I know I said I would never tell you the way I created the monster, but here are the details on how I created him. First, I went to look for different parts of human bodies at night when everyone was sleeping. I used dead bodies.
There is a girl. A girl with pale skin, braided ginger hair and a frail body. She sees her
reflection in the water, stale water, not moving. She sees a dark, tall shadow behind her body in
the water. A willow tree, gigantic, compared to her little body.
After all of the mistakes we make as kids, there are things we wish we could go back and change. Decisions we have made that could’ve gone totally different. We all wish we could’ve had someone to be there and tell us what our life is going to be like and some things we can prevent or some things we have to prepare for.
Nini, the only man in the tribe is close to death. He has survived through so many challenges: colonization, industrialization and globalization. He feels tired of so many things that he does for the indigenous tribe.
“... and then I thought, What am I doing? You know what I mean?” “Yes, but I still feel like you’re not being completely honest with me. You know, considering the circumstances of —”
Let’s imagine a place where mutation is normal. Everyone has a shift mutation gene that causes everyone to carry different traits than normal humans. The Disability Talent Center is located in Sakara, a village in Raman. A disability center open for people of all ages.
I could see the sunlight dance upon the surface of our white picket fence. The flecks and shadows shifted like the patterns inside a kaleidoscope; they peered through the leaves of our dogwood tree, they went wherever the leaves took them, and the leaves went wherever the wind took them. It tried to take me too, but I placed my feet firmly on the brick sidewalk that led to our house.
I have been dead for four years.
I am a ghost. To tell the truth, being a ghost is not the same as I imagined it would be.
People can make a choice after they die, either being men via reincarnation or being ghosts in Acheron (underworld).
About a week ago, I was sitting at home thinking about what would happen tomorrow. Would I be able to see my brother and parents like I do every day, or will we all just die by drone strikes? I’m very scared for my brother and my parents, since the drone strikes began five years ago in my hometown of Waziristan. I'm always thinking, Why me? And why is my family a part of this war? My family and I have been living in this village our whole lives. I have some great memories attached to this place, and I am worried now that I might have to leave all of those memories behind.
It was a common day like any other. The autumn breeze began to flow, and crows began to appear at day and night. Layla and her mother, Lucia, lived in a small town. That day she woke up like any other day, cheerful and with energy. Layla was fourteen by then. Her mother was known in the town for her Mishqui, which is what they called grilled cow guts. Her Mishqui was very popular because of its taste. It was chewy, salty, and delicious.
There was a silence, and snow, and a clear sky empty of life, and me, sitting there, taking it all in, accepting what I must try to achieve. It is really hard for someone to discover that they are lost or that they are starting to lose their identity.
There was a silence, and snow, and a clear sky empty of life, and me, sitting there, taking it all in, accepting what I must try to achieve. I knew it was hard but I had to do this in order to feel better and fulfill my soul.
There was a silence, and snow, and a clear sky empty of life, and me, sitting there, taking it all in, accepting what I must try to achieve. I started walking nowhere, and suddenly I saw a house.
He was wholly held, absorbed, by a feeling of confusion and deprivation. He continued to walk through the jungle, taking small steps, not realizing that his bare toes were digging small holes in the soft ground.
He was wholly held, absorbed, by a feeling. One of those feelings that makes you feel in limbo, a bright and obstructed limbo crowded with people. There is no way to fully describe his feeling without actually living it.
He was wholly held, absorbed, by a feeling. It was shame. He sat on the edge of his bed staring at the floral patterns of his dorm room rug. He couldn’t help himself from being drawn to the mysterious red stain he couldn’t get rid of. He played the dreadful scene over and over again in his head.
He was wholly held, absorbed, by a feeling. He was brave and didn't want to show his feelings not even to his family. All he believed in was accomplishment and pride.
He was wholly held, absorbed by a feeling.
Hatred. This particular person did not hate the world but he did to himself. Why? you might ask yourself. It was because of his bad habit.
He was wholly held, absorbed, by a feeling of scarceness. It was midnight and he was the only one walking on the dark road. It felt like late July, the temperature was extremely high and the only thing that he could hear was a dog barking.