Balloon by Salila Robkob

Balloon

A Short Story by Laurea Parma Published by

Publisherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Note This short story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the authorâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. License Notes Thank you for downloading this free ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this book, please return to Smashwords.com to discover other works by us. Thank you for your support.

Balloon A Short Story by Laurea Parma

Contents

Balloon About the Author

Balloon A flame threw fierce heat as it flashed up. I reflexively raised my hands to cover my face while secretly glared at the 34-year-old man who was pulling the chord. He did not seem to know the mood I was in. He was too busy having fun preparing the balloon which then was ready to take off into the sky. I was not afraid of height. Nor was I fond of it, especially when I had to hang my dear life with a hot aired bag tied to a big basket. It did not make me feel safe. Although I had never get in one of these before, I was certain that I was going to be nauseated, or even threw up. “Are you ready, Rachel, honey?” Mark asked me. He still had the habit of saying honey after my name even though we had not met or talked much lately. It made me feel a little uncomfortable. However the warmth in the words reminded me of the happiness from the past. “Yes, I’m ready.” I lied then could not help but wondered why I had agreed to this. Maybe it was Mark’s enthusiasm. Maybe it was my own curiosity that overpowered my fear. Or maybe it was the fact that this particular balloon was striped in midnight green and ocean blue, my all-time favorite combination of colors. Many of my childhood friends often commented that my preference was odd. I could only argue with them in my mind. When I looked at their favorite bright pink and light blue, I could not help but wonder what made those better than mine. Nonetheless, it might have been a coincident that Mark chose to have the balloon of these colors. I still wanted to believe that he remembered and chose these on purpose. Mark bent down to grab one of the sand bags and threw it out. I started to do so but he held one hand up to stop me. I obeyed with my lips pursed as he threw a few more out. The balloon that had been completely still began to quiver and lifted itself up from the ground. Mark turned back to pull the chord. I did not know its exact name. He might have told me when I was not paying much attention. I turned away from the heat before he pulled the chord once more. Down the hill was a semi-modern wooden house. It used to belong to my grandmother, Gran Elena. After she passed away, it technically came into my mother’s possession. My mom, however, also passed away not so long ago. I stopped this train of thought because I was afraid that tears in my eyes would startle Mark and then I would be in trouble. He cared so much about me. Sometimes too much for two people who were not very close. He always interpreted my body language, sometimes rightly, sometimes wrongly. I was not in the mood for explaining myself, especially now that the balloon was climbing upward. I did not want him to take care of me instead of ensuring the safety of the balloon as he should. I kept staring at the scenery. The beige colored house seemed to shrink as we glided further away. Mark was the one who did all the refurbishment at the time my mom was living here. It was simplistic yet had the resort feel in it. The back porch was an addition to the original structure and it was my most favorite area of the house. I usually grabbed a book out to read or a radio to listen to some music, or sometimes the violin to play. My most favorite thing to do was just sitting on the swing, laid back, swayed lightly and let my mind wander. Further down from there was a road leading to the city center. The house was geographically located in an suburban area but considering the distance from the shopping complex or schools or hospital, it could be included in the city area as well. The fact that I was sixteen made Mark worried that moving from a big city that my mom and I lived an old house would not suit my taste. But I was not the kind of person who was obsessed with city glamour. I grew up here by the loving hands of my grandmother. The sound of leaves rustling and the smell of the wide field calmed me. And the friendly neighbors were always kind and patient with my beginner violin skill.

“Rachel, look, Uncle Danny is waving at us.” Mark’s voice woke me from my reverie. I turned to look in the direction in which he pointed and saw a very old man waving one hand enthusiastically with the other hand clutching a walking stick. I shuddered slightly by unexpected height. Looking downward, it seemed higher than looking ahead which was not different from looking out the window of a tall building. Uncle, or to be exact Grandfather Danny, had been our family’s neighbor for a very long time. He used to work in the same place as Gran. Now he's living with his son in the house closest to ours, although in the past couple of days his son had been working out of town. I waved back at him smiling dryly. He shouted something back but it was impossible to hear clearly over the blazing flame and adding distance. It might be something like “Let me get up there too.” I was not sure. But what I was certain was Mark would not allow that. Otherwise we might be forced to land in the hospital instead. We both watched the view in silence for a while. Then Mark said “Mr. Hendricks’s horse stable is getting a lot bigger. Look at them go.” I mumbled in answer, watching the horses run as if they were in a hurry to go somewhere. I looked at them blankly and saw Mark’s worried expression out of the corner of my eye. He finally spoke again, “Rachel, is there anything you want to talk about?” He sounded his concern. I hesitated. “Nothing, Dad.” I was not use to calling Mark ‘Dad’ lately. He and my mom divorced when I was in secondary school. They were both 17 when they first met. It was love at first sight. Mom used to say that Mark was not that handsome but he had very warm eyes that even though it had been almost 18 years since, she had never met such gaze that could make her so weak at the knees. Not so long after they started dating, my mom was pregnant. She had to withdraw from high school and just stayed in the house with Gran. I had no idea how Gran dealt with everything back then. Nobody ever told me anything. But those stories following my birth were recited many times. They were full of happiness as though there was absolutely nothing wrong with the situation. Gran Elena refused to let Mark withdraw from school for a reason I never understood. As far as I could remember, Gran never showed any hostility against Mark. On the contrary, she was fond of him. It might be because Mark was an orphan. He gave Mom some of his part time job money every month to help with the expenses on raising me. Immediately when they both turned 18, Mark proposed my mom. The wedding was very simple and Mark moved in to live with Mom and Gran. He worked as a cashier at the supermarket and went to mechanics school at night. Nowadays he was the number 1 mechanic in town. Mark was in love with my mom, even more than she loved him. But they were so young back then. The small town people attitude toward their marriage was not helpful. I was lucky to have Gran Elena who was respected by everyone around, teachers and friends that liked me, people never looked at me with resentment. They treated me like any other kids. On the other hand, they treated Mom and Mark differently. Eventually my parents divorced then my mom decided to take me somewhere else. These days, the place that used to house 4 people was home for Mark alone. Though now he was accepted back in the community with open arms but he must be lonely, just like me. “Um, Rachel, honey.” Mark stammered “You’re not having fun, are you?” “Yes, I am. This place is stunning from up here. The weather is nice. The sky is clear.” I was quite surprised for it was the truth. I was having fun and not sick. I felt strangely free, like we were breaking laws of nature. Human was not created to fly but now we were floating in the air. I felt like I was getting closer and closer to my mom. “You look tired.” Mark kept staring at me. He moved closer so that I had to look back. He brushed beats of sweat on my forehead even though winter had just passed. “How are you feeling?” “I’m feeling great.” I smiled faintly. Worry and pain flashed across his face before he smoothed it.

“I think you should sit down. I brought a folded chair. I’ll set it up for you. And there’s some hot tea and ice lemon tea, which one would you like?” He crouched down and started rummaging stuff at the corner. “I’m alright, Dad. I’m not tired. And I don’t want to sit.” Mark froze for a second before continued grabbing what he wants. I spoke with softer voice “I won’t see the view if I sit down, will I? As for tea, I’d like hot one please.” He quickly poured steaming tea into a white cup, handed it to me and still insisted on unfolding the chair. I pretended not to see and turned to look at the scenery again. I leaned on the edge of the huge basket. Mark followed with ice tea in his hands when he saw that I would not sit. “Dad” This was the first time that I started the conversation. Mark turned to look at me with a broad smile on his face but I did not return his gaze. “Do you think Mom would be able to find Gran?” Having heard that, he turned his gaze forward into the sky “I think it’d be the other way around. Gran was sure to be the one to find your mom. Lizzie was both mischievous and hothead. She was the loudest person I know. And she never remembered where she put things. I think she would try looking for Gran for a moment then made a fuss until Gran had to come and teach her manners.” He answered almost jokingly but I agreed. Gran had told me about the time she brought my mom to the amusement park and they were separated, Mom actually did what Mark just said. “Mom loved you.” I said. It was not exactly on topic but I did not know what else to say. The two of us standing here, I had no idea who should be the one comforting the other, or who was in more grieve. “I know, Rachel, honey.” He looked down into his plastic glass and took a huge gulp of tea, as if it were liquor. I had heard that after my mom ran away taking me with her, Mark had spent his time with alcohol for a long while before he went on with his life. Thinking of my mom was what I do, but talking about her, especially to Mark, made tears falling from my eyes. My hands shook and I started to feel dizzy. Mark saw it. His eyes widen with horror. It would be a very funny sight if we were not talking about my mom. He was about to grab the chair but at the same moment I felt like I was about to fall. There was pain all over my body. I dropped the almost empty cup; one hand gripped the basket, the other snatched Mark’s arm. He stopped to look at me. I did not know what my face looked like but it made him turn back. He kicked the cup away lightly and used his right hand to pull mine that was digging into his forearm and held it. He hugged my shoulder with his left arm. He edged closer the same time I leaned into him. I pursed my lips, determined not to let any of my sorrow spill out anymore than it already did. Mark, my dad, did not need to be hurt with me. He already suffered so much pain. I could not stop my tears though. It still poured out even when I shut my eyes tight. I could not hear anything from Dad except for his steady breathing. It might be because one of my ears was pressed upon his chest. We stood like that for a moment before I released my hand on the basket to hug him. I started sobbing again but without tear. I felt glad among sadness. It was much easier to stop crying this way. I wailed and was slightly out of breath. I began to pant. It might be the result of all the crying. Dad hugged me tighter with one hand padding my back. His hands were so warm, almost the same as his body temperature. I was surprised because my hands were always colder than my torso. Maybe my body heat was lower than average so Dad’s hands felt hotter on my skin. Or maybe it was the warmth of his love for me, or it was because of the ray of the setting sun. I felt warmer than I had ever felt in my life. I hugged him tighter to save this moment. Suddenly I felt coolness on top of my head, a drop of water. Even he made no sound, his breath quickened and faltered. I dared not to look up for I fear of what I might see - his warm brown eyes melting like an ice cube in a hot summer day. I did not look because I would not be

able to forget the sight. I caused him pain. I made him cry. The only thing I could do was pad his back in return. ~~~~~~~~~~ We reached home as the sun lowered near the mountain afar. The house was painted red. Dad dashed to the back door and set a seat for me in the dining room. I was about to protest because I wanted to watch the sun set. But the cold evening air made me shivered so I followed him obediently. I sat on the chair that he laid some cushions on. I was more thankful than irritated in this overprotective care. He might feel guilty that he had not been taking care of me, nor protecting me for the last few years, and now he was trying to make up for it. I was about to thank him when he walked out the back door saying he would put away the balloon and come back to prepare dinner. After sitting there for a while, I got bored. Dad had to wait for the balloon to cool off which would take some time. So I walked around the house. I had come to live here for a week but was busy unpacking and locking myself in my bedroom that I had not seen much of anything. In the living room, beside the new couch cushion, everything was the same - an ancient rarely used TV, a fading yellow telephone on a small stool near the stair, a shelf full of old and new books, a low desk next to yet another pile of books. All the furniture was exactly like I remembered it, including the living room, dining room, kitchen, bathroom, and even bedrooms. Photos on the wall had not changed. The biggest one was that of my grandfather and grandmother on their wedding anniversary. There were pictures of me when I was a baby, and some of my mom and dad. At that moment I fell to the floor. I did not feel like crying but every cell in my body was screaming in pain. I took a few deep breaths before I gritted my teeth, pushed myself up and walked back to the dining room. I did not want Dad to see me fall apart like that. It would worry him unnecessarily. “Rachel, Rachel” I heard Dad’s voice from outside. He ran through the door a second later. “Uncle Danny fell. I have to take him to the hospital. There’s a piece of pie in the fridge. You can have it now so you won’t be too hungry. I’ll get back as soon as possible.” He snatched the keys and his coat as he spoke. When he was turning the door knob, he stopped abruptly and wheeled around to look at me. “Will you be okay?” He asked with a worried expression. “Of course, Dad. What can possibly happen?” I smiled. He nodded slightly then headed out. I waited for what seemed like a long time. I started to feel hungry but was in no mood for pie. Suddenly the phone rang. It was Dad. He said he was coming and probably be home in 15 minutes. I felt anxious because of his car which he proudly told me that he built it with his own two hands from scratch. I never understood how one person could build the whole car and how safe it would be. I told him not to drive too fast but was not sure if he listened. I was tired of sitting and decided to cook dinner so it would be ready by the time Dad got home. I was not a very good cook but Gran’s spaghetti and meatballs recipe was the one I mastered. Mom said I made it as good as the original. I poked around in the fridge, found all the ingredients I needed and started to prepare. Handling pots and pans, I was surprised by their weight which seemed to be heavier than the last time I helped Gran cook many years ago. Weren’t they supposed to be lighter since now I got bigger? Were these new? But they looked like the ones I knew. I wondered whether I remember wrongly. The sauce was ready by the same time pasta was cooked. I turned off the stove then glanced at the clock. Twenty minutes passed, Dad actually listened to me. I giggled to myself. Put cooking gloves on both hands, I heaved the pasta pot to the sink to drain. All of the sudden, my arms, wrists, elbows, and shoulder hurt and lost all the little strength they had. The metal pot full

of boiling water dropped to the floor followed by my own body that did not belong to me anymore. I felt excruciating pain on my neck, left arm, and left leg. It seemed like my left side was scalded. I heard screeching voice before I realized it was mine. I tried to push the pot away. It was still pouring water at me lying flat on the floor. I used my elbows to creep away but only managed a few feet before I collapsed again. The scream echoed all around. I wish it would stop but I could not make it. It was more than physical agony. I was drowning in sadness and suffering from everything happened to me. I knew my punishment was unjust. All those feelings flowed down like many rivers into one reservoir. I built a dam. The dam that released water ever so little compare to the whole lake. My determination to hide the pain came to an end. The dam crumbled and tremendous waves of water thundered down, destroying everything in its path. Among my screeches, I heard the door slammed open. Before I open my eyes to look, I was lifted off the floor. I snapped my mouth shut not letting any noise out. I could smell sweats on Dad’s shirt mixed faintly with car perfume. He laid me gently in the bathtub. I gasped when stream of cold water hit my skin but was able to shut my lips before I let out another scream. “I’m sorry, Rachel, honey. I’m sorry.” I did not understand why he apologized nor where those ice cold water came from. I shook violently. My teeth chattered so loud I could hardly hear his whisper. “I heard your scream. Then I saw you on the floor. And that pot. And your skin.” He poured more water all over my body. “I have to rinse cool water on your scalded skin. Rachel, I’m sorry.” “Rachel, honey. I love you. I’m sorry.” ~~~~~~~~~~ Dad was a strong and healthy man. But on that day alone, he had to go to the hospital twice and spent the night with me. I was allowed to go home the next morning. While I was waiting for prescriptions, I heard the doctor talking to my dad. “Mr. Donald. I knew you were exhausted last night so I didn’t want to bother you. But I’m afraid that Rachel’s blood test indicates…” “Yes, doctor. I know.” Dad cut him off. My back was turn to both of them but I could tell from the tone of his voice that those brown eyes were glaring. The doctor paused before saying, “Very well, then please be more careful. Don’t make her do anything heavy again.” I wanted to argue because it was I who did it. My dad, on the other hand, might have walked for me if he could. “I won’t.” Dad answered with low and painful voice. “Well, I think maybe she should stay in the hospital. So we can…” The doctor fell silent. I began to turn my head to look but turned back immediately when I heard Dad’s voice. “She’s just left the hospital in the east about a week ago.” That was all he said but the doctor seemed to understand the meaning. Strangely, I did not feel anything with this conversation beside the urge to defend Dad. About myself, I could care less. My reflection in the mirror looked bored, or indifferent. Before I could think any further, my name was called to receive the prescriptions. I applied some remedy on burnt skin myself. Dad looked like he wanted to help but thought better of it. The wounded areas were the exposed neck, arms, and legs. I wished those bruises that constantly appeared would fade. Whenever Dad saw them, his face would be full of anguish. I also had to have some medicine. I never had problem with swallowing pills, even easier now since it was just another one on top of those many colored medicines I had to have every day. I never paid much attention in History class. I did not like searching the past when the story was depressing or about death. However, I could not help but think that maybe if the past life did exist, I might be the one who gave the order to bomb the two cities in Japan, or was the

one who pressed the button, or was the one who manufactured the atomic bomb. Whatever it was, I had it. Mom took me on a road trip and was lost. We were not concerned because it was not exactly surprising. My mom got lost all the time. However that time we had no idea where we were and somehow ended up having a nuclear power plant in sight. I could not help thinking it was because of my karma. What could it possibly be any other reason for us to wander around that area when the plant had a nuclear meltdown? We were not so close to the building. We did not enter the perimeter but it was near enough for both of us to get leukemia. ~~~~~~~~~~ The interior of the house was adjusted again. My bedroom was moved downstairs. The furniture was arranged to allow more space. The table and some chairs were removed and there were ramps everywhere. I could not walk anymore. Sometimes, when I was tired or my arms felt stiff from pushing myself around on a wheelchair, Dad would steer me wherever I wanted. After the spaghetti incident, Dad had never gone so far as Granpa Danny’s house. Once I asked him why he didn’t go to work. It doesn’t matter was his answer. I could not see why it would not. My medicine cost a fortune, let alone our living expense. If he stopped working, it would mean he was spending his savings. I could die any day now. Why would he dump all his money into my grave? Nevertheless, I did not tell him my thought because it was a harsh reality and would definitely hurt his feelings. I could only protest in silence. ~~~~~~~~~~ Dad relocated my bed to the living room which was closer to the bathroom, had a better view, and he could keep his eyes on me all day. I could no longer push myself anywhere. I could hardly get up by myself. Dad still didn’t go back to work, nor did he go to Granpa Danny’s house. His son is home. They can take care of themselves was his answer. But Granpa Danny visited me all the time. I could only protest in silence. I hadn’t have spaghetti ever since. In fact, I could never eat spaghetti again. Whatever food I ate, I would throw up. On the day I felt relatively well, I would have rice porridge, or other light meals. But mostly it would be IV dripping connected directly into my veins. I hadn’t have any particular dish I love enough to risk vomiting. The sensation was awful. There were many things on my bed. Aside from the pillow, blanket, and IV lines, there were books I like, the Bible, and my mom’s photo. In it, she was cradling me as an infant in her arms. I was sleeping peacefully. Dad took that picture. I put it next to my pillow so I could look at it before I went to sleep and whenever I felt pain. ~~~~~~~~~~ Today, I woke up and miraculously felt better than yesterday. For the past month, my body felt like it was about to burst apart. The pain was insufferable and getting worse every day. Dad’s hands were the only thing that held me back. I looked at the calendar hanging on the wall. On this day a year ago, I was able to walk freely, easily lift rather heavy things, laughed, had fun, spent times with my mom, hung out with my friends, went to school, dreamed of love like those in fairy tales, and everything normal teenagers do. I could hardly believe how everything could be

destroyed like a castle of sand swept away by ocean waves within one year. All of the troubles that were so large and insolvable back then seemed so petty and insignificant now. Dad walked toward me with a new porridge bag in his hand. That was the name I gave it. It was a bag, just like an IV bag, but with thick white substance inside instead of saline solution. He skillfully swapped it with the almost empty one hanging beside my bed. I thought it might be a good idea for him to try going to medical school. His posture when he took care of me was assuring and trustworthy. I trailed my eyes along the line from the bag to my arm. The liquid looked somewhat like milkshake. I wanted to taste it but I did not want to open the bag wastefully and I suspected it would not taste good. Dad smiled at me fondly. I smiled back. He stroked my hair gently, traced his finger along my hairline to my chin and tapped my nose lightly. “This morning is so bright. It must be because of you.” He crooned. I smiled broader and purse my lips. The more time passed, the younger he treated me. But I did not object. I liked the way he did it and I knew he liked it too. “Dad” I whispered. “I feel much better now. Can we go out on the balloon today?” Dad froze. I saw confusion in his eyes, then quickly turned into pain and understanding of my request, and then turned into concern. If only I had blinked, I would have missed them all. “Well, I don’t know.” He hesitated. I did not speak further but pleaded with my eyes. I raised my hand slowly. Dad took into his. I shook my head slightly and raised it higher. I laid flat on the bed. Even as he was sitting on a chair, he was still too tall for my reach. He put both his elbows on my bed and bent down. I stretched my trembling hand to touch his face, felt the warm tears streaming down his cheeks. I brushed them with the tips of my fingers. “Please.” ~~~~~~~~~~ I sat waiting on the swing because it took time preparing the balloon. I felt excited as the balloon started to expand. I took my mom’s photo and the Bible along with me. I held the photo in one hand and put the other on top of the book lying beside me. ~~~~~~~~~~ I reached home. It was the house which I had lived alone for a very long time but it had never felt so empty. I slowly unlocked and opened the door. Everything was still. I stood at the doorway for a while. I shut my eyes thinking of the house full of light. I saw the warm, welcoming living room, heard sizzling sound, heard myself announcing my return, and heard small footsteps running toward me followed by a little girl. I swept her off the floor. She loved to snuggle her head with my chest. I usually stroked her head back gently for I did not want her to get dirty from my sweat. I walked in the kitchen. Dinner was ready. My first and only love was removing the apron. She kissed me softly. “Welcome home, honey.” Her voice ringed in my ears. All three of us sat down and started eating. I looked at the ring on her finger, looked at the face that made me feel like the luckiest man on earth. Lizzie looked back into my eyes and it told me that she felt the same way. I turned to look at Rachel who is having trouble cutting the steak. She sat still. Her eyes closed. Her head bent forward slightly. Her left hand was on her lap resting on the photo of her and her mom. The other hand was on the Bible. She was still. Too still. No matter how many times I called, she would not open her eyes. I swung my eyes open to face the present time and empty house. I threw my coat carelessly. I could not bear the sight of an empty bed in the middle of the house. I stalked into the kitchen then saw the huge boiling pot. I could not stand it either. I rushed outside and saw the swing. I paced back and forth for a while. There was nowhere in the house that did not remind me of Rachel. Finally I curled up in the bathtub, started howling like a bear caught in a trap. I had never cried like that before in my life. Nor did I ever think I would.

I woke up in the morning still in the tub. All my muscle was aching. I got up and accidentally hit the water tap. Cold shower rained down on me. I jerked up and turned it off as fast as I could. The tears that started to well up made me run out of the bathroom. I dashed to the backyard. Before I realized it, I was preparing the balloon. I was floating higher and higher. I gazed forward but saw nothing. The balloon gained little height. I was not in the mood to go very high. At that moment I heard Uncle Danny’s voice from below. He always asked to get on the balloon with me but I never agreed. Otherwise I might need to land at the hospital. I was expecting to hear “Let me get up there too.” as usual. “Mark. Mark.” His hoarse voice began. I tried to ignore it. “Come down here for a second.” Taken aback, I landed as he asked. He limped toward me. I walked to assist him. “When are you going to let me ride the balloon?” He said. I wondered if I just fell for his trick. “But never mind that now. Here, I have something for you.” He took a blue envelope out of his jacket. It was folded in half. He thrust it in my hand. “It’s Rachel’s. She wanted me to give it to you.” Dearest Dad, I’m sorry that I can no longer be with you. Since I can remember, you always make my happy. Although I cause you pain, you still love and care for me. I’ve already told Mom, and I will tell you the same thing. I don’t blame nor angry at both of you for getting divorced. I understand that love and marriage is not the same thing. It’s not as easy or has exactly a solution like math. You don’t have to be worry about me. I must have been with Mom by now. She, as you said, was the loudest person. I won’t have any problem finding her. And Gran must be with her too. I won’t be lonely. But I’m worry about you. You are home all by yourself. I’m so worry. Will you please go back to work? Go see your friends. Visit Grandpa Danny. Just once, take him on the balloon please. Life is like riding the balloon, beautiful, exciting, and so short. We get up, but eventually, we have to get off. Love you so much. I wish we will see each other again. But not for a long time, I hope. Rachel ~~~~~~~~~~ I did a lot of things that day. I went to the mechanic shop; the owner was willing to hire me again. I thanked him for his kindness. I went to the grocery store. I redecorated the house. I went to the animal shelter and adopted a half-breed dog that looked almost like Labrador. It had warm brown eyes that somewhat resemble to Rachel. She always wanted a dog but she was allergic to furs. I gave it a Spanish name, pronouncing Ra-Kel but spelled Rachel. That evening, I took Uncle Danny on the balloon with me. I kept the height low. He looked so happy. I could not resist smiling when I saw him waving his walking stick jubilantly. I felt better than I had been for a long time. We both stared at the setting sun and saw the beauty of life in another angle we had never seen before.

About the Author Graduate with a bachelorâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s degree in Civil Engineering but have passion in writing. Now, Laurea is on the process of breaking the habit of laziness and trying to make the best out of huge supply of imagination. No published work so far but that is hardly the point of writing.