple phrase composed with few words and gathered to form a rational explanation. Beauty does not need to be comprehended and does absolutely not need to be logical. It is abstract and vague and that’s what makes beauty beautiful. Beauty is everywhere. It can be manifested in the mere things around us …
It is present in the ancient Greek sculptures that witnessed Greece’s history, a heritage to the lovers of beauty and art… We can observe it in the sophisticated ornaments, in the colorful window panes and in the altar’s angels of the cathedral Notre-Dame located in Paris, which is considered as a true masterpiece…Or in Louvre Pyramid that turns into a huge marvelous lantern by night. And if we travelled from Paris to Italy, we would be greatly fascinated by the mystery of Florence’s Dome which Brunellesco has delicately architected and has left to the world as a miracle of beauty and a destination of many art admirers.
Beauty is unsolvable like the mystery of De Vinci’s Monalisa and exactly like the secret behind her smile that remains undiscovered and that was buried along with Leonard in his tomb…It is almost perfect like Boticelli’s Venus that many people are crushing on or like an antique porcelain vase from the Egyptian civilization. Beauty is hidden between the lines of Shakespear’s Sonnets…
Beauty drove Polykleitos to put a mathematical measure for it as a rule to find its perfect proportions: Aesthetic canon.
Beauty is not a pretty face or a perfect shaped body; it is the innocence, the softness and the pure nature of life manifestations.

The loss of my gem.

The clock was ticking…The faded white lights were giving an intense headache…the scent of the bleak room was screaming sickness and death and all we had was 2 hours before the sunrise, when the blueness of the sky invites again the birds from all over the trees, performing their harmonic routine, singing their morning symphony declaring another happy day. But we weren’t happy…Before the big bang… when the shreds left from the explosion cut the strings of our hearts detaching them from our bodies and making us bleed until the last drop of blood is poured…Before the unique exotic treasure is extinct… and the mystery of its magnificence is forever gone…Before the last molecule of oxygen is consumed when the inhaled air makes the motionless body laying on the bed appear more dead. All we had was 2 hours and of course, it wasn’t enough. Whatever time we had, it was never going to be enough. It was tragic but my heart was too broken and too devastated to feel anything. And that’s what made that tragedy more tragic. All I could think of was a hurricane and an earthquake.
The scene in my head was that the hurricane went through me and broke all of my bones. As for the earthquake, it was shaking the phlegmatic ground under my feet until suddenly I found myself in a deep dark well.
All those people who came and went into our crowded house were just instilling more misery and melancholy in the walls that could tell beautiful stories of the past…in the pictures that were staring back at me and in every corner of that house which still holds many memories. They say that time can heal wounds, even the deepest ones. But I think that’s not true. The wounds are never really healed because time only hand you the gift of forgetfulness when you learn how to be patient… So the scars are always there as a stamp of the sad history and the mournful past.