“Throwing Dice on a Chessboard” some more preview

February 20, 2010

by Theodoros SampsonThose tables over there between the flowers and the stage?


But I still feel it! Everybody’s heads are turned to the dance floor

and the couple. The couple! The direction of all the heads so much

directs my eyes.

First Nigel, not, he is saluting someone there, now the look is

getting more intense. Dare I look at her? Cecile is the only one left.

She must be the one of the entire feast staring at me so intensely,

even now being kissed by yet another cousin from the long queue

congratulating her on her new start.

The queue, the human line like an arrow pointing at me, a rattle

tail slapping me.




And the look. Bride eyes. My wonderful aunt staring me in the

face so angrily. Such bright eyes! Could this be happiness? Did she

notice my weird reactions? Was it a proud look that turned to wild?

Is that a grinning now? Approving? No, she must be embarrassed

by me posing like that, or perhaps leaving. Aha! Yes, leaving the

wedding already, that’s it! She thinks I am bored of the celebrations.

Is it an insult to her if I retreat early?

Too late, I’m too close to the exit to change direction and head

to the toilets and pretend. I’ll just make things worse, show that I

wanted to sneak out and I was caught and I tried to fool her, and

she’ll tell my folks, and they’ll be embarrassed in their turn, and

everything will turn against me. No case for me.

Here’s the exit, one foot out, she’ll forget all about me tonight,

Nigel is a rock of a man, he’ll please her all right, he is gonna drain

her brains of all bad memories of the night. Oh, how deeply fulfilled

I fell being a bad memory of this night! And then they’ll count the

money they’ll have made, do it first if they would not, and selectively

they will love everybody that came.

‘Plastic joy, for lifetime, and every three years the scissors, remember,



New Blog Post

February 14, 2010

Your predictions are so poor. Why are you saying this? I did make that prediction that day, when I first wanted to go buy candy from the store and stop eating candy from the fig tree; that she was a curse I just had to be chased by, forever. ‘Grandpa, shall I empty the ashtray?’ ‘No, dear child, leave it. Leave the cola bottle too. I really want to show how reddish black I am inside, how readily dark, how much I look like a ripe fig.’ ‘What are you saying, Grandpa?’ ‘Sit, forget the photo, son, there is a story I need to tell you about how I couldn’t kill a tree and how now I can’t kill myself.’