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Oct. 21, 2004 In one place, knowns as XYZ lived clowns and dwarfs. The clowns were tall and too much ugly but the dwarfs were small and so much nice- looking. The ugly ones lived more privileged than the second ones but felt un-happiness. Also, the first ones had chances to see what happened around, in the neighborhood and over the hills. The dwarfs because of the physcial constitution never tried to make it. How the days passed on, the clowns got jealous and their hearts turgid by un-explained hatred. The harmonious home atmosphere into the dwarfs' house wrinkled their souls. The evilness grew up when they heard the dwarfs' laughing. The time has come, the clowns gathered to make conspiracy plan and change the harmonious moments into chaos. One of the clowns came 'round into the dwarfs' house. The cheerful souls accepted it well, with honor and they pretended that didn't see the ugliness on its face and did not suprise it. They treated it as good fellow, said nice words and discovered one secret that the RAGE have not knocked on the door, yet. The clowns's face covered up dark clouds. It changed. It got upset that the dwarfs neglected this esthetic shortage. Deep inside simmered desire to scream and yell, if they are blind or not and why they ignored that ugly face. The dwarfs were dancing, playing and singing, roses came out from their mouths. The clown by furiously shaking of its body screamed: Stop all of you. Don't you notice! I came here to infect you with rage. I would leave it to evaporate and break through the walls, so you couldn't wash it out. - Well, well my dear clown-said the smiled dwarf. We feel your un-happiness and our house is not fertile soil for rage prospering. The rage might live through the walls the way you colored but not through ours. An easy extinction waits for it. This same would happen if some of your clowns is nice-looking but feels un-happy. It will become reproduction of your rage and always will stay around it and gaze at its face- say praying to become ugly. Have you known, what would be if inside the heart plays a heaven song. From the malice you would burst up like bubbles and left on black stains. The time will go on and the cheerful clown will wipe out the stains with the notes by heavenly melody and light-rays will penetrate through the windows. ------------ About the author Marjana Zisovska: I live in Republic of Macedonia, I write short-stories and have a book with hopes that they will publish it in the future. Email: rockcult@myway.com Tell a friend about this site! ------------ |
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