Thirstiness

That's not sad story. Really.

But, well, read and tell me what you think :)

Thirstiness

He opened his eyes. Sun blinded him, he felt heat burning his back, feet, face... As if he dived in boiling water. But it was sun, just sun. And the sand. He opened his eyes, but he weren't able to do anything else. He couldn't feel his body. He didn't know who he is or where he is or why he is at all. And opening eyes is so natural after waking up.

He couldn't see his arms, legs... he didn't know how old he is. He was human, that's sure, but what is human? He was human and nothing more.

After heat he felt thirtiness. 

Thirstiness must be natural too. Where you exist, only exist, on the sand under the sun, you must feel thirstiness. Thinking about thirstiness or rather about not being thirsty he remembered water. he didn't know what water is, but he understood that it's able to douse the sun and the heat inside in. And it means that it must be... wet.

How did he know what it means? He was, he was wet. Wet human burned by heat inside and outside, with opened eyes.

After thirstiness he felt pain.

It came unawares, suddenly. His body burned again, different way. He felt that he should shout, writhe and call for help. But he was too tired. Furthermore he wanted to cognize this body, cognize who he is. So he waited.

Time... He knew time, he remembered time. Time was taking. It was taking saturation and it was giving thirstiness. So was it taking heat? Was it giving cold? Inside, outside? Was it giving relief in pain? Could time give... freedom?

He wasn't free. He saw only the sun, and he wouldn't be able to see anything else if he wanted to. So he wasn't free. 

Truly he was never free.

After pain he felt blood.

He didn't know it exist, he would call it different if he knew. But he felt it. He felt it under his eyes, inside and outside simultaneously. He felt that it's warm and sweet.

Warm. Sweet. Warm means colder than heat, but hotter than cold. Sweet is different than bitter. He felt bitterness. He felt sand in his mouth... in the inside he felt blood in. Blood was wet too, but it didn't douse the thirstiness.

He choked. It's so natural when your mouth is full of sand and blood. And then he felt pain again.

Thirstiness - he felt it all the time. Truly everybody is enslaved. By thirstiness. He didn't know who everybody is. Maybe it's sun, maybe it's sun and blood and water... Or maybe there's no everyone, maybe he's alone? Or maybe everybody is, and maybe everybody is alone, maybe everybody looks at the sun and feels blood, pain and has mouth full of blood and sand and thirsts?

Then he felt smell.

The smell was salt. Different than sand and blood. You couldn't feel it by your mouth. He didn't know what he was feeling it by, but he did.

Then he waited, he waited again for something new. Something that can be known, defined, described... something that will last. Like pain, thirstiness, blood, water, sand and smell. Like the sun. Like the heat. He felt only time. It took long time before something new appeared.

 He expected this. He remembered. One tiny memory. Two colours. Blue above, sky. And green beneath, grass. He missed them. They must heve been somewhere there, beyond the sun, beyond the sand, but must have been so far away, that he, human, will never reach them. Reach...

So there's space. That's comforting that there exists something else but what he knew. It means, that if there's another human, he sees and feels different things. And maybe there's another human that sees something different and maybe he tells him what he sees?

Tells. Can he tell something? How to check it? He has to try.
He started to thing about something he can say, but then suddenly he heard:
- I'm dying. 
So he could hear. And he could talk. And... he was dying? What does it mean, dying?
He remembered. That existing is useful. You can remember. If there only wasn't heat, pain, thirtiness, blood... but then there wasn't existing. Because dying is to... stop feeling, hearing, telling, remembering.
Die means close eyes.

The price of existence is great.
"I only want to - thought he - remember something. Something small, something last. I want to remember another human. I don't know how he could look like. Look means being seen".
He felt the time again. Little less heat, more pain, more thirstiness. Less blood. Less sand. Same smell. And sun... all the time.
That's natural, that's existence.
He remembered.
Last, tiny memory.
Sky, grass and sun. The sun was human. He remembered it and he knew it, because that sun didn't blind him and he didn't feel the heat. This sun was warm, sweet and cold.
He wished he could see it. Not only remember, but see. He wished he could feel something with it, one tiny feeling, like heat and cold, tiny smell or something completly new. But how to do it? He didn't know where is this second human, he didn't know how to get close to him.

That's why he felt time again, because he could always feel time.
And he remembered again, but he thought, that he wouldn't like to remember this. There's no way to second human. It doesn't exist any more. There's only one way before him, uncertain and unknown.
He didn't fear. He couldn't remember what fear is. He couldn't remember the way too, and he'd probably fear if he could.
"I just haven't remembered it yet" - thought he - "And I would wait until I do, but I don't like time anymore. I remember that it took another human from me. And he gave nobody else. Only heat, pain, blood, sand, smell, water... thirtiness. I won't wait for time. Time is bitter as the sand, blinding as the sun, sharp as the pain and heat and implacble as the thirstiness."
I will remember the only way.
Maybe he should feel time, a bit more, but he wanted to be free. And he thought, that the way he couldn't remember, will set him free.
That's why he didn't feel time anymore.
He closed his eyes.

Star Flowers - part II

Hope you'll read it (and hope you'll like it)

Star Flowers II

I was born in really beautiful elvish land. It's separated from people by the high, always snow-covered mountains. It's full of grass and flowers. There are wild forests on the shores of our land. They like us, because we don't hurt the trees, and we burn only the dead ones.

We love and respect nature in our land. We build houses from stone or we live on the trees, we can eat all the fruits and drink water from every stream, because it's clean. Animals are our friends and we give life to trees to walk and to talk to us and to defend the forests against the greedy people. They come closer and closer. They've forgotten about us for long years, and it was beutiful time, full of joy, illuminated by starlight. Fianally they recalled us, but they didn't belive in us, and we lived for them only in fairytales.

Then they wanted to possess our treasure, that we've never had and our lands, that we've never possessed. They reached us during the day, when we were hiding in forest.

Elves don't like sun, they prefer starlight so they leave forests and houses during the night. We never sleep, but we rest before night, which is for us like day for people.

They came to our villages with weapon. But we were still stronger than them - strong, clever, immortal. We don't sleep, don't want to collect wealth. We're completly different from people.

We didn't kill them, hurt only, and we let them go back to their lands. We hoped they'll never come back. Unfortunately, we didn't know people, or rather we knew people many years ago. And many years ago they weren't vindictive or tempered, they weren't full of anger or bitterness and their minds weren't poisoned by the desire for material goods. People came back in more than before and defeated us. Some of us ran away, but the most was taken to human lands, called countries. It wasn't the only hunting and elves had to leave home, cut their hair, put on human clothes and mix with their torturers. They wanted to rescue their brothers, but they usually were enslaved then too.

Elves married people to be safe, but even then neither they or their children were completly safe. Many people knew they're somewhere in the town. They reveal their families, sold their own children at the fairs. It was terrible time; most elves died then. Slavery is dangerous for elves, because they die if they lose interest in life or forget about their homeland or brothers.

We die when we don't want to live anymore. And we belive that we'll all meet after death in the land of green fields, forests and moutains, in which we'll be safe, because there will be no people.In those lands time doesn't matter, so years of our brothers' lifes pass in a few moments and then we're together. Everyone.

The worst in captivity was that I lived. I could live seeing my brothers on the streets, knowing that even though unhappy, they are still alive. And then, after many years, during which we grew in anger, longing for home and diminished hope for freedom, elves trade became restricted. They recognized us as dead. Then traders introduced the black market in which they sold crippled creatures that should look like people. From the glare of the sun, our eyes went pale. Our hair, cut short, once long and in all colors became gray and dull, lifeless. Our distinctive ears were cut to look like human’s, but for we were still able to hear. Our skin darkened from the sun, hands scuffed from work when we bore burdens with narrowed eyes. We were detained in cramped wooden cages, so nights that we've always loved became torture. We did not see the stars and we could not communicate with our brothers even by thoughts. And the wounded trees groaned around us, begging for death. We were told to eat crushed plants, whole, not only their fruits, which plants sacrifice for us as food. But the worst part was the meat. We were told to eat animals that we loved, that were equal to us, that we respected in our homeland. We cried by many tears of helplessness, but our flowers died without starlight. Over the years, our eyes have dried up and our tears were not able to bring star flowers alive anymore. Many decades we survived in cramped cages, living just because others have lived.

Later they released us and they gave us to people. As if we were objects. Although people abhorred touching us, they viewed us and selected the strongest. We were, however, too weak to stand up and resistance them.

We had to work for them, at the beck and call. At the command we laughed and we cried, we worked and we were beaten, permitted to be pushed around and punished for being elves. We hated people and we could not forgive them that they made us feeling hate. We felt sorry for them as well, deplored their stupidity and ignorance, but we were not able to break free. And when hope began to die, and the last elves with it, like a light in a tunnel there appeared stars.

For brief moments we were relocated to our lands and we were together again.

We met in the fields, like ghosts; thoughts of the living and memories of the dead. Fields flashed hundreds of flowers, trees surrounded us desiring our company, and the animals came out of the forest and rub against our immaterial hands. Our faces paled and smoothed, the hair grew back, our eyes began to shine and opened widely, absorbing starlight. Ears turned out to be whole and undamaged. Hope joined in our hearts. There was new eternity after eternity of captivity. We wanted to get away. We started to make plans and although sad everyday came with the sunrise, we – dirty and mutilated – were regaining strength. That was true what Kigus wrote about us: our physical strength comes from the strength of the interior, the mind, the hope and the pure heart. If there is something we belive in, we become invulnerable, insurmountable. We feed with starlight, we feed our hearts by it, our souls and our minds, we revive our night flowers by it.  

We became warm, alive. Every night we were together. We revived our stories, we recollected our names, we regained faith.

My story goes on. I’m waiting for the night, trying to survive the day and dreaming of the time I will return home. For the first time in hundreds of years, millions of days I believe in freedom.

Star Flowers

Star Flowers - part I

There's a frightening silence in here...

I dedicate this story to my friend Kinga, who wanted me so much to buy her elf.

  Part I

My name is Kigus and I will tell you my dream, which prompted me to write this story.
I dreamt of green fields, full of people. They were people like our slave, that means not the people. They were elves, real, alive, free. They were standing in large circles under the stars and whispering. It was a spell, a good spell. When I took a breath, the sky lit up another star. The elves were holding hands, and I saw how tears flow down her cheeks, quite different from humans'. They were silver and glittering like stars. And when those tears dripped onto the grass, the silver flowers, glowing like stars, grew up in here. The cool, beautiful light beamed from them and lit up the earth as the stars light up the sky. Soon all the field was covered with flowers and a fairy glow fell on elves' faces, twisted in pain. They held their hands stronger and started to speak spells louder.
Suddenly I found myself in the middle of the smallest inner circle. I turned around, watching the faces, but still I wanted to see the silver flowers. Then the elf, which stood ahead cried and silver flower blossomed right before my feet. I knelt slowly and touched its petal. It was cold, and in the place where he came into contact with my skin,it turned cold blue. I shivered. I did not know what was happening to me, but I did not want to think about it. Magical flower hypnotized me. The longer I looked at him, the more I wanted to pluck it. With trepidation I took the silver petals and I had the impression that little plant is trembling, as if waiting to see what happens. I clenched my hand on the stalk. "It's now or never," I thought, and yanked my hand. I almost screamed when I saw the blood on my hands. The flower was still stuck in the ground, and there was a deep wound on my hand. I watched in disbelief at the work of elves. A few drops of blood fell one after the other on a flower.
Then several things happened at the same time. Elf with a further circle screamed, fell to the ground and disappeared,  flower turned gray, and finally brown and fell to the ground, and the elves began to shout spell. They did not look at me, began to dissolve in my eyes, and their cry became more uniform and then I realized that it was my cry.
I woke up scared in a quiet and warm bedroom. The Sun was rising.
My daughter was born that day.
She was the first girl of many generations in our lineage.
"Is not she beautiful?" asked my wife, as beautiful as a summer evening. But my daughter really was beautiful. And I knew that she will not only surpass the beauty of his mother, but also all the women in the city, maybe even in the country.
A story that I mentioned, it's about elf. My dream for a few weeks overshadowed by the birth of my daughter, returned to me. I could not stop thinking about it and I wanted to recall when in my house appeared a stranger representative of elvish race. It must have been a very, very long time ago, and writing this I mean that it had to happen several generations ago, in the days when the Elves were numerous, and slavery approved.
Now the ratio for "free homework help" as it soothes the phenomenon is rather unfavorable. Of course it's accepted that rich families, performing in major functions are available to that type of service, but the slave markets are gone. And last official hunts for elves and half or even quarterelves were at mygrandfather's grandfather times.
Our slave probably appeared at the time of Gilbur the Eldest (skip describing, whose grandfather he and how many generations separates it from mine). At this point, accidental readers may notice strange age of my slave, but I will explain to the uninitiated that the elves are immortal and age, at least in the physical sense, has no effect on them. Since, however, it's not accept to talk about slaves too much, I'll skip the rest of the details of his ... otherness. I will only add that they were enslaved not without reason and not without reason they are considered to be extinct. In our world everything has a reason.
In all of the old diaries and chronicles I have found nothing about the slave, except that by some men of the house was praised for honest work, especially at a time when trade elves briefly became completely banned and you had to be careful that the "free worker" is not lost. Because immortality does not apply to, inter alia: mechanical injuries ...
I rejected diary with disgust. "Mechanical injuries" and "free worker are nonsense. I would like to tell you my true story, because although it was many hundreds of years ago, I remember it perfectly, and I still return to the most beautiful moments of life in my dreams. Because I am a slave. I also have a name, forgotten and old, but saved from oblivion after I got captured. I can not pronounce it, because it is written in runes and in a language that I do not remember, but I know what it means in the language of the people. Means "oath". Sure you do not know how sad it is to forget the name. But I remember how my friends said it: with love and devotion. They have never treated me as worse. We were equal.

Prologue

Story as old as... well, really old. And in chapters of course! :)

 Prologue

Unless the entire city gathered in the courtyard. There were here the wealthiest merchants, and craftsmen, and even toothless beggars. Everyone gathered around the New King, Markus IV. At the head of a young lord was the gold crown. When Luxuks stood before the king, he felt like he was only a small, insignificant vermicule. Even his cleverness and resourcefulness can not match the power that lies now in the hands of the King, who a few days ago, was a liege of the Old King too. However, since the old king has had no children, folk chose Markus IV for the King. Now he extended his hand to  Luxuks and friendly patted him on the shoulder. Probably it would add courage to him, but it only terrified man even more. In times like this the brilliance of his mind did not represent any value properly. But the people wanted him to Advisor, and this means that they trust, maybe even a little admire him. Of course, not now, when they can admire the magnificent Sovereign, not now, when Luxuks is only his shadow. But then he heard the words of the King and with emotion, his knees buckled beneath him. It is true that the oath must be submitted on their knees anyway, but the emotion that Luxuks felt at that moment was so strong! He felt that it is his place, and that he is ready to sacrifice his life for the King.
- Luxuks, son of Luxuks, do you vow to be faithful to me? Do you swear to do anything for the sake of me and my people, for the sake of my Kingdom, ground you walk on and which feeds you? Do you promise to guide me when I lose my way and stop me before the decision threatening Kingdom? Do you promise to give his life for me and for my people, and do you swear to bury me with dignity? Can you replace me after my death to elect a new king?

He could not remember how to answer the King. Words of the oath impressed him so much that he forgot who he was and only King reminded him of his name:

- So Luxuks, son of Luxuks, I make you my advisor. From now you will be wearing name Luxuks Advisor of the King and you'll be with me to make decisions of the utmost importance. Cheers Luxuks! Cheers Luxuks, Adviser of the King!

He would not lie saying that this was the happiest day of his life. He felt this way for the first time since he has left alone. After the loss of the family he did not expect happiness. Now, however, he felt that he was in his place, and that only now begins his story.

Story with picture

There's a competiotion in magazine i read. You have to write about some picture. I tried once and I failed, so I thought that might be a good idea to show it to you. Simple and short and, of course, with picture.
I hope you'll like it.

Theater

The day began as usual. Sadly. At six o'clock the sound of rain woke me up. Open eyes. Get out of bed. Breakfast. No, no breakfast. Coffee ... no, just strong tea. School. Strange ... I felt completely ridiculous fear of school, paralyzing me every morning. But I've never been ridiculed, abused, or even gossiping, despite the unusually low growth ... This strange fear was - even for myself - just a mystery.

But of course I went there, as always. Slowly, without haste ... shuffling in the pouring rain. Feeling more lonely than usual in a big building, I escaped from the "colleagues" and curled up on the floor at the classroom door.

I closed my eyes. I stopped to hear what's going on around me, drifting away. I left, disappeared ...

I missed this place. I come here very often.

I opened my eyes. I was still hunched over, but now I heard nothing but silence.

I straightened up, came down from the high stool and looked around, especially trying to figure out where exactly I am. I haven’t thought about it before. Everything was much higher than it should, and I found myself smaller and younger than I should. In fact, I was a little boy again, gray and sad. I stood on the big stage, in the theater filled with people. I did not feel intimidated, on the contrary: only here, I felt that I was in place I belong.

It was here where I used to come in hardest moments of my life.

I lived because of it, I dreamed and thought only about it. I did not completely understand it, but I loved it. Only when the time does not matter, when nothing really matters, you can feel really safe. I can feel really safe. I stood up. From the audience came an undamped laughter: here I have always been who I felt like - quite independently of age, and this place existed after all for ... forever. I smiled like when I tell a good joke, of course I knew what made people laugh. I took off my high clown’s cap from my head and I bowed with flourish. Laughter turned into applause. Did I really deserve it? Did I do something important? I grinned and bowed again. People got up and began to whistle, shout and wave.

I felt better as a child, in my high cap. I understood that. Crowd kept making the noise.

They want me to stay with them.

I want it too, it’s good in here, better than in reality, than in the real, distant world.

But I have to go back, I have to live ... Even the sound is familiar, reminiscent muffled chatter at the break. And rain.

I put a hat on my head and I went back into the chair.

Hunched up, leaned his chin on his hands. I have to go back. I have to learn to be brave and strong in the real world.

People froze, motionless, and in the silence I heard a frantic pounding of my own heart. Despite thinking, despite understanding I felt I was doing it in spite of myself, I should not have done that. One more moment. Last.

I closed my eyes. Coming back is always more difficult, because “coming back” means “coming home”, and that place is not home. Slowly, I began to hear the sounds of everyday life again.

School hall swarming with students. I got up from the floor, casually brushed off clothes and went to class. Everyone already took place, so the twenty-five pairs of eyes watched my every move. I looked out the window and for a moment in the rain I saw the face of a little boy. He looked at me and smiled, but drops of water ran down his small face like tears. Mimicking his movement I quickly raised my hand to my head and I took off my high clown hat with flourish. I put it on the table next to a large notebook. Then I opened it slowly and said:

- Take out your pens and write the subject, please.

The story of the Rebel

Story

Not actually funny, but (I hope) worth of reading. Sorry for possible mistakes. Hope I'm still better than Google Translator :) 

Rebel

The story I would like to tell starts in a really strange place - psychiatric hospital. I come here every week for psychotherapy since my parents have divorced. 
That day, and it was as usually Monday, I got out the bus with my head bowed. Actually I had to raise it quickly, because of group of patients, who went for a walk - I didn't want to hit anybody. The few of them waved to me. I faked a smile and - how strange - I felt better. 
I opened the heavy door and flinched. There was a boy standing behind a huge wardrobe. He was smoking a cigarette - stank terribly. I looked at him with contempt, but my heart has trembled when I saw his face. 
I knew him...

***

 I was coming back from a shop week ago. I live in quite unpleasant district, so I wasn't surprised when I saw a bunch of teenagers in front of me. I raised my head and I wanted to overtake them indifferently, but one of them said something really vulgar about me. I got mad. I stopped thinking, I strongly stepped on his foot. I grabbed and yanked the sleeve of his leather jacket. 

"Say it again!" yelled I. He was my height, so he could not look at me from above, but he smirked and pulled the sleeve out of my grasp.
"Watch out, baby..." smiled another one.
"Stop" broke the quiet voice. He belonged to a high boy with blue eyes and blond hair.
"Oh, Rebel spoke..." with a bit of respect in his voice commented one of ugly guys. Rebel didn't honor him with a look. He turned his head and looked at the one who accosted me. If I had not trembled with fear, I would have hissed; his gentle, almost girlish appearance was spoiled by ugly scar, running through the right cheek to the eye.
"Say sorry" ordered quietly.
"Are you mad?!" vulgar individual, unscrupulous, roared on half the street.
"Say sorry, buddy" slightly sharper said Rebel.
"Sorry..." reluctantly and clearly insincere hissed second idiot, not looking at me. Gang boss nodded. I managed to catch a glimpse of him. Icy dispassionately.
They left and I breathed a sigh of relief, feeling my knees are trembling.
And now, with a cigarette in hand, Rebel stood in the entrance to a psychiatric hospital.
"Well... hello" said I shyly. He nodded. His eyes were cold.
But all that changed after a few weeks, when I realized that the Rebel will spend some time here. I decided to treat him like the rest of my friends - with sympathy.
I do not know when our knowledge grew into a friendship. But I felt like with every visit to the hospital we both became truer.
It was an amazing feeling. New feeling. We trust each other and as we spoke I smiled more and more often and thought less and less about my own problems.
His ones were actually even too serious for me. He told me why he's here and why he has this horrible scar. He said that ...
... "They recognized my rebellion as a disease. They said that I was sick, that healthy people do not try to kill themselves."
Our relationship was strange, I admit. Aroused in me strange feelings - whether you can really trust someone enough to talk about his illness, and do not tell your real name?
Rebel ...
On the last day when I talked with him, he was very kind to me. Warm. Really alive - like he finally broke out of this nasty half-living with thoughts of death. When I said that I have to go home, he hugged me and said:
"I'm glad you're so special."
Then it turned out that he was not happy. He was joyful because he finally was able to develop a final, almost perfect plan. When I came back a week later, he was not alive.
Fortunately, he was not dead.
I sat with him and with horror I thought about what he said about dying: "When the disease makes it becomes the target of death, dying is simply not very pleasant, but necessary step in achieving this goal."
The doctors said that his condition improves. That he certainly will wake up.
But he was a rebel. He was not going to wake up.