Soul Mate

They were sipping drinks at the bar when she took a peek at his wrist counter for the third time. 0d 13h 10m. Just 8 hours ahead of hers.

“You excited?” She picked at her nails.

“Yeah. Just can’t believe it’s been a year already.” He laughed, nervously, she thought.

They were best friends. Best friends, she repeated to herself. They’d talked about it before. Their soul mates were selected for them from a list of thousands of potential candidates. These soul mates were the most ideal match for each individual in body, soul, and mind. A year ago, the Counsellors took care to emphasize that the AEPS life-pairing system had never made a mistake. Agape, eros, philia, storge – the four types of love. There were soul mates out there for every individual’s needs.

Favourite Books

Recently, I was asked the most interesting question (or series of questions) by a publishing firm that was considering my job application. The question was: what are your five favourite books, and why? It was hard enough coming up with a list of only five books; it was even worse trying to explain why I liked them in a reasonable amount of words. I’ve always loved these books and have variously mentioned them to friends. I also go on and on about them if anyone will listen. What I hadn’t done prior to my application is come up with a concise paragraph of what makes each of them so unique and lovable. Who knew that a job app could benefit me in this way? If anyone asks me the same question, I can simply refer them to this post and they’ll understand how I feel about these books.

I hope this list inspires someone (anyone!) to read these books – that would be really great. Also, if anyone has already read them and has something to say/discuss about them, let’s talk in the comments! I would love to hear from fellow literature lovers.

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Room

She entered the room alone. It was dark and very cluttered. Somehow it didn’t feel like her room even though she knew exactly where everything was. Maybe things look different in the dark, she thought. She fumbled for the light switch and her hand found nothing. It was strange to be a stranger in her own room. She shook her head and frowned. There was probably something blocking the switch. In any case, the room wasn’t very long and she knew her way through it in the day. Walking to the other end wouldn’t take very long.

She began to make her way through the room. The things on the floor suddenly seemed much larger than she remembered. Her hip brushed the edge of a cabinet, and she felt her apple-green merino sweater fray slightly. Her hand swept a few ornaments off a shelf and they tinkled as they fell. She thought she saw a cloud of shiny dust floating to the floor but she couldn’t be sure. It was still too dark. A few steps later, her eyes became more used to the gloom. She strained them a bit and saw something in the shape of a cello far ahead, near the door. That’s funny, I don’t remember owning a cello. She paused and took a few steps forward. Now it looked more like a large floor lamp. She didn’t have floor lamps; never liked them because they collided with her feet all the time. The fuzzy shape moved. As her eyes focused she realised that it was really a tall beast. Before she could scream or run, the beast changed shape again. Now it was a short, squat creature. Now it was furry and wide. Now it was tall again.

This must be some kind of dream. This must be some kind of dream. Her mind was running wild just thinking about the creature. She blinked, and a long time later, her lips formed words that sounded tinny and distant.

“What are you?”

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White Magic

Landscape with the Fall of Icarus
Landscape with the Fall of Icarus (Pieter Bruegel); Source

The first fall of snow is not only an event, it is a magical event. You go to bed in one kind of a world and wake up in another quite different, and if this is not enchantment then where is it to be found?
– J. B. Priestley

It was on a cold, snowy December morning in the city of Landon that Icarus died. He was not quite sure how it had happened. Threading his way through the blur of traffic, he had arrived at the pavement opposite the Aeronautical Control Tower, where he worked. One moment he was staring at the tower, contemplating the sweep of its columns as they soared skyward, and the next he was perceiving his dead body from within the crowd of strangers that had gathered around it. He had often seen old film projections of that phenomenon – the name escaped him – where someone died on a hospital bed, surrounded by friends and family, and a ghostly copy of their body lingered on in the room. It was bizarre that anyone could even be sure of what happened after death, or rather, he thought, after life.

Turning his attention to the scene before him, Icarus realised that those films had been preparing him for this moment. His still body lay in the middle of the pavement, unresponsive to the attempts of the paramedics checking for signs of life. He felt what could be best described as a distant pity for the fallen body, which he was already beginning to disown. He was something else now, a fact that he accepted without much fuss. He could remember his life in Landon: a cup of coffee every morning in the office and a long shower every night in his apartment. But those memories held no weight now as he – or the form that was he – moved away from the other that was no longer him.

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