Happiness

The third story i wrote last week, and probably the craziest one, portraying the transformation that we can go through... The task was to use 5 phrases that we came up in class with and construct a story around them.
the 5 phrases were:
a green bottle
the stomp of an oak tree
1980 VW rabbit 
blue eyed child
yoga matt
9mm pistol
one dirty hippie 


thanks jess for helping me typing it ;)




 Happiness

    Sitting on the stump of an old oak tree next to his house, the old man enjoyed the silence and cool breeze of this late summer morning.  He enjoyed sitting here alone, with the silence and the peace.  Sharing this morning only with the gossip of the starlings in the trees and the smiles of the flowers around him.  The simplicity of this life gave him many pleasures, joy, and fulfillment.  He imagined his wife inside doing her daily routine on the old blue yoga mat.  The Asanas kept them both young and fit, though he allowed himself to skip out on them from time to time.  Like today.  This morning was just too beautiful to be spent inside, so he came out and decided to just sit here and listen to nature.  Life was joy.  
    But it had not always been like that.  It’s been a long journey.  Suddenly all those memories came up again, and even though he had made peace with his past, a slightly unpleasant tension came up in his chest every time he thought about it.  

It must have been 50 years ago.  Maybe even 60.  He was in his 20’s.  The “prime of his life.”  At least, that’s what he thought back then.  He had just gotten his first well-paid job, the director of graphic design in a highly successful, young, advertising agency.  His work was to brief the designer’s on projects and be the interface between the account manager guys and the graphic nerds.  He loved his job.  The challenges.  The money.  And even though he worked 80+ hours, he enjoyed the freedom and status that came with this money.  He and his new friends enjoyed their new life.  Their slogan was “Work hard - Party hard.”  And so it was.  Alcohol, girls, never-ending parties, and always some cocaine to get a clear head in the morning.  

It must have been a Sunday morning.  Probably around 5, because the street cleaners were out when he drove his shining, red, 1980 convertible VW Rabbit back home.  It had been another one of those long party nights and he just wanted to get home to take a quick shower, get some fresh clothes, a quick line to clear his head, and drive back to the office to work on some of the projects.  

A sudden thump kicked him out of his thoughts.  He must have hit something.  He stopped his car, adrenaline pumping throughout his body, clearing his head.  It must have been a cat, maybe a dog.  Maybe one of those cougars.  Anyways, he wanted to see if it was still alive.  Pulling back his car he saw something moving in the shadow of the sidewalk.  “That’s it,” he thought.  He stopped, got out of the car, and ran to the sidewalk.  “Oh my god,” he thought.  There was a bundle of clothes, blond hair, and a lot of blood.  Shocked, he turned the bloody head around and looked into the dead blue eyes of a child.  A child, maybe 7, maybe 8 years old.  Obviously homeless.  Thoughts flashing through his head, “nobody will miss it - nobody will even know it’s gone - nobody had taken care of it anyways - maybe it was even for the best - saved it from a life of poverty and despair.”  

Beep.  Beep.  Beep.  The alarm clock.  His head hurts.  The sunlight stings his eyes.  What time is it?  7.  What day?  Thursday.  Why was his alarm ringing?  He had not gone to work in 2 weeks.  Since that morning. Even though everything went well, the cops still had not called.  Nothing in the newspapers or on the TV indicated that a child was even missing.  But the dead blue eyes.  Every time he closed his eyes, there they were. Looking back at him. These little, blue, dead eyes. Just looking at him. He looked around his apartment.  It was filthy, dirty, fucked up.  Clothes everywhere on the black designer chairs.  Empty green bottles of cheap whiskey on the table and the floor.  Empty pizza boxes and the remains of cocaine on the glass table.  The TV playing a random sitcom.  

Suddenly it becomes clear to him.  They would find him.  It could never be like before.  His life was over.  He made a decision.

He got up, threw on some jeans and a sweater, a short line of cocaine to get the head-ace away, and walked out.  He knew exactly where to go.  His heart started to beat faster as he got closer.  Sweating, excited, he opened the door and looked around.  It took a few seconds for his eyes to get adjusted to the darkness.  A dirty old hippie stood behind the counter.  He kept on looking.  The shop looked almost as filthy as his apartment.  Neon lights brightened the displays.  He looked around searching for the right one.  “This one,” he said.  Without words, the hippie took the silver 9mm pistol out of the display and brought it to the counter.  He started to feel nervous and sweat again.  Was this really the only way out?  Was there no other choice?  His cheeks tightened.  No.  He had fucked up.  Time to pay the consequences.  The hippie stood behind the counter.  Suddenly he didn’t look dirty anymore.  He looked older.  Very old, and somehow wise.  He looked into the young man’s eyes.  Just looked with warm understanding eyes.  

“If you seek forgiveness, you will find it inside you.  If you seek happiness outside, all you will find is suffering and pain.  Seek it inside you, and you will find peace and salvation.  Take the pistol now and find suffering, or come with me and I will teach you how to find happiness inside.”

The young man stared at the old hippie.  Tears streaming down his face.  It was the first time he had cried in years.  It was the first step he took to salvation.

Sitting on the stump of the oak tree, the old man smiled.  He had never figured out why that hippie was in the gun store and how he knew exactly what to say.  But he does know that if the hippie had not said those exact words, he would killed himself that day. 

The last experiment

 As promised, another story of my narrative class.
This time, we had to write a "creation myth" on how the world, or mankind got into existence. I tried to think outside the box and chose a more "sci-fi" approach. The point being: "life is precious - don't waste it"







The last experiment

Deeply worried he went over the data analysis again. All the work - for nothing? All his life he had been working on this project and now it looked like it would fail again. Fail like the millions of other experiments he did.
He was running out of time. Time - this fragile concept. He always thought that there was no such concept as time. But he could sense it - now. It was time for him to leave soon. He - the last of his kind. For the longest part he thought time would cease to exist once you leave your physical body behind; but here it was again - sneaking up from the back, telling him to leave.
But before he could go he had to make sure it would continue. It could not just stop with him. Life had to to continue.
The experiment, it sounded so simple, so easy, so well designed. Find a sheltered planet, inject some of the basic DNA, wait until the lifeforms develop and could support more complex organisms. Inject the next stage of complexity, let it spread and develop, wait. The final stage was to inject higher DNA that was capable of creating awareness; DNA like the one his own body used to have.
And then - wait. Wait for it to develop from the simple beginnings into powerful minds that where capable of higher thinking, communication and arts, and finally would be able to exist without the basic body. For the experiment he chose small, sheltered suns in the outside of galaxies, with planets that move around them thousands of times in a blink of his mind.
But something went wrong. The experiment never worked. From the nine million two hundred and eighty one thousand five hundred and fifty three planets he had seeded only one had survived. And it was always the same story. The intelligent life-form, after being injected to the sphere, first adopts very well to the planet. It starts creating symbiotic relationships with already existing lower lifeforms, creates patterns that allow for survival on the planet and strategies to work with the given environment. The lifeforms start creating higher functioning, communication, social structures, technologies, and art. But at some point, on every planet, the intelligent species starts growing like a virus, infecting and destroying all the eco-systems on the planet, and killing everything before reaching the final stage of evolution - the point of unmanifest being.
Only one planet left. There was not much chance for survival. And the signs were bad. The species had started growing exponentially in a very short period of time. Like on all the other planets, they started destroying the Eco-system, infecting and polluting everything and abusing and destroying the very planet that nurtured them, leaving no resources for future generations.
The signs were bad.
Only a miracle could help to continue.
But there was still hope. Some of the objects showed significant strong levels of higher thinking. Some showed signs of connection to the unmanifest. Signs he had never seen before on any other planet.
Maybe this one would survive.

What did you leave behind

I am in a narrative class right now and therefore started writing stories.
To my surpass, I like it, and so I have decided to post some of them here.
I hope you like them.

The first story is from our first homework assignment. The task was to think back in our life to a moment that changed our life, then write down the series of events that happened to get a timeframe and then write the story.

The series of events in my case was pretty simple:
I was at a bonfire at the beginning of the semester
thinking about life.
Then a girl started talking to me and surprised me
She asked me "what did you leave behind"

(to be totally honest, the story did not happen exactly the way i write it here, i modified it, to adopt it to the point i wanted to get across...)

What did you leave behind?

While staring at the fire and the coals i think back about last summer and the challenges that the next year is going to bring. It’s a warm September evening and the  semester has just started. The last 6 weeks I have worked in an Ayurveda Spa, taking a lot of time to think about my life, my future plans, my goals for this coming semester. I want to get stuff done, accomplish something this year, but more important I want to work on myself, be true to myself and others, say what i really feel and be more present.
Around me there is people talking about their summer experiences, all the adventures they had, all the fun. Its a constant chattering and small-talk that accumulates in my ears until it sound like the screaming hum of a plain taking off. Somewhere close somebody is playing guitar, covers from the 90ties, and a few people join in and sing and play drums.
“hey, I don’t think i have met you” - is pulling me out if my dreams. A phrase that i have heard too many times in the last week and that always leads to mindless small-talk. “Where are you from” - “why did you come here?” -  “How do you like it so far?” - the same phrases over and over again.
Still in my thoughts I look up, although not expecting much.
Boom - it hits me - surpise.
Two amazing eyes, dark brown like chocolate look at me, framed by long hair that is black as the night and shines in the moonlight and a smile that is almost overwhelming me with joy and beauty.
“So.. - Sorry - what did you say?” is all i get out.
“I said: I’ve seen you around, but I don’t think i have met you...” - she smiles.
“ Oh, I am Emanuel, nice to meet you; what’s your name?”
We get into the usual small talk. “Where are you from?” - “How do you like it here?” - “Why did you come here?”- What are you studying?” - the same old phrases.
As i start getting bored again and drifting off with my thoughts, she hits me with another surprise.
“What did you leave behind when you came here?” she asks suddenly more serious.
“I am not sure if i understand what you mean..”
“you know, every time we go somewhere, we leave stuff behind, and often we go somewhere just to leave where we were. So... what did YOU leave behind?”
Interesting.
Pictures come to my mind. My old life, my broken relationship that drove me crazy, my life between work, party, alc and drugs - “Work hard - Party hard” was our slogan. My divided family that kept criticising me, wanting me to make something out of my liofe, to take responsibility, and to finally finish my education.
I look at her, while I hear myself saying: “I don’t know”.
“Good job Emanuel”, screams my inner voice, “ so much about being true to myself and others.
Try harder next time!!”