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CON TA TO CaP CHaT Hans Zimmer, a young croupier of life, a natural gambler of the society of today. Alarm. water.face.bath.clothes.stairs.bread.mother.oh mother. The young apprentice could just find his way to school, but he had a natural fait with his mother. "Spencer?" she said. "No mom, me, Hans" little Hans replied. "Sit Dow and eat your food". He enjoys a safe meal. The time has come to head to school, where he is to learn that life is not just heat, but heat and money. Money is a factor that tips in every scene of modern life. My name is Hans Zimmer and this is my life. This is my life. This is it. It was clearly written on the dwelled part of his backpack. He was certainly proud of his life, thus his father, a very wealthy man, was to be looked up to. Yet, he didn't know what was it that his old ace did. He was said to be on the car business, but people don't purchase cars today, the buy status, books that they never will come to read. Simple acts of walking into the bookstore and hand picking the brightest and coolest book. And buying it. Just like that. Hans was an opportunist, he knew that he had to find out what was it that his dad was up to inside that red-bricked loft building eight hours of the day. Hans suspected that he was in the drug business, but his objectives upheld him from mastering such fact. Once he was done with his meal, he hit the road. Carpools were not yet in practice in 1945, thus Germany was in war. "War" as they called it, and "war" as we call it now. Hans lived within this restricted village, which its main objective was to preserve Germany’s "brains" from the so-called "war". That was Hitler’s plan for his new state, or shall we call it "his glory". Every day Hans had to take the same pathway to the school. He used to throw rocks at the fences as he went. Hoping that some day all of that ignorance was to be reverted to a non-reasonable war, a war with principles - at least. Money, he thought, was the real reason for massive actions to take place. Even if it’s real objectives went against its founders. School. Anthem. Flag. Hand. Classroom. The teacher, ms. khraik shrugger, was a very reasonable lady. A natural red-haired, and a one of a kind smile. shrogger was Hans' first friend and lover. He looked forward towards her Latin classes, thus it pumped heat into his frozen world. West Germany was filled with surprises, mountains hid literally everything. As it did with Hans' mind. He could not focus on the reading or on the pictures that Shrugger eagerly tried to show him, with this last attempt to make the mute boy speak. Hans knew that all of those traits lied within him, not needing to exhibit himself to no one. He was a mute, speech-less mute. The wind meowed outside the courtyard, where a couple of Hitler’s soldiers proudly stood, they shared a cigarette. In fact they were brothers, Hans knew them from the lunch recess. They had this sporty love towards classical music, but not like most people had at that time, they had a real connection with the tunes. Furniture. Alarm. Bomb. Blood. Fence. Rock. Silence. Another allied attack. It had taken the Mozart brothers with its breeze. it had also taken shrugger's office by the pine forest covered with snow. Hans knew that once that alarm came off, his day would be twisted for its whole extent. The policy was clear: hold the kids inside school perimeters until German intelligence gave the green light. Sometimes that took hours. This time the signal arrived with a platoon that rode on horseback. They came out of the forest like Hell Gate keepers, with only one objective: make sure that their nation's future was upheld. The envelope was carried to the principle's office. But not for the principle, thus he was dead. Shrugger, the second in command, which at this point held an armed lugger at her hands, received the notice. More than one thousand dead. The north wing of the village, where all the service men and women roamed was vanished, so was her house. Tears came to her eyes. She knew that her elder parents were dead already. She broke into tears, and little Hans was the only one out of the bunch, that scared to death formed one body pushing towards the near dark end of the classroom, went towards shrugger. He hugged her and frequented his thoughts on hers. He then saw the loss that she had suffered. As the minutes went by, Shrugger cried even more, now accepting Zimmer’s little shoulders as a conformation point. She knew that she had to be straight and cool, thus she was witnessing the growth of Germany’s future. Like a lightning she raised and passed the word that the students were to go home and stay there till further notice. Hans followed along as ordered with four more friends, which were heading towards his home. But their house soon showed up and like magic the group was subtracted till the only one that was left was Hans and the wolfs. He kept going, with a line of sight of only two meters ahead of his little toes, thus the night fog was down. The fear of monsters and ghosts was past on Hans' life, after the so-called war started, he was only scared of what had flesh and an armed rifle. His house was only a few turns away when he heard the beast. Through the Doppler effect he knew that it was coming straight to him, raging every tree on its way. An armored vehicle, of unknown nationality was closing in. his feet started to shake inside his leather boots. For a few seconds he could just think of shrugger and her amazing perfume, and the fact that he could never experience it again. That foe gave him strength and mapping to get the hell out of there. He ran like a bunch of mad dogs in a search for flesh. The cold breeze froze his eyes, turning them dry. He started to keep only a small portion of them open, so that he could see if he ran into a pine tree. Suddenly he ran into a cold but welcoming body. A German soldier. It turned out that he ran outside of the perimeters of the village and right into the front line. The German soldier took Hans to a trench, covered with mud and dead corps. After a few minutes of gunfires, it all came to a complete silence. The soldier turned to him, taking off his helmet, which revealed the bullet burses on it. The close to death experience. " Can you feel them hitting your helmet?" Hans asked. "I’ m afraid so" the soldier replied offering Hans a chair that more resembled a tomato box and some campaign soup. He took it and enjoyed some freedom soup with his new hero. They talked for hours, but his mind was still turned to shrugger and the pain that she was certainly going through. Once ten o'clock came, the soldier would not let Hans out of the trench. "Only when the sun comes up" he said, and then it would be safer. So Hans turned towards the bed that proudly occupied the corner of the trench. He laid down and started to sleep like a rock. In the middle of the night he was awaken by two soldiers, signaling for him to come. So he got up from the bed and ran towards the soldier. The other one started to fire his rifle towards the black forest so he could give cover fire to Hans and the soldier that carried him out. They ran a few meters down a little hill towards this black horse; the soldier went up then pulled Hans up. He held tight to the soldiers back once the horse started to gallop. Some may say that if the German Reich had used cars instead of horses, they would have won the war. 2005 came like fire. Hans Zimmer was now sixty-five years old, living in Pasadena, California. It turned out that that night himself and the German soldier on horseback were intercepted by allied troops. On the cross fire Hans got hit and both the soldier and the horse killed. The bullet turned his spinal cord into Guernica. He was now on a wheel chair. Perhaps to re-think the meaning of life he thought. He was a graduated law man, and indeed with a great professional past to uphold. His friend, Zack, was coming over from San Francisco to spend a few week. Zack was afraid Hans would commit suicide, and he wasn't wrong. Hans took the whole day to fix up his crib. Every economically valuable thing was thrown under the desk and inside the garage. The most simple things-he thought- was the ones that hid the true value. The personal value, the value that is engraved after time and dedication on stuff that lie on our surroundings, and that is the most personal thing of all after art. At last! The place was tied up. Hans went to the street to abuse of some warmth love. He was a crippled man, and crippled people are given much more than respect from an unknown - they are given individuality. A craft that is almost extinct nowadays. He drank a few shots of vodka on the rocks. He was drunk. Not even the pleasures of drugs could lift him from his crippled individuality and take him to the world of the mortals; thus, individuality has its cost- boredom. And indeed not every one are drunk. He fell asleep. All the movements on the world were, one by one, precisely sober, and in the end of the road, unconsciously drunk by the flow of life that united it. Zack would have knocked, but that would not have been a Zack way to arrive. He knocked. Infer a few moments the gadget replied, Zack could feel the alcohol on Hans' breath. "Seajack, is that you mate?" "Hans, open up bud" "You have some bud?" "Just rum" "That’ll due, comn up" The door received the shock and like magic it was opened. Zack made his way up the stairs and came across this cracked door with a braw hanging on the doorknob. The went in. he came across Hans laying on the couch watching Bloomberg on the highest volume possible. He had a surround system. A good one. Zack sat down right next to him. "Who’s the girl?" he asked. "Its just props my friend, on this building people judge you by what's your car and how many women you have fucked." Hans explained. "I see" Zack said looking around. "I fixed it up just for you sweet pea." " Hans cut the crap, go wash you face" Hans crawled his way to the bat mobile and got it moving. When he was going trough the kitchen, he saw a knife. He got it and went onto the bathroom. He sat on the throne and picked up the knife. What an amazing object, whose intelligence is enough to find its way trough the living flesh, he cut his wrist on a living memory of the knife. The blood was plenty. He cut the other one on a living memory of his mother - what a sacred woman he though. He saw her in the figure of an angel. A pigeon landed on the cracked window. As his vision faded, Hans thought about regretting his actions, but the presence of the bird enlightened his path towards the dwelling place of mortal men, as distinguished from heaven and hell. He loved his mother.