Why I don't celebrate ChristmasGrandma died when I was 18 years old, on Christmas day. I never really got to know her well, since the family had pretty much kept their distance from her due to her 'weird religion.' I grew up un-churched, as they say, and never had any interest in religion of any kind. Today, however, I practice the same religion as grandma did. Let me explain to you how that happened, and why I no longer celebrate Christmas.
When grandma died it was determined that the house and all its contents would be auctioned off. She lived in a humble little bungalow, not unlike the others on her street. Nothing she owned was of any value to the family, and I got the dubious assignment of going through her personal items to determine what might be sold, and what should be thrown away. Needless to say the last thing that I wanted to do was to go through an old lady's things, grandma or not. But, as I wasn't given a choice in the matter, I soon got to work. A
Why Love Still MattersLying in a small bed in a makeshift hospital made of tents was a little girl named Zayed. Her left arm was missing, and the burns that she had suffered along with her swollen face made her nearly indistinguishable from the playful, pretty child that she was the day before. The country where she lived was experiencing a civil war between the two dominant tribes, the Xandu and the Xundi. The Xundi tribe that she belonged to held dominant governmental authority in her land, while the Xandu's were a majority populace that had long felt suppressed, even oppressed. The killings started about a year ago. Shootings, machete attacks, homemade bombs. It was just such a bomb that had been tossed into the open window of her small hut, killing all of Zayed's family members. She was the lone survivor.
Before the hostilities began, Zayed had many Xandu friends at school. While relations were strained among the adult population, it rarely filtered down t
Something SpecialSomething was missing.
Not physically, but yet... he could still feel it; A barely noticeable pinch tugging at the base of his heart, anchoring it into the pit of his stomach.
The Ninja had been living in secrecy, willingly isolating himself from society for the sake of his "children's" safety, yet he so strongly wanted to be with them.
He wanted to talk with them... Laugh with them...
He so eagerly wanted to cry out "Here I am! I am real, and I really do care! Everything will be alright!"
Alas, exposing himself to the public would only ensue challengers or hostile outbreaks of the wavering-faith and add to the problems of Dissolution's already complicated way of life.
Even disguised as Starling, his thirst for companionship, his longing for affection could not be satiated. The people he communed with only knew who he pretended to be, his masked identity. They didn't really know "him".
The Ninja stood at the center of the observation platform in his sanctum. His face was stoic as
Vergessene TiereSchlagende Herzen
Knurrend meldet sich mein Magen. Er will unbedingt gehör finden. Doch mein Gehör ist schon lange nicht mehr fit genug, um so etwas zu lauschen. Tatsächlich bin ich taub.
Nur die schmerzen im Bauch spüre ich. Das zusammenziehen, das rumdrehen, krampfen eines lehren Magens. Doch hier auf der Straße gibt es nicht genug. Meine Nase ist seit jenem Tag nicht mehr zu gebrauchen.
Was an jenem Tag passierte?
Ich lief Seite an Seite mit meinem Freund, einem kleinen Mischling die Straße der Plaza hinunter. Es gab so viel Müll zur Hochsaison. Viele Menschen die so unterschiedlich Rochen drängten sich an die Strände. Eine Fundgrube für uns. Nun nicht an jenem Tag.
Es war bei Einbruch der Dämmerung. Junge Zweibeiner lockten uns mit leckerem Essen. Dann passierte es.
Die schmeißen große Dinge auf uns, die sich beim Aufprall auf den Boden explosionsartig entflammten. Ich bekomme die Schreie meines Freundes nicht
Raices.Son lágrimas falsas, quejas sin vástagos, aquellas que son despertadas al caer las viejas hileras de los árboles. Brizna de males milenarios, donde ya antiguas raíces fueron arrancadas de los hogares; y otras, del oscuro vacío terroso de tu futura tumba.
Five edges, eight plains and shining like a fresh polished piano, the crystal, like every day, hovers over the roofs of the fretful city. After worshipping him in the morning routine he fades almost beyond recognition, but never entirely disappears. Promises of joy and beatitude faciliate the small but severe step of giving the responsibility for ourselves into his hands, be it through faith in his control and predermination or following his dogma. This perception, told by the unseeing, should clear our gaze, relieve us from what they call chains but still I see him up there, today especially defined and shining in the sunlight. Acting proper, showing compassion, the qualities you must deliver to enter the eternal womb of the crystal after the purgatory we currently exist in. The logic cants screaming synapsewraith, which haunts my thoughts is pleasantly silent today, it is going to be a wonderful day, thanks to the crystal.
After the morning routine it is time to act
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