It was a clear calm night, the moon was sneaking from beyond the branches to gleam with dim light. Somewhere beyond the hill, a spring decided to create a new stream that disturbed the silence of darkness to make it a living fear. It was a strange desire to go there in the middle of the night to drink cold water like a cow. The realm of life makes it difficult to me to understand the deep connection between my fears and the moon, flowing water and the song of branches in deep dark nights. This silver and silent nights brings to me most scary and hidden dreams that watch me closely to haunt my soul. However, we always wait each other for these nights; because only then I feel that I'm what I'm; neither a dog nor a wolf that terrifies lost beings that are wandering and roaming somewhere there in the middle of the night to drink cold water and feel the ecstasy of life. The stream will eternally lead the thirsty to the source as the moth that follows the beam of light to the source that makes her dance ritually until the morning. I need these fears and nights to lessen the real fears of our life for deep in my soul I know that they are all an illusion.
I started my hike up the mountain path which has been drawn with much care by peasants and hunters for long years , so it was easy to climb up with little effort. I heard the tress whispering to each other about my odd intention; an oak tree said' He only wants to reach the spring.' 'I know all about this spring especially at this time.' Said an apple tree. I passed them peacefully pretending that I have not heard any of their argument. I didn't even try to understand the strange relation among these trees, the breeze above and the sound of the stream below that makes them a sound unity. I reached the spring where the reflection of the moon was dancing in elegance. Two stones emerged to the surface of the water to defy the resistance of drinking happily in a primitive way. My chin and lips penetrated the mirror which danced madly, and I drank joyfully like a cow. I stood like a giant filled with presentiment of the next adventure. I have to go the graveyard to visit my grandfather. His tomb is not far from the village and going down is much easier for me now. When I reached there I found him sitting near his tomb rubbing a tomato to eat. 'You didn't find happiness after all,' said he,' past could be in front of you..got it, what motivates your thoughts will illuminate your ways.' I smiled thoughtfully and bent to kiss hand while he kissed my hair. I left him in the darkness and returned home, I sneaked into my bed and slept.
What causes America's mainstream media to fear and try to destroy a group of artists and their work? What happens when such a creative movement grows in strength and threatens media's bottom line? Why would extremists find it necessary to take acti
The bulk of the collection is eight short stories that are set in yesteryear. The compilation is filled out with four entertaining fantasy pieces and three poems.
Pieces of Eight is an eclectic collection of eight imaginative novellas/short stories. Themes represented in the work are science fiction, paranormal, psychological drama, humor, murder/revenge and astrological fulfillment. Pieces of Eight is the com
