Whenever I wanted to relax, I simply asked about her day. She has a way of composing her sentences and a particular rhythm to anything she says that is just utterly unwinding. I don’t know how she does it, but it is almost as if she has a button or something that goes off whenever anyone asks her anything. She talks like she has been thinking about it for hours, gone through several drafts and presents you with a perfectly finished piece, every word matters. But she does it on the spot, every time. I listen to her talking as if I am hearing a lullaby, being gently rocked and having my hair caressed at once. When I lean my head and sigh loudly, she knows what comes next. Continue reading
“But why the Library?”
I hear that a lot. Right after that question there’s always the remark, “there’s nothing there”. It is, obviously, not true. There are the books, for starts, and all the knowledge that comes with them. There are music and movies, even video games. But, most of all, there is silence. I can be at peace here, quiet with my stories and my thoughts, free to live my life the best I can. And there are also a lot of places to hide. Because, you know, the world is still a dangerous place. Continue reading
A red convertible Jaguar XKR-S speeds through the narrow tunnel, drifting as the road curves ahead of it. Right behind, a cobalt blue Aston Martin Vanquish performs the same stunts. Any inadvertent bystander observing the scene would be forced into a double take; it was easy to believe the same person is driving both cars. They screech into a full stop side by side, ignoring the fact the two-lane road is meant to cars going both directions. Roger, the driver on the Jaguar, stands up to better enjoy the view. The road is clear, empty and covered by a bright blue, cloudless sky, allowing one’s sight to reach as far as it can get. It curves ahead, surrounded by a mountain range on the left and a wavy plateau on their right. Far in the distance, a river and a bridge almost touching the horizon. A magnificent view, like a postcard picture, just outside their family’s estate in Switzerland.
“So, are you up for it?” Continue reading
While she packs, Samantha takes a look around her soon-to-be old room. Unlike most teenage girl’s rooms, the walls are not decorated with band posters and their cute-handsome lead singers. Instead, the neatly arranged space sports an abundance of artwork replicas, fantasy illustrations seeming to be taken from European comic books, and drawings. She likes to draw. Not that she is any good at it, but it doesn’t matter. She likes doodling, especially the feel of the pencil on paper. And, despite her lack of talent, she ended up creating a style of her own. Her oddly shaped acoustic guitar, present in everything she draws, is like her signature. Continue reading