Love
One Day Before the Last Challenge
One Day Before the Last Challenge It's been six days since I went up the mountain. This entire time of challenges and experiences has made me grow a lot. I can more easily understand nature, myself and others. Nature marches to its beat and is opposed to the pretensions of human beings. We deforest the forests, pollute the waters, and release gases into the atmosphere. What do we get out of it? What really matters to us, money or our survival? The consequences are there: Global warming, reduction of flora and fauna, natural disasters. Does man not see that this is all his fault? There is still time. There is time for life. Do your part: Save water and energy, recycle waste, do not pollute the environment. Require your government to commit to environmental issues. It's the least we can do for ourselves and for the world. Coming back to my adventure, once I went up the mountain, I better understood my wishes and my limits. I understood that dreams are only made possible as long as they are noble and righteous. The cave is fair and if I win the third challenge, it will make my dream come true. When I won the first and second challenges, I came to better understand the wishes of others. The majority of people dream to have riches, social prestige and high levels of command. They no longer see what is best in life: Professional success, love, and happiness. What makes the human being exceptional are his qualities that shine through his work. Power, wealth, and social ostentation do not make anyone happy. This is what I am looking for in the sacred mountain: Happiness and total domain of the “opposing forces.” I need to go out for a little. Step by step, my feet lead me outside the hut that I built. I hope for a sign of destiny.
By Aldivan Teixeira Torresabout a year ago in Fiction
The Tremor
The Tremor A new day begins. Light appears, the breeze of the morning caress my hair, birds, and insects are having a celebration, and the vegetation seems to be reborn. It happens every day. I rub my eyes, wash my face, brush my teeth and take a bath. This is my routine before breakfast. The forest offers neither advantages nor options. I am not accustomed to this. My mother spoiled me to the point of serving me my coffee. I eat my breakfast in silence, but something weighs on my mind. What will the third and final challenge be? What will happen to me in the cave? There are so many questions without answers, it makes me dizzy. The morning progresses and with it so do my palpitations, fears, and chills. Who was I now? Certainly, not the same. I went up a sacred mountain looking for a destiny that not even I knew about. I found the guardian and discovered new values and a world larger than I ever imagined existed before. Furthermore, I won two challenges and now only had to face the third. A chilling third challenge that was distant and unknown. The leaves around the hut move ever-so-slightly. I have learned to understand nature and its signals. Someone is approaching.
By Aldivan Teixeira Torresabout a year ago in Fiction
The Young Girl
The Young Girl The mountain had already turned dark when the soup was ready. The cold wind of the night and the insect noise makes the environment evermore rural. The strange lady has not yet come to the hut. I hope to have everything in order by the time she arrives. I taste the soup: It really was good, although I did not have all the necessary condiments. Furthermore, I step outside the hut for a little and contemplate the heavens: The stars are witnesses of my efforts. I went up the mountain, found its guardian, completed two challenges (one more difficult than the other), met a ghost, and I am still standing. “The poor strive more for their dreams.” I look at the arrangement of the stars and their luminosity. Each has its importance in the great universe that we live in. People are also important in the same way. They are white, black, rich, poor, of religion A, or religion B or of any belief system. They are all children with the same father. I also want to take my place in this universe. I am a thinking being without limits. Furthermore, I think that a dream is priceless, but I am willing to pay for it to enter the cave of despair. I contemplate the heavens once more and then go back to the hut. I wasn't surprised to find guardian there.
By Aldivan Teixeira Torresabout a year ago in Fiction
The value of old people
In a certain country, there was constant poverty. The king thought that the people of the country should be reduced. Only then can poverty be avoided. The king issued a strange law, that all the old parents who could not work, and only ate while lying down, should be thrown into the forest. What else could be done, if the law was not obeyed, one's life would be lost. So people would throw their old parents into the forest on the edge of the mountain. The old people would die of hunger there, or they would end up in the stomach of a tiger.
By Md Ariful Islamabout a year ago in Fiction
The Garden Blooms
The Garden Blooms by Kabir Ahmed Chowdury Flowers have bloomed in the garden. That’s only natural—flowers 'will' bloom in a garden, so what’s there to fuss about? They’ll bloom, spread their fragrance, attract bees, and draw butterflies! Oh, wait—why would bees come? Is there a honeycomb tucked away in the garden for bees to swarm to? Maybe not, but what’s the harm in imagining it? A passing traveler might suddenly pause, struck by the sight.
By Chowdhury Kabirabout a year ago in Fiction
The Library of Forgotten Words
The first time Clara stumbled into the library, she wasn’t looking for answers. She was running from the silence. It had been six months since the accident—since the screech of tires and the hollow ring of a phone call had cleaved her life in two. Her husband, James, was gone, and with him, the sound of his laughter, the cadence of his voice, the stories he’d scribble on napkins and slip into her coat pockets. Now, their apartment echoed with absence. So Clara walked. She walked until her feet blistered, until the streets of London blurred into a maze of rain and stone. That’s when she saw it: a crooked building wedged between a pawnshop and a boarded-up café, its sign hanging by a single chain.
By Sanchita Chatterjeeabout a year ago in Fiction
