Feather Eye

By Charles S. Kuzmanovic and Mark Giacomin

Patrik is no longer a shy or lonely kid, those days are behind him. He believes everything is going to be okay. One night, Patrik has a vision, he must go on a journey. An old postcard of Cologne Cathedral is a totem from a past he does not remember. Patrik wanders the city of Cologne in search of answers. What he does not know is, something is looking for him. The past is coming back and the flames will burn again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Scary Mary Books
• Release date: Jan 9, 2020
• ISBN: 9783966615785

Book preview

Giacomin)

-Based on incidents that occurred in the year 1997-

www.scary-mary.net

in cooperation with R5M.ORG

Finding the right lines. An odd expression. Many would say paths instead, not lines.

It's a condition of the brain, how it reacts to words. Some brains interpret or create words differently. What happened? That is what they ask. No one is sure, they never can be and that makes people uneasy. How did the fire start? Why did no alarms go off? How did the patient smash through a concrete wall? Where was the patient now?

Who I am is not important. Who he was, who he became, this is his story, I am a witness to his legacy.

The lines, always, opposing, parallel, converging, creating a vortical matrix where reality and irreality co-existed within the mind of a single human being. The brain is a magnificent machine, millennia of evolution imprinted into a mnemonic memory. When evolution needs to be accelerated, we have science. Synthetic chemicals to manipulate nature - nothing and no one is safe.

... t

It all started with a young boy. When he spoke, words came out in no conventional order. He saw the lines in his mind, and he followed them.

He perceived that his words frustrated people and provoked awkward silences. Naturally, they tried to categorise him - dyslexia, OCD, autism.

There was no category for him.

The boy understood he was different and became cautious. He fooled about, playing the joker, better the words stayed in his head. Melancholy was rooted in his soul. He watched other children play on the swings, chasing each other, giggling, whispering secrets, they seemed so free while he was trap ped inside a glass cube. The lines created layers, a barrier, surrounding and immolating him. He was alone. The glass cube was real, he was a prisoner, condemned by some unknown merciless power.

Years passed and the glass cube was his only friend. He saw a refracted reality which he was not allowed to be a part of. He kept a careful eye on the lines, waiting for a break in the code. One day, he awoke to discover the lines had released him. He stepped over broken glass, entering his brave

new world. It took effort but he was able to manage short conversations. His manner of speech was halting, as if he