FUNDI I M\u00cbRGIMIT T\u00cb GJAT\u00cb<\/b><\/p>\n
Dhe pash\u00eb t\u00eb ngrihej nj\u00eb brez q\u00eb nuk d\u00ebshironte m\u00eb ta mbante bot\u00ebn n\u00eb grusht, por ta kapte nj\u00eb \u00e7ast para se ajo t\u00eb binte. P\u00ebr shekuj me radh\u00eb, njer\u00ebzimi e kishte quajtur forc\u00eb pushtetin p\u00ebr t\u00eb shkat\u00ebrruar, dhe madh\u00ebshtori mas\u00ebn e frik\u00ebs q\u00eb nj\u00eb em\u00ebr mund t\u00eb mbillte. Ata e kishin veshur tok\u00ebn me hekur. Ata i kishin armatosur qiejt. Ata i kishin m\u00ebsuar zjarrit t\u00eb njihte \u00e7do sh\u00ebnjest\u00ebr. Megjithat\u00eb, ata p\u00ebrs\u00ebri nuk kishin gjetur urt\u00ebsin\u00eb e k\u00ebrkuar p\u00ebr t\u00eb frenuar nj\u00eb gisht para urdhrit t\u00eb fundit. At\u00ebher\u00eb di\u00e7ka u dridh. Jo n\u00eb pallate. Jo n\u00eb harta. Jo brenda arsenaleve. U dridh n\u00eb dhom\u00ebn m\u00eb t\u00eb fsheht\u00eb t\u00eb njer\u00ebzimit, ku askush tjet\u00ebr nuk mund t\u00eb hyj\u00eb, ku nj\u00eb zgjedhje b\u00ebhet fat dhe nj\u00eb \u00e7ast i vet\u00ebm mund t\u00eb d\u00ebnoj\u00eb breza. Nj\u00eb njeri i fuqish\u00ebm ndjeu papritmas t\u00eb merrte frym\u00eb brenda tij t\u00eb gjith\u00eb ata q\u00eb nuk kishin vend n\u00eb tryez\u00eb: f\u00ebmij\u00ebt e palindur ende, n\u00ebnat q\u00eb shtr\u00ebngonin trupat e f\u00ebmij\u00ebve t\u00eb tyre, t\u00eb moshuarit e l\u00ebn\u00eb vet\u00ebm n\u00eb prag, brezat e ardhsh\u00ebm q\u00eb prisnin t\u00eb merrnin nga duart e tij nj\u00eb kopsht ose nj\u00eb shkret\u00ebtir\u00eb hiri. Dhe p\u00ebr her\u00eb t\u00eb par\u00eb, pushteti u t\u00ebrhoq i tmerruar nga vetvetja. Nuk ishte duarbrakstisje (frikacak\u00ebri). Ishte kujtim. Nga posht\u00eb g\u00ebrmadhave t\u00eb shpirtit, di\u00e7ka e lasht\u00eb hapi s\u00ebrish syt\u00eb. Nj\u00eb Imazh. I varrosur n\u00ebn frik\u00eb. I shfytyruar nga urrejtja. I mbuluar nga hiri i \u00e7do lufte t\u00eb b\u00ebr\u00eb ndonj\u00ebher\u00eb n\u00eb em\u00ebr t\u00eb fitores. Dhe njeriu kuptoi. Ai mund t\u00eb pushtonte gjith\u00eb tok\u00ebn, t\u00eb b\u00ebnte kombet t\u00eb dridheshin, t\u00eb gdhendte emrin e tij n\u00eb histori, dhe t\u00eb humbiste p\u00ebrgjithmon\u00eb ngjashm\u00ebrin\u00eb e tij me At\u00eb q\u00eb i kishte ndezur zemr\u00ebn. Pastaj ai tha nj\u00eb fjal\u00eb t\u00eb vetme: “Mjaft.” Dhe ajo fjal\u00eb kaloi p\u00ebrmes dhomave t\u00eb komand\u00ebs si gjaku q\u00eb kthehet n\u00eb nj\u00eb trup n\u00eb vdekje e sip\u00ebr. Hyri n\u00eb llogarit\u00eb. Fshiu mekanizmat n\u00eb heshtje. Ndali makinerin\u00eb q\u00eb e kthen nj\u00eb plag\u00eb n\u00eb hakmarrje, hakmarrjen n\u00eb nj\u00eb plag\u00eb tjet\u00ebr, dhe vuajtjen e et\u00ebrve n\u00eb mallkimin e f\u00ebmij\u00ebve t\u00eb tyre. Ishte at\u00ebher\u00eb kur forca kujtoi emrin e saj t\u00eb v\u00ebrtet\u00eb. Shpata u b\u00eb p\u00ebrgjegj\u00ebsi. Pushteti hapi duart. Drejt\u00ebsia pushoi s\u00eb k\u00ebrkuari fajtor\u00ebt dhe filloi t\u00eb k\u00ebrkonte at\u00eb q\u00eb mund t\u00eb shp\u00ebtohej ende. Autoriteti zbriti nga froni, hoqi kuror\u00ebn e tij dhe u ul n\u00eb gjunj\u00eb pran\u00eb jet\u00ebs s\u00eb plagosur. Dhe njer\u00ebzimi kuptoi: m\u00ebshira nuk \u00ebsht\u00eb streha e t\u00eb dob\u00ebtve. \u00cbsht\u00eb nj\u00eb zjarr kaq i past\u00ebr sa mund t\u00eb hyj\u00eb n\u00eb zemr\u00ebn e s\u00eb keqes pa e lejuar t\u00eb keqen t\u00eb stampoj\u00eb fytyr\u00ebn e saj mbi t\u00eb. At\u00ebher\u00eb kombet thyen peshoret e tyre t\u00eb vjetra. Ata nuk pyet\u00ebn m\u00eb: Sa zot\u00ebron? Por: Sa jet\u00eb mbrojte kur kishe fuqin\u00eb p\u00ebr ta shkat\u00ebrruar at\u00eb? Jo m\u00eb: Sa njer\u00ebz p\u00ebulen para teje? Por: Sa mund t\u00eb mbeten n\u00eb k\u00ebmb\u00eb pa qen\u00eb se liria e tyre plagos krenarin\u00eb tuaj? Jo m\u00eb: Deri ku mund t\u00eb arrijn\u00eb arm\u00ebt e tua? Por: Deri ku je i gatsh\u00ebm t\u00eb shkosh n\u00eb vend q\u00eb t\u00eb humbas\u00ebsh v\u00ebllain t\u00ebnd? Dhe brenda zemr\u00ebs s\u00eb njer\u00ebzimit, di\u00e7ka filloi t\u00eb merrte frym\u00eb. Jo nj\u00eb krijes\u00eb e re. E para. Qenia njer\u00ebzore ashtu si\u00e7 u mendua dikur para se frika t\u00eb thyente z\u00ebrin, para se dhuna t\u00eb ngurt\u00ebsonte duart, para se dominimi t\u00eb fshinte Qielin nga syt\u00eb. Imazhi i Atit. Ngjashm\u00ebria e karakterit t\u00eb Tij. \u00c7do jet\u00eb e ruajtur restauroi nj\u00eb vij\u00eb t\u00eb Fytyr\u00ebs origjinale. \u00c7do akt faljeje lau nj\u00eb cop\u00ebz hiri. \u00c7do armik i njohur si v\u00ebllai i ktheu Krijimit nj\u00eb fragment t\u00eb humbur t\u00eb Babait. Dhe Qieli mbajti frym\u00ebn. Sepse n\u00ebn g\u00ebrmadha, n\u00ebn gjak, n\u00ebn shekuj frike, Imazhi ishte ende atje. I plagosur, por jo i shkat\u00ebrruar. I fshehur, por kurr\u00eb i fshir\u00eb. M\u00ebrgimi i gjat\u00eb po i afrohej fundit. Njer\u00ebzimi nuk ishte b\u00ebr\u00eb m\u00eb i fort\u00eb. Njer\u00ebzimi ishin b\u00ebr\u00eb f\u00ebmij\u00ebt e Atit p\u00ebrs\u00ebri. Dhe nd\u00ebrsa Bijt\u00eb e Tij ktheheshin, Fytyra e Atit u b\u00eb e dukshme brenda tyre edhe nj\u00eb her\u00eb. At\u00ebher\u00eb ata njoh\u00ebn rrug\u00ebn. Sht\u00ebpia nuk ishte thjesht vendi q\u00eb i priste p\u00ebrtej kufirit p\u00ebrfundimtar. Sht\u00ebpia ishte ngjashm\u00ebria q\u00eb rilindte brenda tyre \u00e7do her\u00eb q\u00eb ata zgjidhnin t\u00eb donin ashtu si\u00e7 do Babai. Dhe kur hiri i fundit ra nga fytyrat e tyre, njer\u00ebzimi kuptoi. Nuk ishte pushtimi i s\u00eb ardhmes. Nuk ishte arritja e Qiellit. Ishte kthimi tek ajo q\u00eb kishte qen\u00eb gjithmon\u00eb brenda zemr\u00ebs s\u00eb Atit. Imazhi i Tij. Ngjashm\u00ebria e Tij. F\u00ebmija i Tij. M\u00ebrgimi i gjat\u00eb kishte marr\u00eb fund. Njer\u00ebzimi kishte ardhur n\u00eb Sht\u00ebpi.<\/p>\n\n
FUNDI I M\u00cbRGIMIT T\u00cb GJAT\u00cb Dhe pash\u00eb t\u00eb ngrihej nj\u00eb brez q\u00eb nuk d\u00ebshironte m\u00eb ta mbante bot\u00ebn n\u00eb grusht, por ta kapte nj\u00eb \u00e7ast para se ajo t\u00eb binte. P\u00ebr shekuj me radh\u00eb, njer\u00ebzimi e kishte quajtur forc\u00eb pushtetin p\u00ebr t\u00eb shkat\u00ebrruar, dhe madh\u00ebshtori mas\u00ebn e frik\u00ebs q\u00eb nj\u00eb em\u00ebr mund t\u00eb mbillte.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":19856,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"spay_email":""},"categories":[11],"tags":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/omegageneration.net\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/Cenere-1.jpg-9.webp","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/omegageneration.net\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19855"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/omegageneration.net\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/omegageneration.net\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/omegageneration.net\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/omegageneration.net\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=19855"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/omegageneration.net\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19855\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":19858,"href":"https:\/\/omegageneration.net\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19855\/revisions\/19858"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/omegageneration.net\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/19856"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/omegageneration.net\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=19855"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/omegageneration.net\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=19855"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/omegageneration.net\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=19855"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}