OH GOD IT'S FINALLY OVER!

4 minutes ago I sent my short story commission to the contest.
Writing it was hell.
Especially when I finished it and then I looked to the contest's page and there was, in little writing, that the story must have max. 1500 words.
I had 2600.


I'm not going to win, that's for sure.
But it was thrilling to do it.
The path is the destination this time.

It's called "Welcome to the Small World".

From the memoirs of Kyle Reeves

Hey, I know I've been abandoning this blog lately.
That's cause I'm trying to focus on a short story for a contest, that I'm writing.
And so, I had a cool idea. When I just tonight booted up my old computer, I found my last year's commission.
It's not good, but hey, it's something, right?
So here it goes:


xxx

I got out of my bed, intending to find out the cause of the eery noises that woke me up.  As I walked into the parlour, I was mesmerized by the reflection of shattered pieces of glass in the bright moonlight. The window glass was broken and a stone big as a fist was lying the middle of the room. I ran to the window, hoping I would see the perpetrator, yet the only thing that was revealed to me by the flickery light of the street lamp was a beautiful woman body on the pavement beneath my window.  Little brooks of crimson blood were running down her white dress and her smile was twisted into a grotesque grimace. I have recognized her in an instant.

Terrible fear seized me and I felt hot sweat on my back.  My mind was clouded by anger and rage. I took the stone and smashed the cupboard. I stepped on a sharp piece of glass and cut my foot, however I did not feel any pain at all.  I was breathing fast and steam was coming out of my mouth. The blood was slowly dripping out of my foot, but I had even more pressing concern at the time. That beauteous damsel was my Zoe.

I am certain that those, who will read these memoirs of mine, know all details of this unfortunate event. Therefore I will not describe these notorious facts profoundly. I tumbled down the stairs and quailed beside her body. I began screaming, partly for help and partly just because of the misery I felt.

As you presumably know, Zoe was the daughter of Jack – the local chief of police. Thereby I was not surprised by his early arrival. He was shocked and dismayed when he saw that dreadful spectacle.

 I remember only one more thing from that fateful night: The hate in Jack’s eyes as he looked to me.

From his point of view the course of events was straightforward. My feelings for Zoe were well-known to him and my lovelorn was a perfect motive. But I l loved her even after the break up. I would never hurt her.

I was nothing but a perfect scapegoat. I have always been a troublemaker, had problems with alcohol, was kicked out of university. Everyone in town now thinks I’m a madman, an infatuate. The only thing I can do now is to wait for the rope to tie around my neck.

The only person that was not completely against me was the priest. I was never a believer and I have sinned, but he was not like the others. I could open to him and he would not reject me. So now, since that terrible event, I spend all of my days with him. I finally got the psychology magazine to publish one of my articles, so I have some money left. I do not think I am going to work anymore ever. The trial is tomorrow and I do not even have a lawyer. But I try to be calm. I listen to the priest’s peaceful, solemn voice and at this time, his words seem to be only thing that is solid in my life. He is wise and he says: “Our deeds have traveled far. What we have been is what we are.” And I feel bleak, but I am not scared: I accept what must come.

At such times a question comes to mind: Shouldn’t I have lived my life differently? This would not happen to a better person, I keep telling myself. People cannot see inside me, they know me from the stories. And that is not who I am.  And I will pay the highest price for this fatality.

I am now sitting in my window, staring down at the pavement. It looks like nothing ever happened there. The whisky tastes even sourer than ever before and these are the last lines of my writings:

I could not bear the shame of being convicted of killing my dear and I fear of the public execution. The life taught me, that everything that matters is a story we leave behind. The stories keep us alive, when there is nothing else left. That is why I have to do, what I am going to do. I hope this reminiscence of mine will bring attention to the death of my dearest Zoe, and that her killer will be brought to justice. Tomorrow, people will find me in the same place as I found her, on that fateful night.

I will never know, who killed poor Zoe, and why. That troubles me most. I ask you, my reader, find that miscreant and cleanse my name.

Long time no see

I was just writing a post here to say how greatly reliable my old laptop is, when it suddenly crashed.
Typical.

Anyway, I got it all up again and I'm rolling.
I have plenty of work to do, but I'm solving the puny problems of m-fin' viruses.

I raged into the virus fight on my newer laptop, and manage to slain 23 of these villains, till they finally overcame me.

Now my laptop can't be booted. Great!
And who is to blame for?
2 goddamn letters in the registry, that's who.
Some virus implemented its own .dll file into booting process, replaced the legit one.
Now my antivirus deleted the virus .dll.
So booting process now links to an invalid .dll and the fucker just doesn't start.
So I gotta dig deep down to the registry and somewhere there change "con" to "win".
Cool.


Hm, I'm starting to like this old laptop of mine,
dell inspiron 6400, 2x 1,6ghz core2duo and integrated graphics.
As much as I've used to hate it lagging all the time.
It's a cool place to backup to.
And it holds many secrets of the past...

Maslow was a cool guy.

Self-actualization (wiki: Maslow's hierarchy):
“What a man can be, he must be.”[9] This forms the basis of the perceived need for self-actualization. This level of need pertains to what a person's full potential is and realizing that potential. Maslow describes this desire as the desire to become more and more what one is, to become everything that one is capable of becoming.[10] This is a broad definition of the need for self-actualization, but when applied to individuals the need is specific. For example one individual may have the strong desire to become an ideal parent, in another it may be expressed athletically, and in another it may be expressed in painting, pictures, or inventions.[11] As mentioned before, in order to reach a clear understanding of this level of need one must first not only achieve the previous needs, physiological, safety, love, and esteem, but master these needs.
xxx
Maslow defined self-realizated persons as:
-Accepting the reality of life, instead avoiding it or rebelling against it
-Creative and spontaneous in their thoughts and actions
-Creative
-Interested in solving problems, even problems of other people. Solving those problem is important in their lives
-Feeling the presence of others and respecting them and life generally.
-Inner ethics and morale independent on outer authority
-Judging others without prejudice, in a way that could be deemed objective



xxx


Damn fuckin' right!

On y go 2 - Je l'aime un petit peu plus de majorité des choses d'autre.

This world, this Aurillac, it's small.
And it's lost.

On y go - The city of endless possibilities. For some.

I'm lying in my bedroom, in Aurillac.
A lovely city in France on the first sight.
The most peculiar city I've ever seen after a day spent.

The city, where hash is cheaper than McDonald's wrap.
Literally.

They say that Aurillac is the city, to which all the drugs that come to France go to be redistributed.

So obviously, there are quite some people who spent their youth and pretty much all of their lives being baked all the time.

And the family I'm staying at is so Christian, they won't let me have a single beer.

I must say, I've never seen such a difference between stereotypes anywhere.


Oh yes, I've almost forgotten about their habits. You know, in English, when you meet someone you say "Hi". In Czech you say "Ahoj". And in French, you don't need any word for that, 'cause you kiss everyone instead.

They don't have any age limit for selling cigarettes. The shopkeep just has to decide, if they like you enough to sell. That's weird.

Though they have a great thing  here - menthol cigarettes with a little bubble of the actual menthol flavour inside the filter - and if you press it, it releases the flavour. Tastes even cooler than it sounds!

touché

I have read a story about myself today.

It’s uncomfortably direct.

According to a trusted resource, I’m melodramatic.

…whatever…

I thought women were always better in describing relationships.

Obviously, even the most experienced ones fail to fulfill sometimes.

It may have to do with their naivity;  a very straightforward kind.

The concept of love is way more complicated than they think it is.

In fact, I don’t even think there is a concept. It’s too random to be conceptual.

Love may not always produce the desire for a closer relationship.

It’s like a light-tower. Sailors need it. They’d wreck, i fit weren’t there. But if they get too close, they wreck anyway.

And if you insist on using „she“, well then, this applies to „her“.

And now, I mean the very exact „her“, as you know (if you are the person that’s supposed to read this).

However, that doesn’t, I repeat – DOES NOT mean, that there is just one she.
I don’t use names, nor nicknames, because I don’t even know, who to apply them to.