Choices

By Nick Z Moran

this book is about love; life, immortality and peeing over one’s own feet.
it is zen; irreverence, a rant and a beautifully told story all rolled into one.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nick Z Moran
• Release date: Mar 14, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458140876

Nick Z Moran

Nick Z MoranFascinated and annoyed by the fact that some people seemed to have success fall into their laps, while others (him being one at the time) work their fingers to the bone just to barely survive, Nick started his search for the elusive answer.During what he calls a trip stranger than fiction, which is still in full swing, there have been countless interesting, colourful and challenging experiences. Not the least of which was discovering the Voice. An encounter Nick has until now not shared publically.Nick now spends his time writing, working with those serious about finding their own success and happiness, riding his Harley Davidson motorcycle and trying to convince Lester, his four legged buddy, that he really is a dog and that cigarettes and whisky aren’t good for him.

Book preview

CHOICES

Nick Moran

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 Nick Moran

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

ISBN:

Ebookland/Zeus Publications

This book is about love, life, immortality and peeing over one’s own feet.

It is Zen; irreverence, a rant and a beautifully told story all rolled into one.

Nick Moran was born in Bosnia, but has lived in Australia since 1965. He works as a business consultant with an international organization as well as writing and working as a life coach. Choices, is his second book to be published.

BOOK ONE

Zar of the Skies

Tired, ancient eyes scanned the inhospitable vista. Before him lay endless miles of scorched sand and earth. Above, a glaring, cloudless sky cruelly crushed any hope of rain, giving no hint of reprieve from the relentless sun sucking dry whatever moisture remained.

Indifferent to the scene, he scrutinised the forbidding landscape, no longer affected by it, or the night-cold, or a cool breeze or the fresh scent of spring. Hunger was the only sensation still driving him, and that, he surmised, was because beyond it stood Death, and Death was the end.

There was no bargaining, no doing a deal with Death. When the Grim Reaper came to one’s door, there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, no compromise to offer. Death was to be feared beyond all else, Death stood beyond all.

‘Yet, everyone kowtows to and fears Satan," he would find himself musing. It made no sense to him. Satan did not obliterate souls. To be sure, ending up in Satan’s domain was not a fate to be desired. However, at least one’s soul remained conscious, existing. Death extinguished it; Death, he concluded, was God.

Nothing stirred, his stomach rumbled. The branch on which he stood trembled violently as he spread his mighty wings and pushed off into the azure sky. Lazily, he climbed. High above the ground he caught the rising thermals and began to circle. His piercing gaze never left the earth below. Glorious bronze black wings spanning nine feet, held him aloft like an angel in the sky.

Suddenly, he noticed a movement directly below him. Only his eyes shifted, locking onto the object like laser beams. Languidly adjusting his soaring, he watched the small shape falling to earth. Gliding lower, he realised it was a small bird wildly, futilely, flapping its wings.

The predator smiled to himself. Lunch was at hand.

He saw the small bird strike the ground. Struggling to get up, but scarcely able to lift its head. Little wings flapped pathetically and then it was still. He circled lower and lower until he too touched the earth and crouched not far from the little white bird. Its eyes closed and a drop of blood trickling from its beak, the tiny creature remained still. A strong hooked beak opened slightly in anticipation. As he sauntered closer to the minute morsel, it moved.

He was even more surprised to hear it whisper, Please help me. He barely made out the words.

His cold eyes appraised the bird.

Help? he snorted in derision.

That was one word he had not often heard, let alone used. His life was about death, not about help. The small bird opened its beak again but no sound came. It painfully tried again.

Help me please. I am badly hurt.

Yes, I can see that.

He had hoped the thing was dead. He was in no mood to converse with his lunch. The small bird struggled to stand but failed.

Are you a turkey? it asked.

He shot a withering look at the small creature and spat with scorn. "No! A buzzard is what I am, or if you prefer, Cathartes aura. My lineage is traced to the hawk. The Noble Hawk! I have been described by those who are good judges of such things, as ‘the most graceful soaring bird in the world’. Not that