the Valentine's Day has passed and also that of the single. For many recurrences are just consumerism, while others are anniversaries to remember who and what they are. Young lovers, elderly spouses, romantic lovers, secret lovers, young and hungry wolves hunting prey ready to be savage, desperate souls in search of sweet torture or masters without slaves. In my story
are days like others, without labor and anger, and miles of phone calls to make, skipped lunches and meetings to be organized, dinners cold to warm and hot showers. They are just boxes on the calendar, the same as those that precede and follow them. Maybe just a little 'more sad, because I do not have with whom to celebrate the first anniversary, and even the second.
Read again from that melancholy which is strong during the holidays when you have nothing to celebrate I sign out. As I wander the streets of this foreign city in search of a star which show that at least console me in other ways, maybe there is life and love, I sound a beautiful person.
The sound of an organ that repeats the classic piece of music to country or party that you feel the corners of some affluent towns where a modern Remi tries to scrape together a little 'money to put together the ends meet.
But in this cold, wet town there are parties of the country or musicians and chorus that is played only from phones belonging to people with a spirit giullaresco. This is a country for old men. At 10 they are all asleep on the couch in front of Mega TV, which transmits images increasingly vulgar and gruesome, with the blinds closed because never be able to see that someone in the privacy of their home.
But where does this music?
not that no one has yet called the police. Not later than one week ago, for an engagement party that lasted a little 'more time in which the carousel ended the defenders of the "quiet life" has mobilized all law enforcement in the area. Nor had there been a demonstration by black squatters or blok to break windows and set fire to the symbols of capitalism and globalization.
I try to follow it, like one of those kidnapped mice of the famous fairy tale where the best way to rid a city was the sound of a flute.
I can not control myself. The steps are suddenly faster and faster without that I can do nothing to stop them. I run the dark streets without wanting but wanting to go faster and faster to get there as soon as possible to the source of this music. The night surrounds me with its dark colors in this city because we can not waste energy as lighting up the streets in the evening is not around even the most classic dog. A kind of voluntary curfew.
splash shot against a wall.
A wall of odors and voices. I recognize the smell of cakes and wine, candy floss and pancakes, with a thousand delicacies and sweets while the shouting is too confusing. And then there's the music. It seems that organ is now in place playing a full band. More and more I am convinced that there must be a big party, with stalls, dances, games and rides. A party like the ones in which I was a child with his family to celebrate this or that patron saint.
But where are they?
trying to recover and focus on things around me to orient myself.
are in the main square in front of the gates of the Roman basilica that stands out in the great square. Around the many buildings that frame rose above the arcades, which are teeming with people during the day, but this time not even the most romantic house homeless people, why would not a pretty picture in this city gentry who made the money digging the earth, but now it seems to be forgotten. Their faces are black walls. You do not see even a sign of life through the blinds shut overlooking the square.
I try to understand where it comes from all this noise and while my head is filled with questions: Who will be brave
who organized a party without you? Who knows what they're celebrating? About how much were they? And where will find an organ and a band willing to play in this valley of sadness? Who knows how much money will be spent? Who knows ... but then I see a faint halo of light that rises from a small grate at the foot of the door on the right of what should be the home of all.
while I go and I keep looking around to see when and where men in uniform will come back to the usual peace. I would never want them to think that I got to do something with it.
me A shadow passes by fast, lift the grate and jump down, while my heart beats a hundred times its much to cover for a moment the noise coming from the grate while the rest of the body is locked in a statuesque pose. The shadow will have been fifty centimeters high and was something human. I think I saw even a pointed hat, but I'm not sure. It was all so quick and then start to doubt everything. My head was spinning.
I realize I'm in apnea. No oxygen in my lungs and no oxygen in the blood indicated that no oxygen brain.
I try to breathe.
I try to enter as much of the air using your mouth and nose like a vacuum cleaner. Inflate and deflate the chest like a bellows, when a weak little voices shouting AIUTOOOO, STOP! By
again apnea. The mouth snaps shut and her lips tightening.
The voice now I seem to say: "Thanks."
are disoriented. I can not see from where that little voice and I start to think of being mad and that the voice is everything else is just in my head. And here is a small light that turns on the tip of my nose.
is a little firefly.
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