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A Parallel World (Short Story)


The darkness of the night looms around the theatre. The Cirque has one artist, hundred acts, and a thousand faceless strangers.

Lights lit up, and the spectacle begins.

The actor transformed into different persona with agility and theatricality – deception does not exist just pure talent emerges from his very soul.

He amazed thousands of folds every looming night and their eyes resembled a glowing St. Elmo’s fire in every acts of impersonation. For many years, he provided astonishment, eventually it all has to end; Leopoldo Fregoli buried with the words “his last transformation” in his sepulcher.

A poignant conclusion to a dramaturgical life.

Meanwhile, in the beginning...


At night, a man envisioned a tragic occurrence, he saw two silhouettes approaching his house, the bandits broke the door, and tried to kill his family.

He thought it was all a nightmarish dream, his family survived but he did not.

He is sent to the great wide open, a limitless realm of the soulless beings lost between two worlds. The gods have made a decision, he belong to neither – a wanderer, and a nomadic soul confused whether to strive for revenge or become a Prometheus.

He is the first man in over a century to float between spectral realms; he can be the Forethinker or the chaos maker.


Months had passed and the dawn commences once again, a widowed woman awakened by the mere silence of her surroundings.

She opens her eyes and welcomes the daylight with sheer passion for the new day and suddenly she realized the love of her life is gone and that strong passion eventually faded as the veracity of time unfolds.

She knows that silence can be deceiving and that it is a reminder that not so long ago, a murder happened in their abode and the very victim is her husband.

The house is almost empty while underground carries all the lost sentiments.


Times elapsed, depression, hatred and anger clouded the depths of the woman’s hemisphere. She succumbed dreadfully in despair, illness hit her, and until one monotonous night, she heard a noise in the upper room wherein his two sons are sleeping.

She opened her eyes to a disturbing reverie.

She suddenly felt cold and shaking uncontrollably as she saw faces of the two bandits that killed her husband, she picked a knife and without hesitation she strike the man’s body with fulsome revenge.

A voice of an abrupt-awakened man pitch up and shouts “Mother! What are you doing?!, stop!”. “He is your father’s killer!” the woman groaned, “no! He is your son! My brother!” the awakened son responded as she pushed her mother and grabbed the knife.

A murderer’s psyche is a mystery that demands a surgical deconstruction.


A dreamscape is a different realm than the Earthly abode, it is harsh and mystical. It is both a place for man and the soul. Akin to the wars of angels and demons.

A son is dead, gone from a weary world towards the unknown celestials. He seems lost among the dead stars as he floats amidst darkne