Fany Savina

TRUE FICTION: Grabbing the ram by the horns

noreply@blogger.com (Fany Savina) — Wed, 12 Feb 2020 08:55:00 +0000

Source: https://www.vosgesmatin.fr/faits-divers-justice/2020/01/15/une-octogenaire-attaquee-par-un-belier

"I'm off to see the sheep now." Gisèle waved and started to waddle off.
"Alright, did you remember to take the bread?" a nurse called out after her. She simply waved her little plastic bag in the air as a response.
Her walk was pleasant. The air was crisp, the sky clear, all the makings of a good morning. It was a short distance to the farm where the animals were kept, but age had caught up to her and distances were relative to how badly she felt her arthritis.
When she was in sight of the field, she started calling out feebly.
"I'm here! Hello!"
The sheep, roused by the noise, all lifted their heads. They looked in Gisèle's direction and the ram, leader of the pack, started to trot towards the fence. The sheep, being sheep, followed.
The old lady was touched by such a scene. They recognise me, she thought. For someone who hadn't been visited by her children or grandchildren in months, the thought that the sheep had come to know and appreciate her was heartwarming.
When she reached the gate, the animals were all looking up at her with their glassy eyes, full of expectation. She reached her hand down and petted many of them. Her heart was so full of joy, it was such a beautiful day, she just wanted to be surrounded with love, even if it was from a flock of hungry sheep. She unlocked the gate with some difficulty, and stepped into the field. The sheep surrounded her, bleating madly in all directions. She had to lift the plastic bag with her old stale bread above her head to avoid it being ripped from her hands. She handed down pieces to individual sheep, making sure everyone got an equal piece. Her laughter filled the valley and echoed amongst the desperate bleats.
She was happy.

The ram was slightly off to the side, watching Gisèle feed his minions. His watery eyes fixed her every move. He didn't make a sound.
Gisèle, caught up in her euphoria, didn't notice. He waited for the bag to be empty, then, when he heard the tell-tale crinkle of the last piece of bread being extracted, he started to lower his head. He placed his hooves squarely into the soft ground, positioning himself, ready to charge.
Silently, he sent his intentions to his flock, and in an instant they parted like the red sea, giving the ram clear access to Gisèle.
Before she had time to react or turn to look at him, the ram charged, hitting the old woman squarely in the side. He heard the satisfying crack of broken ribs.
Despite the air knocked out of her, she still managed a scream before tumbling down to the ground. The ram stepped back and prepared to charge again, delighted when he saw Gisèle recoil herself into a fœtal position. He slammed into her body once again, hearing more bones cracking under his horns.
He was going further back this time, trying to get enough momentum to crack her skull in, his flock standing still on both sides, watching the massacre silently, when suddenly he felt a sharp pain at the back of his head.
His knees buckled, and he knelt on the ground, unable to get up. He felt another sharp pain, and this time recognised it to be a blunt force hitting him on the back. He looked at his victim and saw that she was being carried away by strange men. He looked up behind him just in time to see a third man, stick held tightly in both hands above his head, give him a crushing blow to the head. Everything went dark.

~~~

The night before, when everything was silent and everyone was sleeping, three teenagers met up at a crossroad. They were dressed in black, hoodies up, and were each carrying a heavy backpack.

"Did you remember everything?"

"Yeah, did you?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Did you or didn't you?! This is important! Don't mess this up like you usually do." Before the two teenagers could start an argument, the third, a girl, spoke up for the first time and softly said, "Stop."

The two boys obeyed. She continued, "Let's go, we're wasting moonlight." She started to head off, and the two boys followed behind her, giving each other a few shoves for good measure.

She ignored them, she preferred to stay concentrated on her task, on her destiny. She would have rathered they wouldn't be here at all, but she knew she needed help. Boys were easy to manipulate, and it hadn't been hard to get them to follow along. It didn't matter if they weren't believers. She just needed the muscle.

After a short trek, they reached the field, and the sleeping sheep got up with the sensation of a predator nearby.

They entered the field, and the girl instructed her followers to capture the ram.

They turned on their torches, and headed towards the ram, who upon seeing something come up to him, quickly turned around and scattered off using evasive techniques. His eyes glistened and glowed with fear in their spotlights, and it took them nearly fifteen minutes to corner him against the fence. They threw a rope around his horns, and secured him. Captured and cornered, the ram trembled and fell over, a last minute technique to dissuade his predators. He played dead a few moments, legs taut and rigid, but when he was pulled by the rope, he had to get up and follow his tormentors.

When they came back to the girl, the two boys saw that she had had time to set everything up. There were candles spread out on the ground, giving the night an eerie glow. The flock of sheep had retreated to the furthest possible corner of their pen, as far away as possible from the intruders and the strange light.

The candles were arranged in a circle, and in a star within that circle. The boys, upon seeing the installation, started to have second thoughts, but neither wanted to appear weak, and both wanted to get in the girl's pants. They lead the ram close to the circle, pulling on his rope to force him.

"Get him in the middle." The girl instructed them without looking at them, instead taking objects out of the backpacks.

They tried to pull the ram through the candles, but it was proving to be too much for the creature, and he was paralysed with fear. Eventually they simply picked him up, and without struggling, they were able to place him in the middle as they were told. The ram did not move, he was too frightened to even think.

The girl got up and from a little black book, she started reading strange latin while walking in a circle and placing objects around the ram.

A chicken head here, a bundle of herbs there, a rabbit's heart after that. Once she had finished, she stood face to face with the ram.

She continued reading from her book, and the two boys looked at her, completely out of their element. She started to read louder, getting caught up in her incantations, until she was screaming at the ram in latin.

She finished in a deafening roar, screaming "Ave Satanas!" over and over. She stopped, breathless, and smiled at the ram, her face full of enthusiasm. She stared at him and he stared at her. His eyes were blank and he still reeked of fear.

The girl groaned and kicked a candle out of exasperation and anger. The boys, completely freaked out by her speech, were no longer holding the rope, and with the girl's violent movement, the ram took the opportunity to scatter off and rejoin his flock.

The girl, in a rage, kicked more candles before slouching to the ground and sobbing.

"Why didn't it work? Why didn't it fucking work?"

The boys went to try and comfort her, but she pushed their hands away.

"Leave me alone!" She gathered all her artefacts and candles, stuffing them into her bag, and stormed off into the night.

The boys gathered what was left on the ground and ran after her.

From within the flock of sheep, the ram suddenly fell over, as if struck by lightning. The sheep all scattered in every direction. When the ram got up again, he appeared taller, bigger. He looked into the night and up at the full moon, thinking to himself, Ave Satanas.

PERSONAL: The power of playing hard to get

noreply@blogger.com (Fany Savina) — Wed, 05 Feb 2020 15:25:00 +0000

What is it about someone not wanting us that drives us to seek their attention? Why do we need to be loved by those who don't want to love us?
I re-watched Pride and Prejudice (2005, thanks Netflix) the other day. Yes, I'm that kind of girl. I like Jane Austen. And I swoon over Mr. Darcy.
But why? Why is Darcy and Elizabeth's love so exquisite? As I watched it again, my lips moving silently along with the dialogue, I realised the main dynamic of the relationship is a game of cat and mouse. They notice each other. Darcy is aloof, cold, distant even. Elizabeth is intrigued. Challenge accepted you might even say. So she flirts, tries to melt the iceman.
But... He's really not interested.

Source

We all remember (just me? oh ok...) that famous heart-wrenching line,

Do you dance Mr. Darcy?

Not if I can help it.

Ah, rejection, the true food of love, not poetry or dancing. Nothing like a cold hard no to make the ladies swoon.

Source

But it's not called Pride and Prejudice for peanuts. Elizabeth has a certain amount of self respect, and there's a fine line between playing hard to get and being insulting. So she stops pursuing Mr. Darcy, and that's when things become really interesting. She gives Darcy a taste of his own medicine, and he knows he's gone too far.

The rest of the movie revolves around Darcy trying to reverse his image of aloof and distant towards Elizabeth. Proposing marriage? Nah mate, not interested. I think it's safe to say that Elizabeth gets more than her revenge's worth when it comes to playing hard to get.

It really goes to show that Darcy can play his game for a little while, but once Elizabeth starts, he quickly finds himself out of his element.

Women really are the masters of the dating dance. Like birds, they get to choose the best dancing partner, the one with the biggest feathers (😉).

When they look like Keira Knightley of course.

Did I over analyse Pride and Prejudice? Maybe. Maybe not. Mr. Darcy remains a bomb.

TRUE FICTION: I can't, I've got kidnapping

noreply@blogger.com (Fany Savina) — Wed, 29 Jan 2020 07:53:00 +0000

Source: Monday 25th November 2019, Elle pretexte un enlèvement pour ne pas aller retrouver son amant

"Come on baby..."
He looked at her with small pleading eyes and tried his best to look cute. It wasn't very effective. She rolled her eyes and sighed.
"I told you I can't."
"Why not?"
He was starting to remind her of her kids. Why not mommy? Why not? It was getting on her nerves.
"Because I can't."
He turned over to face away from her on the couch, and started to pout. When she didn't react, he turned back around.
"If you can't come over to my place, then why don't I come to yours?" He looked expectantly at her, watched her scroll down her Facebook feed on her phone. "I could finally meet your aunt."
At the mention of her aunt, her head popped up and finally looked at him.
"What?"
"I could come over to your place, meet your aunt. Have you told her the good news?" He looked down tenderly at her stomach and stroked it. She nudged his hand away.
"Yes, she knows."
"Then doesn't she want to meet the father?"
The young woman grimaced and got up from the couch.
"I should get home."
"Already?"
"Yeah, it's getting late."
He didn't say anymore and accompanied her to the door of his flat. The goodbye was quick, a little platonic peck on the lips, and it left him sad and hungry for more. He waved goodbye to her as she pulled out and away in her car, and immediately got on his phone to send her a message. Get home safe, take care of yourself and the baby.
It was marked as read and he received no reply.

~~~~

A few days later, he called her. When she answered, her voice has hushed and furtive. It threw him off.
"Are- are you ok?" He barely heard her answer and put the phone closer to his ear.
"I wanted to ask your address, I want to surprise you and come over. I know it's not much of a surprise now, but I really want to take our relationship further. I want to meet your family and start building a bond with them."
There was silence on the other end of the line. He started to wonder if they'd been cut. Then he heard a sharp intake of breath and she started to talk.
"I can't talk. I don't know where I am. I'm in the trunk of a car." The man was speechless. He managed a stuttered wha-at?
"It's my ex, he found me, he's crazy, he tied my hands and put me in the trunk of his car. I don't know where we're going. So you can't come over."
"Are you ok?! Did he hurt you? Is the baby ok?!"
"I'm only one month pregnant, not much can happen to the baby..."
"Hold on, stay calm, I'll think of a way to help you. Do you have any idea where he might be taking you?"
"I've got to hang up, I think he's coming. You can't come over."
Before he could get another word in, he heard the beep of the call ending. He was paralysed. He didn't know what to do. He stood there for what seemed like an eternity, until it dawned on him that he had to do something. He had to get help. He unlocked his phone and called the police.
When a woman answered on the other end, he tried his best to explain what had happened, even if he himself was having a tough time taking it in.
The woman appeared concerned and tried to calm him down.
"Don't worry sir. We take this very seriously. We won't let some madman do what he wants with a pregnant lady. Kidnapping is a serious offense. Where do you say she lives?"
"I don't know exactly, we've been together three months, I was going to meet her family this weekend. All I know is it's somewhere in Giromagny."
"Alright sir. We'll send out a patrol to try and find her or the vehicle, and we'll contact the local police to locate her too. We'll see if we can use the helicopter to try and sweep the area too. Don't worry sir, we'll find her."
Relieved that his call was being taken so seriously, he provided what further details he could, and when he hung up he was still worried, but he had started to hope. He checked his phone constantly to see if she had managed to send him a text or not. She had not given him any news. He waited, his eyes riveted to the screen.

~~~~

The police station was alive with people going in all directions. People were on phones, asking for information, others were gearing up to go with the driving squad.
Someone shouted from across the room; "Where are we on the helicopter?"
An answer came back, "we can't take off, it's too late, it's too dangerous."
Policemen and women were calling their families to warn them they would be coming home late, something terrible had happened, someone had kidnapped a pregnant lady, it was imperative to find her.
A small team in a corner was working on trying to find the last pinged IP address of the victim. It was strange, she had been online not thirty minutes ago.
Also, they hadn't been able to find her in Giromagny. Nor were they able to find her aunt. Finally, one person called out "Hey! I think I've got her location!"
The officer in charge of the newly opened investigation hung up with the D.A. and went over to gather the new information.
"It's weird though, it's nowhere near where she's supposed to be living..."
"Where is it?"
"Well according to the location sharing in her social media she's in Montreux-Vieux. Almost thirty kilometres away from what the boyfriend told us."
"How sure are you of your information?"
"I'm positive it's where her IP address is. If it's of any help to us I don't know..."
The officer sighed, passing a hand through his hair. "It's better than nothing. We'll send the team out to see if they can find anything."
"Are you going to send the whole team?"
He nodded, "we never know, if she is there, this kidnapper could be dangerous."
He turned to face the room, and gave the orders for a team of 25 men and women to move out.
It was getting late, but the room was still active, alive with the hope of finding the victim before things took a turn for the worst.
Around four in the morning, they arrived at the address provided by the technician. They were in front of a house, as normal as could be. The street was quiet, all the windows were dark.
Proceeding cautiously, they went to the door, and banged three times. The squadron was positioned in a semi circle, ready for action, with a few people directly at the front door. When there was no answer, they banged on the wooden frame again. Lights turned on upstairs, and they saw the progression of their passage through the house, until finally the light on the porch turned on. They announced their presence, yelling, "Police" Open up!"
A man, rubbing the sleep from his eyes to reveal a worried look, opened the door, and the police pushed their way in to find behind him a woman, and from the top of the stairs, frightened looks on their faces, two young children, on the verge of crying.
There was a moment of silence. One policeman started pointing at the wife.
"Aren't you kidnapped?"
The husband turned around to look at his wife, and her eyes grew wide with incomprehension.
"We received a report from your boyfriend that you were kidnapped by your ex-partner. What the hell is going on here?!"
The husband stuttered on the word boyfriend, his eyes widening.
Having no news from the squadron in the house, the rest of the agents stationed outside came up to the porch, and faced with the incredulous looks of her husband and 25 policemen and women, she started to open her mouth to explain.
"He wanted to come over, he wouldn't stop, I had to keep him away, I couldn't tell my husband, he was nothing, he meant nothing, I've just been so lonely, I—"
She gasped for breath in a panic, and finally fainted, falling hard on the floor. The last thing she heard was someone calling for an ambulance.

Et merde.

PERSONAL: The commute syndrome

noreply@blogger.com (Fany Savina) — Wed, 22 Jan 2020 12:08:00 +0000

A bus or a snowplow?

One day, I found myself unable to use my car to get to work.

Through unfortunate circumstances, I had lent it to my family the Sunday night. Upon laying my head on my pillow that same night, a thought suddenly struck me. How will I get to work? The answer was obvious; I would have to commute, take the bus, ride with the plebeians.

Of course, I had a normal lower middle class childhood —didn't everyone?— in Dublin, full of bus excursions, first to head to school, then to head to my friends', then to go to work, until I tasted the joy of a learner's motorcycle permit (queue Born to be Wild 🎶).

Then the car licence followed, and I never looked back.

I like the comfort of my car, my own music blasting, the windows up or down, the speed I want.

So when I realised I would have to go back to taking the bus, leaving an hour earlier rather than just twenty minutes, the future looked bleak.

First challenge, finding the change to pay for the trip; finding too little and asking yourself, will the conductor hate me if I pay in one, two, and five cents? Concluding that very probably yes.

Walking to the bus stop, stressing that I might miss the bus and arrive late after all.

Arriving right on time but stressing that the conductor won't understand my intentions to get on and not stop for me (the plight of being alone at the bus stop).

Getting on the bus after all but having to explain, like some sort of alien, that I don't know how to take the bus, where to put my card, though at least I had a card.

Finding a seat while still hearing the conductor's chortle at my ineptitude.

Finally sitting down. Now the only thing that could possibly go wrong is missing my stop, so I kept my eyes riveted on my phone, the GPS tracking my progress, telling me in exactly how many stops to get off.

The only times my eyes left my screen, was to see the dismal and crushing depression that surrounded every other commuter.

Did I look like I wanted to kill myself as much as everyone else? Was no one safe from the aura of depletion that existed on the bus?

I wondered if it's even possible to live the life you love and love the life you live, because judging by their faces, it was a bleak possibility.

Finally getting off the bus, I looked at it head off (I had been overly eager not to be late that I was now thirty minutes early, so I had time to waste in introspective reflections). My heart broke a little, thinking of all those people, evidently hating their life. I headed inside the shopping mall and got to my work, and started my day of making and serving fast food crêpes.

I often think back to that fateful day I had to take the bus, and my conclusion can only be this: people would be less depressed about their menial jobs if they stopped commuting by bus.

At least they'd have less time to ponder on their situation.

#isitabusconductororabusdriver?