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| Indra : Just a Story |
| Once upon a time lived a small boy. He was around 10 year’s old and loved music very much. He could sit near radio for hours and listen, listen, listen…There was rock music, pop music, rep, blues but most of all he liked classical music. He listened to sounds of violins, how they sing, to trumpets, flutes… They were so soft and touching. One day the radio broke down. No sound, no music, no violins… And also no money to repair it. He asked father for money to repair the radio, but no results. Father said that it’s good to come home and there is silence. He worked in a factory and there was big noise all the day. Boy’s mother was died so he couldn’t ask her. So he found some instruments – any he could find and which could be useful – nails, hammer, anything; took the radio and locked in his room. He had never tried to fix anything so he sat down on floor, took the radio and watched. Minutes passed and the boy was still sitting on the floor… then he tightened his lips and started his work. First he disjoined it… hmzz… to much of everything. He tensed there, took out that, changed that and put radio together somehow. No results, it wasn’t working. The boy inhaled breath deeply and rejoined it again and again, and again and than… yes… he switched it to the electricity and something was going on… some noise… crashing… and… and… flame!!! The boy stood up quickly and looked at the flame with horror and fear, than stood one step back. The flame reached the curtains and went up… the boy was still standing with opened mouth. The room filled with smoke and the flame was getting stronger and louder. The boy ran… run out of the room… down to the stairs… out of the house and away… he run and run till he couldn’t breathe anymore. He was somewhere in the forest, it was a bit dark already and he had no idea where he was. The boy looked around and than up – sky was red, maybe because the sunset, maybe because of the fire… A few days later the boy was looking to the sky again. Now it was blue and the sun was shining very brightly, it was warm, birds were singing. The boy looked down again to the ground as he did for last hour. The shoes were still the same, the grass was still the same and father’s grave was still there… and the priest had stopped talking. The boy hadn’t heard a word of what the priest had said, he just looked on the ground. He was still looking on the ground but smiling now …there was violin playing and he was listening to the sound of it… to the sweet, sweet sound of violin… |
| (29.10.2005) |
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