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Posts Tagged ‘sketches’

 

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Gabo

Gabriel Garcia Marquez was a brave Bolivian writer.

He made his voice heard around the globe and won the 1982 Nobel Prize in Literature.

He made his characters fly when he pleased or locked the angels in the chicken coop without fearing the public opinion for he was never afraid of the consequences.

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A man who truly lived his life for the others. WP_20160731_001.jpg

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The river would be flowing – probably the berries would be turning red from green and the little wild flowers would be ready to pop out from their buds.

Seems like it’s time to tie the laces.

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It was a usual morning. As quiet and boring as it could be. A sheet of silence covered the whole city and there were no signs of activity.

So in this way it was a common cold morning in the small city where life seemed to be on hold during the winters. Shops in the market were not opened yet and the homes looked deserted.

An elderly man who lived alone in one of these houses – woke up before his alarm clock  rang – made some tea in the kettle and went through a renowned magazine while sipping the aromatic liquid from his cup. That magazine solely published the hunting adventures in the exotic jungles around the globe and it always served as an injection of enthusiasm for this old man who had very less things to do during the day.

His daily routine was limited to buying supplies from the nearby mart, cooking and cleaning. Although he had a busy life before his retirement but now it was all that he had to deal with.

The old man slowly went through the pages until he swooped down the last sip of tea with a loud sound. While getting up from sofa he casually threw the magazine towards the empty table lying besides his bed. The magazine made a parabolic trajectory and swiftly rotated along its own axis until it perfectly landed on the side-table.

In the meanwhile the old man approached the window – completely ignoring the magazine. Whether the magazine perfectly landed on the table top or missed its target – he didn’t care. He pulled the curtain aside and pressed his forehead on the cold windowpane. If his forehead were a thermometer it would have displayed 32 degrees Fahrenheit. His gaze patrolled the street. His eyes kept moving like a pendulum from left to right and back to left but there wasn’t anything to catch his attention.

At the moment when old man was about to get bored of staring at the emptiness – a little dog entered the street. Probably the dog was hungry because his body trembled with every blow of wind. The old man decided to go downstairs and let the dog come inside.

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