Discover Top Posts Tagged with #post bellum

Odsunuté děti - Jan Blažek nakladatelství: Post Bellum grafický design: Petr Šabach A4, komiks: 20 stran, 2021

#comics #illustration #post bellum #pamet naroda

V Institutu Paměti národa Pardubice probíhá soutěž o vyhlídkové lety

Pardubice – Návštěvníci pardubického Institutu Paměti národa soutěží o prázdninách o vyhlídkový let nad pamětními místy východních Čech. Podmínkou pro účast v soutěži je návštěva jeho výstavy a správné zodpovězení otázek. Expozice Institutu na rozdíl od tradičních muzeí a výstav až na výjimky nevyužívá fyzické objekty, nenachází se tam ani vitríny. Místo toho nabízí návštěvníkům možnost výběru…

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#Paměť národa #Post Bellum

V Česku žijí poslední desítky veteránů druhé světové války. Pomozme jim na Den válečných veteránů

Toto pondělí začala sbírka ke Dni válečných veteránů. Až do 30. listopadu bude možné po celém Česku zakoupit květ vlčího máku, tradiční symbol sbírky. Akce má za cíl připomenout statečnost těch, kteří bojovali za svobodu a demokracii na válečných frontách i v odboji. Výtěžek ze sbírky půjde na uchování a vyprávění příběhů bojovníků za svobodu. Část financí poputuje na Centrum pomoci Paměti…

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#Centrum pomoci Paměti národa #Den válečných veteránů #Post Bellum

V listopadu se otevře první Institut Paměti národa v České republice

29. listopadu 2021 otevře Post Bellum první Institut Paměti národa v České republice. Podzemní výstavní prostor pod Machoňovou pasáží v centru Pardubic nabídne návštěvníkům historický materiál v zajímavé multimediální podobě. Moderní dějiny budou tak představeny očima pamětníků klíčových událostí 20. století a dokresleny silným emočním a audiovizuálním zážitkem. Své místo v Institutu má i…

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#Paměť národa východní Čechy #Post Bellum

Post bellum || Self

It was a simple thing, feeling as lonely as she did in that moment. There in that place, where the walls were made of taffy and they leaked down their wooden, stand-up pillars every time it rained, she felt consumed with the breadth of an emotion she hadn't quite experienced in this life just yet. Oh, and she'd pondered on it, pensively staring out the foggy window with images of a life long ago peering through the bars shackling in her mind -- just what exactly was it to need? She'd needed air and clothing and shelter her entire life, although she couldn't be certain that that hadn't all been some form of facade in the first place, some idea that was put in her head by the programmer to keep her conformed. She shook away the thought; this wasn't about them today, not about the wonders of the universe or the way the sky made her ache to the very pit of every organ in her body.

River felt nauseous. There was a rock the size of a large gerbil rumbling about in her intestines. If she shifted in the wrong direction, it would scrape against the squishy, crumpled up and wrinkled lining, shredding the tissue and causing her to bleed out. Perhaps she'd die. She shifted in her seat again, more abrupt this time, testing the hypothesis.

No cigar.

It did hurt, the way that all things hurt -- the way a needle hurt weaving in and out of the skin on her chest, sewing her up like a real girl the day she'd been made. She coughed up a bit of fabric fluff and handed it off to the doctor before sauntering out the door, a bit of blood-stained hospital-bed paper stuck to the bottom of her porcelain shoe. Mommy would have straightened her up, would've tied ribbons in her hair and made sure her cheeks were just as rosy and prim as the little boys would have liked to see. But the boys ate bugs and River would push them into the dirt and pick up the tiny creatures, climbing high up into a tree with them like she'd taught herself all those quiet summers alone, where the boys hadn't yet learned to reach.

Thud.

Her heart -- you know, the wine-soaked tea-bag that pumped tar into her veins? Yes, that's the one -- dropped right down into the bottom of her stomach. Splish splash into the boiling pot of primordial ooze, green and bubbling like a thick, sticky stew. It reached up and formed a fist, pulling the tea-bag into the abyss and squeezing as hard as it could until all of the little pockets of bleach bled out. The fizzed up white and made sizzling noises that you could hear from across the room if you shut your mouth long enough to pay attention. She licked her lips, removing the ash from them with her tongue, and it oddly hurt more than she'd imagined it would, the taste too familiar to help these almost human feelings.

It was time to go now. Time to head off elsewhere and be the girl that no one can touch because your feet are on top of your head and your head is bouncing around somewhere on top of a cloud. You're innards, pus and blood and aching, boiling mash that slinks beneath the covers and cries out the word "Leo" in the middle of the night because it's the only thing you know how to cling to.

Look what you've down now, you silly girl.

There's vomit on your shoe.

#para #self #post bellum