Square Writing

There was something about Iko’s voice that resonated inside Zou’s brain, but he couldn’t point it out. Zou smiled and concentrated while Iko read from the book.

“A square is a plain figure with four equal straight sides and four right angles,” stated Iko and looked at Zou. “Questions?”
“How do you draw a square?” asked Zou.
Iko frowned and replied, “Draw a horizontal line, then a vertical line, then a horizontal line, and a vertical line.”
“What if I draw it differently?”
Iko immediately raised his eyebrows and sighed. “Horizontal, vertical, horizontal, vertical. Get it?”
“Yes, I do. But, can I draw it, let’s say, horizontal, horizontal, vertical, vertical?”
Iko turned red.““Horizontal, vertical, horizontal, vertical. That’s the right way—the only way.”
“Why?”
Iko didn’t answer.
“I can use four triangules, put them together, and form a square. That’s another way.”
Iko blurted, “Horizontal, vertical, horizontal, vertical. Period.”
Sepulchral silence followed. Iko stared at Zou. Was he upset? There are thousands of ways to draw a square. “Why?” asked Zou once again.
Ten eternal seconds of silence elapsed in which Iko seemed like a chameleon; he switched from red to purple. But he finally managed to answer, “’Cus the experts said so.”
Zou raised an eyebrow. “What experts?”
Iko seemed to be thinking and then shouted, “’Cus the books said so.”
“Can I draw a square a new way?”
Iko blurted, “No.”
“Why?”
“’Cus I said so. End of discussion.”

From then on Zou knew he couldn’t discuss this matter any longer. Was his relationship with master Iko permanently damaged? Maybe. Squares don’t change, they are always, horizontal, vertical, horizontal, vertical. Right?

Broken Wings

It was only three weeks after Tetlza, the bird, was born, yet her parents pushed her over the edge of the tree. She had to fly. She needed to learn the hard way. But she didn’t know how and went down plummeting at fast speed. Her heart raced and her head spun in a thousand different directions. By instinct she shook her wings, but that proved futile. She spiraled down at an incredible speed. In a last effort, she moved her body until, somehow, she achieved stability. Then, she floated. Without even noticing, she hovered on the sky, shaking her wings at a paced rhythm. Was it time to try something different? She went up in the sky, towards the nest.

She was proud of herself. She flew on her first attempt; maybe she even broke the record for the faster learner ever.  As soon as she reached the nest, her parents waited with frowned faces and crossed wings.  Without saying a word, her father pushed her again, with such bad luck that she hit the tree and broke a wing. With only one wing, she fell down to the ground where she crashed. The end result: the other wing broke.

Hurting, she looked up and found her father shaking his head. Would she ever fly again?

Book Signing

I bought one of those magic slates. It’s white, thin, and, light. People call it e-reader. With excitement, I searched for books. I found a gazillion-million—too many choices. I settled for the number one bestseller. Oh boy, so cool. I read it in a breezy. It was so convenient: I could bookmark, add notes, even share excerpts in FaceBook. It was 21st century techno-coolness.

I found on the web about a book signing. To my delight, the author was one of my favorites. I had to drive one hundred miles—piece of cake, and it was on Saturday. I only had to wait a couple of days.

I drove to the bookstore. It was gigantic, books all over the place. Nerdy looking people read in the aisles while other people socialized at the cafeteria. But no signs of the book signing. I walked around, I felt like walking several miles. It was late and I couldn’t find the crowd. I went upstairs and, finally, found them. The author sat behind an old desk with people waiting in line in front of him. He smiled and scribbled something on a book. I was the last on line, I had to wait until all the people in front of me got their book signed—all two of them.

My turn arrived, “Hi,” I said. My stomach burbling with excitement.
“Hi,” he said, he was all business. His big belly showed he was an excellent writer and spent most of his time sitting in front of the computer. “Name?”
“John.” My heart racing.
“Nice to meet you John,” he said, showing a fake smile and tired eyes.
We stared at each other for a few seconds. He kept looking at my hands.
“Well?” he said with a raised brow.
“Uh?” I replied. What did he mean why well?
“The book,” he blurted.
“Oh, yeah.” I grabbed my backpack, took it out, and handed it to him.
He looked at me with an are-you-out-of-your-mind face. “What’s this?” He asked.
“The book,” I replied.

Then it hit me. Bummer, the book was “inside” my e-reader.

I wondered: what’s the future of book signing?

A summer day in Dallas

It's hot as hell!

THE END OF THE ROAD

Marilen dragged her feet. She followed the illuminated black and white path without thinking. When did she start? How did she get into this road? How much longer? Every step covered the glass floor. A strong light source came from underneath the ground. Then she stopped and looked back. She couldn’t see the beginning. She looked forward, same result. Was she in the middle of nowhere?

The ceiling had a faint white light here and there. There was something about the ceiling. Did she enter through the ceiling? How? Dizziness captured her and saw the walls dancing; she lowered her chin and the floor lights flashed at a frantic pace.

Where Am I?

Her last memory was inside the grocery store, at noon, she handed off money to the cashier, and then… and then…

Where Am I?

Oh yes, the shopping cart, the squeaking wheels rolling on the pavement. The sun burning her left cheek—it was so damn hot. Her car shone a few yards away…

Where Am I?

The squeaking was loud, very loud, deafening loud. But it wasn’t the shopping cart. Now, it was a car.

No!

A car ran at a fast speed in the middle of the parking lot. She jumped; the groceries flew all over in slow motion. And she avoided the vehicle and…

What Am I doing here? Where Am I?

And… and… what else?

“Hello,” said a voice. It came from the ceiling. “Are you OK?” OK echoing inside her head.

The black and white pathway colored, blur silhouettes moving. The sun hit her eyes—it burned. She opened her eyes and found a paramedic kneeling in front of her, “Are you OK?”

She nodded once, closed her eyes, and saw the bright white light at the end of the road. It was the purest form of white. She liked it—she walked towards it. Magnetic, she thought. It’s a life magnet.

A warm feeling invaded her. She walked towards the potent light until she reached the end of the road.