Elizavetta Welizen, my niece (pen name), recently composed the following short story, which I liked. "Printed" here with her permission.
A Day in the Park
The two of them, who are alone, went to the park and walked about on the cement paths till they found a bench to sit on. The bench was normal length, but a mile lay between them. The leaves on the thick branches of the oak trees filtered the sun, which tinkled down from behind. Boats sleep to the right as tethered horses ever waiting alone for the one who cares for them to return. An empty road stretches to the left and cries out for the cars which once gave it purpose. A quiet gentle breeze moved in between them, separating them. They sat there and closed their eyes, not wanting to see the flower gardens yonder, or the beauty of the vista, or each other. By chance, (or was it predestined?) one produced a piece of paper with Pushkin. What is this? Please read it out loud. Ok.
I have outlasted all desire,
My dreams and I have grown apart;
My grief alone is left entire,
The gleanings of an empty heart.
The storms of ruthless dispensation
Have struck my flowery garland numb-
I live in lonely desolation
And wonder when my end will come.
Thus on a naked tree-limb, blasted
By tardy winter's whistling chill,
A single leaf which has outlasted
Its season will be trembling still.
The soulís loneliness is described as a leaf left alone on a tree in the winter. The cold winter winds have no mercy on it. The soul with no hope counts down the hours till its death. What has happened to the soul? It no longer identifies with the past. It is separated not only from everyone else, but also from itself. It was once a whole soul, but has become a bicameral soul split asunder.
Why is one allowed to split and estrange itself from its self? How do two halves forget the union they once shared? Why in a universe so cold must two travellers fly towards entropy? Why do they believe they are completely singular?
Eyes search eyes for the filament of hope. They find it. They use it to sew the single soul they once shared back as one.
In the park the two of them, who are not alone, feel the firmness of the bench, the ocean breeze on their skin, the warm sun on their backs, the words from the poems, and wondering how they could have let their soul split leaving them alone they promise not to let the dichotomy repeat.
You like? Visit my niece's website at http://www.bettworld.com. It has writings and artwork, including some cool Matrix stuff!