Grandfather sat in his rocking chair by the fireplace. He seemed absentminded. More absentminded than usual, if that is even possible. Since I can remember, he lives a withdrawn life. Growing up without a father or a mother, living and being raised by my grandparents was already difficult for me. It was even more difficult feeling a disconnect between my grandfather and myself. When I tried to ask my grandma, if I did something wrong he just shook her head, embraced me and said, “give him time”. But she also didn’t want to explain what it was about.
I once applied for a conference and this was one of the tasks I had to do:
Please create maximum two paragraphs of the following story:
“Two twin brothers were walking through the forest, when they found an abandoned house. They stepped inside and saw a room filled with horse manure…”
This was my answer…
Stories are a wonderful thing. They are a carrier of knowledge and help us learn, they can make us feel stronger, they can let us dream, and they can help us to get lost in something we like.