In My Not-So-Humble Opinion

"The simple man has always dreamed of being closer to god" "No, no", Greg thought to himself. "Too cheesy". "Men of this earth always wanted to get closer to heaven. With that, they would be one with the divine, and their chains, tying them to their creators would grow thinner than ever. Flying, I guess, is one way of doing that, cause then, heavens are right within our grasp. Or are they? Still, more often than not, it seems that we will never get there." "Better", he muttered. "Better, but needs something more. It will make a great beginning though. Or maybe a great ending? Hmmm... I need to think this one through." Greg really liked these literary excursions of his. He was no writer, make no mistake, but putting his minds into a written form always helped him purge his emotions. Plus, they departed Istanbul at 02:00h in the morning, on a 12 hours flight, labeled TK 241. There are just so many things you can do when...

The smell of loss still reeked from his soul. After a week Adrian understood that his voice was a scream and his eyes a plea to the universe to make it all a simple, scary dream, and that he wakes up knowing Susan is still alive. He couldn't quite recall what he was doing the past week. He spent whole nights in clubs alone at the bar, drinking his pain away, and paying for that with his soul. How many times he wished that the illness took him as well. Heartless in a loveless, decaying world. That was not a way to live your life. His room, in a tower among the grayness, stank of alcohol and more often than not he used to find bruises and scratches on his body for which he couldn't remember where did he get them. How could he go on? He knew he couldn't fully recover from this. Ever. The only thing left was to pick up the pieces of his broken heart and try to move on. For the first time after the accident, he entered his parent's house. The smell of sweet decay and du...

How deep can your soul be? Is it infinite? Is it willing to take anything that we push onto it, oh so forcefully? How deep is a man's soul really? How much things can you shove down its throat and still get to keep it? 22:00 pm. Dull hum of the emergency vehicle. The driver, stern, trying to make a 2 hour drive fit into 60 minutes. Me, tired, knocked down, staring at my mother's pale face. My mother, asleep, sick, in pain. A pack of souls, rushing towards hope, towards a battle we all wanted to win, but deep inside we knew that we're going to lose. My mother, more than all of us. She was in and out of a conscious state each 20 minutes or so. I felt a sweet syrupy smell in her breath. The smell of her soul preparing for death it seems. I had to hold her hand and stroke her hair to calm her down, just as she did when I was a baby. She was wearing a sweater that I bought her for her last birthday. Oh, the irony. She begged me not to take her to the hospital. Why didn'...

That night, Adrian dreamed about his father. Again. The dream was about the days when his political career was at its peak. He saw himself, just a boy of six, sitting in his dad's chair, looking at all the opened books at the table in his home office, listening to his father speaking on the phone, saying something about the chancellor, and just like each other night before, he couldn't quite hear what was it that he was saying. He remembers the sun coming into the room, peeking through the curtains...oh the sun...the warmth, the color... and than he woke up. Day 3382 without the sun, and things were not looking any better. Prologue. The day before, Adrian got the final order: the dismantling of his Pacifier squad. They were to continue their duties for another month, and wait for their reassignments. The order came straight from the chancellor, and Adrian couldn't help but wonder if the order had something to do with the files he found on the hard drive in his uncle...

It was one of those places where you can feel the timelessness, the context of eternity floating in the air, sense the great many moments that happened in that place, each of them leaving inside a small quantum of their energy while passing by, building up to that timeless flux of energy, the energy formed by moments that changed people's lives, moments never to be forgot. It was one of those places where time and space would occasionally meet for a cup of coffee, just to return to their own boring duties afterwards. And to host them both, there was it - the Grand Central station.The constant, the monument, the witness. Make no mistake. All great things come with a price. April 1895. Derek was an engineer leading the construction works of the station and the railroad. He just loved the way people looked at him. He was the one bringing this wonder of modern technology to their doorstep. He was the one bringing the future into their lives, he was the one that drew the first ...

Rain. Again. All gray. No wonder. The view from my bedroom window has seen nothing but gray smoke for years back. Ever since the explosion. The constant tapping of rain on the glass has become a sound so natural, that without it I think I would go crazy. I think I would not be able to cope with the silence. I wish to see the horizon once again. Will I ever? I turned on the TV. News. There you have it, more gray, an orgy of gray. A lot of colors, a lot of lies, but gray still. Pain and suffering wrapped in a nice colorful piece of paper, reeks with grayness because it's the same shit, but just a different day. Another zombie attack. They are happening more and more often. It might even be a good thing, maybe some color will come out of this gray blob our city has turned into, even if the color would be a bright arterial bloody red. The weather forecast has lost it's sense, they are not even talking about the weather, just about the number of days we spent without sun. It...