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Michaella Mintcheff was born and raised in Sofia, Bulgaria, escaped to finally grow up in the United States and is currently maturing in Hawaii. She is a professional linguist and translator and holds a Master's degree in Counseling Psychology. All her endeavors are rooted in her love of people.

She is a founder of Chiron Arts, a non-profit venture dedicated to the community of healing and fine arts practitioners. In the past ten years Chiron Arts has facilitated community building and networking, the promotion, production and staging of numerous poetry and art events, various art and healing collaborations as well as writing, dance and healing workshops on the island of Kauai.

Michaella's first book of poetry, "The Gift of Hunger" is available at Kauai's Borders Books & Music and on her website. For more information on Michaella and Chiron Arts, go to www.ChironArts.net or write to misha@hawaii.rr.com.

Sometimes I Try to Escape
English version

Sometimes I Try to Escape

It usually happens at 4 in the morning.
I wake up and can’t go back to sleep. I sneak out quietly so as not to disturb
whoever is sleeping on the other side of the bed. I don’t turn on the light but,
like a bat, use all my senses to navigate among the unfamiliar dark shapes in
my room. In the daylight they pretend to be little piles of books and papers,
low tables and pillows, but at night they assume their true hobgoblin and troll
apppearances. All hungry, they crowd the room, griding their teeth, sucking
their tongues and complaining under their breath that I’ve starved them again.
I am amazed and a little frightened. Whoever sleeps on the other side of my
bed never hears them, but I rise at this certain hour when their low and
mournful complaining hits my ears like the in-and-out of splashing waves.
I turn on the computer and begin feeding them my stories.
Everyone crowds behind my back, breathes down my neck and watches
the screen, drooling.

Sometimes I try to escape. I stumble over books, tables and pillows as I
struggle to extricate myself from my room, like a deranged moth which in vain
tries to break down the window, in this case the door, with its head. Finally I
find the door knob and turn it, holding tightly only to find my feet pulled out
from under me, my hand jerking the door open but losing the handle as my
feet are dragged back into the room and my face crashes down to the floor.
I lay there for a minute or two, hoping that losing my front teeth in the fall was
just a dream, which it was, but so vivid!... As I struggle to figure out what was a
dream and what not, I hear my hobgoblins impatiently shuffling about me,
grinding their teeth and sucking their tongues in anticipation of dinner. I get
up and turn on my computer.

Sometimes I try to escape.
The Flood
English version

The Flood

A woman flooded her man.

It came about slowly.
One day he glanced at her. She seeped through his eyes, a drop at a time,
and in time she soaked his feet up to the ankles. Sitting in a thoughtful repose
in his armchair, the man didn’t notice. Later she changed course, entered
through his ears in a silver trickle which slowly filled his legs up to the knees.
He still hardly noticed. She came a little closer then. Unaware, he took a deep
breath and inhaled her in a quick stream, which flooded him up to the waist.
Surprised, he squirmed a bit, but, like a warm wave, a pleasant inner expansion
lifted his spirits. he laughed. In she gushed like a torrent through his open
mouth. Before he knew what happened his heart began hopping, skipping and
tumbling through the water.

The man became concerned, because, as we are told, men need to be much
more careful with their hearts than women. He tried hard to remember... at his
last checkup did the doctor recommend or did he advise against more liquids?
While he was still wondering, his heart sunk.

The water then streamed in peacefully, softly submerging his mouth, ears and
eyes and edging higher, toward the brain.
Fascinated, the man gave up figuring out the medical pros and cons of this
flooding. He sat back and watched as she permeated the last barrier - his
skin - and freely flowed in. He saw his thoughts hurriedly abandoning ship, and
he watched their fleeting reflections on the face of the water.

At a certain time there came to be nothing but the silence of water, splashing in
unknown, unexplored spaces, refracting sunlight into new, vast and mysterious
rising, ever so slowly,
ever higher.