Month: September 2016

You’re sitting in the dry cleaners, newspaper in hand, reading the weekly column by the Prime Minister Enver Hoxha with the title “Gati per Luftë”. You’re halfway through the most important message of the piece when you hear the bellowing, ear deafening clatter of the church bell. You drop the newspaper in an instant, despite the ping of the finished wash, and look at the time.

It’s time.

You sprint round the corner and rush inside. It’s time. You head off with your M1919 in your right hand, 15 kilos of food, water and medical aid in the bag on your back and head to the bunker. There’s little time left, hearing the bell again means you’re too late. The adrenaline kicks in as you’re sprinting alongside many other to get ready in time. The smell of fresh tomatoes and pears in the fields takes over your breathing as you reach the bunker.

Inside, the rotten smell of the dense mud makes you sick, but you have no choice. Cleaning the bunker for even the slightest of seconds means you are dead. You drop your bag at your 3 o’clock and place down the gun. Rushing to put your helmet on, you notice that the enemy is within reach. The taste of dust overpowers your other senses, but nothing is going to overpower the focus for the next 30 minutes. You start to ruffle, you hurry through your bag but something doesn’t seem quite right to you. The sinking feeling of your knee in the thick but viscous mud fills you with dissatisfaction as you still struggle to find what your looking for. You take a look outside just in case you might have dropped it. You stop and pause as you look at the wonderful landscape that has engulfed you. Just of in the distance is the tallest point for miles on end. All year round the snow is there and in the sun, it glistens. In the valley, the meadows blossom with an array of different colors blossoming in that moment. You’re in your own paradox, drifting off slightly, back into childhood when something knocks you out of it. The sound of screams surround you and hit you in sequences. The vile, beet red takes over as the sun is no more, darkness arrives and the torrential hail begins to fall as you take cover.

The title of the article: Ready For War.

14th of March, “Diten e Verës”, a bank holiday as such when everyone gets to relax after a couple of weeks of constant work. Not for kids however, they go to where they always love to go. The bunker is the place where all the kids generally tend to go during spare time. When 1 o’clock comes

I woke up to a cool arctic breeze that I was unaccustomed to. It was the middle of summer, and it was supposed to be in excess of 35 degrees celcius today but this chilling breeze was unexpected. The sound of bellowing music echoed my ears. I could barely hear myself think. I looked over my right shoulder to check the wonderfully crafted grandfather clock made of solid oak cut down only recently. As I lay there, staring at nothing, I knew I wouldn’t fall asleep again. I thought of doing something productive, which is why I went into the attic. To my surprise my grandfather was there. I asked him “What are you doing up this early?” He replied with “The same could be said for you”. In acceptance, I shuffled effortlessly in total silence in order to not wake anyone else up. I also had to make sure I didn’t step on the floorboard 3 ahead of me or the one just opposite the bean bag as it would cause a creek that would wake up not just the entire house but the entire neighbourhood.

As I slumped myself into the bean bag, still dazed, I noticed something peculiar. It sensed in a hearbeat that I was taken aback by it and just sat there perched on the tree. Looking at it, it felt as if it was staring deep into my soul. It never fixated on anything else and no matter how many times I looked away, when I turned my head it was still looking dead straight at me.Turning my attention away from it I stared at the inside of my eye lids and fell asleep. Waking up this time wasn’t the problem but in fact it was trying to get up. Since it felt like it would be impossible, I dragged me and the bean bag to the telescope and decised to have a look through it. It was still dark and the beautiful sights of the stars will continue to amaze me every single time I look through that telescope. The moon, complete today, lithe up the sea. It was possible that if you took a picture it was easily possible people would accuse you of having it photo shopped it.

My granddad always enjoyed astronomy. Even though he took a completely different career path, he would enjoy coming up into the attic, taking his mind of everything else that had gone on, and be completely free in his own universe.

Chapter 1: Pip encounters a man at the bottom of the stairs and by the time Pip returns with the watchman he’s gone. Pip calls Magwitch ‘Uncle Provis’ so the servants don’t recognise him and notify the police. Pip then goes to Jaggers to confirm the story that Magwitch told him. Magwitch has also disrespected Pip several times in the house with his lack of table manners.

Chapter 2: 5 days have gone past and Pip has to now tell Herbert who is back from Marseille that Magwitch is the mystery investor. When Magwitch leaves, Pip and Herbert conclude that Pip should no longer take Magwitch’s money. They also have a plan to get Magwitch back to Australia in order to be free from the police.

Chapter 3: Pip becomes ashamed by the fact that he has become rich through Magwitch and feels as though he needs to detach himself from Estella. He has an unpleasant conversation with Bentley Drummle and goes to Satis house to see Estella and Miss Havisham one more time.

Chapter 4: