Tag: Stories

Flawed.

I guess that maybe, I’m not the only flawed one here. For we are more alike, than we are unlike.

I stared at the person in the mirror. The person was me, but also not me. Messy hair, face filled with acne, too thin, big nose, I had so many flaws. I tried to remind myself that looks do not define who I am but oh well, society thinks they do. It’s as if society tells us to be who we are but in a certain way. The way I look doesn’t fit their beauty standards. My hair is a part of me that I’ve always despised. My eyes too. They are two things that I think are my most flawed physical traits. My eyes are too big and dark, and I have absolutely no eyelashes. My hair is always too curly and messy, and a little too dark. My sister stands beside me, at least two inches taller. I’ve always adored her hair, straight and blonde. I continue staring at my reflection, it’s a new habit I’ve developed. Its as if I judge myself so that others don’t have to. After glaring at myself for five minutes, something hits me. It’s quite obvious but I’ve never realized it before. My eyes and my hair; two things that I hate, are the exact same colour. They are both dark brown. I stare at my huge eyes, and then at my long hair, and then my eyes, and then my hair and so on. Without realizing I say it out aloud –
“My eyes and my hair are the same colour, ugh I hate them so much.”
My sister faintly chuckles and says
“You know, this is how we humans are. We judge each other and only spot our flaws. We fail to notice the one thing that brings us together. That is, how alike we are. In one way or another, no matter how diverse and flawed we all are, at the end we’re still human. It’s one similarity no one can change or take away from us. Sometimes we just get too busy hating on others and talking about their flaws that we forget how similar we are. Humanity brings us all together. For there is unity in diversity. I hope you know sister, that no matter how much you may despise your flaws, they still are what make us all alike.”
I don’t show it, but I am deeply affected by what my sister just said. I guess we all will always be the same no matter what. I guess that maybe, I’m not the only flawed one here. For we are more alike, than we are unlike.

Thank you for being here today. Thank you for not giving up. I love you.

Where the wild things are.

An entirely fictional, but at the same time – real short story.

I catch a last glimpse of my home and my city – Copenhagen, once so stunning and lively, now in ruins and lifeless. I then take a deep breath. Say goodbye to my home and enter the underground tunnel. I run to wherever the tunnel takes me. Hopefully, where the wild things are.

I can feel it coming. It begins with the clouds whispering within themselves, whispers which lead to aggressive arguments. It can strike any moment. Maybe after every three seconds, maybe ten or even thirty. It’s like the future; impossible to predict. And then it does strike, a flash of brightness in the sky which is as dark as a coal miner’s handkerchief. Throughout, the wind screams rather than howling. It’s uncontrollable and powerful enough to turn grasses into seas. The gusty wind blows through my hair, touches my skin and soul, makes me feel alive, like I’ve never felt before. It is wild and free, something I wish to become one day. The clouds continue to argue. Their anger boils and it seems like they’re about to burst any second, and then they do.

A shower of tears; rain. The rain washes the world, and brings a sense of calmness to me, which can never be found elsewhere. The pitter – patter sound is soothing, unlike the frightening thunder. This storm has come out of nowhere, without any warning, just like the soldiers. The storm will go but, the soldiers won’t. War is coming. I have to escape, I have to go through the storm. They say that “when you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in”. Well that’s how storm and war are similar. In was we find out who we are and how strong we can become. Soldiers are all around, they have stopped us from roaming around in our own home. I see them, screaming and pushing everybody into their homes. The tall, fair, muscular man shouts something to the others in German, and so it begins. Rifles are pulled, and firing starts. Anybody who tries to rebel or argue with them is shot straight to the heart. The scene is horrifying. How can a human be so cruel to another human. All of the soldiers look deadly and scary. I take a brief glance at all the bodies lying on the ground; lifeless. I see women, men, children; crying. Some sobbing for the loss of their loved ones, and some crying for just everything happening to them – getting tortured for being Jewish and getting trapped in their own country isn’t exactly a delightful experience.

I can already imagine what the days ahead are going to be filled with – food shortages, no electricity, curfew. We’re stuck in between a war, and this wasn’t our choice. I feel bad for leaving the people of my city behind, I wish I could save them, but as they say “During war, only you can save yourself.” I catch a last glimpse of my home and my city – Copenhagen, once so stunning and lively, now in ruins and lifeless. I then take a deep breath. Say goodbye to my home and enter the underground tunnel. I run to wherever it takes me. Hopefully, where the wild things are.

Penguins for the win. I really appreciate you, man. You are fearless, and strong. Don’t doubt yourself, and get that smile back on your face while reading this.