In My Not-So-Humble Opinion

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...

Each day is a blank page of a book.At it's very beginning, we wake up, and we write the words in it.We tend to live our days with minds as clear as a summer morning, and we look to the future with hope, like a sailor that looks at the horizon, for what is future if it's not hope, and what is the horizon if not the ultimate desire. We are programmed to balance our lives out, as is the universe, as are it's building blocks.Everything always moves towards chaos but tries to stay in balance, each Yin has it's Yang, each action provokes a similar or enhanced reaction, and make no mistake, whatever you do, good or bad, will come back to you, just like in a circle. This is a story of such a circle, and for what it's worth, it's a true story. In my senior year in high school, I just moved into the capital from abroad. It was a tough time for me, I did not know anybody, I did not know the city, I abandoned everything that I had hundreds of kilometers away, and I was...

Kids, I have never told you this story before. It's not a happy story.It might be a sad story, or maybe not. It's just life as it is. You see, back when I was younger, I was different. Hard to let anyone in, even harder to love someone.Your mother, however, broke that ice and found a way into my heart. It was a miracle that I cannot understand to this day, and I salute her for the courage she had to do so. Like all stories, this one had a colorful beginning, golden leaves in autumn, hot yellow sun in the summer, green grass in the spring and that clandestine beauty covered in white snow in the winter. It had all of that, and when did we lose the colors....I have no idea. At least I cannot remember, you should ask your mother about that, maybe she knows.After that, it was all grey, and by the end, it was a shitty brown, going towards black or a sort of a dark, bloody red. The moments we had were epic, like in a fairytale. The small faults - humane, understandable. The mi...

Once upon a time, in a kingdom placed so far away that almost everyone forgot it even existed, there was a storyteller.This storyteller was so good, that every story that he would tell would become reality. At first, when he was young, he was telling short stories, some of them were interesting, some of them were boring, but all of them were short, harmless. He needed to learn how to control his gift, he wanted to go slowly, experiment a bit, so he would tell stories about a small house in the forest, or about small floods of rivers in the mountains. Something that would ease his need to tell a story, and at the same time, be completely innocent. After a while, as he got older, he got bored, started telling stories about battles, mythical creatures, dragons with 3 heads, and as the time passed his attention to detail became bolder and more and more vivid. Slowly but surely, people started talking about this great storyteller who was able to create everything just by playing with w...

Wednesday, 11th of September 2013, 11:17 AM. Hannah posted another one of her photos on Instagram, and in matter of minutes she had hundreds of likes.Praising comments all over the place.She was the queen of social networks,three profiles on Facebook,thousands of followers on Twitter and Instagram and all this because of her staggering beauty."All of these people", she thought."They all adore me".She felt so loved, so desired, sitting there among her plush toys and shiny trinkets, staring at her laptop... she felt as being on the top of the world. She never got this much attention from her friends (whom she sees so rarely),and I mean....who needs them anyway? When she goes to work she has her colleagues for a meaningless compliment, or some empty human contact, which she despised from time to time, and from time to time it just didn't matter cause that, she thought, is for the best.The people who truly love her were online, always there for her. Mike and Ji...