INVENTED LIFE AFTER FIFTEEN YEARS 
FIFTEEN YEARS AFTER
was cold. March began the throes of winter but still were felt during the day and sunny day. I huddled into the scarf to give some heat to my body as thoughts popped memories of a lifetime. Now I could be considered alone, however, sequences experienced, past events were fresher than at any other time lived. As a picture spread on the surface of a table that is still missing the last line or as a puzzle still unfinished, I thought I had the story of my life, a life long and which, in some areas, drawing highlighted with bold lines and bright colors to show the significance of what happened.
looked through the window, sitting in the chair, in an attempt to corner the little heat, cold day I fixed upon that left years ago between spring and winter, rain and sun body. The memory took me to the time of travel on the bus toward the city where my mother lived for many years.
traveled to give a final farewell. Had received the news of his death and immediately took ticket for the bus. And paved roads running between my ideas are related with the hum of the engine. It was fifteen years
not visited the city. When I left was a woman with hopes, finished thirty of my life and returned with a fledgling age demonstrated among those few white strands of my hair adornment. I wondered what I would find arrival. A quiet fear, I would look whispered my mother. That mother did not know if he loved me or not, or if perhaps she had loved me enough, or perhaps, just enough to fill my affection.
mental profile space drawn on the map of my life and came to my mind the times spent at his side, his looks, his advice, his touch and her disdain ... All those minutiae of detail, highlighted with a special value again. It was amazing to see how values \u200b\u200bchange over a life because those early memories were placed at a different level in the scale of my understanding. All acts and events past, they had at the time of that now, a different assessment, without warning, had disrupted the schedule by which they were measured.
However, the dull mind, expect to see the same thing of the past. Find the same warmth of affection, the same home environment and that hope I offered two opposing feelings. On the one hand, the joy of finding in the environment, an ember of the love lost and the other, fear of being late to treat the feelings and find only crumbs ... even with the coldness of the table and collection and clean of crumbs and remains of the meal of a life spent already.
When I left the bus, I was obliged to place I thought the place of the city where I was. In those fifteen years of absence, things had changed. As a whole were equal, had the same base years ago but at the same time, everything was different and I seemed to be in a new city. The place where he had lived so many years, where so many hopes had been set, and not mine, it was strange to me.
I took a taxi to the morgue where the body was my mother's funeral and were not made at home, no one died at home and, if that happened by accident, quickly carried the body to the morgue where he was responsible for preparing a view of family and friends. I felt
Arriving repeluzno all over my body. The atmosphere exuded sadness, pain and wondered what my reaction on seeing the corpse of my mother. A tap on the shoulder brought me back to reality, my sister embraced me in silence and I felt a huge cold. The love was gone, thin woman whose face reminded me of happy times with laughter and hope, affection and sweetness achieved lived at that time was a strange, meant nothing to me.
preceded me into a room where I could see people were also unknown to me but then I knew were relatives, brothers, nephews ... And there, in the center, a little flat on a mound, was the coffin with the corpse of my mother. I looked very old, wrinkled skin, calm attitude. By observing it, I tried to find an outline that body heat of life, something tangible to show me your identity and a sense of emptiness filled my soul. It was a quiet vacuum, vacuum compared it with that achieved after a long solo session of gossip, troubleshooting and feedback of ones and others with whom you agree or not, suddenly, they all go and leave you in the solitude of silence, stillness, peace.
I looked back at the corpse, her face shrunken by age, their thinning, graying hair, his hands ... those hands so full of caresses loved to deal. His blue eyes closed. And I turned to notice her calm attitude. Then I understood. A peaceful feeling enveloped me, the sadness turned into a quiet extended as a vast sky full of stars. Everything was fine. Everything was in order. I looked back at the body, to observe, without a tear, I retreated. I read the wonder in the face of my sister noticed my lack of affection. I looked into her eyes, those eyes, acquaintances and strangers at the same time and said "Mom
is no longer there. He's gone.
I took the bus back to mine, my life, my duties with the serenity of the departure of someone who has loved and known for sure, met their fate in a better place.
Now, after so many years, I was wrapped in my shawl closer to making that final move but had no fear. He knew, with certainty, that this body of mine, sore and old now, and sometime soon, would remain in this world as the empty shell of a walnut. The essence of my self, break in elevation inconceivable to continue to live forever. MAGDA.
But when asked if his answer meant that the source code of Rybka 1 was all original, Vasik replied:" All versions of Rybka are original the sense that I always wrote the source code (with the exception of several fragments standard low-level) "
