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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

achieving something in life does not mean a lot. The passion towards something means a lot.

Submitted: December 30, 2017

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Submitted: December 30, 2017



It was a great lovely weather, that morning. It was one of the streets of Southampton, a port city of old Britain. It was a busy street with people rushing and roaming in the year of 1859.

A man with a shaggy beard style and young grey hair with eyes dark black wear a coffee brown shirt and pants covered by an old jacket or a coat to withstand the cold day.

He was leaning on a British street lamp post. For people of that century, it seems nothing. But now when we see it now, it astonishes us. His eyes were keen on seeing something and certainly, he is having a pleasure. His eyes catch a lady dressed in black with a cute “cat hat”. Her eyes were brown and her curvy lips with a small smile hidden looks like it were going to say something to your heart. She looked like a late teen, daughter of a rich merchant. Totally, her presence gave a pleasure of having a coffee, which means a lot to him. A man rushing towards the east of the street, stuck or somehow stop by that guy leaning on the post. This man saw that guy writing something in a note very close to him so that nobody would draw their attention towards it. This man asked, “What are you writing?” The guy replied, “THAT’S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS”. This makes him feel awful. The man does not lose his attitude and said, “I’m a banker of that bank in the end of the street. I’m just curious to know about you. Have some respect”. The guy with a discomfort said,” I’m a writer…..I’m proceeding my story with an idea just caught me. ”The banker replied, “Is it…it's marvelous. I always read a lot of books and I adore writers. I love them”.

The writer makes a sound,”ssshhhh….”.The banker said, “sorry, for my interruption and what was your problem of being a writer?” The writer closed his notebook and makes himself ready for a talk by adjusting his jacket. And said, “I always begin a work with hope and love but it becomes dilute and goes on somewhere in the middle of the work. So I can’t make my story full-fledged.” The banker whose age would be around 50 replied in a matured voice, “like life..”.The writer sharpen his eyes, and said that I’m happy being a writer by creating a world to me but people like you judging my writing, comparing my piece of work, checking my bank balance, appearance etc., So the word “Writer” is totally different from me and you as a frame of reference by Einstein. The banker said, “Hmm…I’m getting late. Wishes from me…”.He disappeared in the long busy street of the port city of Great Britain. Days passed, like the minute hand, the months passed like the hour hand of the clock tower of the civic building towards west. The banker wakes every morning and sleeps every night like everybody. The writer goes on his work, in his lonely house, by forgetting watch or clock.

One day, a fine day, the banker saw the writer near the river bank amongst people. He ran towards him like a child running for candy. He breathes out a lot. He said to the writer, “I have been searching for you, the whole town. You have been on my mind for these days. Every moment…gasps”. The writer uttered his word in a confused way, “why Mr…”.The banker replied, “I love writers. But I would see them always in a book release meeting. They were well dressed and cozy.I have had a virtual appearance of how a writer should be, that matches you when I first saw you. So, I talk to you”. The writer stands in a moment of silence and then said, “I have finished my book and I’m going to release the book with the help of publication, in two days”. The banker said, “Beautiful, congratulations….”.The writer asked, “Don’t you have a dream of being a writer…”.The banker said,”Yeah, but I can’t overcome some commitments” in a sad strange tone. The writer said, “Just an interest makes you achieve...”

“It is like a drop of rain falls in a deep ocean”

The banker receives an invitation from the writer for the book release with his address. The banker and the writer move away like the similar pole magnets. The banker opened the invitation and saw the title of the book, “like life….”






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