HOWLING, part two- short story

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Bassim

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Bosnian
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Bosnia Herzegovina
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Dear people
Here is the second part of my story. Please, would you help me and proofread it.

Ordinary people make a mistake when they tell to an addict he should fight against his addiction. They do not understand he and his addiction are entwined with each other to such an extent where every separation looks like an amputation. Therefore, many addicts look back nostalgically to their addictions. They got rid of their problem but at the same time a part of them was torn off.
Before I myself became one of them, I felt scorn for the addicts. I believed they were cowards and egoists whose only goal is to satisfy their obsession, but now I completely understand their predicament and their plight.
There was a time not long ago when I was just as all other people. I used to drive the bus. I would wake up early in the morning when outside was still pitch dark and streets empty. I cycled to the bus depot, got on my bus, started it and made the first round through the still sleepy streets. It was cold inside, the bus usually needed an hour to get warm, but it did not bother me at all. I greeted passengers who went on board and chatted with old ladies who often were confused and were never sure if they had taken the right bus or tourists who could never get enough informations.I was not married. I thought there was enough time in the future to get hitched and have children. Until that day, I simply enjoyed life; worked hard five days and on weekends went out, drank and occasionally took the advantage of the one night stand.

I used to listen to radio whenever I drove the bus and even in my home. I read the papers too and occasionally books and I noticed that with every day this world was getting closer to the abyss. Children killed their playmates, pupils their colleagues and teachers, every night a school was burning, dozens of cars destroyed in fires, handicapped in wheelchairs attacked and left in a pool of blood. Many of my colleagues were attacked, they were not only robbed but also suffered terrible injuries. Luckily, non of them were killed. I remember one day when I was on the bus and had five minutes left of my pause. I watched a man lying on the street. I did not know if he was hurt, dead, or sleeping? People passed by him as he was invisible. The thought struck me that in the eyes of my neighbours I was invisible too. They passed by me and never said hello! I felt something coming up from my stomach. It must have been the pain I tried to hide for years. I let out my first howl. Luckily, I was alone, all doors and windows were closed and nobody heard me. I felt my cheeks burning with shame. My mask had fallen down.

The same night I howled myself hoarse and when my colleagues asked me what happened to my voice, I told them I caught cold. I could not concentrate on my driving. I did not like to chat with passengers as before. I just wanted to sit there with my head in my hands and howl. I went to my boss and I asked him for sick leave. I told him I got a terrible pain in my back. I would never have dared to say anything about my howling. According to the statistics, people in this country is one of the happiest and most satisfied in the world. They would never have tolerated anyone who complained.

I began with physiotherapy twice a week. The physiotherapist asked me if I felt any relief and I had to lie again, "It's getting better." I know she was only doing her job. I could not left her disappointed.
Luckily, I lived near a forest. When I woke up I would run to it, and there under a thick canopy of leaves I let my voice raise to the sky. At least, God had nothing against a howling man.

Once I read an article in a local paper where a woman was complaining about a wolf which attacked her horse. There was a picture of her holding its knee, showing to the reporter its wounded knee. I was boiling with rage. I had to admit I was close to her farm and saw cows and horses but I did nothing but howled. Her husband and her daughter also confirmed they heard a wolf howling in a nearby forest. It was obvious they was interesting in only one thing- the money from her insurance.

Soon, there were more witnesses talking about the wolf. There were people who even saw him sneaking around their homes and called the police which of course found nothing.
One have to say that a wolf in this part of the country had not be seen in the last thirty years. The government had always kept the number of wolves constant, their number must not exceed twelve. They all must live in a flock. A lonely wolf is a rebel, a dissident and must be killed immediately.

They had a discussion on the local radio. A well known scientists explained there would be more wolves coming down from the north because of the global warming. "We have to learn to live with wolves," he concluded.
When I went to the town I saw demonstrations. Animal right activists shouting angrily and holding banners "Don't shoot our wolf!" Opposite them hunters, farmers and skin heads shouting, "Kill the wolf!"
I came back to my flat more depressed. I not only howled but also cried. It seemed to me wolves were more important in this society then human beings.
The following day when I walked to the forest I saw a group of hunters and their dogs. They were equipped like special forces with all kind of guns and knives. One of them told me, "Be careful sir, there is a wolf somewhere hiding, we must find him and kill him before he attacks people!" I gazed at the barrel of his gun and felt sweat trickling down my back. My body started to shake and I turned back. I did not want to end up in a morgue with a bullet in my head.

Before, when I drove bus I hated winter, but now it became my favourite season. I liked to see snowflakes falling down and painting everything white. I enjoyed the sound of the frozen snow crunching under my boots and its crystals swirling in the wind. I enjoyed the silence and emptiness of the forest. I knew everyone was inside and I could cry and howl as much as I wanted.
Once it was a full moon and very cold. I knew not even the bravest walker would have dared outside. The forest was illuminated as if was a day. The thick threes and their tops covered in snow, gleaming in the moonlight. I felt such a delight and wanted this scene would never gone. Suddenly a heard a howl. It was a sorrowful howl of someone more unhappy then myself. It was not an animal howling, but my fellow human. It continued for a while and I felt as if someone was directly talking to my heart. "I must find that person," I told myself and run through the snow howling like a madmen. Our howls met each other somewhere above the forest and continued united towards the sky.

Suddenly, I saw her, she was running towards me, a tiny woman with two dark plaits covered in frost bobbing behind her. "Your howling is so sad and beautiful at the same time," I said gazing at her lively dark eyes.
"I like your too." she said. "I heard it some nights before and I was enchanted."
She told me she worked as an accountant and felt well with her job. But one day all these numbers became a meaningless mass without substance.
She could not stand any more. She did not dare to talk to anyone and started to howl.
"Do you want a cup of tea? My cottage is on the other side of the forest. It is warm and cosy."
That night we lay together;taking, kissing, hugging, feeling the warmth of our bodies in that cold winter night. A strange thing happened: we stopped to howl. Our howling and our suffering had turned into love. Is love our only weapon against a dehumanised society?

Months have passed since that day and we have not howled any time. We are married now and live in the cottage She got pregnant. We will get a child, will will get more children. I have to explain for them one day why some people howl and the other are silent. They must learn that howling is not something shameful. They must learn how to fight against silence.

The end
 

beascarpetta

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Ordinary people make the mistake of telling addicts they should fight their addiction. They do not understand that addicts and their addictions are inseparable to an extent where every separation equals amputation. Therefore, many addicts look back nostalgically on their addictions. They've gotten rid of their problem but at the same time they've lost a part of themselves.

Before I myself became one of them, I only felt scorn for addicts. I believed they were cowards and egotists whose only goal in life was to satisfy their obsession, but now I've come to understand their predicament and their plight.

There was a time not long ago when I was just like one of them. I used to work as a bus driver. I would wake up early in the morning when it was still dark outside and the streets were empty. I cycled to the bus depot, got on my bus, started the engine and was off to my first round through the still sleepy streets. I was cold since the bus usually needed an hour to warm up , but this did not bother me at all. I greeted passengers, who got on the bus and chatted with old ladies, who were often confused and never quite sure if they had taken the right bus , or tourists who could never get enough information.

I was still single. I thought there was enough time to get hitched and have children later on. Up to then, I simply enjoyed life; I worked hard five days a week and at weekends I went out, got drunk and occasionally indulged in one-night stands.

I used to listen to the radio both on my shifts and at home. I read the papers , occasionally even books and I noticed that with every passing day the world seemed to be getting one step closer to the brink of destruction.

Children were killing their playmates, pupils butchered their peers and teachers, every night at least one school was burnt down , dozens of cars destroyed by fire, handicapped in wheelchairs attacked and left to die in pools of blood.

Many of my colleagues were attacked as well; they were not only robbed but also suffered terrible injuries.


I think that "to get hitched" does not tie in with the register you use for the rest of the text.

I'm afraid I've got to run now. Still,I hope this helps a little.I really loved reading it.
 

Svaneska

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Joined
Apr 1, 2008
Member Type
Other
Native Language
English
Home Country
England
Current Location
France
Hello again Bassim!

here is the rest of your story, from the place where Bea left off . . .

Luckily, none of them were killed. I remember one day when I was on the bus and had five minutes left of my break. I watched a man lying on the street. I did not know if he was hurt, dead, or sleeping. People passed by him as if he was invisible. The thought struck me that in the eyes of my neighbours I was invisible too. They passed me by and never even said hello! I felt something coming up from my stomach. It must have been the pain I had tried to hide for years. I let out my first howl. Luckily I was alone, all doors and windows were closed and nobody heard me. I felt my cheeks burning with shame. My mask had fallen.

That same night I howled myself hoarse and when my colleagues asked me what happened to my voice, I told them I’d caught a cold. I could not concentrate on my driving. I did not like to chat with passengers as before. I just wanted to sit there with my head in my hands and howl. I went to my boss and I asked him for sick leave. I told him I had a terrible pain in my back. I would never have dared to say anything about my howling. According to the statistics, people in this country are one of the happiest and most satisfied in the world. They would never have tolerated anyone who complained.

I began with physiotherapy twice a week. The physiotherapist asked me if I felt any relief and I had to lie again, "It's getting better." I know she was only doing her job. I could not leave her disappointed.

Luckily, I lived near a forest. When I woke up I would run into it, and there under a thick canopy of leaves I let my voice rise/cry to the sky. At least God had nothing against a howling man.

Once I read an article in a local paper where a woman was complaining about a wolf which attacked her horse. There was a picture of her holding its knee, showing the reporter its wounded knee. I was boiling with rage. I had to admit I was close to her farm and saw cows and horses but I did nothing but howled. Her husband and her daughter also confirmed they heard a wolf howling in a nearby forest. It was obvious they were interested in only one thing- the insurance money.

Soon, there were more witnesses talking about the wolf. There were people who even saw him sneaking around their homes and called the police who of course found nothing. One has to say/it has to be said that a wolf in this part of the country had not been seen in the last thirty years. The government had always kept the number of wolves constant, their number must not exceed twelve. They all must live in a pack. A lone wolf is a rebel, a dissident and must be killed immediately.

They had a discussion on the local radio. A well-known scientist explained there would be more wolves coming down from the north because of global warming. "We have to learn to live with wolves," he concluded.

When I went into the town I saw demonstrations. Animal rights activists shouting angrily and holding banners "Don't shoot our wolf!" Opposite them were hunters, farmers and skin heads shouting, "Kill the wolf!"

I came back to my flat feeling depressed. I not only howled but also cried. It seemed to me wolves were more important in this society than human beings.

The following day when I walked into the forest I saw a group of hunters and their dogs. They were equipped like Special Forces with all kind of guns and knives. One of them told me, "Be careful sir, there is a wolf somewhere hiding, we must find him and kill him before he attacks people!" I gazed at the barrel of his gun and felt sweat trickling down my back, my body started to shake and I turned back. I did not want to end up in a morgue with a bullet in my head.

Before, when I drove buses I'd hated winter, but now it became my favourite season. I liked to see snowflakes falling down and painting everything white. I enjoyed the sound of the frozen snow crunching under my boots and its crystals swirling in the wind. I enjoyed the silence and emptiness of the forest. I knew everyone was keeping warm inside their houses and I could cry and howl as much as I wanted.

Once it was a full moon and very cold. I knew not even the bravest walker would have dared be out and about /outside. The forest was illuminated as if it was day. The thick trees and their tops covered in snow, gleaming in the moonlight. I felt such delight and hoped this scene would never end/ wanted this scene to go on forever. Suddenly I heard a howl. It was a sorrowful howl of someone more unhappy/unhappier then me. It was not an animal howling, but a fellow human being. It continued for a while and I felt as if someone was directly talking to my heart. "I must find that person," I told myself and ran through the snow howling like a madman. Our howls met each other somewhere above the forest and continued united towards the sky.

Suddenly, I saw her; she was running towards me, a petite woman with two dark plaits, covered in frost, bobbing behind her. "Your howling is so sad and beautiful at the same time," I said gazing at her lively dark eyes. "Like yours too." she said. "I heard it some nights before and I was enchanted."
She told me she worked as an accountant and felt satisfied with her job, but one day all these numbers became a meaningless mass without substance. She could not stand any more. She did not dare to talk to anyone and started to howl.

"Do you want a cup of tea?”/ “Would you like a cup of tea?”, she asked “My cottage is on the other side of the forest. It is warm and cosy." That night we lay together, talking, kissing, hugging and feeling the warmth of our bodies on that cold winter night. A strange thing happened: we stopped howling. Our howling/anguish and our suffering had turned into love. Is love our only weapon against a dehumanised society?

Months have passed since that day and we have not howled in all that time. We are married now and live in the cottage. She is expecting our child and we will have more children. I shall have to explain to them one day why some people howl and others are silent. They must learn that howling is not something shameful. They must learn how to fight against silence.

The end

:)
 

Bassim

VIP Member
Joined
Mar 1, 2008
Member Type
Student or Learner
Native Language
Bosnian
Home Country
Bosnia Herzegovina
Current Location
Sweden
Svaneska

You are a real treasure! You and your colleagues are doing such a great job.
Thank you for your time, your efforts and your patience and God bless you all!
 
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