Spotkanie 6 kwietnia

Spotkaliśmy się w nielicznym gronie i omówiliśmy nadesłane teksty. Rozmawialiśmy między innymi o snach, śmierci, popkulturze i zombie.

Następne spotkanie

Następne spotkanie odbędzie się 20 kwietnia o 16:45.
Miejsce: sala 40A przy ul. Ingardena 3.

Godło

Dumb way to die

Proponowane tematy

  • tekst o tematyce „Neither dead nor alive”
  • dokończenie opowiadania zaczynającego się od fragmentu zamieszczonego poniżej

This all happened in England a long time ago, when that George who spoke English with a heavy German accent and hated his sons was King. At that time there lived in London a lady who had nothing to do but give parties. Her name was Flora, Lady Neville, and she was a widow and very old. She lived in a great house not far from Buckingham Palace, and she had so many servants that she could not possibly remember all their names; indeed, there were some she had never even seen. She had more food than she could eat, more gowns than she could ever wear; she had wine in her cellars that no one would drink in her lifetime, and her private vaults were filled with great works of art that she did not know she owned. She spent the last years of her life giving parties and balls to which the greatest lords of England—and sometimes the King himself—came, and she was known as the wisest and wittiest woman in all London.

But in time her own parties began to bore her, and though she invited the most famous people in the land and hired the greatest jugglers and acrobats and dancers and magicians to entertain them, still she found her parties duller and duller. Listening to court gossip, which she had always loved, made her yawn. The most marvelous music, the most exciting feats of magic put her to sleep. Watching a beautiful young couple dance by her made her feel sad, and she hated to feel sad.

And so, one summer afternoon she called her closest friends around her and said to them, „More and more I find that my parties entertain everyone but me. The secret of my long life is that nothing has ever been dull for me. For all my life, I have been interested in everything I saw and been anxious to see more. But I cannot stand to be bored, and I will not go to parties at which I expect to be bored, especially if they are my own. Therefore, to my next ball I shall invite the one guest I am sure no one, not even myself, could possibly find boring. My friends, the guest of honor at my next party shall be […]!

(gościem może być postać fikcyjna lub historyczna, może to być człowiek, postać mitologiczna, abstrakcyjny rzeczownik itd.)

Reklamy

Spotkanie 9 marca

Tym razem spotkaliśmy się w nielicznym gronie, ale za to mieliśmy szansę gościć dr Bazarnik oraz Patricka Quigleya, pisarza z Irlandii.

Autorowi nieobce jest zarówno pisanie fikcji („Borderland”) jak i biografii („The Polish Irishman”, „Sisters Against the Empire”).

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Rozmawialiśmy o rodzinnych stronach, o tym jak pewne kultury przeplatają się nawazajem, o Galicji, kresach i wyobraźni.

Mówiliśmy też o narracji pierwszo- i trzecio-osobowej. O tym, jak ten pierwszy rodzaj narracji pozwala się bardziej przybliżyć do bohatera. Mówiliśmy też o tym, jak pisanie daje nam szansę wcielić się w różne postaci, choć często może nam to sprawić wiele trudności. Padło pytanie o to, jak często w pisanych tekstach używamy własnych doświadczeń.

Omawialiśmy wspólnie dwa nowo nadesłane teksty oraz cztery teksty z poprzedniego spotkania. Przeczytaliśmy na głos jeden tekst, fragmenty książki „Borderland” oraz książki innego irlandzkiego autora, który tworzył w czasach Joyce’a. Na pamiątkę spotkania nasz gość wręczył nam jedną kopię „Borderland” (oczywiście podpisaną).

Następne spotkanie

Następne spotkanie odbędzie się 23 marca 6 kwietnia o 16:45.
Miejscem jak zwykle będzie sala 40A przy ul. Ingardena 3.

Proponowany temat

Kraków lub inne miasto rodzinne

Godło

By uczcić naszego gościa godłem tym razem jest wybrany symbol Irlandii.

Jasmine


[pdf: CW39.Jasmine]

This moment was everything Jasmine had wished for.
The light scent of spring flowers was no longer detectable. They approached the station, and the smell of exhaust fumes took over. It was a very loud and unpleasant place. A small square invariably busy with bulky coaches, people running around with suitcases, hastily looking for their bus.
‘All right then, I’ll have to go.’
‘Of course’, she smiled.
Obviously, smiling was far from enough. She felt like singing and dancing and jumping, but she had to wait another ten or fifteen minutes before she could freely express her feelings, and there were so many. Overwhelming excitement, paralysing shyness and also a little bit of sheer joy, all mixed in her head.
It doesn’t happen all too often that your life becomes just what you’ve always wished it to be. So when it finally does, you’re overcome with all kinds of feelings, most of them positive, but sometimes you get this notion that it all might just be a dream. Dreams have their limits too, however. And this was so far beyond any limits.
‘Remember to listen to the music I’ve sent you!’
‘I will, I will.’

Zach got on the bus and looked at Jasmine through the window. She was smiling at him widely and as their eyes met, she raised her hand and waved shyly. He returned the gesture and smiled too. A nice girl, that Jasmine. She’s probably in love with him, judging by the way she’s been acting.
Zach sighed heavily. How does he tell her about… about everything?
He closed his eyes as the bus moved on the bumpy road. He was almost asleep when he remembered: he promised to listen to Jasmine’s music! He pulled out his earphones and plugged them in. He opened the email app in order to see what it was that she sent him. No internet connection. Well then, he’ll listen to it later.

Thank God traffic wasn’t too bad that day and two bumpy hours later Zach opened the door to his house.
‘Hi there!’, he shouted as he put his jacket on the coat rack. The hall was filled with the warm smell of slow-cooked pork. ‘Wow, I’m so hungry!’
‘You’re just in time then,’ his mum replied happily. ‘Dinner’s served.’
‘Awesome.’
‘I’m really happy that you come home every weekend, Zach,’ said his mum, smiling. ‘It’s not a common thing, I know, but it’s nice that you still do.’
‘Yeah’, Zach nodded in response. As if he had any other choice than to return here every couple of days, he thought. He had so many more interesting things to do, going out with his friends or seeing Jasmine to start with. He’d rather have coffee with her in some cozy café than come here again and again, that’s for sure. No one was interested in his preferences though.
Or, more precisely – the king wasn’t.
‘Is everything alright?’
‘Oh, yes, yes, it is, mum. I’m just tired. I’ll go and have a nap. Thanks for the dinner.’
‘Sure.’

Zach entered his room and headed straight for his desk. He turned on the computer and listened to its quiet humming, waiting for it to boot. The blueish light of the screen made the furniture cast weird shadows on the walls. Zach rubbed his eyes and sighed.
Installing updates: one out of twenty-three. Do not turn off your computer.
Nice.
Zach checked the time. It was almost half past six, so he still had some time left. Hopefully the updates are installed before seven because he needs to have the music playing by then.
Installing updates: thirteen out of twenty-three. Do not turn off your computer.
He’s going to make it, thank God.
Too many long minutes later the computer was finally ready to work. Good. Zach tried to keep calm, but the time passed quickly and now it was almost five to seven. His hands trembled and it didn’t help.
Just open the browser… type the address… pick any album… loop it… and turn the volume up a notch.
No sooner than he clicked on the ‘play’ button, it was exactly seven o’clock.
Zach looked at the chest next to his bed and waited. It should light up any time now.
First it seemed almost as if the light of the computer screen danced on it, but with every next second the glow became more intense and it was obvious that the chest was emitting it. Soon the whole room was lit up and Zach had to cover his eyes.
His hand trembling, Zach reached for the chest and opened its lid. The light was so intense that covering his eyes didn’t help much anymore. Pressing his hand against his eyelids and turning his head away, trying to protect his sight from the beam, he stretched his arm and grasped the stone that was inside the chest. Immediately the light stopped being painfully intense. Zach opened his eyes and looked around. He wasn’t in his room anymore, but he still could hear the music playing from his computer. It was very important that he could hear it at all times. It was the only thing that would make his return possible later.
In the earthly world, the light was so strong that his eyes hurt even though he did everything not to look directly at its source. Now he could stare at the stone for minutes and he found it funny how its delicate silvery glow didn’t even make his fingers look orange. Zach slipped the stone into his pocket and the light disappeared.
This place was weird.

‘Welcome back, Zachary.’
It seemed as if the voice came from all directions as it echoed against the rocks around Zach. Everything was in the colour of dark blue here, the ground, the rocks and the sky. Well, if there was any sky. Zach couldn’t say for sure, everything was in the exact same colour. He could only tell the soil from the rocky walls judging by their surface and temperature. This world produced no sounds and no scents. Everything Zach could hear in the background was the music playing in his room. Anything else that he could hear or smell in this world was there for some specific reason.
‘Hail to the king,’ said Zach loudly, kneeling and bowing his head. ‘For he is the only true king.’
‘Stand up, Zachary.’
Zach jumped to his feet obediently as the voice echoed, reached into his pocket and produced the glowing stone. He presented it on an outstretched palm and stared into it nervously, waiting for the king to speak again.
‘You will not fulfill your destiny today, Zachary.’
Zach dared not move or sigh, but he felt his stomach form a tight knot. Again, he thought. How many years was it already? He’d lost count. He was only wasting his time. He knew that he had to deliver the stone somewhere, but the king wouldn’t let him try for some reason, and Zach had no idea why.
‘You may now leave, Zachary.’
‘Hail to the king,’ said Zach and closed his eyes, preparing to cover them from the unbearable light of the stone he was holding. He focused on the music in the background, following every single note of the song that was playing. The glow of the stone grew more and more intense; so intense that covering his eyes didn’t help much anymore. Zach fell to his knees, but he didn’t hit the hard ground – he was back in his room, at home, kneeling on the soft carpet. His head turned away and his eyes covered, he hastily threw the stone back into its chest and shut its lid. The light weakened and disappeared in a couple of seconds. Zach hid his face in his hands and cried. The situation has been beyond his control for such a long time, and he felt that he was nowhere near the solution.
Some time later, Zach stood up and turned off the music. Another album off the list. He had this notion that music was somehow important when it came to his quest, but he didn’t know how exactly. He still tried changing his choice every time he visited the kingdom, but his choices were blind each time. All he knew was that he needed to loop the album so that – in case the king allows him to do what he’s meant to – he’s got a chance of coming back.

* * *

Jasmine walked with him to the station again, clearly delighted with his presence. Of course, Zach did like her as well. He just felt that he shouldn’t really get into a relationship if he can’t ever promise anyone that the next week he’ll still be around. He could die in the kingdom any time and he couldn’t tell what the blue darkness was hiding from him.
‘So, did you like the album I’ve sent you?’
The music.
He’d completely forgotten.
Shit.
‘Oh jeez, Jasmine, I forgot about it! I’m so sorry.’
Zach could see that her eyes sunk a little, but she didn’t stop smiling.
‘Promise I’ll check it out tonight.’

When Zach reached home, it was almost quarter to seven.
‘I’ll eat later!’, he shouted as he rushed upstairs. He threw his bag on the floor and turned on his computer. Thank God, no updates this Friday. With his trembling fingers, he opened the browser and started typing the address when he remembered Jasmine’s email. He could give her music a shot, why not. It should load by nineteen hundred. Zach opened his inbox and saw the email Jasmine had sent him a week ago. It had no subject, just the link. He followed it and quickly set the album to play on the loop. Its beginning was rather weird, sounded as if… it was the middle of a song? Zach didn’t give it too much thought because the chest started glowing and he had to cover his eyes quickly.

‘Welcome back, Zachary.’
Zach kneeled and bowed his head as the voice echoed in the blue darkness.
Hail to the king, for he is the only true king.’
‘Stand up, Zachary.’
Zach jumped to his feet obediently as the voice echoed, reached into his pocket and produced the glowing stone. He presented it on an outstretched palm and stared into it nervously, waiting for the king to speak again.
The king didn’t speak for a long time, but Zach kept focusing on the stone. Its shimmery light made the surroundings look lively, as if everything was made out of water. Zach knew that it was just an impression, and that this dark blue world was entirely solid. Well, at least so was everything he’d seen here so far. The music was flowing smoothly. This album was different from all the music Zach had known. It seemed as if it was one complete work rather than a collection of songs. Jasmine had clearly said that it was an album, there was no doubt about that, but also undoubtedly this one wasn’t usual.
‘Today is the day, Zachary.’
The voice sent shivers down Zach’s spine. Today is the day!
‘H-hail to the king,’ he answered, his voice trembling with anxiety and excitement.
‘Follow the stone, Zachary.’
Zach focused his gaze on the stone even more intensely and he felt as if some force dragged him forward. He made one cautious step, then another one, and soon he was marching forward at quite a pace.
He lost his sense of time and space. There was no beginning and no end to the music that was playing, as there was no beginning and no end to the blue. Nothing was changing, even the rocks around him looked all the same. The force was invariably pushing him forward, the silvery stone was invariably glistening, and the world around was invariably dark blue.
It could have been an hour, it could have been a day, it could have been a week. All Zach could tell was that he felt exhausted. His muscles were sore, his body was weak. He couldn’t walk anymore. He fell to his knees and crawled forward, moving slower and slower. Was that how it was going to end? Was he going to just die there in this realm?
‘H-hail… to… the king…’ he muttered and passed out, only hearing the endless music flowing.

* * *

‘Stand up, Zachary.’
The voice seemed to come from all directions as it echoed around Zach. This time however it sounded smoother, as if the rocks that reflected it were polished. Music in the background seemed smoother here too.
‘Stand up, Zachary.’
Zach opened his eyes, lifted himself up on his elbows and looked around. He was in a vast room whose floor, walls and ceiling were made out of marble of all colours – all except for blue. Tiny pieces of marble created detailed compositions of beautiful geometrical patterns, all of them forming perfect nonagons. The chamber itself was in the shape of a nonagon as well.
‘Stand up, Zachary.’
Zach jumped to his feet and reached into his pocket, only to find that the stone wasn’t there. He raised his eyes, scared, and noticed a majestic figure right in front of him. The man was holding the stone in his hand, the silvery light making him look royal. Zach fell to his knees immediately and bowed his head.
‘Hail to the king, for he is the only true king!’
‘Hail to you, Zachary,’ said the king, ‘for you are the one who brought the glistening stone to me. We may now destroy it.’
Zach raised his head and jumped forward. He covered the stone with his hands.
‘No!’
The king looked at Zach carefully.
‘You must want answers, Zachary,’ he said, nodding slowly. ‘I might owe you some.’
Zach glared at the king, feeling confident suddenly, anger building up inside him. His life has been guided by this weird quest for so many years!
‘I am King Gizzard,’ said the majestic man. ‘I am the guardian of infinity. I have no beginning and no end, and there is no beginning and no end to my kingdom. I have protected life from falling into infinite loops. It is only thanks to me that time passes, people change and every life will end one day. I am responsible for the balance between life, space and time.’
‘Years ago,’ said King Gizzard, ‘a wizard appeared out of the blue and entered my realm, and he persuaded me to grant him one loop of infinity. Oh, what a mistake I had made then. It was the Lizard Wizard. He tricked me into agreeing that lizards can grow their tails back if they have it cut off. Nothing special, one could say, but my one moment of weakness caused years of my suffering. The only infinite thing in the universe is the number of wizards, and they all decided to come and ask me to grant their one wish. I could not do it and I had to hide in this finite chamber, and it is a prison to my mind.’
King Gizzard closed his eyes and sighed heavily.
Zach had mixed feelings about this story. He figured that King Gizzard’s powers were essential to maintain the right balance in the world, but he also did force Zach into a particularly uncomfortable situation, and kept him in the dark for years.
‘Time and space were meant to be infinite, but as long as I am imprisoned here, they cannot expand,’ the king continued. ‘And one day life will run out of its time and space, and the universe will collapse forever. The only solution for me was to create one more infinite loop and place it in the world, because I knew that one day the loop will become its right shape, and bring an end to all this. And this time I was not mistaken. You have made it, Zachary. You have brought the glistening stone to me, and the answer is inside it. You have shaped the loop of your life in a way which let you enter the infinite realm tonight. For that thank you, Zachary. For everything else I apologise. I plead your forgiveness, Zachary.’
King Gizzard’s voice echoed in the perfectly shaped chamber. Zach looked into the king’s eyes and saw deep sorrow in them.
‘Can we now destroy the stone, Zachary?’
Zach nodded, stepping back. King Gizzard raised the stone up above his head and threw it on the floor with his full force. With a piercing sound resembling shattered glass, the stone smashed into tiny pieces which covered the entire floor. They weren’t glowing anymore. The only source of light was now something that lied at the king’s feet.
As Zach carefully moved forward, King Gizzard slowly reached for the shimmering item.
‘This is it,’ the king whispered in amazement. ‘This is it.’
King Gizzard was holding a tiny quill, a grin of satisfaction on his face.
‘A quill?’ Zach said, puzzled.
King Gizzard didn’t answer. He rushed to the other side of the nonagonal chamber. Zach followed, suddenly noticing a huge old volume sitting on a bulky desk across the room. The volume emitted this familiar silvery light. As Zach approached it, he could see that letters were appearing on the volume’s pages, and when a page was fully covered in writing, it would turn, and letters started appearing on the next page. King Gizzard reached the old volume and hesitated for a moment.
‘No,’ he said. ‘You should do it, Zachary.’
‘Do what?’
‘Bring an end to this, Zachary. Put a full stop at the end of a sentence. Free me from my curse, I beg you.’
King Gizzard turned to Zach and stretched his hand, presenting the quill to him. Zach hesitated, but he grasped it. He leaned over the volume and tried to follow the appearing words.
‘You must put the full stop exactly at the end of a sentence, Zachary. It is of highest importance.’
…the king found his saviour the time and space started expanding again the balance was restored and the world was saved forever
‘NOW,’ shouted King Gizzard, and Zachary lowered his hand quickly, touching the paper with the glistening quill. The nonagonal chamber trembled but Zach held the quill firmly.
‘Hail to you, Zachary, for you have fulfilled your destiny,’ said the king. He placed his hand on Zach’s back and closed the volume. ‘Thank you forever. You may now leave, Zachary.’
King Gizzard smiled at Zach. The chamber was trembling stronger and stronger, and Zach knew it was going to fall apart. He closed his eyes and focused on the music, following every note if the infinite loop it created. The light of the quill grew more and more intense, and Zach had to turn his face away from the intense silvery glow. He fell to his knees, but they didn’t hit the cold marble.
Zach collapsed onto his soft carpet, back in his room at home. He spent some time staring at the ceiling, listening to the music that was still playing in the background.
The music, what was it?
Zach jumped to his feet and reached for his computer. The blueish light of the screen made the furniture cast weird shadows on the walls.
Zach looked at the author and the title of this mysterious infinite album, and he felt a rush of blood to his head.
The band was called King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard.
The album’s title was Nonagon Infinity.
Zach closed his eyes and focused. Please, please let Jasmine be real.

Joanna Burkiewicz

The Chimney Sweeper

[pdf: CW38.The_Chimney_Sweeper]

Do not go into the light
They said
Do not give up
They said
They didn’t know what light is
Light is life
Light is freedom
Light is the smell of rotten corpses at dawn
Hollow eyes of bipedal animals
Screams curses calls shrieks quarrels
The sounds of so alive
So dead
It’s vanity they said
It’s rubbish they said
And they were right although they didn’t know what they were saying
They didn’t know about stuffiness four walls a voice resembling gaggling of a goose
Everlasting journey into the light
Hope
And soot

Magdalena Kowalska

Pride and Logic

[pdf: CW37.Pride_and_Logic]

The world rumbled, contracted, then spasmed.
And there he was. Pride looked thoroughly at himself for the first time. Green seemed to permeate his fur, leaving only few pink spots to be seen in an ocean of green. Just one limb, jointed in four places and a disfigured head, enabling him to see all that happened around him.
He currently floated on an island amid nothingness, one made from stone and grass and earth and Stability.
Odd, he thought, that I should exist. He raised his paw. It had three fingers ending with pointed claws, and another one, dull but filled with beautiful, beautiful memories.
With emptiness around him offering little in terms of interest, Pride focused on memories contained inside of his finger.
There weren’t many. Most of them provided only sounds, coming from outside the boundary of Stability. Only the most recent ones, now being born by the second, brought innovation. White. So much white. And also … red? What was that crimson expanse on the bottom, always accompanying eyes?
He did not know.
“I hereby announce,” a voice pierced the quiet. “that the field of red beneath us is our body!” The statement surprised Pride, but he found himself muttering approval for the revelation. Who said these words? His head only now caught a shape rising behind him.
An island had appeared from the void when he was so absorbed with memories. Similarly to his piece of land, it had a creature perched upon its peak. But the beast differed from Pride. It was larger, better built, fancier coloured even. In place of green-pink fur, a body in various shades of grey shined with its lack of hair.
“I hereby announce, that I am Logic!” the creature shouted. Pride looked around himself once again. Was he the only recipient of these words?
No. There were other islands rising from the void.
Amidst such a crowd, it’d do me well to have someone loud by my side.
He could not explain how, but with these thoughts in mind his land moved, floating to the vicinity of Logic.
Pride watched carefully how the situation unfolded. Other creatures joined them one by one, their islands settling in after achieving appropriate height.
They were … colourful. Extraordinary. But most importantly, different.
Each of them had purpose.
Each of them had meaning.
Each of them would help achieve Stability.
What a wond–
“I hereby proclaim,” a voice interrupted his reverie. “that we ARE.”
This time a loud chorus of cheers followed the statement, and even Pride’s own heart was moved.
If we ARE, if our body is as well … doesn’t existence imply importance? And as only we exist … aren’t we one most wondrous creature of the most grand significance?
He felt a part of his reasoning reverberate within his being, growing stronger and stronger, until it shook both him and his isle.
WE ARE ONE.
It claimed, insistent on being heard. But Pride was too meek, too quiet to pass it onwards. It dwelled inside his rock and refused to stop existing. And Pride, knowing the plight of those that exist, thought of Logic, a perfect vessel for the message.
And his island moved, touching briefly the grey giant’s habitat. That was enough. The vibrating passed. It climbed into Logic’s throat and shot out of it, propelled by his booming voice.
“I … WE ARE ONE,” he spoke.
Pride could feel the truth of these words reach the others. They were confused at first, then happy, then elated. Pride was content as well.
And angry, that the rest of his words did not have such power. He glanced at Logic. Maybe–
The ground shifted. Islands, the beacons of Stability, prodded shouts of surprise as they went on their own and started pushing into each other. The impacts were negligible, as Pride almost couldn’t feel as his home rammed into other rocks, but brought islands together.
Now joined, the grouped rocks continued to move and connect with their neighbours, growing in size but shrinking in number.
It didn’t take long for the final result to appear.
Land. Firm ground which connected all of them, from the smallest beast to the largest.
Some were quiet at this event’s outcome.
Some expressed their feelings as loud as they could muster, but few were powerful enough to influence others.
Who takes command now becomes king.
Pride knew what he had to do. He wanted to be heard, to show the rest what they truly were. There was one way to make them listen. Led by his instincts, Pride stretched his limb across the ground, pulling himself forward bit by bit. He could still see and hear confusion from all sides, his brethren unsure of what to do.
All the while he crawled forward, nearing the grey mountain of flesh sitting immobile in front.
Logic did not move in the slightest since the islands had joined. Was something wrong? He couldn’t use him in that case. But he had to try.
Pride clasped his hand around Logic’s leg and pulled himself closer. And closer. And closer yet. He entered the powerful body, throwing himself into the vortex of Logic’s being. Their essences merged and became one. He encountered no resistance.
I’ll take it from here, friend.
Ambition tested the many limbs of his new body and marvelled at its prowess and beauty. A worthy tool. Then, he spoke:
“Brothers and sisters,” heads turned at his now dominant voice. As they should. “I bring you the truth. We are tasked with maintaining Stability, with protecting our body. And as we and our body ARE, aren’t we the most important thing in the world?”
The creatures cheered, although admittedly less than before.
No matter. I have them.
Ambition took a big breath and gave an order.
“Let’s shout, shout for we deserve to eat, eat and live!”

 

***

The little one started crying again. She held him closer to her chest and rocked him a little.
“What’s wrong, baby?” she asked her weeping miracle.
“He’s hungry,” her husband said. She smiled at him.
“An appetite like his father’s,” she commented while undressing. A thought came to her as she stared into these cute eyes.
“Just look at him. Isn’t he the most innocent creature in the whole wide world?”
“Yes, yes he is.”

Filip Samek

The Elephant Brooch

[pdf: CW36.The_Elephant_Brooch]

‘Are you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin.’
O’Connor scanned the gathered people’s faces and turned back to his whiteboard.
‘As you can see on this scheme, our company has noted a nice growth over the past months. Our sales came to £31,600 in total, exceeding the goal by £1,600, which is amazing. Congratulations to the sales team on their new training system, it worked immediately and here we are now, celebrating a great success. Now we’ll focus on the details for a moment’, said O’Connor, produced a pile of papers and put on his glasses. The real party was right about to start.
‘In October 2015, our share in the English pen refills market was 4.5%. In October 2016 it grew to 6.1% and this year we reached 9%. That’s absolutely amazing. Let’s discuss possible reasons behind this. First of all…’
Blackwood stretched in his chair and zoned out. He knew all the numbers by heart anyway, it was him who prepared the statistics for O’Connor after all. Also, these summary meetings were always so boring, literally you should get paid double for sitting through them and pretending to listen. Well, some of the workers really were excited and wanted to hear all this, as if they really cared. But Blackwood didn’t. He’d rather look at Ashley Cooper, who was sitting across the table.
Usually he was much more interested in what was underneath her clothes, but he couldn’t really afford such thinking in this formal business meeting, so he focused on her brooch instead. Was she really wearing a… pink plush elephant? Really? He squinted, trying to remember any details about the clothes he’d previously torn off her. No memory of this pink plush elephant brooch was found in his brain, though.
Ashley must have noticed his look. She glanced at him and quickly turned back to follow O’Connor’s speech, blushing, and pretending to focus on the numbers, her mouth forming a tight line.
Blackwood enjoyed what he did to women. He was very well aware of his attractiveness, and he was not hesitant to use it. Life was about fun; after all we all die one day, so why not enjoy it to the fullest while you can? He had money, he had wits, he had muscles, why wouldn’t he have women then?
Ashley wasn’t the only woman he had there, obviously. The other one was sitting right next to her. Rebecca Thaupe. They looked nothing like each other. Ashley was a subtle, quiet blonde, this kind of girl who has been living next door for years, but you never noticed her at all. Blackwood sensed something mysterious in her ordinariness, and he wasn’t wrong. Ashley was a wild girl. Rebecca, on the other hand, looked like this Latin beauty, with her black hair, dark skin and the gaze that would make you forget your own name. Blackwood admired her body so much.
He shook his head, trying to get rid of the thoughts that somehow got into his brain anyway. He was in this meeting! Enjoying women was what he was going to do later; later, Blackwood.
There was something that drew his attention too much, however. Was… Rebecca wearing a pink plush elephant brooch as well? Really? Now things got a little weird for Blackwood. Was that a new business fashion or what? He scanned the room, but no one else had this strange brooch, just the two there.
Perhaps focusing on the speech O’Connor was still making was what Blackwood should have been doing all along.
He looked at O’Connor and his whiteboard.
‘…and I believe that implementing this strategy for the following months…’
No, that was too boring.
‘…will ensure a growth by, say, another 0.3% in the market…’
Impossible to follow.
‘…and our overall score should reach 10% by February, which will allow us…’
Impossible.
Blackwood looked at Ashley again. This time she didn’t pretend to focus on the meeting. She glared at him instead, suddenly very confident. She turned to Rebecca and smiled at her in the way she would only smile when she was alone with Blackwood.
Rebecca smiled back and reached out for Ashley’s face, and then… and then they kissed?!
What?! Blackwood stared, his eyes wide open. It was a formal meeting, and they were acting like that, grabbing each other by their clothes and really getting down to business?!
To Blackwood’s utter astonishment, no one else seemed to notice what was happening right at the table. O’Connor continued his boring speech, someone asked an equally boring question, O’Connor provided them with a boring answer, and his secretary noted everything that was said. Well, if so… then Blackwood decided to follow what girls were doing. Life was to be enjoyed, after all, and the girls were so hot in all this.
‘Mr Blackwood?’, someone said in a firm voice. ‘Mr Blackwood?’
‘Yes?’
Blackwood jolted in surprise, almost falling off his chair. Ashley and Rebecca’s action drew his attention so much that he almost forgot about the entire world.
‘Could you please… um…’
Blackwood looked around. Now everyone was staring at him, O’Connor and his secretary included. Something has happened, apparently, but Blackwood had no clue what exactly. He looked at Ashley and Rebecca, hoping to find an answer.
They were staring at him, unimpressed, but definitely dressed now. And no pink elephant brooches. Was someone messing with Blackwood’s mind?
Ashley took a deep breath and arched her eyebrows, looking disgusted.
‘You snored soooo loud, Blackwood.’

Author: Joanna Burkiewicz

1002nd

[pdf: CW35.1002nd]

So I plead, my friend, to not release this monster, as the damage he would inflict upon the world is unimaginable.
Aaron read the last line of the text a few more times, zooming in to make sure he didn’t confuse the ancient letters. They refused to give way to any additional meanings or clues, cementing Harun al-Rashid’s words as a warning. This rendered Aaron’s plan a gamble. He turned off his phone and set his head on his now free hands, pondering.
He did like gambles.

##

The room formed a rough circle, more akin to a large octagon with round walls. Colourful curtains and pillows hid some of the corners from sight, providing comfortable and luxurious sitting space. In the last few months Aaron was the sole recipient of their charm.
In the room’s centre a small stage had been erected, its sides covered with Arabic calligraphy. What little light there was came from electric lanterns concealed as oil lamps; and, of course, the Lamp.
It sat near the edge of the stage, occupying more space than he had first anticipated it would. The oil tank bulged out unevenly across the brass surface, bloating the entirety to two times the size, and the part that would usually carry the flame was smelt shut. Contrary to its surroundings, the bulky thing did not adhere to any rules of aesthetic or form. Even its handle was crooked, tearing away at one point to form a branch sprouting upwards. Yet he had never tried to move it after bringing it here, even if it ruined some of the room’s beauty.
Today, as his routine dictated, Aaron came up the podium and raised the brass lid, quickly stepping back. For a moment, nothing happened.
Then, a thin tendril of purple smoke rose from the lamp and crept towards the floor. Soon, more smoke followed, covering the entire stage with a soft purple blanket.
Another tendril rose next to Aaron, drifting slowly in his direction. He didn’t move. The properties of the smoke were still a mystery to him, as his scientists had claimed it just wasn’t possible to analyse it correctly. He didn’t know if it could hurt him.
The tendril wrapped itself around his legs and started coiling upwards. Just before the violet cloud cut off his sight, he realised what the djinn was doing.
What a prude.
In a few moments he was free to move again, the smoke in full retreat. A man now stood in front of Aaron, with hands set on blue tinted shoulders. His clothes were ragged and well worn, but they hung on his diminutive stature as if he had borrowed them from someone few sizes larger than him. He had no hair in the slightest, which would make his face a bit comical if it weren’t for his eyes. They were entirely black, like bottomless pits of tar, and yet Aaron could somehow tell they were scanning him from head to toe.
A part of the djinn’s leg was wispy, gas-like, and it connected with the trail of smoke currently backing off from Aaron. The only other reminder of the violet that remained was a thin line which led from the inside of the lamp right into the djinn’s chest, around the place where his heart should be.
A chain. The last, I suppose.
“What do you wish from me, master?” his voice was soft and harmonious as he asked the usual question.
“A story. The final one.” Aaron said.
The djinn did not answer for a second or two.
“Are you… certain?” his voice did not waver, but Aaron knew he had to be emotional.
“Yes, tell me a story.” Aaron said, letting his body fall onto a pile of pillows.
The djinn spoke.

##

Once upon a time… is what you’d want me to say, fucker. As my freedom begins with the end of this story, I’ll keep it short.
A boy came to this world, rich and powerful from the moment he left the womb. His parents named him after an ancient caliph, but I prefer to call him Bastard. Little Bastard had everything he could desire, from toys to playmates and servants. They all loved him so very much.
He grew in arrogance and naivety, believing the world to be everything it was not. After finding himself a wife, Bastard thought life was just beginning for him. But peace was short-lived.
The wife, a beautiful woman full of energy and passion, woke up one day and decided to betray her husband. Perhaps she grew bored of him, of the parties and rich life, or maybe she had never loved him in the first place. Bastard never gave her the chance to explain when he found out.
His heart, such a fragile thing, snapped in two and so did he, hitting the woman square in the chin. The blow sent her spinning, her head encountered an edge of a table and just like that, she was gone.
Bastard’s parents would never let their child experience justice after a tantrum, so they swept the body and its existence under a very thick rug. The worst part of all this is that he still felt guilt after all they’ve done, just like a good man would. Bastard decided he would atone for the life he had inadvertently taken, and threw himself into a whirlwind of charity-work as if that could make up for his crime.
Then he heard about a lamp and the prisoner inside of it. Fancying himself a hero, he focused everything he had on setting the prisoner free.
But the prisoner hated Bastard, because of a simple fact.

##

“Pity. You pity me, bastard.”
The djinn’s hands were wrapped around Aaron’s neck.
The djinn’s remarks penetrated inside Aaron’s heart.
And the line that kept him connected with the lamp was gone. There was no doubting the hate in his words – he wanted Aaron dead.
So Aaron did not move, even as his entire body screamed with fear. He would not react to the djinn’s threat, even if it meant death. She had never had a chance to react to his.
But the grip did not tighten. The djinn opened his mouth, then closed it, and opened it again. He let Aaron go and grasped his own neck, his soft voice replaced by strained gasps and wheezing. He collapsed, his body thrashing around helplessly.
Aaron looked for a pillow and slipped it under the flailing figure’s head.
“I guess the spell was meant to kill you once you were released. Harun really had it out for you, Jafar.” he said. The former djinn’s eyes regained their whites and narrowed at Aaron.
“Surprised? Then, let me tell you a story.”
He knelt down by Jafar’s side and spoke.

##

Once upon a time, a wealthy man lived in the East. A son of a powerful vizier and patron of the sciences, he seemed to have everything he could desire. Well, that was until he bit off more than he could chew.
A woman. Maybe beautiful, maybe smart, maybe powerful. Whatever it was in Abbasa that garnered Jafar al-Barmaki’s attention, I do not know. A marriage was arranged between them, organized solely to keep Abbasa close to Jafar’s caliph and her brother, Harun.
However fucked up that proposition was, Jafar accepted. At night a slave would keep him company and by day he would tell Abbasa stories he loved. It was for that reason, his daily presence, that one day Abbasa decided to replace the slave in her duties. Jafar accepted her, and she got pregnant.
When Harun al-Rashid found out about the betrayal of his friend and his lover, he had Jafar beheaded. Or at least that’s how the story looked from outside. In reality, he used his extensive influence and money to figure out a way to torture Jafar as long as he could. In the lamp, he found it. He turned his friend into a facsimile of a human being, trapped for as long as he could manage. Before death he had sent letters to family and friends, begging them to not let the prisoner go, spinning tales about a monster he had defeated and entrapped. The condition for Jafar’s release was simple and cruel. A thousand and two stories, told to one master, to symbolise the ones he had told to Abbasa.
There was one time when Jafar was almost released. Another woman, named Scheherazade, was in desperate need of stories. But due to Harun’s warnings, she was scared to give the man freedom. She betrayed the djinn after a thousand and one nights and pawned him off.
The lamp went through many other hands throughout the centuries, but interestingly enough, no other women reported coming into contact with the “blue man”. Scheherazade’s betrayal had made him unwilling to trust them.
Eventually I came across the lamp and dug deep into history to find out Jafar’s identity. I was unsure if releasing him was right, because of the man we’re both tied to, Harun.
But I did give him rest, even though the curse strangled what little humanity remained inside of him. Anger and grief took hold of him, and that’s something that can happen to the best of us.
I hope the story was to your liking, love.

##

Aaron stood up, his knees smarting from prolonged motionlessness. Her grave was unmarked, but he trusted his GPS. It was somewhere around here. He hoped she had heard this story, and the ones before. And that she forgave him.
He sighed, breathing in evening forest air.
So many problems would not come to being if we treated each other as people, not possessions.

Author: Filip Samek