In the twilight of her life, my mother, Anka, a refugee from the dark shores of Yugoslavia, found herself embraced by the land of the Southern Cross. Born amid the tempest of war, she grew up with its shadows, yet never allowed them to dim her spirit. Destiny conspired, and she crossed paths with my father, Leo, a man of Italian-Croatian origin, who swept her into his orbit, and together, they ventured to Australia, lured by the promise of a new life.
Their first steps on Australian soil were marked by internment in a camp near Woolongong. The conditions were far from congenial, but my mother bore the hardship with the stoicism of an ancient heroine. She was a consummate housewife, her kindness and generosity weaving a tapestry of warmth that enshrouded all who crossed her path.
Time flowed, as did their fortunes, and they eventually traded their cramped quarters for a modest flat within the heart of the city. My father found labor as a bricklayer, and through his diligence, they eventually earned a residence in the suburbs. They embraced their new identities as Australian citizens, and they rejoiced.
Yet, fate is a fickle master. Last year, my mother succumbed to the relentless assault of cancer, leaving behind a legacy of love and courage that continues to illuminate my every step.
A photograph, a relic of their sojourn in Rome, captures my mother and father in the company of my elder brother, Danial. My father was a devout Roman Catholic from Istria, and my mother, a blend of Croatian and Russian Orthodox. Their faiths intertwined, creating a vibrant tapestry of belief and devotion.
Alas, the tragic enigma of my brother Danial's demise remains unsolved. He was a man who, in his pursuit of material wealth, rent asunder the bonds of kinship. A blinkered soul, he shunned the wanderlust that stirs within us all, content to linger in the confines of his own mind. His response to curiosity was often barbed, as if to say, "You know what thought thought?" and if he sensed a probing mind, he would retort, "Why do you want to know?"
Thus, I tread upon the path of life, guided by the radiant memory of my mother, Anka, and the somber lessons of my brother, Danial.
Here are prompts for next chapter, but both GPT 4 and Bing AI won't even touch even though its a true story, censorship with AI,already started, Musk maybe is onto something.:
Next chapter, my mother isn't coping, she has thoughts of doing damage, damage not only to herself but her two children, Danial and Julian, it's 1967, and in a rented house in Brunswick, no power, Anka starts to burn the furniture, but Danial is playing up. She has a pair of scissors in her hands, and smakes her child to be quite, she doesnt want the housing department snooking around, Leo is drunk, gets back from gambling and drinking session with local Italians and my mother is at whits end, and instead of slapping Danial, the scissors cuts him on the arm.... keep it general, life isn't a fairy tell Bing
