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Dobry uczynek-Co pan robi?-zapytał chłopiec mężczyznę, który siedział na ławce. Łokcie oparł na kolanach, z ust sterczał mu prawie już do końca wypalony papieros.
-Wiążę węzeł-odparł i powrócił do wykonywanej czynności. Sznur był gruby na końcu zawiązany w szeroką pętlę, jegomość dla sprawdzenia pociągnął za koniec powrozu, pętla zacisnęła się natychmiast. Facet zadowolony z efektu, uśmiechnął się półgębkiem, wypluł niedopałek papierosa na trawnik, przykryty cienką warstwą śniegu, po czym natychmiast wyciągnął następnego, wsadził do spękanych ust. Zaczął obszukiwać kieszenie w poszukiwaniu zapalniczki bądź, zapałek. Wreszcie wysupłał pudełeczko z zapałkami, zgrabia
Not Drowning, But FlyingHidden deep within the jungle, far removed from the outside world, there lay a village. On the night of the Festival of Colours, the villagers would paint their bodies in all the raiments of the Earth and Sky and dance long into the night. They continued in this way until the Outsiders came. They were men in white cloth, who led cattle and cut down the trees so their animals might graze. Then there came hunters, who carried rifles and stalked wildlife for their flesh and hides.
A boy called Bharu lived in the village. His mother had come from the Outside and even though she had taught him their language, she had given up that world to join the village. However these Outsiders did not change, they offered the villagers weapons and medicines, but the boy was afraid. When his father called the villagers together, he told them they must accept these Outsiders and the gifts they brought. Bharu wept, for if his people joined the Outsiders, they would be themselves no more.
He ran to th
ContradictionMaybe I don’t understand the world,
Maybe I understand too much.
I could be so genius I look past,
I could be so clueless I never saw.
Either way, it doesn’t make sense.
Why love isn’t returned,
Why we go crazy,
Why choices suddenly change,
Why things go backwards.
People hate, get angry.
Then, someone leaves…
And they fall in love.
I don’t understand it.
Going to depths,
To bring someone back,
Who is already gone.
Why do we try?
You use selfless actions,
In selfish attempts.
It only contradicts yourself.
It’s the creator of these problems.
(Req) Scotland x Blind!ReaderHe is distinctive.
You close your eyes and breathe in that scent- although Allistor smokes, and heavily, at that, you can detect other smells beneath the ubiquitous tang of cigarettes. You like the way the aromas mix together, tobacco, aftershave and a sort of pine, wood-like smell, like freshly carved furniture that makes you think of outside. You can tell when he's approaching just by scent along, and when you tell him so, he merely snickers softly as he wraps his arms around you. The smell that reminds you of home. Even when he's just stepped out of the shower, his signature scent naturally clings to him, just as much a part of him as his accent or physical features. Sometime if he's away, you will slip on a shirt of his, just to feel like he's still around. It's kind of goofy, you know, but it's your little secret. Who has to know?
You like the way he says your name- you've never been that fond of it, yourself, but he has a way of saying it that makes you melt. It's usually a soft
The Fall Of The AngelsThe Fall of the Angels
Lucivar, the Shining One. The Prince of the Morning. The Light of Dawn. These were his names when I knew him in the days before the earth was formed. Lucivar, Beloved of Heaven, chief of the Angels of Light. He was my best friend, my brother, my dearest companion.
He was beautiful; shining white hair that flowed down his back, enormous pristine wings that were soft as down and always immaculately groomed, luminous eyes full of joy and wonder.
He was gentle, mild-mannered, soft-spoken. I loved him fiercely, as I suspect many of my other brothers and sisters did. He was the favorite of God, and much time passed during which he was in rapt conversation with Him.
I remember all too well the day I finally opened my eyes and saw the fearful flaw lurking insidiously beneath that perfect exterior… Vanit
Waiting in Chinatown (a very short story)I’m sitting in a restaurant on the corner of two streets in Chinatown. I’m waiting for someone. She was supposed to meet me at 1:00 for lunch. That was half an hour ago. I’m starting to lose hope.
I’m sipping on some green tea. It’s okay, although I've never been much of a tea drinker. The waitress walks over to me. Her English isn't very good, but I can make out that she’s losing patience with me. It’s understandable; I've been sitting here alone for half an hour and I haven’t ordered anything except tea. I order another cup, simply as a stalling tactic.
I watch people walk by. Not as many of them are Chinese as you’d think. Chinatown in London is different from others I've been to. The Chinatown here is almost all restaurants and shops; very few Chinese people actually live here. They’re spread out all across London. There are almost as many whites, blacks, and Asians here as there are Chinese people. I like it though; it ma
Meaning of LifeWe live to learn.
Once we learn we take our jobs.
These jobs are seen as out “place” in life.
But all those jobs do,
Is make impact
For the next generation.
It’s all a loop,
That can’t be why
We individually live.
In science we’re taught,
Some animals die
So that must be it.
But, living to create more,
That will do the same,
Just to die?
Well, then no.
That can’t be right either.
There’s more, I’m sure.
But if those ideas,
Came to nothing,
Then tell me.
What is the unknown meaning?
Why do we live?
What’s the point?
Why is life a “chance”?
How did we even come to be,
And live for?
BaptismOn this plain I walk a little farther , though somehow my skin is half underwater. I dive into the ocean, but my mouth fills up with sand. The water was never really there… I have water in my hair, though there is none on the dying grass or in the air; It’s spilling out of my brain. It’s hurting...
Play me again, play the notes in my mind. Play the strings that run along my face. Hold me down under the ripples until the bubbles come up a different color. Sing to me the ocean waves and I’ll flow downstream into nothingness. It’s peaceful here; I lay myself down once more. It feels good to be alone again... This is my home.
Do we live only to die? Or maybe we’re only half alive? I’ll hold my breath for another few moments, to discover I’ve been holding it all my life. I can’t breathe... I want to breathe... Water falling from the sky, water falling from my eyes, water running down my thighs, cold as fate’s bleak lullaby…
ManiI can remember the first time I saw it, my first dead street. The streets once filled with life are now filled with corpses, the ‘Mani’ has already eaten through their flesh, they are nothing now but bones and little bits of flesh the ‘Mani’ didn't get his filthy teeth on.
Explanation might be in order. It all started years ago, a pandemic brook out, it was a parasite that bred itself on the human body, it started as a small parasite moving through the air, they were unable to filter it with masks not even full body suits, because when it was still in the air it was the size of oxygen.
Nearly everyone was infected and it traveled fast, faster than they could believe.
The parasite developed in stages:
First stage, the ‘Mani’ attached itself to a host, it primarily focused on the brain to start developing there. It would breed and grow bigger, it felt as if something was feeding on your brain, although in fact it wasn't feeding yet, just breeding
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