words per minute
10
Vipin_Upadhyay
00:00
Speed
Sometimes we find ourselves in difficult situations where the only solution is silence. The words can be used as a tool but often as a gun that can cut strong connections that we value afterward. Then, for some, reality is a place of danger where their existence is not appreciated enough. Dreams can be a safe spot or home - but it is too unstable to rely on it. All will make sense when we read a short story about a father whose son's understanding of the world raised many questions of existence itself.
It all started thirty-nine years ago. The darkness of the warm night in August slowly covered so-called town Gettunad. The road was empty; only a flickering street lamp created a trustworthy illusion of a moving shadow. But Peter was safely lying in bed and listening carefully to his father's tale. He felt content, and the warmth of home compounded the little feeling even more. Peter, with his green eyes closed, joyfully imagined what he heard. But after a while, he asked suddenly: "Dad, how did you meet my mom?" His father, surprised by the question, put a book on a table and answered: "You know, Peter, sometimes when you are at the right place and at the right time, miracles happen." "Tell me more, Dad!" Peter shouted with excitement. "Well, it was a Sunday afternoon, and I was walking downtown to get some food for my dinner. As you know, I can't see very well and guess what I forgot on my table?" "Your glasses?" "Exactly! So when I entered the shop, I couldn't find the right milk, but then a beautiful angel appeared in front of me!" "Mum!" Peter whispered. "That's right! She gave me the milk, and since that day I never stopped thinking about her. And the rest of the story, you already know." "I know. Not every fairytale has its happy end, dad!" Peter said and hugged his confined father.
To be continued...