Short Stories


    Summer wasn’t there yet but that day the air smelled hot and sticky. The traffic was congested and my uncle’s van followed the cars in front squeezing its massive presence trough the last miles before the airport. The cabin was silent.


In Romania I grew up in one had no choice but to live inside; of himself that is. Freedom was just a word locked in the dictionary with no meaning on the streets.


     I was born an old soul, ready molded into this world but rarely allowed to be part of it. I was always in a fight, either forced to meet standards or rebel against rules I didn’t agree with.