The Bat of Stars and the Salt on the Lips
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About this ebook
May is looking for the meaning of her existence avoiding love and romance, letting herself haunted by the desire to become a famous artist in whatever way she might be able to get there. But, life has tricky ways of showing one right or wrong so in spite of her choices she falls in love with Mike, a mysterious co-worker who carries the burden of a dark past.
"Compact Smokes or A book for children" is the pretext for writing this short-story. The idea emerged from a dark past of two people who suffered a lot before they met. It is still about May but not only - it is a start of a beautiful nightmare and a romance where I let the words follow the stream of consciousness as much as I could.
Theodora Oniceanu
Theodora Oniceanu (born Lacatis) lives in a small town named Targu-Mures, situated close to the heart of Transylvania, Romania with her husband, her son and their cat. She followed the classes at the Faculty of Letters at the University of Petru Maior Transylvania and the ones on Sociology and Social Studies at the University of Spiru Haret, Bucharest. She is passionate about arts and crafts, she also loves sports, travelling and photography, enjoys good quality music and, of course, books. She's been writing since age nine, but with interruptions. Now she feels that she has the necessary time to dedicate good part of her life to writing.
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The Bat of Stars and the Salt on the Lips - Theodora Oniceanu
The bat of stars
and
the salt on the lips
An Author
by
Theodora Oniceanu
I found this note somewhere in the middle of an imagined street, on a bench, in a park while having a restful morning time walking. This story is short, very short made long only by the stubbornness of two characters. What could be added to this strange story of a girl that never existed, a girl that began to live in my head because she wanted to live a life of fulfillment and joy without knowing how to get there so she left a note to whomever on this bench?
It happened, it was there, in my mind, her story starting like this: I can see plenty of people happily, quietly, gracefully living their dreams in their own fashionable ways. I’m also living a dream now. I had plenty of those - dreams are they said to be; I made them up, for me, for a sister or for a brother…- they found a way to claim theirs. For a tired mother I sat and wrote, for a father I dreamed, himself looking for notes left on a bench, notes that were to him pieces of a puzzle to be discovered one pleasant morning of summer.
It’s been written by an author haunted by other authors in time
I said to myself immediately. It seems like a fine way to tell the story of a force of nature that’s saying goodbye to what wasn’t meant to be for the embrace of the new life offered in return to their loss. Nevertheless one has to know their place; one should never try to do more than they are allowed to or promised, more than given by the world. One should never abandon their dreams, though. One should be calm and steady, no matter what comes and one should feel well fed and fulfilled by this world that can be so cruel and so forgiving at the same time.
- Please, do leave behind your years of study and research, your waste of time! Leave it all behind for the promise of a better world.
- I was promised nothing but failure; I wasn’t lucky, like you, being told that I am going to be successful, that there is real hope for me and that, with my mind and my soul put out to the service of good humans, my spirit will get me to the success I was craving for - one brilliant day I’ll see that with my own eyes. On the contrary, I was told there was no money so there was no real hope, still the flame of hope should never die; it must be kept alive.
- I had to find hope in the things I enjoyed doing. I felt drawn to the books written by the minds that were clever enough to make it. I was lucky to be given so much in return for a prayer or a tear, for the passion I was always driven by to invest feelings in all the things I so obviously and without shame fell in love with. I also had to find a reason for myself to go on; the reason comes out of a question and the question is always – why?
- Because this is who I am! An artist, a writer, a poet… perhaps I’m even more than that. Why not kill for who you are? Why not bother to kill for whom you trained and developed yourself to be right, despite all the fatigue cause by living in parallels, those curves never meeting on which the Universe has asked you to play your existence on!? Why not do exactly what you do and let the real stars out there shine!?" - Chagrin! I hated the feeling I had immediately after reading the note.
- Why are they forgetting things on benches and leave pages to be written on the trees that cannot cry for their kind lost for our simple saint-like pleasures?
- Because they can, dear! Because they can. Because they were told different, they were taught differently and they had it in themselves! They are the winners of this world! They didn’t have to fake it! Because you told us you were a lie – and now I wonder why. - That is preposterous! I never said such a thing! Imagine: me a lie! (Puff.)
The lines were beautifully parted and distributed to the proper silhouettes to show, the appropriate voices to speak. The assumed writer and reader of this show could be only heard. What’s there to add? - the story of the very girl who made it happen.
What started being: The Story of May
A pearlescent dust of the sands of night was lifting-up into the air creating its way to a quiet rest among the stars, making the unseen roads between vibrant pulsating distant suns unite their destinies in the eyes of the one who was watching and catching these vibes of a refined discovery. The perfect place to take a seat, this dust: on the surface of a sky almost tar-like, among the stars looked up to, a world forgotten by the angles and corners of the strange and