These are my articles written over time. Please feel free to ask questions about any post.
The morning light spilled gently through the repaired glass panes, slanting golden beams across the greenhouse floor. Emil paused in the doorway before entering. The night’s conversation still echoed in him—his grandfather’s words about the world as a test, not a harbor. He felt the weight of them now: every act of care or neglect […]
Scene 17: The Garden’s Keeper Read More »
Life
The rain had stopped, but the streets still smelled of damp stone and iron. Emil sat cross-legged on the rug, his schoolbooks untouched beside him, his mind circling the words from earlier that evening. Grandfather had said: “When a leader ties himself to a wrongdoer, he sets the dignity of his nation on fire.” The
The Prison of the Past Read More »
Time
Visual prompt: Style: Cinematic, dramatic chiaroscuro (high contrast between light and shadow). Composition: A leader stands at a crossroads, viewed from behind. The path to the left is a descent into a chaotic warzone; it is lit by the hellish, fiery glow of explosions, and the leader’s shadow cast on this path is monstrous and
The house was still, the only sound the tick of the old wall clock and the faint whistle of wind pressing against the shutters. Emil sat at the kitchen table, staring into the dark swirl of milk at the bottom of his glass. His hands, still stained from the greenhouse soil, gripped the cup as
Emil paused at the greenhouse door, his hand resting on the cool metal latch. The words from last night’s dialogue still echoed in him—Ukraine, Gaza, the absences, the fires. The world’s wars had felt impossibly vast under the lamplight, a sickness of nations beyond his reach. But here, in the damp air and the smell
Mock-up Scene 16: The Fruit of the New Ground Read More »
Peace
The lamplight glowed in the quiet house, carving out a small island of peace in the vast, dark sea of the world’s news. Emil sat, the images from his phone screen—rubble, soldiers, tear-streaked faces—burned onto the back of his eyes. The grandfather’s framework was a powerful lens, but could it actually focus on something as
The Arsonist’s Signature Read More »
Wisdom
Style: Magical realism, deep focus, incredibly detailed. Composition: An extreme close-up of a human eye, reflecting not a person’s face, but a vast, intricate model city. The city is a perfect blend of nature and technology—buildings intertwined with living trees, light rails running on greenways. This is the “Blueprint.” However, on the pupil of the eye, the
The Seed of the System Read More »
Wisdom
The next morning, Emil found his grandfather already in the garden, gently tying a tomato vine to a new stake. The air was cool and carried the scent of damp earth and night-blooming jasmine. Emil had slept poorly, the grand, terrible machinery of the world grinding through his dreams. The abstract “Four Absences” had taken
The Fire Brigade and The Blueprint Read More »
Peace
The lamps burned low in the little house, shadows of fig leaves trembling against the window. Emil sat at the table, his fingers tracing idle patterns across the wood grain. The day’s work in the forum still pulsed in his mind—the circle of chairs, the ledger passed hand to hand, the first fragile proposals like
From Blame to Diagnosis Read More »
Peace
The sky wasn’t gray. It was absent. Colorless. Soundless. Like a memory that no longer wanted to be remembered. Mira stood at the ridge above the valley. Below, soldiers moved like clock hands— efficient, cold, and counting down. Smoke rose from both camps. Not for warmth. Not for bread. They were preparing to erase each
What is War, Anyway? Read More »
War