the man in the yellow raincoat [based on a story my little brother told me]Bored with the familiar sceneries of their home municipality, a group of young men in their early 20's decided to head down Road 9 towards Turku. It was a snowy winter night, but they were cozy in the warmth of the old, red Mitsubishi Carisma, blasting off music from the bass-boosted speakers the owner and driver had installed.The group came by a remote road leading up a steep hill, surrounded by flat fields. The headlights of the car cut through the snowflakes that were the size of saucers as the engine roared and the tyres grinded against the snowy-and-icy road. They got to the top, and their laughter changed to yelps of surprise: there was someone standing in the middle of the road! Someone with unkempt, greasy-looking hair and a yellow raincoat hanging about them. The driver passed the figure, but stopped five hundred metres later, wondering out lout who the man was and whether he was hurt.A friend of the driver sitting on the b
52. Stirring of the WindWe have settled down on the sheets,the familiar sheets,laying on our backs, eyes openand arms on our sides,trying not to stir the other.But there's a breeze from the outside.The fresh scent of just-cut grass,the tickling scent of pine trees,they steal into my nostrils.The waves across the lake withinstart lapping, growing, roaring—soon there's a tsunami,heavy raining, a maelstrom,a howling hurricane.I get up from the bed and walk out.You're still laying there, barely moving,as the winds have yet to bring you the news:it hasn't touched you, the will to change.