Well & A rifle

He was everything he must be, every eid he would visit, a very realistic and dignified figure, he would sit with us and tell us his stories and I would laugh, that doesn’t make sense! but he knew I was just a child, if I only go back in time to hear all of his stories and I would swear to him I will never laugh again, if I only could. He was a picture of light, I have never thought he could have a difficult time, he’s strong willed, left life with glory, resisting in that dark summer day. The one story I remember vividly, when I was seven years old, he told me how he defeated the jinni, he was alone in the woods holding his rifle beside a well where he saw a jinni and a after a bad conversation with him he kept repeating to me how he captured and reprehend him, in that moment I told my self: grandfather, you have such a strong heart. I wish I could have said that out loud, and I wish it remains a memory or a thin strand of hope. His story, was similar to Faust but the last was lacking energy and enthusiasm comparing to my grandfather’s version, its a story when you can realize that the devil is not a fictional character in ancient books but its closer to us than veins, colors we see and perceptions we hold. Now I knew, I could never be a Faustian even metaphorically. my great grandfather; I will remember you at the meeting of the mountains, in the sun and moon cycles, in the sacred water, the delicate church’s bread and the verses of poems. I would see you as as you are, a universal soul, a doctrine of faith and morals, a humble teacher surrounded with trees of fruits, a mortal who fight the devil to his very last breaths.

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