Parallel Lives – Sample Fragment 18

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“I know the feeling, I haven’t been around here for several years either, but this seemed just the day for it. When I moved to this town after getting married, I used to come here as often as I could. I guess it put certain things into perspective… Besides, it’s such a good place to run away from everything.”

The dusty country road took them right in front of the big, rust-covered gate, leaning on ancient stones. As soon as the car was parked under a massive tree, Amalia was out, stretching her legs like a big, restless feline, while Robert was fiddling with something in the trunk.

“Here,” he got so close to her, that when the light breeze blew her hair, it touched his face and he almost shivered handing her a bottle of water, “careful not to dehydrate. And try not to twist your ankles. Do you think you can handle a walk around the place?”

“You have no idea, do you?” She turned towards him giggling, just a few carefree steps and jumps having already taken her past the slightly open gate. “Come on, what are you waiting for?”

She took several steps away, skipping over a few scattered rocks and now ruins of the old byzantine settlement were spreading around her on the hillside, all the way down to the sea, like a giant lizard baking in the sun. All of the sudden, the universe became quiet and timeless, a mass of suspended emotions, generations, battles and sorrows transpiring through the ancient stones. The past was present again and the present could be lost among the ruins, emotions and fears and worries could be scattered and dropped in the grass and nettles covering the paths of another world, a long ago disappeared civilization could deal with them however they saw fit. A lost civilization… they came to conquer and instead they settled and lived and died. But had they ever been alive or had the trouble of conquering and settling taken over their lives and haunted them to their deaths? They died so many times, each and every time a foot stepped on their world and a soul remembered them, they died once more, without ever coming back to life, their existence so long ago helping to have never lived in the first place. No one can really grasp the notion of their lives so far back in time, so they must have never lived at all. But I am alive now, I am so alive now, because I’m here and because they make me feel so alive. So they must have lived too, they must still live somewhere too, if they can make me feel so alive. She stopped to breathe the byzantine heat emanated by the stone wall against which she was leaning, her eyes and thoughts spiralling through the grass on the path, all the way down to the water.

For more sample fragments from Parallel Lives, see: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/396169

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Summer Lovin’ (Weekly Photo Challenge)

This week, share a photo that says summer lovin’ to you. It might be a favorite pair of sandals you can’t bear to part with, the homemade salsa you made with veggies from your garden, the flowers you planted, or your family frolicking on the beach.

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Aside from delicious fruit and lazy days on the beach, summer will always be a time for beautiful flowers, exciting trips and new experiences. All those fleeting moments of happiness are the reason why summer is such a lovely time of year for me…  :-)

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Containers (Weekly Photo Challenge)

This week, share your own vision of a container you find interesting.

 

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Some structures are containers of amazing beauty. Others are just cages…

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Relic (Weekly Photo Challenge)

Share a photo of what “relic” means to you — it could be your still-running 1979 Honda Accord Hatchback, an historic building in your town, or an old, rusted farm implement poking up through the long grass in a field.

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Relics and history are sometimes one and the same…

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The Typewriter (Weekly Writing Challenge)

For this week’s writing challenge, shake the dust off something — a clothing item, a post draft, a toy — you haven’t touched in ages, but can’t bring yourself to throw away.

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The computer is resting casually on my knees – ubiquitous part of a calm, quiet afternoon at home; but once in a while my glance wonders off to the old typewriter… Oddly enough, the object belonging to such different times doesn’t make for a strange anachronism.

I wanted to take it apart as a child, even before I could read, that’s the first memory I have of the typewriter which had to be stored out of my reach, on the top shelf or in a hidden corner. Even if the characters it produced made no sense to me at that time, once I understood what it was used for, I immediately concluded it held the mystery of all the books I pestered my grandmother to read to me. She was the keeper of that great skill that allowed her to magically transform the gibberish on the page into words, into mesmerizing stories, but she didn’t feel like sharing this gift with me as much as I would have liked her to. So it only made sense that once I solved the puzzle of the typewriter – by taking it apart, of course – everything else would fall into place and I would learn all the secretes of those books my grandmother refused to read to me. What can I say, the oddest of things can make sense to a child… My grandfather was the one to put an end to my destructive impulses, showing me that the typewriter is the source of new mysteries and in no way the solution to understanding the already existing ones enclosed between book covers. Once in a while he’d write lectures, speeches or even some fairy-tales he had made up for me and those were the moments when I sat on his knees, while he typed and uttered the words out loud, so I’d know what the mystery maker was compiling of the blank page. My grandmother rolled her eyes disapprovingly at what she considered to be a boring, useless activity, but I was fascinated by the eloquent discourse and the clicking of the keys.

It was a time auspicious for fast, radical changes and much like the typewriter, my grandfather became obsolete, lost and irrelevant after his retirement, losing his identity in the blink of an eye. The old and noisy typewriter would make itself heard occasionally, as it was trotted out for him to relive the glory of long forgotten days. But much like him, the mystery maker had lost its power and nobody would ever listen to the somewhat nonsensical words filling the pages that my grandmother would immediately deposit in the bin, muttering about wasted time and noisy typing devices. But the old man would never accept that his trusty companion was no longer of use to anybody, having become the laughingstock of the contemporary world. He was dead set on reaffirming the relevance of the old device which had survived decades of changes, happiness and misery. So it became a habit for him to type invitations to all sorts of family events, invitations which my grandmother would surreptitiously throw out, telling him she had mailed them. It worked out fine, until one day when he decided to mail the invitations himself, thus offending his wife’s sensibilities. The infamous typewriter was immediately stored away in some obscure corner of the house – much like when I was child – and he was told it had suffered a bad fall and was no longer functional. The old man muttered for days. Much like everything else that accompanied him along his sinuous path to success, defining who he had once been, the typewriter had been suddenly taken away from him, without any possibility to be redeemed, because he no longer had the energy to fight for it.

I wasn’t quite sure why, but when I left for university I felt that the old typewriter had to go with me. Several years passed before it saw the light of day again, I had actually forgotten I had it. But it was such a pleasant surprise to eventually rediscover this childhood relic! From that moment on, it could finally live its retirement days in peace, in its own corner amongst old books and photo albums, receiving the appreciation and respect it always deserved.

“It gathers dust, but it looks very cute,” my mother very pragmatically noticed when she saw it. That may be the case, but the retired typewriter is so much more! It lives as a constant reminder that there still are instances when dreams come true and some persons can shape and control their destiny, reaching the peaks of success and achieving the goals they set for themselves. Yet life has a perverted sense of balance – or perhaps a sense of humour – pushing the same persons into the abyss without any warning. And there are cases when no amount of caution can save them. All we can do is enjoy our personal moments of glory and do our best to type a happier sequel to our sadder stories of despair.

 

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Parallel Lives – Sample Fragment 37

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Nervousness makes the heart twitch with a very odd kind of emotion for some people, because not everybody can recognise a shadow of insecurity in those few, vague situations they become afflicted with it. Robert seemed to differentiate himself from the not so many other guys in Amalia’s past, something about him made you think “a real man” more than you would be inclined to do so in other cases. As a young woman, you would become restless with anticipation, because you would instinctively understand that his vast experience will guide your way into new shivers of pleasure, on new peaks of physical fulfilment. But Amalia was too cerebral and too proud to focus just on that, her main concern was being on the same level with him, having at least that much of an impact on him too.

For more sample fragments from Parallel Lives, see: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/396169

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Parallel Lives – Sample Fragment 36

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More than ever she felt like a girl that night, and not at all like that person she knew she would become, like that woman she so longed to be. Amalia was certainly no ingénue, no virgin or prude, the guys in her past and present could attest it without a doubt, and she was indeed well-aware of the effect her body had on them, she adored the sense of power she extracted from their desire and satisfaction. Few things can be more reassuring and addictive to a woman than perceiving the males’ ecstasy, than the thrill of control their desperate lust for her can convey, or than the vague victory in an unmentioned battle with the other members of her own sex. It is all about superiority and control, the reassertion of the self, so much more than just the physical pleasure, the satisfaction transcending so many levels.

For more sample fragments from Parallel Lives, see: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/396169

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Contrasts (Weekly Photo Challenge)

This week, in a post created specifically for this challenge, share your own photo showing a CONTRAST.

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I found Rome to be a place of contrasts: historical shadows and the fast pace of modern life intertwine, bright light spears through the densest of shadows, so much of the daily routine is based on antithetical aspects coexisting…

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