Short Story number 13

Short Story number 13: Inspired by the song «Races» by Glen Hansard from the solo album Rhythm and Repose. 

      He slowly opened his eyes. His head was facing the window. As he gradually adjusted his eyes to the luminosity of the room he was able to clearly distinguish the blue skies out there. He turned his head around. He saw himself reflected in the mirror on the wall. He could no longer recognize himself. He saw an old man, whose body had given up, lying in bed. But one thing still remained the same, though. He had the same expression in his eyes, he had seen in old photos of when he was just a child.

He turned his head again to the window. It was the only connection to the world outside, of which, he once was part of. He felt that the end was near. Small fragments of his life began to flash before him like an old black and white movie. Except that, in this movie he was the leading actor. The memories ran gently like a stream in the spring and overflew his heart with joy and tenderness. He lived his life to the fullest, fought every war and ran every race. Never denied to fight for his dreams, although, sometimes he doubted himself and allowed weaknesses paralyze him. He also failed. He contemplated the ruins of his failures, but always found the strength to look ahead to what was yet to come.

That strength he possessed to overcome all the hurdles in live came from the absolute knowledge that the most important things in live are not visible. They can only be felt. And for that reason he always found within his heart the meaning of live.

He closed his eyes, and in the profound silence of his bedroom, he clearly heard the beating of his heart. Yes, it was there, that he stored and concentrated his most precious possession: love. In every inch of the tired and old muscle was imprinted an intricate web of feelings that connected him to those he ever loved and were once part of his life. Because of them he knew that live did not just pass by him. He lived it well.

He knew that even the stars stop shinning and die. But he also knew, that its light would endure forever, as it travels the universe for years to come, leaving behind a trace of immortality.

He felt peace inside him and let himself go. 

By Raquel R.

Short Story number 12

Short Story number 12: Inspired by the song «What are we gonna do» by Glen Hansard from the solo album Rhythm and Repose. 

Through the slightly smudged car windows, the sifting peculiarities of the landscape, flashed before her attentive eyes, like the picture frames of an old motion picture. As the car rapidly progressed on the road, those changes became gradually more visible and easily recognizable. Comfortably seated on the passenger’s seat, and although feeling a bit weary from the long drive, she still managed to maintain her senses on alert mode to absorb all the changes, like a curious and enthusiastic spectator.

Clearly the focus of her attention was outside. Yet, on one occasion, when she temporarily leant back on her seat, to relieve the back discomfort caused by the long seating hours, she was able to furtively observe, by the corner of her eye, her road trip companion. Against the bright light of the day, only the outline of his face could be perceived, but as someone who profoundly understood his body language, she could guess, by the way he curved his shoulders and clenched the steering wheel, that he was tense. She was sure that if she looked directly at him she would see two deeply carved wrinkles on his forehead, right between the eyebrows, shaping an odd frown, which was one of the most reliable indicators of the state of his mood.

Having confirmed her suspicions she directed again her attention to what was happening outside. This was one of the typical diverting maneuvers, that were part of a complex strategy, created and refined by her, in order to avoid or try to postpone, for as long as she could, the inevitability of having to deal with every kind of painful situations that came her way.  But no matter as bad as she wanted to ignore the tension lingering in the air, her intuition could not be so easily fooled, so she instinctively adjusted her body language to the present situation and assumed a protecting position by crossing her arms in front of her.

Ever since he got his driving license, he discovered that driving for long periods of time always had a relaxing and soothing effect upon him. So, every time he felt on the verge of being swept away by anxiety and his thoughts were dangerously becoming an incoherent mush, he would get on his car and drive without a specific destination. He considered that, there was nothing as therapeutic as being on the road, driving, with the car windows opened all the way down, just for the pleasure of feeling the wind on his face until his eyes eventually started to tear. He could not remember of a better way to pull oneself together and to restore one’s faith in life, than to indulge one’s sense of freedom by having an open road right in front of us, along with the illusory sensation of leaving everything behind.

He raised his hand to readjust the rearview mirror, but before he returned to his initial position, he noticed, by the corner of his eye, that she had crossed her arms in front of her. He knew her too well to understand that such a controlled posture, like that one, was unnatural, to someone as extroverted and straightforward as her. The only occasion, that he saw her bearing such a withdrawn behavior, was when she was feeling vulnerable and insecure.  Although her long hair was covering most of her face, not allowing him a clear observation of her face, he was certain, that if he was able to see it, she would probably have her left eyebrow slightly raised above its natural angle, forming a distinctive and perfect arch.

Ultimately, throughout the course of their relationship, they both became specialists in each other’s non-verbal language, which they carefully learned to interpret, to the point of consider it to be much more assertive and reliable, in conveying a message, than, actually, words. However, lately, most of those unspoken messages had been sending them some mixed signals and warning signs, indicating that things were not the same between them, and that the natural complicity that they used to share had been slowly eroding, leaving them exposed and vulnerable. Still, following this initial stage of trying to deny the facts by hiding behind an elaborate plan of excuses and fallacies, it was now time for them to face reality as it was and not as it should be.

He concentrated his attention on the road again. Suddenly, to her surprise, he unexpectedly broke the motionless pattern, in which he had been immersed for the last couple of hours, and opened the car windows all the way down, allowing the wind gusts play with their hair.

He looked at her surprised face and realized that she had abandoned the protective posture and uncrossed her arms. To catch her of guard was the best way to throw her a lifeline that would pull her back to him and away from the dark places that sometimes lured her.

She was now rearranging her messy hair and trying to regain her composure.

She was smiling. He was smiling.

A smile is always a good starting point for everything, she thought. 

 By Raquel R.

Short Story number 11

Short Story number 11: Inspired by the song «Feeling the Pull» by The Swell Season from the album Strict Joy.

The late night breeze came in, unexpectedly, through the open window, revolving the hot and dense air. The tinkling sound of the wind-chime propagated its melody through every room in the house and that sudden stir on the quiet atmosphere propelled his energy levels to the point of felling a hint of restlessness taking over him.

This was no news to him. Every now and then, he feels deep in his bones, an urge to re-establish the vital connection and natural sync, of the flow of his life and thoughts, with the universe’s. Life, itself, in its unstoppable pace, manages to efficiently disconnect every being of its ancestral roots. But, when one listens carefully we might discover, that the universe always finds its way to summon and question us.

Being an avid interpreter of this silent language, he learned that every time he feels the need to be in close contact with the simple elements of nature, it usually means, that some answers need to find its way through the maze of the daily distractions or some questions need to be asked.

The product of that imperceptible speech can be found everywhere, whether in the form a slightest chill in the spine or in a stubborn certainty that despite the faint odds, never fades away.

On those occasions, when the amount of unanswered questions, dangerously defied his ability to make sense of the direction his life was taking, every atom of his being compelled him to seek guidance beneath the night sky, where he could benefit from the reassuring cover of the darkness and consciously reduce the probability of being caught out of guard, bearing his vulnerability. The privacy of those ceremonial moments allowed him to engage in a sincere conversation with himself.

At this point, his concentration levels were at their lowest. He might as well surrender to this silent calling so he stood up and went outside.

            As always, in those occasions, he followed the standard procedure that had proved to be the most effective in appeasing those sudden peaks of lucidity, and after carefully selecting a secluded area, he engaged in the apparent prosaic action of  looking up to the night sky. Every time he gazed at the night sky, with its countless celestial bodies, illuminating the profuse and deep darkness, and submitted it, to the limited scrutiny capacity of the human eye, he automatically condemned his terrestrial nature to navigate his thoughts between two compelling possibilities: whether to feel crushed under the acknowledgment of the unimaginable dimension of the universe’s infinity, or to surrender to the irresistible attraction of being sucked in to the vastness of its mysteries. It was roaming between those two possibilities that he always found a starting point from which to derive his thoughts.

The profound silence of the nocturnal hours has always been one of the factors that impressed him the most in those lone night incursions, but in order to fully benefit from that experience, he needed to empty his head from all the gibberish talk that had been overpowering his thoughts and allow this peaceful state, resulting from the absence of noise, to impregnate his mind, like a sponge gladly welcomes the liquid element which will transform its barren matter into a fertile receptacle of life.

The night breeze, which was now stronger, messed his hair. A couple of clouds passed by, briefly concealing the stars behind their ephemeral shapes. He felt that his senses gradually grew sharper making him sensible to all manifestations of life that were simultaneously happening around him, even the tiniest and imperceptible ones.

            From where he was standing he could hear the children’s distant laughter and giggles as they played in the neighborhood streets. Like a sudden rush of energy in a lifeless being, that contagious and familiar sound, immediately re-established the connection with the sometimes forgotten and often neglected part of him that still preserved that childlike ability, to believe in what is considered impossible, in the light of the rational standards. Almost instantly, these intrusive, yet pleasing thoughts, made him redirect his energy levels, fueling his will with a renewed hope and faith in the future. 

Looking around him, he spotted the glorious full moon silhouette, peeking among the tree’s branches. The sight of that unique, yet familiar vision was like bumping into an old friend in a foreign city. Its discrete glow was just enough to allow him a satisfactory perception of the surroundings. Not that he needed for he was pretty sure where he was going.

By Raquel R.

Short Story number 10

Short Story number 10: Inspired by the song «Let me fall in love» by Markéta Irglová from the album Anar.

As the car approached the coastline, reminiscences of her childhood days started taking over her thoughts. An irrational bubbly expectation tickled her stomach, while her eyes anxiously examined the horizon in search for the absolute signs that indicated that her destination was near. Like she expected, just right in front of her, the horizon gradually enlarged and the landscape flattened, as she left behind the tall concrete buildings and other effective indicators of the illusory human domain over nature and entered the sacred realm of one of the most magical territories.

Finally, after a long winding road and occasional reasonably violent bumps caused by the badly paved road, ultimately magnified by the poor mechanical state of the old car she was driving, like an unexpected random act of kindness, the evergreen tall pine trees, aligned by the right side of the road, offered her a glimpse of what she had eagerly been looking for. Among the pine tree’s straight brown trunks, she could perceive, far on the horizon, the astounding infiltrations of one of the most profound blue tones she had ever seen, anticipating what was waiting for her, just around the corner.  

At this point, unable to control the overwhelming sense of urgency that made her gravitate towards that specific location, she decided to embrace this sudden rush of renewed energy, rebelling against her usual composed manners and predictability. So, she opened the car windows all the way down, welcoming the gust of cold wind and the chaos it brought with it, misaligning every string of her hair. Although only a few miles separated her from her destination, the anxiety she was feeling inside did not tone down. In fact, it seemed that it grew stronger in the inverse proportion of the distance still keeping her apart from her goal.

Suddenly, there it was. First, just a glimpse of it. Then, as a prelude before the final revelation of the magnificent element, the daylight slightly changed its intensity by becoming brighter, and after a set of sand dunes, the open ocean was finally right in front of her.

In wintertime, choosing a strategic spot to park the car, which allowed a perfect view of the ocean, was never a problem. The isolation of that place was total, yet it was strangely comforting. As she turned off the car’s engine, the silence immediately filled every vacant space in her heart and mind. There, she remained for a while, just watching the tiny drops of the salty moist falling on the car’s windshield and within a few minutes, her now depurated sense of hearing, started to grow accustomed to the surrounding silence until the ocean’s roar became perfectly recognizable. She had an instant of hesitation before opening the car’s door, so that she could linger, for a few more seconds, in the final frontier, where wishes are just about to be fulfilled and therefore prolong the bliss of positive expectations.

As she stepped out of the car, she immediately breathed in the distinct humid and cool ocean’s breeze, the perfect carrier of one of the most irreplaceable and unique odors, commonly referred to as the ocean’s smell. Although she had seen many oceans and seas throughout the world, only in this specific location, was that smell so perfect and evocative of the primal feelings that we all hold inside.

She looked around and headed towards the wood path leading to the beach. As she stepped on it she could feel and hear the scratching sound of the sand under her feet. At a distance, a flock of seagulls errantly circled in the air and its occasional squawking calls indicated that she was not the only one out there. Then, as the wood path abruptly ended, she chose to continue her walk in the sand. But first, like someone preparing to execute some kind of religious ritual, she removed her shoes. The first contact of her bare feet with the cold sand, after months of being carefully sterilized and more or less protected inside proper footwear, was absolutely liberating. So, it was only after pacing back and forth in the soft and dry sand for a couple of times, did she resume her walk and approached the hard wet sand.

In front of her, the waves rolled in and out leaving behind incomparable embroidery patterns made of pure white foam. Surrounded by all this white transparent reality, all she wanted was to be able to take a piece of it with her, wherever she went. Yet, every time she tried to touch it or hold it in her hands, it disappeared between her fingers, leaving her with nothing. Oddly, it was the ephemeral aspect of that reality that made that moment even more significant and the only way to eternalize it was to fully embrace it and live it. She knew that the present moment is the sole guardian and holder of life’s essence and those blind to that fact or reluctant to accept it, would never fully experience it.

As always, when she was there, she lost track of time. Every step she took revealed her something new. Looking further ahead, she was able to identify small stacks of seaweed that had been randomly deposited by the high tide. At her feet, countless pebbles of all sizes, shapes and textures paved the sand. Not resisting the temptation to find the perfect one, she inevitably ended up with her pockets full of these irresistible tokens. Despite her hands and feet were frozen cold, she felt more alive than ever, for she welcomed and honored all these ocean’s offerings with her ability to awe, when at their presence, and to cherish them like small treasures.

Time passed by quickly. The tide was slowly rising again and the sun was setting. The sounds and smells were now more intense than ever. Behind her, the ocean mist descended upon that place transforming the coastal vegetation into a distant blur.  Soon the darkness would take over the beach.

 It was time to leave. She closed her eyes and let herself be rocked by the sounds of the gentle lapping ocean waves. Her breathing and heartbeat became one with that sound and magically everything seemed to make sense again.

She opened her eyes to the immensity in front of her and felt small before it, yet as whole as she had ever been.

By Raquel R.   

Short Story number 9

Short Story number 9: Inspired by the song «Low Rising» by The Swell Season from the album Strict Joy.

To any casual observer, they seemed to be two strangers with no other connection, except the fact, that the laws of physics determined that they shared the same space and time and accidentally crossed each other’s path. They were sitting side by side, but apart from sharing the same table, nothing else revealed the real bond between those two souls. The loud noise of the crowded restaurant did not appear to bother the couple having dinner. They both executed the movements with pristine precision, as if they were actors in a play, and everything had to be according to the script, leaving no margin for improvisation. In a place, where socializing was the keystone, and everyone, at one point or another, engaged in random conversations, they were clearly swimming against the current, as they were not talking to each other. They were both staring into the void and it was perceptible that each was lost in their own thoughts, rambling around the outskirts of their own private world.

Though they appeared to be mere strangers, they were, in fact, connected by years of close intimacy.

When they both finally finished their meal, their eyes met, in a silent attempt to predict the next move. After muttering something, she left the table to go freshen up and his eyes followed her.

Throughout the years they have been together he cultivated the habit of observing her moves and reactions, particularly when she was not aware of being the focus of his attention. He believed that one’s true self easily emerges when in complete solitude or at a safe distance from the possibility of being scrutinized by others. Therefore, taking the time to pay close attention to the small details of someone’s actions, generally leads to a better understanding of the person as a whole, bringing us one step closer to capture their true essence. Nevertheless, it has been a long time since he last engaged in the conscious action of taking charge of his senses and command them to get rid of all the filters that gradually undermine every attempt to grasp objectivity, distorting the reality, preventing us from fully apprehend what is right in front of us, and focus solely on her.

That self-imposed clarity of thought allowed him to recognize that she still kept the same graciosity that first fascinated him. She moved with the elegance of a queen, yet her eyes reflected an earnest and straightforward simplicity.

While returning from the restroom, she caught a glimpse of his face amongst the faceless crowd. She could see that he was clearly staring at her. And, by the time she reached the dinner table, she already knew that something had changed in the way he used to look at her. It almost seemed as if he was looking at her for the first time. The perplexity of that moment, caught her off guard and immediately touched a chord inside her, waking her up from the emotional lethargy she had been in. It was one of those unpredictable moments, when a simple gesture or an unexpected attitude from someone we know, or we think we know, can suddenly change, in a few seconds, years of pre-defined opinions or even feelings that we used to experience about that person.

He stood up from the chair. As he went on to pay the dinner’s bill, her eyes followed him. She still admired his confident manners and the strength of his stare. He always had this ability to read her soul and disarm her insecurities. It was inexplicable to her how the distance between them could have grown to the point of almost transforming them into two strangers.

He returned to the dinner table and they prepared themselves to leave the restaurant. As they stood before the entrance door, they simultaneously reached for the door knob. The synchronization and spontaneity of that gesture brought back to both unsuspicious feelings that had been laying beneath years of misunderstandings, regrets and deceptions. Their eyes met, and for the first time in years they were actually not indifferent to each other’s presence. At that precise moment, although without any kind of formal and rational recognition from the parts involved, a silent pact was made. That night, they chose to stop the motion that had been pushing them further away from each other and commit themselves to slowly restore the bond they still shared but did not seem to remember anymore.

                                                                                                        By Raquel R.

Short Story number 8

Short Story number 8: Inspired by the song «You will become» by Glen Hansard from the solo album Rhythm and Repose.

The summer sun had just initiated the temporary descent from its glorious throne, leaving behind its majestic luminous mantle, until it finally faded beyond the visible horizon. The brightness and splendor of daylight began to slowly subside into an explosion of colours, tingeing every surface with an almost ethereal golden glow of yellowish and reddish tones, scattering its softness everywhere, revealing a new perspective of the ordinary or unveiling hidden details of the common, unexpectedly painting a surprising portrait of the usual.

            As nature took its course, creating an infinity of magic moments, that unfolded, only before the eyes of those willing to see, the shadows generated by the last rays of sun paved the wood floor of the hallway, with a succession of never-ending and ever changing patterns and shapes.

Suddenly, the sound of her energetic footsteps filled the air, disturbing the peace of the enchanted atmosphere. It was laundry day and as a mother of two, she briskly went through every room in the house, submitting to the scrutiny of her critical eye, every doubtful item of clothing or similar, which having failed to meet her strict cleaning standards, was efficiently subtracted from its functions and collected into the basket she carried along with her.

Ever since she could remember, she has always been quite fond of executing all the daily chores required to maintain a flawless functioning of the household. As, the sometimes hard journey of self knowledge taught her, in order to maintain her sanity, she needed to, now and then, during the course of the day, let her mind and thoughts roam free from the constraints and shackles of all the worries, insecurities and little tragedies that are part of the essence of being human. She discovered that a temporary relief from all the pressure was easily obtained, by a diligent engagement of all her senses in the execution of the daily activities, which are often disregarded by some and utterly avoided by others.

She was absorbed in that particular mind-set, where the purest thoughts dwell, when suddenly, she found herself facing the door to her oldest son’s bedroom. Even though her attention was engaged in a specific action and directed to a specific purpose, she felt, for a split nanosecond, that her instinct was trying to whisper something to her in its peculiar and sometimes undecipherable language. Those messages, which are sent to us by whoever or whatever entity that rules the universe, can come to us assuming a myriad of manifestations. Still all of them, if correctly perceived can provide us with valuable information that allow us to stir our life in the right direction.

Although her son’s bedroom was no longer part of the cleaning spree circuit, since he recently moved away to his own house, she was still not able to break the pattern and resist the temptation of conducting a weekly inspection of its hygienic conditions. She could not exactly pinpoint what it was, but this time, something made her hesitate before opening the bedroom’s door. So, she stood there, on the empty hallway, surrounded by the last fading shadows, which lingered behind as reminiscences of another day that had just come to an end. In the midst of the silence that reigned in the house, she could not help thinking that behind that closed door, once existed, a kind of magical territory, inside which, a new life, her son’s life, slowly bloomed. It was within the boundaries of that secluded and protected realm that the first steps toward his emancipation were taken. It was there where he gradually unveiled the secrets and wonders of life and, where he safely returned when his heart was broken by his first love or needed to lick his wounds after a lost battle.

She raised her hand and touched the wooden door. Then she leaned her head against the door’s surface as if she was trying to hear something from the other side. She closed her eyes and listened carefully. On the other side of that threshold, where the past and present intertwined, she could still hear the echoes of his voice while he sang, countless times, his favourite song, like a mantra to the universe. 

Downstairs, the sound of the keys turning on the door’s lock pulled her away from the sweet memories. Her youngest child was returning home from school.

At that point she decided not to open the bedroom’s door. It was time that she set him free and let him find his own path. She was sure that wherever life will take him, he would be safe, because he carried her love in his heart and for that reason, he would know, that she would always be there for him, if he needed.

She tucked in the last item of clothing on basket and smiled. A strong sense of gratitude invaded her heart and she felt blessed for having been able to witness one the most amazing miracles in life: the growth and transformation of a precious human being.

                                                                                                                     by Raquel R.

Short Story number 7

Short Story number 7: Inspired by the song «Love don’t leave me waiting» by Glen Hansard from the solo album Rhythm And Repose. 

        The time was 22:00 pm on a Sunday night. It was the day of the week she chose to pamper herself with a bubble bath. She closed her eyes and sunk her body in the bathtub. The close contact of the water with her body kept her mind clear and sharp. Great is the power of water. It pushes us closer to our human origins. Like wild horses, her thoughts wandered through the fringes of her life.

A long time ago she trained herself to dissect the ordinary routines that everyone takes for granted and find beauty in them. So, every day, she neglected the obvious and chased the simple details which are generally right in front of us, hence, habitually overlooked. Having found them, she would explore the core of the unexpected, lose herself within the realms of the improbable, and plunge into the depths of the unknown, because she knew, that those seemingly ordinary manifestations, hid many significant moments which are often the gateways to a happier and meaningful existence.

She appeared to have achieved all the goals most people consider to be the cornerstone of a successful life and for that she was envied. But there was one thing that seemed to dodge every attempt to be apprehended and still remained a mystery to her. And that thing was love. She longed for the unquestionable certainty that the real feeling infuses into every inch of one’s being, obliterating the tiniest specks of doubts, that circle around one’s willingness to let the guard down, like hungry sharks waiting to feed on the prey.

 But, the more she chased it, the more it got away from her, the harder she tried to make it work, the faster it broke apart and disappeared into thin air. Every time she thought she was close to her destination, a succession of unpredictable and improbable events, seemed to converge together, making her lose her way, and all her efforts to grasp its essence would end ingloriously, without leaving a visible trace, condemned to slowly fade away like an old photograph neglected by time.

 She had been relentlessly enduring her search with serenity on her heart and a smile on her face, for she realized that certain things cannot be forced, as they demand from the future bearers a meticulous preparation, which can only be earned by the sum of all the defeats.

She learned to tame her expectations and accept the fact that, all the variables implicated on her quest to find the pure feeling are beyond one’s control. Yet, she trusted that the universe will whisper on her ear the exact coordinates to guide her to this secluded place where magic happens and two unsuspected beings can finally find each other.

Until that moment finally arrives, she would resist the temptation of following the easiest path and solemnly refuse to deny the possibility of the existence of this inexplicable bond that can be mysteriously woven between two souls and stand the test of times. 

The time was now 22:49 pm and it started to rain outside. She carefully listened to the gentle sound of the raindrops on the window pane and felt the melody of this mysterious and comforting music, wrap its magic around her, like the protective arms of a loved one. She opened her eyes and acknowledged the perfection of that precise moment and surrender to its beauty, for it was right there that life truly unfolded.

By Raquel R.

Short Story number 6

Short Story number 6: Inspired by the song «High Hope» by Glen Hansard from the solo album Rhythm and Repose.

He consulted his watch for the third time while impatiently wandered back and forth along the living-room. I’ll be ready in five minutes! she said. He nodded his head and smiled, for he quickly deciphered the true meaning behind those words. He might as well surrender to the evidences, and accept the fact, that the concept of time has different meanings to men and women.

He sat dawn on the sofa and looked around. His eyes rested on the bookshelf where books, photographs and significant mementos, of their lives together, were displayed. He got up from the sofa and moved toward the bookshelf with the curious eyes and the leisurely attitude of someone, who was unexpectedly confronted with an undesirable surplus of time, and did not know what to do with it. On those occasions, one’s attention tends to cling to the most inconspicuous details, which due to that unplanned and sudden approach, are likely to be analyzed through a total new perspective. That is why, sometimes, in life, the most unsuspicious gestures might lead us to the great revelations, which are often concealed behind the illusory simplicity of the ordinary things.

  Lacking conviction, his hand hesitantly reached for his once favourite book. The first contact of his hands with its worn out cover instantly brought back distant memories of significant parts of his life. Slightly stunned by this unexpected amazement, he returned to the sofa and sat down. Handling with care the precious object, he carefully analyzed all the angles of this treasure. Feeling curious, he opened the book, touched its yellowish pages and felt the comforting smell that emanated from them. As he turned the pages, he slowly unveiled the trails he left behind a long time ago. Each note on the side of a page, each underlined paragraph were once the answers to his most profound questions or an accurate verbalization of his deepest feelings.

 Just one more minute! she said. The sound of her voice soothed the sudden swirl of emotions that assaulted him. He closed the book and stood there in silence, just realizing that all the significant feelings, he had experienced throughout his life, were still alive, though, carefully stored in a safe and recondite place somewhere inside his heart. While some of those feelings carried with them painful memories and sad moments, others, took him by the hand and walked with him through happy and sunny days.

 He recognized that he was a receptacle for the flow of experiences and feelings collected along his way through life and that all of them converged together to shape the person he was now. He was not the man he was before, but he would not be the man he was now if he were to deny or ignore his past. Ultimately, each of those moments were like the pages of his old favourite book. If one of its pages was ripped apart, its soul would be mortally wounded and its essence would not be complete anymore.

I’m ready, she said. He stood up and looked at her. The perfume she was wearing filled the air and her smile lightened up the room. It was worth the wait, he thought. He felt in awe with her presence and her eyes spoke to him in the inexplicable language of those sharing the indestructible bond of embracing each other, exactly as they were, without reservations.

It had been a long journey and in many chapters of his life he doubted if he would ever reach a happy ending. As he prepared to leave the house, holding hands with her, he thought that, the moment he had been so anxiously waiting for, might finally be just there, within the reach of his hand.

                                                            By Raquel R.

Short Story number 5

Short Story number 5: Inspired by the song «Bird of Sorrow» by Glen Hansard from the solo album Rhythm and Repose. 

         The soft glow of the morning light revealed the tiny specks of dust lingering in the air, as his feet slowly stepped on the fallow soil. Thin cracks crisscrossed the dry ground, in a repetitive pattern, extending far beyond the horizon. In this bare and deserted road, fragments of what were once parts of living organisms remained scattered along the road, exhibiting clear signs of the erosion caused by the exposure to the elements, like statements of the fragility of life and a visible testimony of the relentlessness of time.

As he progressed in this unforgiving road, he concentrated his strength in each step he took. During the course of his long journey he learned that, when times of trouble hovered on the horizon, the best way to overcome the obstacles was by focusing one’s attention on small details and diverts one’s thoughts from the big picture. Otherwise it would be harder to maintain the faith to keep on going.

 After a few miles travelling on the desolate road he noticed small changes on the pattern of the landscape. The once arid and flat soil, slowly gave way to a harsh and uneven road, paved with rocks of all shapes and sizes and full of treacherous holes.

The first contact with this new reality was disastrous to him. The deceiving terrain hid many dangers which needed to be carefully anticipated in order to be avoided. Lacking this capacity, he was often mislead by the apparent solidness of the path, only to be betrayed by some unsteady rocks, which made him fell on his knees time and time again. Those were the moments when he almost let despair take over his heart. Yet, his unquestionable faith on what laid ahead, over the horizon, did not allow him to give up. He gathered all his strength, adjusted his actions to the new circumstances and resumed his walk.

 The first rays of the rising sun indicated that a new day had begun. By that time, he was about to reach the summit of a rocky hill. The steepness of the trail had pushed his body to the brink of exhaustion, so he stopped, and sat down on a big grey rock. At that point, the silence was so overwhelming, that the weight of loneliness began to overpower his thoughts. On those occasions, he clung to the certainty that he was not alone in this journey. Many others were on the way, and like him, struggled to remain faithful to the hope of a happy ending. That stubborn resilience was the tenuous but decisive line that separated those who survived and those who succumbed.

Feeling reinvigorated, he was preparing to stand up again, when something   caught his attention. In the middle of this lifeless realm a delicate plant strived to break out and survive the harsh desolation. He approached the little wonder and engaged in the delight of admiring this miracle of nature. This inspiring vision, made him realize, that small details, like this one, often hold within amazing revelations that, if embraced with humbleness, might teach us priceless lessons and point us the right direction.

This decisive moment, gave him the strength that he needed to carry on with his journey. Slowly but utterly he progressed in the terrain and finally reached the summit of the rocky hill. From where he was standing, a new reality unfolded before his eyes, and what he saw far exceeded his expectations. The grey and harsh landscape gave way to a luxuriant and green valley. He closed his eyes and recognized that all the adversities he had endured throughout his perilous journey, were not in vain, for he had finally reached his destination. That conviction made the moment even more precious to him. He was sure that from now on everything would be alright. For now, his journey was over but he knew that others will follow. When that moment arrived again, he would be ready to leave, carrying hope in his heart.

                                                                                  By Raquel R.

Short Story number 4

Short Story number 4: Inspired by the song «Paper Cup» by The Swell Season from the album Strict Joy.

The sound of his paced footsteps echoed on the empty street like a heartbeat. In the dark pavement, scattered pools of water reflected the surrounding reality like pieces of broken mirrors. In that fragmented reality he could clearly distinguish the dim lights, shining through the windows, behind which, endless stories of anonymous people like him, were unfolding.

While he roamed the streets, looking for a place to sleep, the moon and the stars were his only company, for everybody had left the stage, in which they were forced to juggle their props and wear their masks, to seek refuge in their conventional hideouts.

 As he walked down the street his body language revealed someone who knew exactly what he wanted, and most of all, someone who knew where he was going. Yet, if one did not look carefully to this frail man with shabby clothes and worn out boots, could easily overlook the strength that burst out from all his pores, which anticipated the unsuspicious treasures he carried inside him.

He reached the far corner of the street, turned left and stopped. For a moment he remained there staring in wonder. He nodded his head and gesticulated like he was engaging in a silent conversation with himself. He approached the focus of his attention. It was an old and majestic oak tree standing in this peripheral part of the neighborhood. Every time he was in town this was the perfect location for him to spend the night.

He sat under the oak tree, unpacked his belongings and initiated the sacred ritual of recoiling in the intimacy of sleep. He prepared his sleeping bag, removed his boots and laid flat on his back beneath the huge tree. He looked up to the strong and long branches of the oak tree and imagined that they were an extension of himself and felt in total harmony with the universe. At that moment, and although he barely had any possessions, he felt fulfilled and complete. To him, this bare feeling was the proof that all he ever believed was real and not a possible side effect of some unnamed mental illness.

He closed his eyes and felt like he did not belong to this world. As long as he could remember he always had this annoying habit of questioning the established rules designed to manipulate our actions and control our thoughts. This insatiable urgency that resided inside him, of escaping the suffocating system that constrained his freedom, condemned him to live as an outcast. But the more they tried to break his spirit and forced him to fit in the pattern, the more he felt compelled to drift in uncharted lands and refuse to follow the one way direction sign.  

 A cool breeze stroke his face. The sound of the leaves swaying in the wind filled the air. He closed his eyes and felt the serene tranquility of those who have found peace of mind. The hardships he had been enduring and the roads he had been travelling allowed him to acknowledge that we all can be happy with much less than we are made to believe. But, unfortunately, we are too busy trying to accomplish the goals imposed upon us to notice that everything we need is inside us.

                                                                             by Raquel R. 

Short Story number 3

Short Story number 3:  Inspired by the song « O Holy Night» by Markéta Irglová.

Hundreds of people swarm the busy street resembling trails of ants, moving up and down the geometrically predetermined paths, which lead them in and out the shops. Among that multitude of frenetic and highly efficient beings, he slowly dragged his feet along the pavement and hesitantly slid his frail body through the crowd, in a silent and unfair fight against the stream of rushing people, which formed the ultimate barrier that was keeping him from reaching his final destination. If only he was a bit younger, he would be able to move easily around the obstacles and avoid the bumps and pushes that might be disastrous to his quest, which was getting home, just around the corner of the street.

Slightly out of breath and bearing a sweaty and tired face, he finally opened the door of his refuge and initiated, the always painful task, of climbing the only flight of stairs that would give him access to his sanctuary. His trembling hands plunged into his large pockets, anxiously looking for the keys to his small apartment. Yet, while he was immersed in that apparently simple action, he was not aware that he was being attentively observed by a pair of two curious eyes. When, at last, he found the keys, among an infinity of tokens that he diligently kept in his pockets, like small treasures, his old and hesitant fingers failed him, and the keys fell on the floor. As he was preparing his mind and body for this unexpected effort, a little girl, with curly hair and rosy cheeks, emerged from behind his neighbor’s half-opened door, picked up the keys from the floor, cautiously placing them in his hand again. Taken by surprise, by this sudden appearance and by the kind gesture, his lips paralyzed and he was not capable of muttering any word of gratitude before she quickly disappeared behind the door again.

He entered his apartment, removed his oversized winter coat, sat down on his old armchair and felt the silence taking over his mind and appease his soul. Contrary to his old habits, he did not turn the television on, for this automatic gesture that always kept him away from the claws of loneliness, by providing him with the comfort of an illusory company, was now the reminder of the specificity of that particular day.  It was Christmas Eve and everywhere he looked, he was bombarded with information, commercials, carols, shopping lists, films, appeals, speeches and testimonies that were meticulously designed to impose an hollow and shallow image of what that special date is or should be. Feeling a bit restless, he got up from the armchair and approached the window. What he saw outside was a blatant confirmation of what he already knew. Apart from the illuminated streets and the excessive number of bags and wrapped gifts, that each passerby was carrying, no other indicator suggested that it was the time for love, goodwill and generosity. People would pass by each other, wearing the suit of indifference, smiling with their faces, but not with their eyes, for they still revealed the same distrustfulness and selfishness, as any other day.  

A gentle and soft knock on the door made him turn his eyes away from the window. He cautiously moved towards the door, looked through the peephole and saw nothing.  My old head must be playing tricks on me, he thought.

As he was slowly stepping away from the door, he heard the gentle knock again. He looked one more time through the peephole and saw nothing. Yet, his curiosity was stronger than his sense of preservation, so he cracked open the door to peek out. And there she was again, the little girl with the curly hair and rosy cheeks, standing in front of him and handing him a card. He reached for it, and frowned, while trying to focus his once sharp eyes on the colorful content. After struggling for a few seconds, his old and tired eyes finally allowed him to understand the purpose of that unexpected visit. On that card he distinguished, painted with the brightest colors, the most magnificent star he had ever seen, along with two carefully crafted handwritten words: Merry Christmas.

As he stood there, immobilized, on the doorway, trying to find the exact words to express his appreciation for this comforting surprise, she stretched her small arms towards him, pulled him closer and kissed his aged face.

With a small giggle she vanished as quickly as she appeared and left him standing, with a smile on his face. He closed the door behind him, while a stubborn tear rolled down his face. The Christmas spirit is still alive after all, he thought, holding tight, very close to his heart, the most magnificent star he had ever seen.

                                                                             By Raquel R.