The Funeral Of Esther Finch, Age 8

By Gabor Kiraly

A sorrowing tale of friends whose everyday life, even with the best intentions, inevitably leads to tragedy. A drama about drinking and driving, wrapped into a short novel, set in the '80s. This work IS fiction, however it can and does happen too often. God forbid, it can happen to you...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gabor Kiraly
• Release date: Mar 11, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311672124

Gabor Kiraly

Gabor Kiraly born in 1958,Hungary.He lived 42 years under communist's rules, where opportunities to see the world were limited...That is why he spent the last twenty years with extensive traveling, in about thirty countries of three continents.Working his way thru years, and the lands of the Big Unknown, he made a great number of friends in low and high places, and lived in numerous cities and towns of several countries. He walked the real streets of the scenes in his novels, he worked the jobs as his characters do. His scenes exist, his characters are flesh and blood.He had seen filthy hordes of children roaming on Cairo's streets, as well as he was invited to Penthouse-parties in Munich.Mr. Kiraly is a great fan of classical music, art, books, history. He loves the ancient Japanese form of poetry: the HAIKU, and he practises the more contemporary, western (English) version of this art.Beside his writer's desk he has a painter-, and graphic-artist studio and showroom, he illustrates his own books.Mr. Kiraly lives with his wife Gwen in Canada, in a small town at the shores of the Great Lakes. He's a happy man.

Book preview

The funeral of Esther Finch, age 8

Gabor Kiraly

Copyright Gabor Kiraly 2014

Published at Smashwords

CHAPTER 1. The TIKK

The best of my teen years was 1974, when I turned 16. That spring carried my first love, my first French kiss with it, just to lose my virginity to the same girl soon after. I met this beautiful, fragile beauty at a club we called The Young Creators’ Circle or between us the TIKK from T.Y.C.C. It was located in a larger apartment building’s basement, which was shady, dark and humid, thanks to all kinds of dripping, leaking fluids from the homes above. It was also scary, until you found the door to the TIKK and got in. Inside the heavens were waiting for you, well, at least for me.

I, from my father, inherited the artistic vein, who at that time was a, mm… well-known sculptor. Well-known enough to make a sound living. He and two of his colleges rented a studio just west of the Dundas – Bloor intersection, in an old brick building. I spent my childhood in that studio, watching them, listening to their conversations: a sculptor, a painter, and a graphic artist.

There was no other activity for me more uplifting, I knew I belong to this bunch. Before grade 8, I decided that I’m going to be a painter, which was expected, and acknowledged. My father only wanted two things from me: finish high school, and learn to walk before I run, in English, he sent me to learn to draw, to learn basic anatomy before I declare myself a famous artist...

The TIKK was the place where I ended up, under a high school art-teacher’s supervision. I never learned too much anatomy there, neither to draw, however this place was a major deciding factor in my life, with rock bottom deep impact, which dominated the rest of my being, even today.

First, there was this girl, Magdalena who gave me what others never did, neither before nor after, our first, innocent, ever-unforgettable love.

Then there was Mr. Teacher. That is how