Therapy

Sam visited the grave twice a month and left fresh flowers. It was not one of his relatives . In fact Sam didn't know the person. It had started two years ago. Sam had had a terrible day at work and he was not ready to bring this mess home with him. So, he just drove around until he suddenly found himself in this cemetary. He got out of car and walked around. There was something about this particular tombstone that made him stop. He stood there for couple of minutes and then just started to tell all about that horrible Day. It was not just talk one might have in one's head. It was solid, loud speach. He talked and talked. He could not stop. Two hours and rough throat later he abruptly stopped, bid goodye and walked back to his car. He felt free. He was sure he would never come back here but a week later he was there with a bunch of flowers. Noone knew about this, not even his closest friends, nor his wife. It was his weird secrets that made him feel better. The only place where he could be himself and talk out everything that eats him alive. He was sure that noone would understand it. It's been two years now, but he still comes here. Sam has changed, looks healthier and happier. 

Flat tire

Bang! I was startled by the sudden noise. I had a feeling that it came from the back of my car. I kept my car steady while examining views in all three windows. Nothing. The back window was in its place. I still decide to stop the car. I slowly walked around it but there was nothing wrong with it. Not even a scratch. Weird. I was in the middle of the forest with just a few bypassing cars. Where did the bang come from? I got back into the car and after just a few meters I heard a weird repetitive sound like something had stuck around one of the tires. I knew for sure then that I had a flat tire. I pulled over again and got out of the car. This time I could clearly see it and hear it. The air escaping through the coin-sized hole made a very distinctive sound. I opened the boot of my car and took out the safety triangle and place it on the road at a distance what I hoped was correct. Then I took out my spare tire and jack. I had never changed the tire myself but I knew the steps. So there I was with the jack in my hands and totally useless. My jack was clearly broken. I took out my phone only to discover that there was no reception. I felt tears burning my eyes. I stood there helpless and alone. It was cold and I knew that I cannot keep my engine on for too long. A few cars slowed down as they passed by me but they didn't stop to help. If I had been a long-legged blond damsel in a short skirt, I'd be rescued in no time. But I was a short, plump, and crazy-haired brunet therefore I stood on the side of the road and stretched my hand out in humiliation. The fifth car stopped and I was over the moon that it took only twenty minutes. The man got out of the car and I quickly explained the situation. While I was blabbing away he took my jack and with one quick, swift movement turned it into a perfectly normal and functional jack. I was mortified with shame. I must have looked like a total idiot. He didn't laugh at me. I did it myself. He didn't say much just changed the spare tire and said that I had to stop at the nearest gas station and check the pressure. I thanked him. Repeatedly. He brushed it all away in modesty then looked me in the eyes and smiled. We parted and I never saw him again. He now has a funny story to tell his friends, I sure do. 

The Star

What was the adage, never work with children or animals. Now Rex was missing and God knows when we will find him. The whole crew is out loaded with dog cookies skimming the streets, backyards, and dumpsters. Rex is our star but he is one hell of a prison-breaker. This is the sixth time this week he has found yet another gap in our security system and slipped away. He usually returns when he is hungry, but he is also an adorable beggar, and people tend to offer him even their only meal. He knows how to play his part far too well. He also would not allow anyone to catch him and lock him up. And yet every single person on this film crew loves him deeply. Therefore after a sleepless night spent in a hopeless search to find him, everyone cheers loudly when he returns the next morning all muddy and happy. Despite their exhaustion, everyone pats him on the head and someone offers him some food. The crew picks up the gear and is ready within minutes to start shooting. No one knows how long the star will give us his attention. 

Smile

I smiled at him while he was preparing my coffee. It was a proper smile that starts at your deepest self, brushes against your muscles making them soft and amicable then curls up the corners of your lips and ends up as a twinkle in the eyes. He smiled back. It was just a good service smile, that lingers only on lips sometimes parting them. I felt a ping of disappointment, but I took my coffee and gave away one more real smile accompanied by a soundtrack of my bank card transaction. He smiled back with a clumsy half-real smile and handed me the receipt. I had pierced through his armors, my job here was done. 

The Book

I love the smell of books, both old and new. Each of them has its own story of how it happened to be a book, about the author's aspirations and struggle, about its readers about its place on the shelf. My shelves are all overloaded with books. My books, my mom's books, my grandmother's books, found books, borrowed (never-to-be-returned) books, and even one or two stolen books. I have read most of them but there are still quite many that I hadn't even paid attention to. However, it does not stop me from buying more books or going to the libraries. I'm not a huge fan of libraries. Mostly because I have to return the books. It is very hard if the book has been really good. I have been challenged by my sister to live half a year without buying any new books. So, here I am, in the library. Again. For the third time this month. I just brought back some crime stories and now I crave for something different. For some good fifteen minutes, I wander through the fantasy section, before I stumble upon a magnificent-looking hard-copy with a huge dragon on it. It is extremely thick, and I already know that I will take it home. The surface seems to be real leather, and I kind of expect the dragon to wink. But it doesn't of course and I briefly flip through the pages. As I do so, a small slip of paper falls out and slowly swirls down on the floor. I pick it up and I face some odd writing, that I have never seen before. The letters are drawn with great care and look beautiful. I put it back in the book, close it, and head towards the librarian. It's time to take it home. 

Neighbours

It was a disaster! Both lovely, abandoned meadows on the north and south of my backyard were now infested by neighbors. Every spare minute they now spend there digging, mowing, and planting. They are loud and there were many of them. The worst of all they were there for good. I don't like it. I miss my solitude. I don't want to work in the garden anymore because I have the feeling that they are watching me, judging me. 

Stranger

She couldn't believe it the stranger was the man of her dreams. Those dreams were not very clear, not like in the movies where you have a whole storyline. Her dreams were more like a foggy mess, the setting was extremely weird and timelines were messy. Only one thing never changed - the man and now he was there, in front of her. She felt this sudden urge to talk to him, to hear his voice. In her dreams he never talked.