STORY OF A LUNCH

It is seven in the evening and, on the fifth floor, Mrs. Kapoor is ready to devote herself to preparing dinner. Like every night. At that time, you will be able to see her busy in the kitchen. The first thing you'll notice through the open curtains is the flamboyant color of her Sari. Looking closely, you will notice the graceful decorative effect created by the folds, similar to the petals of a flower. In many years, I have never seen her dressed differently. It holds true to its traditions, despite having moved here to Venice for some time now. He does it with clothes and food. Every day, at seven in the evening, you will always find her there, struggling with the preparation of Roti. You will see her carefully knead all the ingredients, expertly dose the spices for the accompanying curry, divide the dough into many small balls of equal size, heat the usual old plate until it becomes hot, place each cooked disc in a cloth after having brushed it with oil and close the flaps with extreme delicacy. His are habitual gestures. Simple. Family members. Actions repeated almost mechanically every evening. Year after year. Mrs Kapoor, every evening, without knowing it, makes me feel at home.
Mrs. Kapoor is a certainty in a world full of uncertainties.

THE STORY OF A SAD TOAD

Once upon a time there was a pissed off toad who was always sad. He went around and said bad things to everyone. Nobody knew his story but one day a fairy asked him something.
But he replied very badly and told her that she too was bad for all the others.
The fairy ran away crying and flustered began to look at the river.
The fairy had always done spells to help everyone but this time she didn't know how to do it.
She felt really tired and was crying at being so badly judged.
While she was crying, a small puppy dog ​​approached her asking for strokes. But she was very sad and apologized for not being able to caress him because at that moment he was sick. But she said to him "Come near here, I'll keep you with me while I cry." So the puppy came alive and started licking her tears. And as she cried the puppy turned into a wizard. And he asked her "What happened to you, sweet fairy?"
And the fairy replied "It was a toad, he told me bad things."
And the scowling wizard asked her "And why do you think she said all those bad things to you?"
The fairy thought about it and replied "Maybe because she is suffering, I hadn't thought about it, it must be so."
The magician took her hand and said to her: "You fairy have a good heart but at this moment he sees neither you nor your good heart. He is full of pain and he does not like his life. him. Go, go back to your house. "
But the fairy replied: "I can't be calm if I know that the toad is in pain. Maybe I got it all wrong and now I don't know how to fix it, I'm desperate. What can I tell him to make him feel good?"
The magician told her again: "He would not listen to you, whatever you would tell him for him now it would be all bad."
Then the fairy, disconsolate, threw herself into the nearby river. She could not swim and was immediately dragged to the nearby waterfall.
But at one point a huge toad leapt into the water and grabbed it. She was already passed out and did not notice what had happened. When she came to, she saw two big eyes staring at her in a sweet way and she said: "Excuse me, fairy, I treated you badly, you had nothing to do with it, it was not with you that I wanted to vent."
The fairy looked at him with her shy and sad eyes and then passed away. The toad didn't believe she could be dead. He tried to revive her but the fairy remained dead because this is not a Disney story but what happens in reality.

THE STORY OF A LADY

The snow was falling in large, wide flakes as she struggled to move, sinking into the fresh snow. She raised her head, covered by the hood she had raised in an attempt to protect herself, and watched the house on the hill glow in the night. He pulled a large cloak against his body and kept walking until he reached the door.
When she entered the room she found herself enveloped in warmth. With a sigh he lowered the hood.
"Was it really necessary?" She asked the woman who, sitting in the armchair in front of the lit fireplace, was looking at her.
"Mmm ..." Only the woman muttered, as she stood up and walked over to an old turntable.
Music filled the air as a counterpoint to the sound of fir logs burning in the fire.
Outside, the snow storm did not seem to want to stop raging, but there, in that room, everything seemed to be quiet and harmony. The contrast was striking.
He took off his cloak and hung it on the side of the door, then walked over to the fire and stretched out his hands towards its warmth. She might also know that this place, that bubble, was just dream magic, it wasn't real, yet her brain kept telling her she was cold after climbing the hill in the snowstorm.
“You knew it was going to happen. It was inevitable. " He said, turning towards the woman.
The record was spinning, playing an old song: a female voice telling of a lost love.
"Unavoidable." The woman murmured. "I'll kill him." He then added and the way he said it contained no inflection, it was not a threat, it was simple reality.
"No you will not." She said, approaching her and wrapping her arms around her, leaning her face against the woman's back. "You'll resist, you'll watch him touch me, while you can't even touch my skin, you'll watch him marry me when you can't even talk to me, you'll watch him possess me, when you can't even ..." eyes and placed two fingers on her lips, stopping her.
"How silly." He murmured, his eyes closed. "The betrothed of the king and his court sorceress ..." He opened his eyes to look at her, and they were splendid green eyes, the green eyes that he had sought in his sleep that first night and that had attracted her there, in that bubble in which they had talked, for the first time and for many more nights after that.
"My chains and my freedom." The woman countered, a smile on her lips, the song rang out its last verses, so bitter yet so beautiful, so desperate and yet so sweet. "He can do what he wants with my body, he will never have my heart."
He saw the woman's eyes stiffen again and then surrender as she lifted herself up on her toes to kiss her.
"This dream will be enough for me, this fiction will be my reality and, out there, just a bad nightmare, from which I will wake up in your arms." The snowstorm stopped howling and in the night there was only the sound of the crackling fire in the fireplace and the scratching of the tip on the turntable.

STORY OF A BOX OF BUISCUITS

A girl was waiting for her flight in a waiting room of a large airport.
Since he would have to wait a long time, he decided to buy a book to kill time.
He also bought a packet of cookies.
She sat in the VIP room to be more quiet.
Next to her was the chair with the biscuits and on the other side a gentleman who was reading the newspaper.
When she began to take the first biscuit, the man also took one, she felt indignant but said nothing and continued reading her book.
Between her and her he thought "but look if only I had a little more courage I would have already punched him ...".
So every time she took a biscuit, the man next to her, without making the slightest nod, took one too.
They continued until there was only one biscuit left and the woman thought "ah, now I really want to see what he tells me when they are all finished !!"
The man before she took the last biscuit divided it in half!
"Ah, this is too much" I think and began to snort and indignantly took her things, the book and her bag and walked towards the exit of the waiting room.
When he felt a little better and the anger had passed, he sat in a chair along the corridor so as not to attract too much attention and avoid other sorrows.
He closed the book and opened the bag to put it in when…. when he opened the bag he saw that the packet of biscuits was still whole inside.
She felt so much ashamed and only then realized that the packet of biscuits like hers belonged to that man sitting next to her who had shared his biscuits with her without feeling indignant, nervous or superior unlike her who had snorted and even she felt a wound in her pride.

A SMALL SUVEY FOR YOU

This is just a small survey, to take away some curiosities. I don't know the web very well, because I'm not on social media and I don't know many apps. I asked myself a few questions about reading texts. If you want to answer I will be grateful because I will understand some important things for my writing and maybe it will also be useful for your writing. It will only take you 5 minutes of your time to reply.

1-Do many of you read stories online? 
2-Or do you only read bought or recommended books? 
3-On which sites do you read stories online?
4-Have you ever read stories only in blogs? 
5-Or do you prefer to read on fiction sites too? 
6-What genres do you prefer to read?
7-Which online story sites are you familiar with?

I thank everyone for the answers you will give me and for your help. Thank you very much and have a nice day.

MY WATTPAD COVERS

I spent a long time choosing some cute images to change my book covers on Wattpad. I tried to elaborate the writings in a way that makes them clear. Sometimes I can't do it because I have to keep some margins in order to make sure that the writing is fully visible. Now I'd like to have an opinion from you. Especially to know if you can see the book covers even if you are not subscribed to Wattpad. I did it all by myself and without anyone's help. I write everything myself, both the descriptions of the stories and the rest. I do everything myself and I'm not very good at making perfect covers for every story. Please give me your opinion so I can improve.

Tell me if you can see the link and also the page with my writings otherwise it means that I did something wrong. 

https://www.wattpad.com/user/LEVANIUS

THE STORY OF THE OLD TOY

And so, as usual, the old toy, now useless, past, believed unable to surprise again, to entertain, is replaced again.
Not thrown away or left free to be the source of joy for anyone who wants.
No.
Left the corner.
A little out of affection, because after all they have been through a lot together, a little to have entertainment, however sincere in the event that the new toy breaks.
As already happened.
He watches and who knows what he's waiting for.
It was just laid there, the old man.
Think of the past years and the updates made, which in the end is not so obsolete, and strengthens itself.
He thinks that his only desire was to be the main source of joy.
Do you think that he would have been able, that he would have found the strength to become everything he needed.
Remember when it was like this.
He remembers when it was enough for him to look at him to make him smile.
He remembers when he was the one who had the place of honor in the bed, to bring affection and comfort in the dark of nights.
And he remembers the new little promises that were made to him, like the upcoming campground where it would take him.
Before the arrival of the new.
But not now.
Now it's in the corner.
Alone.
Forced to watch the scene.
Property.
In silence.

STORY OF AN ORPHAN

I am not a person who shows his emotions. Rather I stay in a corner and try to hide as much as possible. And I don't want questions, or reproachful looks. I don't want anyone to see me and think that maybe I need more affection, a shoulder to cry on, an outlet. My depression has nothing to do with any of this. Anyway, hello doctor. I read your name among the papers of my adoption: unfortunately a bit complex name and I can't remember it. At 18, I asked my adoptive parents for all the papers, you know? I already had curiosity when I was thirteen but in those days I was doing too much trouble and my mother thought that overnight I would run away from home or find me hanged somewhere. He said that Satan was in me. She also wanted to take me to an exorcist, and most of the time I would send her to fuck or scream a curse, then I invented the excuse that the devil had possessed me. I had a great time.
When I had the adoption papers in my hand, I photocopied them all and searched the internet. Doctor, let's say that somehow you disappeared too because bho I couldn't find you. Then there was that fucking newspaper article, written in a language unknown to me, I remember reading my presumed name, maybe the name you decided to give me, you have a lot of creativity, you know. There was my name and yours, I just didn't understand everything else and there was an image of a little girl who looked just like me when I was about 9 years old. I wanted to track you down to thank you, for taking me off the street and taking me with you. Maybe it's also thanks to you that I got this thing of having to save and help people. When I tell about this part of my life, people are always sorry. And it may seem really sad, but every time I talk about it I always think of you doctor. You gave me a fresh start, I love being here, but I miss my mum and my dad too. I regret only this of my life. I would like to know if you know anything, if you have actually ever known them, if at least you can describe their eyes, their scent, their voice. Did you have this luck, doctor? You know which of the two I look the most like. I want to know if my mom remembers me, I want to know if she still loves me, because I have never stopped loving her and thinking about her, even if I don't remember her, even if I have suffered all my life for the emptiness she has left inside me. Tell me if she came looking for me somewhere. If she ran to your hospital to find out where I was. Tell me she got angry, that she really never wanted me to grow up on my own. I still feel I belong to that world and I hope to return soon, in that same street maybe where you found me, doctor. To be aware that it all started from there and to be able to live it peacefully, without tears. The thing I want most would be to see them from afar, perhaps holding hands and kissing in the streets of the market. I wish it were so. I couldn't tell her about my life, it was an obstacle course. Doctor, tell my parents I'm fine. Tell him that even if I haven't reached any milestones in my life for now, I will get to have more money, to do something I enjoy. Tell them I miss them so much.

Love, the little girl you picked up from the street.

STORY OF A GOOD MORNING

Awake in the dark, still with my eyes half closed. I reach out towards you, I feel your smooth skin under my fingers, it seems to me that you are stretching your leg towards me or maybe you are dreaming, hard to say.

I go up with my hand, I look for you, I kiss you. Here is the navel and then higher. I kiss you again.

You're awake now, I'm sure, you're looking for me too in the dark. We kiss gently and then more and more passionate.

Our bodies are looking for each other, I undress you. You undress me.

I feel your skin against mine, your warmth. It's cool outside but it's hot right here in this bed.

"What a nice awakening" you tell me.

"Good morning" I reply.

You guide me inside you and hold me.

It's just us, you and me. You keep me inside you.

"Don't run away" you tell me.

"I'm not going anywhere" I tell you.

Let's stay like that, a little longer.

Who knows what time it is. Ultimately, however, it doesn't really matter to know.

"You interrupted the dream I was having," you tell me.

"Is that what you dreamed of?" I ask you.

"I do not remember"

"Excuse me"

"No, don't apologize, that's okay. It doesn't matter what I was dreaming about anymore. But it's the second day in a row that I have a dream interrupted. Yesterday Tigress did it when I woke up."

STORY OF A GRANDMOTHER

"Grandma, I can't stand a person."

"Bless her, my child. Because she is showing you parts of yourself that you cannot accept. You see them reflected in her. They hurt you, like blades entering your depth, because it is the only way to attract your attention. Thanks to you can see that person and integrate them into you. "

"Should I bless those who can't stand?"

"That's right! Everything that happens outside of you is a mirror of your inner self. It is showing you the way to enrich yourself more and more. Change your way of thinking about life. Fly high with your mind: look for the symbol, the meaning that your emotion has come to carry you, begin to see every person you meet in your path as a reflection of parts of you. Don't waste time on stupid complaints, superficial chatter and the usual prejudices. You have a treasure to find. Every time. your energies in this great task! "

"What an effort, grandmother ..."

"It is more tiring to stop complaining. And carry it like a burden, day after day. It immobilizes you, takes away precious energy, hinders you. Become a hunter of meaning. Go beyond people, facts, news."

"I do not know how to do it..."

"There is only one teacher who can guide you in this. You will never find it outside of you. It is your feeling. Your annoyance, your well-being, your anger ... are messengers of your Truth."

"And how do I integrate the parts of me that I don't welcome?"

"Respect what you feel, celebrate it, lift it up. Every emotion is sacred: if you can glimpse even a minimum of richness, the rest will come by itself. You will have new eyes, able to see beyond any wall. They are the eyes of your soul. ! "

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