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Gintarė

Buvęs nebuvęs

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Kai sekundės dalelė

Byrėjo į tūkstančius šukelių,

Kai pamačiau žvilgsnį

Pervėrusį širdį

Ten buvai tu,

Buvęs nebuvęs,

Ranką paėmęs prieš tūkstančius metų.

 

Kur buvai tuos tūkstančius metų?

Ar kvėpavai, ar gulei ir kėleis,

Ar kartu, tuo pačiu metu mes žolę mynėm,

Ar ranką paleidęs kritai ir nekėlei?

 

Kritai ir nekėlei.

Tolyn ir žemyn tuos tūkstančius metų.

Kvėpavai, bet tik tam kad atbudęs

Kristum gilyn į šaltį ir gėlą.

 

Nematei nei mėlyno, nei rausvo,

Tik juodą, patamsiuose blykštantį.

Pro langą, plaukus raunantis iš skausmo

Šaukei tajam negrįžtančiam.

 

O jis ir negrįžo.

Tik lėkė į priekį spartus,

Tave prilaudęs po savo sparnu,

Liūliavo kad užsimirštum.

 

Po tuoju sparnu kantriai tūnojai,

Ieškojai, šaukei, bet nieks negirdėjo

Bebalsio, berankio, bekojo

Tavęs tokio niekam nereikėjo.

 

Tad laukei.

 

Visa tai pamačiau

Tą sekundės dalelę

Byrėjusią į šipulius,

Kėlusią virpulius,

Skaudėjusią kaip mirtis šaltą naktį nebylią.

Juk ten buvai tu, laukei tyliai.

 

Kol pamatys, kol atpažins,

Kol supras, kad ten tu, kad žmogus

Po sluoksniais mūriniais.

Kol prieis,

Kol ranką paduos,

Kol prilies… pirštais geležiniais.

 

Buvęs nebuvęs.

Štai buvai tu tą sekundės sekundę.

Skarmalais apsisiautęs, pasislėpęs nuo alkio…

… ir šypsena, kaip prieš tūkstančius metų.

 

Mačiau. Šaukiau, skalijau

Iš baimės verkiau.

Nepriėjau. Perdaug tų sekundės dalelių bijojau.

Kad pasiglemš, kad neištrūksiu,

Kad su tavim krisiu, kad neišnirsiu.

Kad mirsiu.

Visa tai supratau.

Nepriėjau.

Ache

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When I entered the room, I saw my father sitting on the sofa next to the fireplace. The fire has gone out, and he was sitting in the darkness. When I came closer, I noticed something else. My father was crying.

‘What is wrong, dad?’

He didn’t answer and kept sobbing, and then I remembered.

‘I am sorry, dad, don’t cry. I am bringing a book and we will read it together, alright?’

I went to the book shelf, and took a book. Turning back to my father, I saw his tears dropping on his shirt, white and neat, leaving grey marks.

The Dream Catcher

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His fingers played the keyboard so rapidly that the page he was writing was full of mistakes. He peeked at what he has written so far, frowned, and closed his laptop. Then, he went to the kitchen and grabbed a can of beer. The can-opening sound gave him a cosy feeling. He can rest, at last.

The Casket

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Three years have passed, and I cannot forget that day when we were sitting on the bench in the park. It was the start of the school year and it was just me, Lucy, our backpacks and two coffee cups. The trees were lively green, with their leaves still firmly stuck to the branches. Autumn was not yet there.

The White Room

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I was connecting the dots, comfortably seated, with the paper on my lap, when my mother came into my room.

‘Dinner is ready, dear.’

And then she left, and I remembered that she is dead. Mama, you are dead for thirty years.

I was connecting the dots on the paper, drawing lines. They ran smoothly from one dot to another, and I was old, I was very old. I have connected so many dots.

Strange Sounds

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“There are some very strange sounds in the world, Phillip. It doesn’t mean you have to fear them.”

Grandpa’s voice was deep, slow-paced and calming.

“No, I was not exactly afraid, I was just a bit disturbed. I have never heard that sound before.”

Grandpa sighed and slowly sat on the boy’s bed.

The Faster I Run

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Peter is running fast from me. But I am faster, and I am not worried. When he turns around the corner, I start to run after him.

“I’m going to get you, Peter!”

Five big steps barefoot in the grass and I turn right. There he is, further than I imagined. Running as fast as he can. One, two, three, four… ten steps more, and I am close. I see his back, blue hoody, white shoes, golden hair. All I have to do is reach him. I move my hand, stretch it forwards. But all I grab is thin air.

Bloody Mockery

“Hey fatty!”

“Hey fatty!”

“Hey Alfred!”

“Hey Alfred!”

I took a deep breath and turned around. Everyone in the classroom were doing their own things. But not him, not the one staring at me. Bright smile and cold eyes.