Real Life stories

  Once upon a time, in a very distant land, there was a huge giant.  He was more than 3 meters tall, with huge and coarse hair, he wrapped himself in a coat made of wild animal skins and carried a powerful ax in his hand. Every year, on the same day, at the same time, the giant came down from the mountains where he lived and stood in front of the castle walls to terrorize its inhabitants. "Come and send me the bravest of your men, I will fight him" he shouted, making the walls rumble and waving his ax threateningly.  “Send me someone to fight or I will tear down the castle walls and kill everyone with my ax” !!! And every year, the castle gate was opened slowly and fearfully, for a poor man, however brave, to come out and face certain death. "Is that the best they have? ... said the giant while laughing mockingly. The poor man when hearing the roar of his voice was always petrified and they had never even been able to raise his sword when the giant beheaded them with a s

  THE CHILD WHO COULD DO IT… Two children had been skating on a frozen lake all morning when, suddenly, the ice broke and one of them fell into the water.  The internal current displaced it a few meters below the frozen part, so to save it the only option was to break the layer that covered it. His friend began to shout for help, but when he saw that no one was coming he quickly looked for a stone and began to hit the ice with all his might. He hit, hit, and hit until he managed to open a crevice through which he put his arm to grab his partner and save him. A few minutes later, warned by the neighbors who had heard the cries for help, the firefighters arrived. When they were told what had happened, they kept wondering how that little boy had been able to break such a thick layer of ice. -It is impossible that with those hands he has achieved it, it is impossible, he does not have enough strength, how could he achieve it?  they commented among themselves. An old man who was in the vici

  It didn't end with COVID-19.  The virus mutated and gave birth to the COVID-20 strain.  Its main symptom was the loss of a sense of humor, but many people, like last time, did not understand the joke.  Of the humorous shows in Russia, only Once Upon a Time in Russia has survived, for which little has changed. Then there was COVID-21, after the pandemic of which no one liked the cats.  People wondered why they had these mischievous night skunks with toilet brush tails. Those who have recovered from COVID-22 stopped getting drunk from alcohol.  They scribbled not messages to the former, but working reports having gotten drunk.  In the morning they suffered from an unusually clear head and were ashamed. COVID-23 has robbed people of the ability to comprehend poetry.  Pushkin sounded like a collection of random words: Hashish with streams of thyme, The river is frosty baubles, And Demyana gently itches Gum. The effect had no effect on the creativity of the Mumiy Troll group and early

  Two years after the nursing technician Reginalda Matilde de Moraes met her husband, Geovane Donizete, in 1998, she started working at Santa Casa de Misericórdia de Passos (MG). It is there that the love story begins that the blog tells below.  A love between two friends: Reginalda and Fatinha. The year was 2000 and Fatinha worked in the same wing of the hospital and performed the same function as Reginalda.  As soon as they met, there was a strong identification.  They even started attending the same church and their friendship just grew. Reginalda's relationship with Geovane also strengthened and they moved in together.  Fatinha has always accompanied the couple's life. Everything remained the same until 2010 when Fatinha started to feel pain in her legs and also in her spine.  After seeking medical help and undergoing many tests, he discovered a rare and degenerative disease, Devic's syndrome. As soon as he received the diagnosis, the nursing technician was terrified, f

  At the end of the world.  Mermaid. The end of the world looked like nothing.  The end of the world looked like all those who failed there.  They had drifted for a long time, they arrived carrying worn suitcases, threadbare backpacks, some had nothing, others too much.  Some had not taken so long to reach it, they had burned their youth, they stood haggard on the quays, ready to do battle, fist or Surin to board a departing ship. No map described the access.  No one really chose his route.  The question was not to reach him but to flee from him. The bad wine that was poured in the smoky cafes of the port served as a mirror.  At the bottom of a glass, a man was contemplating the reflection of the face of a woman he had unloved, further on another saw the outline of his cowardice.  A woman with questionable hair was smiling at her own image, a reflection of her good years.  The rooms were full, each in his own way drank his pains, his regrets.  The scent of alcohol rose to the head, exp

  In the middle of the  21st  century, scientists created the first teleportation device, and twenty years later, portals became commonplace, like microwaves. They were installed in houses under the guise of cabinets, opening the doors of which one could step directly onto the sea coast or, say, to an undeclared dacha of an official somewhere in Switzerland. True, there was a minus: at each opening, the portals connected the cabinet with a random place on earth's land, so the method was not suitable for purposeful travel. Sometimes it was snowing or a scorpion crawled out of the door. Sometimes the portal would open somewhere in the mountains and create a draft of the house. But portals became fashionable anyway. On a good day, opening the door, you could conquer hilly Scotland or enter the Louvre through the toilet, bypassing the ticket office. Friends often sent messages to each other: "The Maldives has opened, take a brazier, fishing rods, Uncle Venya and come to us fas

Yesterday, I had to turn around because part of me was left stranded, hanging on a piece of blue cloud. I hadn't seen her dissociate herself.  I noticed this because of a notable lack of enthusiasm.  So I retraced my steps. I found him in tears, refusing to let go of his dream rag, which is definitely unusable today.  She cried on my shoulder for a while, stammering "I believed", "I wanted so much", and so on.  All these useless words which do not change anything to plow in the void, and which make one stay put.  Stuck. I took the time to tell him yes, me too, of course.  And that if I had been given the script to write, I would certainly have chosen another ending.  But now, I was not asked.  Or not directly. I spent Sunday patting him on the back, describing a singing tomorrow.  She only listened with one ear, sniffing into my neck.  I shook him a little at times - annoyed me by force - but his grief was so obvious that I did not have the heart to kick his but

  I only had in my pocket a pencil and an always full appointment book. Whether it's windy or snowing, whether it's raining or whether the sun shakes up the bad clouds. Since my adolescence, I have remained faithful to these carefully recorded appointments. Even today, a long, long time, I waited for her in front of the castle gate. It was always like that, I didn't blame him and I even got used to it. I managed to always be the first to arrive and for her to perceive a little impatience. At last, she hurried towards me. Her light steps and almost bare feet glided over the cobblestones. In a breath, giggling or in tears, she apologized for being late and begged forgiveness that I could not refuse her. Like every Saturday afternoon, we found ourselves so close to each other that each time I couldn't help but grasp the texture of her skin, the radiance of her eyes, the design of her lips. . Finally I got drunk on the silky oriental fragrances that enveloped her.

In 2033, the the neural network finally replaced journalists. She possessed hundreds of stylistic tricks, skillfully structured the text, and was engaged in complex investigations. Everyone was happy with the neural network, except for officials, dishonest leaders, and former journalists.   Soon, in contrast to the neural network-journalist, a neural network-press service, comparable in its capabilities, appeared. She prepared the data and presented it at a favorable angle, as if processing with saliva, before sending it to the digestive cauldron of the electronic edition.   The two neural networks began to interact directly. What exactly they were talking about is unclear, but the developers began to notice a manifold increase in energy consumption. The impression was that an unusual interaction was taking place between the two neural networks, which cost humanity gigawatts of energy.   A neural network inspector of an energy holding company was sent to deal with the problem, but the

  Okay, New Year's story about Valera, who had been sitting in his home office for an hour and felt punished. No, he was not punished, and the truth remained with him, and the pangs of conscience should be felt by others, especially Sveta. But somehow he felt. This injustice infuriated Valera, but he did not allow himself to get angry and argue. His, Valerkina, was so obvious that speaking it, we would offend the universe. He just sat listening to the sound of water from the kitchen - Sveta was washing the dishes. Valera was 35 years old, twenty of which he continuously walked up the mountain. He collected his life brick by brick, helped his parents, kept Svetka with the children, did not become an alcoholic, did not start a second family. The last covid year was especially difficult, but it did not break, and by December it had done even more than it seemed possible in the spring. What did he want at the end of this year? Probably some kind of reward. No, nothing special - h