Category Archives: Writing


“Dedicato a chi ha sempre una speranza
Davanti ad un dolore nel freddo di una stanza
Dedicato a chi cerca la sua liberta…”




It all seemed clear to him as he was walking the path of sorrow and solitude that led to his favourite clearing; amidst all the tall trees that scraped the skies, it lay round and perfectly set to greet the rising sun. An October breeze was softly playing with his hair, and a just awaking sun was casting warm kisses upon his cold cheek. He had been walking for what seemed like forever; he had walked past monster-trees that wanted to grab his flimsy being, past invisible ghosts of the night manifest only in sound- the cracking of withered branches, the hooting of a lost wild beast, the almost inaudible whispers of a full moon, the swish of clouds that threatened to steal its pale silvery light. He had roamed the grounds of his long lost innocence, getting closer to leaving it all behind, with each step taken feeling the coldness of the fall, like the translucent veil of death, envelop him. It had been a beautiful day, the last day of his existence. He was grateful for it, and he ambled at a leisurely pace across dead leaves and future new lives under them. He believed that every death leads to a birth, and he wondered what kind of life would sprout from his passing form. He hoped to be the ending to a very noble and gracious new beginning- but looking back at his life, he doubted he would be. Nevertheless, it was decided, and he felt calm. read more »

The passing

The weather-eaten stone was warm and welcoming under her skeletal weight. She was old and tattered, staring blankly at the gravestone she was sitting on. Time had stopped short as the leafless trees wailed above her head, and the late autumn wind blew through her snow-white hair. She did not hear the wind, but she felt its cold grip on her aching skin. read more »

Nothing changes

Gregory House… one of the most intriguing TV show characters, played by the amazing Hugh Laurie. He inspired me more than once. This was my first fanfic on the subject.

Nothing changes

He sat in the gloominess of his floodlit parlour, sipping hot coffee, wondering at the irony of the word, given his own circumstances. The last time anyone sat and talked to him in the room was on Christmas Eve. Wilson had come over to keep him company, out of sheer pity, or maybe because of his own emotional problems. Well, that’s what friends are for. In need, indeed. Rain was pouring down on the annoyingly clean windowpanes. Sally came regularly, every week, or fortnight, depending on his mood. Sometimes he just didn’t care, he let the dirt grow over him, like tendrils of memory, pulling him down, pulling him back into the past. But most often he liked law and order persisting in his home. Unless he had to do something about it. Then he just limped to his mistress, the white-lipped, cooing microwave, and exerted scorching coffee out of her. read more »

Until the end of time

I wrote this a loooong time ago. In university. I still love it…

Oh does he know does he? How can anyone be so cute? Anyway he can’t help it, he was born this way.

She was contemplating his face again. She could not take her eyes off his lovely face. Her feeling ridiculous did not help at all. Not even his looking up and seeing her stare. She felt her cheek turn red, but her fingers moved carelessly on the sheet, shaping a rather badly drawn female body. She wished. Wished that she was more talkative with those whom she liked. If only she had said hello to him afterwards, and not shy away from him, the embarrassment of both would have disappeared. Of course, cursing herself was no remedy. It was marred, the whole affair. read more »