agonia
english

v3
 

Agonia.Net | Policy | Advertising Contact | Participate
poezii poezii poezii poezii poezii
poezii
armana Poezii, Poezie deutsch Poezii, Poezie english Poezii, Poezie espanol Poezii, Poezie francais Poezii, Poezie italiano Poezii, Poezie japanese Poezii, Poezie portugues Poezii, Poezie romana Poezii, Poezie russkaia Poezii, Poezie

Poetry Personals Prose Screenplay Essay Press Article Communities Contest Special Literary Technique

Poezii Românesti - Romanian Poetry

poezii


 
Texts by the same author






Translations of this text
0

 Members comments


print e-mail
Views: 75 .



Dream or memory
prose [ Science-Fiction ]
08.12.2017

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
by [Roddickutza ]

2018-01-01  |     | 



I am in front of a door, I turn the knob and step inside. The room is dark because the window shades are pulled. A man is sitting at a small table, but I can't see his face very clearly. I sit down on a chair in front of him. He looks at me like he knows me. He seems familiar too, but I don't remember from where. He starts speaking and his voice is like a sound I have heard before but have forgotten.
" Sometimes, when I watch a movie and there are two people making a decision that takes them on separate paths, I wish they would somehow go back to that moment in time and rewrite their story. Wouldn't that be great, if we could too go back to that turning point in our life? Let go back there now! This is our moment! Tell me what do you want to do?"
I look straight into his eyes, they are teary like he is in some kind of pain, but is not his body that is hurting. His hands are folded on the table, I reach my hand and place it over his. I hear myself speaking.
" I want to go to the park, walk and hold hands."
His face lights up with the most beautiful smile I have ever seen and it felt good knowing that because of my words, he wasn't sad anymore. He gets up, clasps my hand like it's the only thing he owns and we exit the room.
As we reach the park, a thick fog starts falling. We stop under a tree. But it is not an ordinary tree. 10 people forming a chain could not circle his trunk and his top is so rich the branches are reaching for the sky. He puts his arm over my shoulder and we hug as I rest my head on his chest. The park seems empty, but then I hear sounds of violins playing somewhere in the distance. I turn my head in the direction of the music, but I don't see anything because of the fog. When I turned to look at him again, I meet his face half way, just inches from mine. We stare in awe into eachother's eyes, with lust, with love, with pain, with disbelief, with hope. He leans closer as he holds me in a tight embrace and he kisses me like it's the first and last time.
And we just stood there, kissing, under that old tree with the sounds of violins playing in the distance.
And then I woke up....Was is a dream or a memory?

.  |











 
shim Home of Literature, Poetry and Culture. Write and enjoy articles, essays, prose, classic poetry and contests. shim
shim
poezii  Search  Agonia.Net  

Reproduction of any materials without our permission is strictly prohibited.
Copyright 1999-2003. Agonia.Net

E-mail | Privacy and publication policy

Top Site-uri Cultura - Join the Cultural Topsites!