~ Song of the sea ~

Our views and thoughts often reach only what is near. Sometimes, the distances are not so far away as it seems. Maybe we can not see them and imagine, but we can hear them. In the silence of uncertain days, they sometimes occur to us in strange sounds. Something unknown blinks in us. We feel that we are part of something unfathomable. In this vast empire of infinity, there is a distance that takes us to worlds that were once there. While we’re standing on a small island in the middle of endless sea, we hear it calling us. We shuddered, a strange feeling enveloped us. Unknown memories wake up in us. One part of our beings realizes that this is the call of the place where we come from. Often we want to go back there, but we do not know the way. Our long ago left traces erase the waves of one sea. Our beginnings were washed away thousands of rivers that flow relentlessly into its space. Each new generation takes a bit of land that sea. After many years it was only one song without words, older than our tracks. Its composers are unknown. Adorned with pearls, it was born a long time ago in the empire of nebulae with the first drop of deep space. If we listen more carefully, we can hear their refrains in shells and corals. Its verses sung wings of seagulls and dolphins jumping. Flocks of amazing fish are its choirs. Waves are its players. The tide gives it strength, and ebb takes it. We are trying to understand it, to find its sources, but still we just listen to it from the coasts. Unique and wonderful, this is the only song that the man was not able to sing. Those who are given up to sail its sea, say that they are not thwarted continents, but its unknown depth. However, we often fall into the temptation to explore it, but our curiosity overcomes the fear that we would lose it. While we sway on its waves, we wonder where they come from and where they go. Maybe they know the path that will lead us to our lost traces. Once, in the distant future, we may learn its secrets in the depths of our mind, and perhaps it is better to leave it to echo on the waves in all its beauty and infinity. We are privileged because we had the opportunity to hear it. One day, when all the songs ceased, and when all the lands become the sea, we will get back to it.
Song of the sea, author Suzana Stojanović, September 29, 2016

~ In pursuit of victims ~

If you do not recognize a man by something else, you’ll recognize him by his attitude toward money. Noble people can be thrifty and wasteful, but people who worship money, they are certainly not noble. For honorable man money means a necessity and a means, for dishonorable means a goal, often only in life. The only thing for which he aspires, and what he rejoices, is wealth. He does not choose path and the means to reach his goal: he’s lying, cheating and deceiving and he is a true artist in the creation of a non-existent self-image. People are overwhelmed by his charm, smile and kind words. His persistent imposition and persuasion confuses people. He is a real treat for insecure people. Dishonorable people are all around us, but we belatedly recognize some of them. In moments of weakness and thoughtlessness, we unwittingly become their victims. Gaping jaws, like beasts, they are waiting somewhere around the corner to take away all that we have built with great difficulty. In just one moment our lives become ruins. Behind the ruins remain just stories, often the only witnesses of deceptions. Here begins the story of a woman from the suburb, who dedicated her whole life to pursuit of victims. Her preparations for this thorny path lasted long. She was preparing for all possible and impossible situations: she studied, listened and followed; rarely what could she miss. She saw potential victims everywhere and to everyone. The smell of money she could feel in places where others did not know that it exists. She collected information from all sides, and always knew where to attack. Victims of her pursuits were weak and helpless people, who had neither the strength nor the will to resist her greedy claws. Like bird of prey, she swoops down on them, and in the flight concerned all they had. As the main feature of the annoying type that is rapidly evolving, and so is she, carried away by success, began to fly towards greater heights; if only you could peek into her dreams: everything was there, except people. She never dreamed people. She has always dreamed of herself and islands, yachts, villas. In her dreams, everything was in abundance, but it was the most money. Dreaming, she went on an exotic trips, walking by her vast islands, visited the best restaurants, bought expensive jewelry, she had the most attractive houses. She fantasized that she is the richest and best in everything, and that there are other people just to be her slaves. She did not like reality, because she conflicted with many rich people in it. Curiosity, malice and envy are constantly lurking from her small eyes. Although tired of stumbling and getting up, she did not give up. She could not resist the new victims. Defeats are not hindered her, but someone else’s wealth has been the biggest stumbling block on her dirty way. She hated all the people who were better, richer and more beautiful. Hatred was her silent killer. Her face began to reflect traces of unsuccessful pursuits. Fewer and fewer smiles and more wrinkles were on it. Hunger has disappeared from her tiny eyes, there was only hazy vision, lost somewhere in the waves of dreams. Disordered thoughts began to control her movements. Conflicting at the same time with herself and with the environment, she began to get lost in moments of anger. She mocked anyone, anything and everything. She enjoyed the many nasty things, but most of the blackmail, threats and machinations. Step by step, she revealed herself. She wriggled like a fish in a net. In the last twitches she served the worst and dirtiest possible means to cast aspersions on everything she hated. It was the beginning of the end of a woman from the suburb. Victims of her pursuits began to persecute her. She saw them everywhere, even in her dreams. After many years, she began to dream of the people. Her life has become silent, and her days listening. Her nights are turned into fear and nightmare. The ghosts of the past took her to the ruins that she had once left behind. She has become a victim of her own pursuit. Sometimes, I still see her so bent with dogs wandering across the unexplored parts of the city, but there are fewer victims.
In pursuit of victims, author Suzana Stojanović, September 4, 2016