Emergência.

Você nunca sabe a força que tem, até que a sua única alternativa é ser forte - Johnny Depp

Como eu paguei o taxi?
Como eu passei pela porta?

As perguntas vem e vão, você não consegue terminar de formulá-las na sua mente. Impossível tentar responder. Mas nada disso importa. O que importa é a enfermeira gritando enquanto você segue todas as instruções. Suas mãos se movem com a destreza de um profissional. Empurra maca, vira maca, pega o papel que caiu, insere eletrodos. Nome? CPF? Nada disso importa. Cadê o médico? Você ajuda a colocar o tubo de oxigênio. Primeiro tem que fazer a ficha. Mas como largar alguém nesse estado? Não faz sentido, mas você se convence em milésimos de que faz total sentido, como você não pensou nisso antes? Nome. Não sei o CPF. Será que ela já parou de se debater? Está respirando? Não está respirando? Mas nada disso importa, só a ficha importa. Concentração total, toda a sua mente se concentra em informações importantíssimas. Nome. Naturalidade. Abre a carteira dela. Tira todos os papéis. Encontra CPF. Diz todos os dígitos sem errar, com dicção perfeita. É de suma importância que entendam tudo de primeira. Nome da mãe. Isso importa? ELA ESTÁ RESPIRANDO? Encontra nome da mãe. Completa ficha. Precisa de mais alguma coisa? Não precisa de mais nada, volta para o lado dela. Injeção está sendo dada. 'Está vendo isso aqui? Os eletrodos informam a taxa de oxigênio no sangue dela. Fica de olho para mim?' Você fica de olho.

100%.
100%.
99%.
100%.

Você não entende nada da percentagem. Sinais sobem e descem. Nada daquilo faz sentido. Você procura um padrão. Tudo na vida tem um padrão. Se os sinais mudam em uma frequência parecida, isso deve ser positivo. Isso têm que ser positivo. Ela ainda está se debatendo. Você sente o desespero vindo, e é nesse momento que ela olha nos seus olhos. Nada disso que você está sentindo importa. Ela está morrendo, você não. Seria você tão incompetente à ponto de não conseguir transmitir calma para a pessoa? Todo o seu corpo quer tremer. Seu corpo não treme, você sorri.

- Don't worry, you will be ok.

99%.
100%.
A médica faz perguntas, a paciente não sabe português, você traduz. Você, que costuma às vezes embolar o que fala quando está nervoso, não embola nada. Você não se permite embolar nada. Mas você não deveria estar pensando nisso. Só importa traduzir.
A médica te dá uma série de instruções.
Você nunca conseguiu gravar 5 itens das compras de supermercado. Mas nada disso importa.
Você sabe todas as instruções de cor, ela nem precisa repetir.
A médica vai aplicar adrenalina, algo não está indo 100%. Ela diz que vai doer, manda traduzir.
Você traduz.
A paciente te olha nos olhos novamente.
Por favor, pare de me olhar nos olhos, eu não sou tão forte assim.
Se ela te olhar nos olhos com medo por mais um segundo, você vai desabar.

- It's OK, keep looking at me, don't look at the needle, look into my eyes, everything will be fine.

   A injeção começa, você encara aqueles olhos, não desvia o olhar. A paciente grita de dor, você não desvia o olhar. Ela está chorando, desesperada, você não treme, você não demonstra nada além de calma. A reação vai piorando, piorando, a voz da médica parece preocupada. Ela diz algo, você ignora. Você não pode prestar atenção, você tem que manter os olhos nos olhos da paciente.
Uma eternidade se passa. A paciente volta a respirar um pouco melhor.

100%.
98%.
100%.
Você nem viu a médica sair, mas a enfermeira te diz que você já pode sentar.
Sua primeira sensação é irritação. Você não quer sentar, você não quer que ninguém desperdice nenhum segundo pensando em você. Enquanto ela via que você estava de pé, ela podia estar olhando os resultados daqueles eletrodos que você não entende porra nenhuma. Mas não, ela está perdendo tempo vendo que você está de pé. Você se acalma, sabe que a sua raiva não faz sentido algum. Ela só atrapalharia a paciente. Ela está respirando bem melhor, a médica diz que o susto passou. Ela está bem. Estão todos bem.

Você se lembra que seus amigos ainda estão esperando na entrada. Você não sente o cansaço, você ainda não reconhece que está tenso, a única coisa que você sente naquele momento é gratidão, tão forte que sufoca. De fato, ter amigos é a melhor coisa do mundo. Isso sim, importa muito.

Vitória!

Já estava marcado para acontecer, apesar de não ter sido sua a decisão.

A denúncia já estava feita, e o rapaz teria que encarar a consequência.
Se a denúncia era verdadeira ou falsa, de nada isso importava.
Esse dilema, por sinal, lhe tirava o sono em algumas noites.
Era ele culpado? E se ele fosse, o que teria levado a isso?
Incerto sobre a veracidade de seu coração,
o rapaz caminha: o mundo lhe parece abafado, quase mudo.

Se existem palavras de coragem de seus amigos, ele não as ouve.
Naquele momento, todo o seu foco está no confronto.
Lembrar do confronto o deixa ainda mais zonzo,
então ele percebe que estava apenas prendendo a sua respiração.
Hábito comum para ele ultimamente,
preferindo privar a sua mente de oxigênio.

Para que colocar a engrenagem para trabalhar, quando se tem medo do produto final?

Ele chega do lado de fora, e não faz mais sentido se a denúncia foi exata ou não.
O julgamento já havia sido feito antes que ele pudesse apresentar quaisquer defesa
O vencedor também já estava declarado. Estava estampado nos olhos serenos,
quase piedosos de seu oponente. Nenhum dos dois sentiriam muito prazer nisso.

Se fosse em outros tempos, outros momentos ou circunstâncias,
talvez o rapaz pudesse sair vitorioso...
Mas de nada adiantaria pensar nisso.
A sua mente, antes vagando dentre as possibilidades, agora estava concentrada
Só uma coisa importava agora: Lutar! - a exclamação aqui é muito importante.

E começa a batalha.
O seu oponente prepara para desferir o primeiro golpe,
mas essa luta é do rapaz, que dita o tom dessa disputa.
Em uma inspiração brilhante, ou apenas tola, ele chama o oponente para cima
O oponente vem com tudo, querendo apenas acabar logo com aquela situação desagradável
O rapaz desvia do primeiro soco.

Jamais em seus sonhos ele esperava conseguir desviar.
Ele percebe que não está mais tão afetado pelo medo, pela incerteza.
Naquele momento, o rapaz sente o leve gosto da vitória.
Naquele momento, o triunfo não está em vencer a luta.
Jamais. A Glória está em lutar. Ele sorri. Ele está em êxtase.

Ele é forte, ele pode ganhar!

Ele é fraco, ele não pode ganhar. Mas ele crê em sua vitória impossível,
o sucesso de ainda estar de pé, disputando por uma verdade incerta,
mas desesperadamente disputando. Ele desfere seu soco.
Não é o soco que ele gostaria de dar, que ele estava treinando para dar.
É um soco desajeitado, não calculado, sequer foi pensado.
Mas ele acerta em cheio. Ele tocou na alma, porém não deixou hematomas.

Em sua mente, e apenas em sua mente, o oponente cambaleia.

O oponente não cambaleia. O rapaz ri, triunfante, e leva uma direita no queixo.
Ele apaga antes de cair no chão, mas isso não importa.
O soco de seu oponente foi tão forte, tão veloz, que o rapaz ainda se sente um vencedor.
O último gosto daquele embate que ele levará para si é o sabor da vitória de ter tentado.

Cair lutando, deve ser sobre essa sensação que as histórias dizem.
Ele não lembrará desse acontecimento pela parte onde ele caiu.
Pois ele não caiu derrotado.
Ele acertou aquele soco. E para ele, isso era tudo o que importava.
O último gosto que ele sentiu não foi o gosto metálico de seu sangue.

O último gosto que ele sentiu foi o sabor da superação de ter tentado.




E como foi maravilhoso esse sabor.


Post Mortem
Essa história não é sobre violência, quem assim o achar estará sendo tão tolo e cego
quanto o rapaz.
Rapaz este que por um momento acreditou que venceria o duelo do amor impossível.

Mas o que seria do rapaz sem a sua miopia, sem a sua tolice?

Voyeurismo de Janela

Estava observando
o quão bela é minha janela
'agora um poema'. Farei rimas
especialmente para ela.

Minha janela rima com amor.
O casal se agarrando, uau!
Tão jovens, sem nenhum pudor.
Mas não me parece ser consensual.

Minha janela rima com assalto
Olha alí, menina, não vê o pivete?
observo, a salvo, aqui do alto
ele puxando o canivete.

Ela também rima com galera:
Todos ali, unidos, debatendo.
'só não machuca ela!'
disse ele no chão. Eles, batendo.

Rima com terceira idade
Olha os velhinhos, que bonitinhos
Falando algo sobre impunidade
levaram suas carteiras, os rapazinhos

Queria achar uma rima boa
para essa janela
mas se repete na mente a frase:
"Para, larga ela!"

Na verdade, nada rima com essa merda de janela
"Imponência" e "incapacidade" não terminam em 'ela'

Nosso pobre e honesto finado

Não sou muito de escrever em português, mas vamos lá.
Não isso não é um poema. Eu não gosto de poesias.
Entendo elas, mas não fazem o meu tipo.

(Sorry about the post in portuguese, but Im too lazy to make a portuguese blog right now, will do later.)

Era uma vez um brasileiro que decidiu tentar algo diferente.
Ele ia tentar ser honesto de verdade, e bom de verdade.
Ele ia tentar mudar o seu país dando o exemplo.

Ao nascer ele:
brincou em dobro,
se divertiu em dobro,
emprestou dobrado
e teve seu brinquedo roubado.

Leu em dobro,
estudou em dobro,
ajudou os colegas em dobrado,
foi ultrapassado por quem havia colado.

Na adolescência ele
se apaixonou em dobro.
Amou em dobro.
Dedicou-se dobrado...
e foi chifrado.

E então ele cresceu, foi para a faculdade!
Empenhou-se em dobro.
Fez sua parte no grupo em dobro,
fez iniciação, inventou algo novo, se matou dobrado...
e teve todo o seu crédito roubado.

Desistiu da vida acadêmica, foi pro mercado.
Trabalhou em dobro,
levantou a empresa em dobro,
fez o trabalho de seus colegas preguiçosos dobrado...
quem foi promovido foi o filho do chefe safado.

Ao longo de toda a sua vida
nenhuma fila ele furou,
nenhum troco errado ele roubou,
nenhuma paixonite ele chifrou.
Disse isso pro assaltante!
Mas mesmo assim ele atirou.

Na UTI, antes de falecer, o médico o perguntou:
- Valeu a pena ser tão esforçado?
- Ser tão empenhado?
- Chegar ao fim da vida sem nenhum trocado,
para levar um tiro de um ex-detento?

- Se ao menos uma pessoa seguir meu exemplo,
faria de novo de muito bom grado.

Friendship.

I don't know why I'm writing this letter, considering you cannot read,
I'd just like to apologize.

I'm sorry for waking you up selfishly in the middle of the night when I was young and  home alone and too scared to sleep by myself after watching horror flicks. You would be very proud of me if you could see me now, watching such movies home-alone, with nobody to hug me to sleep.
I'm sorry for forgetting to feed you on that one weekend, although you'd never stopped feeding me love.
I apologize for being a coward and pretending it was you who had eaten all the meat, you really had a rough beating that night, huh?
I'm sorry about throwing your favorite ball so hard it fell on the neighbor's house. I just couldn't tell him it was me who broke his window, I hope you can understand that.
Remember that time I let you loose on purpose just so you could run down the street and scare the heck out of those kids? That was real fun, but Im sorry you got spanked for that.
I'm sorry it took me so long to notice you were down, and not eating much, even though you were always the first to know I was sad, and always allowed me to sleep on your belly just so I'd feel better.
I'm sorry I carried you left and right for second, third and fourth opinions, when all you wanted was to lay on your favorite carpet and sleep, I just had to be sure.
I'm sorry for forcing so many horrible pills on you, hiding them inside delicious pieces of meat so as to trick you.
I'm sorry for keeping you awake all night when you needed some rest after an entire day of surgery, I just had to see you open your eyes.
I'm sorry about throwing a tantrum the next day, even though you tried to look brave for me as you entered the vet's car one last time.
I'm sorry for not having the guts to say goodbye.
I just couldn't.

And I still can't.
I'm sorry.

Guilt

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear your question,” said the murdered man’s wife, Sophie, as she wiped her tears away. She patted her simple, black suit and straightened herself, as if preparing for the questions.

“I said, what was Ralph like when he was growing up?” repeated patiently her lawyer, an old man who was as ordinary looking and uninteresting as his personalized suit.

“Ralph has always had attention problems,” Sophie began, without looking at her son, “it began when he was very small. He’d cherish every second of attention I’d give to him as a baby, and he would always cry when I had to leave him for his father. We found it extremely cute at the time.” She smiled.

Ralph, sitting handcuffed next to his lawyer, looked quietly at the unrecognizable Sophie, revealing nothing. His defendant, Christina, a young lawyer on her mid twenties, laid a reassuring hand on his left thigh. She wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t dating his uncle, who had hated Sophie, but Ralph was thankful for her help. He had no money for a decent lawyer.

“When he was 8, his craving for my attention got worse,” Sophie said, smiling as if she had just remembered a particularly funny incident from the past. “There was this time, I argued with John in front of him. That was a big mistake. Ralph wouldn’t speak to his own father for weeks! He wouldn’t even let John pick him up from school, it was a real nuisance.”

Although the incident had happened many years ago, Ralph still remembered it quite clearly.
***
Ralph was playing with his toy cars in his room. The hero car, a transparent model was pursuing the villain, a red sports car, who had just kidnapped the hero’s girlfriend, when he heard something breaking loudly downstairs in the kitchen. He scurried to the stairs, hearing the voices grow louder and louder as he got closer.

“You’re screwing her, aren’t you?!” screamed his mother.

“I will not discuss this nonsense!” His father stormed away from the kitchen. Reaching the stairs, he spotted Ralph standing there, holding his toy cars. He stood there for a while, looking at his son, and then left Ralph’s vision, heading for the door.

Ralph found his mother crying in the kitchen.

“Mommy, are you ok?”

She looked at him, her eyes red, her makeup a mess. Although he was very young, Ralph would never forget her words, or the way she looked deep into his eyes as she said them.

“Your father has cheated on me. Promise me, Ralph. Promise me you will never cheat on your woman. Promise me.”

***

“What was the argument about?”

“Oh, it was nothing special. I don’t even remember what it was. Couples frequently argue over nothing, really,” said Sophie, smiling carefree.

“That bastard cheated on her, and she defends him,” muttered Ralph under his breath, audible only to Christina.

“What about school? Had Ralph ever revealed himself as an aggressive person in school?”

“Huh? I don’t think so. Well, once… he got in a fight during school. Children stuff, one of his classmates called me something bad during an argument they were having, and Ralph attacked him,” Sophie said, waving her right hand dismissively, “I remember the school’s shrink called us that night.”

“What did she say?”

“That he had a… complex of some sort. The doctor told me my son seemed to love me very much, but that it was normal at his age. Of course my son loves he, he’s my son! I didn’t need a shrink to help me figure that out.” Sophie gave a little laugh.

Ralph munched on the soft spot of his left hand between his thumb and his index, which was a habit he had. His eyes never left his mother’s figure, a look of contempt so strong in his eyes. He just felt so betrayed.

“Has Ralph ever had reasons to hate his father?” asked the lawyer.

Another memory from the past forced its way unwillingly to Ralph’s mind.

***

Ralph had just arrived home that night. He had found his mother crying in her room.

“Mother, are you alright?” Ralph asked, sitting down next to her.

“Yes… I’m fine, honey,” she said, trying to fake a laugh. Ralph noticed she was hiding her face.

“Mother, did he hit you?” Ralph asked, his voice croaked. As if answering his question, his mother pulled him close and hugged him, starting to cry again. They stayed like that for a long minute, Ralph feeling the pleasant warmth of his mother’s body, trying to understand what sort of a monster John had to be to do what he did.

“I promise you he will never touch you again,” Ralph whispered to her ears, almost passionately.

***

“Please answer the question, madam,” said the judge, speaking for the first time in a long while, “has Ralph ever had reasons to hate his father?”

“Not that I can remember,” said Sophie. She caught Ralph’s eyes for a split second, looked away and continued, “Ralph was always extremely competitive with his father, but he was never an aggressive kid. They were not the best of friends, admittedly, but John had never really given any reason for Ralph to dislike him. Except for him being my husband.”

“I have one last question, madam. Could you please tell us what happened on the fifth of May?”

***

On the day that Ralph ruined his life, he had gotten a phone call from his mother, asking him to come home. She sounded scared, so he went home as fast as he could.
Ralph pushed the door open to find his mother sitting on the living room carpet, clutching a long, bleeding cut on her right arm, crying hysterically.

“Mother, what happened?!” Ralph shouted, throwing his backpack to the ground and running to her aid. She turned towards him and he noticed she had a slight cut above her eye, where his father had probably hit her.

“You promised me he would never hit me again!” She screamed, out of herself. Her words shocked him, but he instantly realized what he had to do.

“Yes, I did. And he never will, mom. Not again.” Ralph headed towards the living room cupboard, where he had left his baseball bat, and picked it up.

His mother saw him picking up the weapon and said, weakly, “Do it, Ralph.” Ralph’s resolve flickered for a while, realizing what he was about to do. Sophie noticed his weakness.

“Kill him, Ralph, kill him!” She shouted like a mad woman, “Your father was never half the man you are, and he will never be. He’s the only thing standing in the way of our happiness!”

Ralph tightened his grip on the baseball bat and headed towards the stairs.
He found his father in his parents’ bedroom. He was holding his cell-phone in one hand, whispering sadly on it as he looked at his leg, where a knife was stuck. His leg was bleeding profusely. He noticed Ralph coming in, but he didn’t notice the bat.

“Ralph? Ralph, you shouldn’t be here this early,” he began, as if that was of any relevance to what was happening, “you… go to a friend’s house. Y-yes, that’s best right now. Your mother, ah… your mother isn’t feeling very well right now and…” his voice trailed away as he noticed the bat.

“What are you doing, Ralph?” Ralph took one step closer.
“Ralph? Ralph no! You got it all wrong, Ralph! RALPH!”

***

Sophie unconsciously clutched her arm, where the knife cut had happened, before answering.

“Ralph came home that night and… and he found us arguing. He had a dangerous look in his eyes. I tried to tell him that it was nothing, tell him that couples argue all the time, but he wouldn’t listen. He was always so angry when John and I argued, but this time… this time it was different,” said Sophie, taking a deep breath. “Ralph told me he loved me, he told me that everything would be different from now on , that John would never argue with me again, and then he picked up his bat and he… he…” his mother began crying softly, burying her face in her hands.

“Madam, please continue your answer,” the Judge said, not unkindly.

“After… after doing what he did, he came down those stairs, soaked in John’s blood and… he tried to kiss me! “Sophie waved her arms dramatically in the air. “My own son, with his father’s blood on his clothes, tried to kiss me!”

His lawyer noticed his unrest and squeezed his right thigh again, she had warned him that Sophie’s words would be strong, and that he couldn’t react to any of it. Ralph wanted nothing more than to call out her lie right there, right then, but he nodded at Christina. He could still feel his lips warm where they had fleetingly touched his mother’s after it was over. And then she had turned against him.

“No further questions.” Sophie’s lawyer said.

The Judge turned towards Christina, asking her if she had any more questions towards Sophie. Christina had only one, and she didn’t bother standing up for it.

“Madam, do you know who called the police on that night?” Christina asked, without taking her eyes away from the papers in front of her.

“Huh? No…”

“No further questions.”

After Sophie went back to her place, Christina finally stood up. “Your honor, I would like to call in my last witness of this story,” she began.

Ralph got ready to stand up and take his place, when the court doors opened. Looking behind him, he saw a slim female figure walk elegantly inside the room, escorted by a guard, who guided her to the front.

“Jessica, would you please stand forward.” Christina said, smiling slightly at Ralph.
One look at his mother’s eyes was enough for the offense to know this would not go well for them.

“Objection, this woman has nothing to do with this incident!”

“Let me be the judge of that,” said the judge, with a long look at the offense, “objection denied.”

Ralph’s mother couldn’t stop glaring at Jessica as she took her place and swore the oath. Jessica was wearing common office clothes. Christina began her questioning right away.

“Madam, do you know this boy personally?”

“No.” Jessica answered, with a clear voice.

“Do you know his mother personally?”

“No.”

“Did you know the victim?”

“Yes.”

“What was your relationship with the victim?”

“We were good friends.” Ralph noticed Jessica was very confident. His mother wasn’t.

“You are a cow and a liar, that’s what you are!” Sophie screamed.

“And you would do well to stay in silence, please,” reprimanded the judge, instantly.

“Did John ever talk to you about his son?” Christina continued, as if nothing had happened.

“John loved Ralph, as any father would love his son. He talked a lot about him. He was deeply hurt over the fact that his son disliked him, but he knew that wasn’t his son’s fault. His mother was always throwing Ralph against him.” Jessica answered, looking directly at Ralph all the time. Ralph kept shifting his gaze between her and his mother, trying to process this new information.

“For how long had you been friends with John?”

“It’s been 10 years now.”

“How did you meet John?”

“I object. Is this even relevant?” complained Sophie’s lawyer.

“Objection denied,” replied the judge, lazily.

“We were assigned to work on the same project.” Jessica proceeded, once silence had been re-established.

“And how did his wife react to that?”

“She caught him e-mailing me about work once and they had a big argument about it. I remember his son stopped speaking to him for weeks after that. John was very hurt about it at the time.”

Ralph’s jaw dropped slightly. He stole a quick, questioning glance at his mother, but she seemed busy focusing at something on the table in front of her.

“Has John, to your knowing, ever hit his wife?” Christina’s questions seemed to have no end.

“That would be very unlikely. John loved his wife very much, you see. In his free time with me at the office, all he would do was talk about his wife and his son.”
Her eyes seemed to lock on Ralph’s, and they stayed that way for a long time. Jessica, feeling the pain in Ralph’s unbelieving eyes, unsure if she hated him or pitied him and Ralph, in exchange, seemed to question her intently with his gaze. This woman couldn’t possibly be telling the truth. She didn’t know his father as he did. Did I really know my father?

“After a while, you told me John stopped talking to you, could you tell us why?”

“His wife was always extremely jealous of John. After another fight between them, she attacked John, and threatened to attack me and any other woman he talked to.”

“And I will, you filthy bitch,” Sophie spat feverously, “this woman tried to steal my husband!”

“Silence!” the judge shouted, slamming his hammer twice on his desk. And then he turned towards Christina, “please continue.”

“I have one last question, Jessica. What happened on the fifth of May?” Christina asked, showing nervousness for the first time.

“Three days before the tragic accident,” Jessica began, still looking at Ralph. There was no hate in her eyes now, only pity, “my car was keyed. I was very flustered about it, and told John, but he told me not to call the cops.” She paused to gather her breath before continuing, “His wife had visited him at work on that day.” She looked pointedly at Ralph’s mother, who looked away.

“John called me on the fifth of May to tell me his wife had confessed to having keyed my car. He also said she attacked him for defending me, nailing his arms, and he had said he wanted a divorce out of rage. He was desperately asking me how he could tell her he was sorry, when I heard her come back to the room, he turned off his phone.”

“But that’s not the last time you heard from John, was it?”

“No. He called me back again about thirty minutes later. He told me his wife had gone crazy, that she had threatened to kill them both, tried to stab him, and had cut herself with a knife. He did not tell me she had stabbed his leg with the knife, I believe he was defending her even then.”

“No! He attacked my mom…” Ralph began, almost pleadingly, but he didn’t sound very convinced of it. The judge paid him no notice, and Jessica proceeded.

“I heard the door crashing open, and John stopped talking to me. I heard him saying Ralph’s name, puzzled at first, and then almost begging. I heard John as he… as he screamed, many times.” A solitary tear made its way free from her eyes, and slowly slithered down her right cheek.

Ralph noticed he was crying too.

The Wind Flute

Oh well, since I haven't posted anything here in ages, and I'm stuck on drafting my novel, I decided to get started on my "Tales" stories. It's basically a few short stories that help me shape the world of one of my fantasy stories. The wind flute is the only one I have fully drafted so I'll post the beginning of the edited version here.

He stumbled over a fallen branch and fell into the muddy floor, hands first so as to protect his face and mouth from the filth of the forest grounds. He pulled himself up as quickly as he could: this was not the first time he had fallen, and his left leg was going limp. Stealing a brief look behind him, he saw thin branches and tall grass being pushed aside to make passage, and quickened his pace again: they wouldn’t give up so easily.

Oh! If only I learned to silence my heart! - He panted, forcing himself to keep on running, lest they caught up and silenced it for him.

After a few more minutes of desperate running, the young man came to a small clearing. He looked behind him, terrified, straining his ears to hear the faintest sounds of clumsy men cracking dead leaves, but no such sound came to him. In its place, a calming song played far away, the sound of a million leaves dancing in chaotic unison to the wind. Soon the thinnest trees joined in, followed hastily by the thicker ones. It didn’t take very long for the whole forest to come alive with the wind. The man smelled rain and, looking at the skies, confirmed what his nose was quicker to notice - a sudden storm was about to fall on the forest. The wind, which was quickly gaining strength, was now strong enough to make it nigh impossible to make any movement against it, and to push himself in the direction it was blowing was but all he could do to keep moving. Soon, the rain came pouring down hard, heavily forcing the lad’s tired shoulders down.

I need a cave of some sort, the man thought, now away from the clearing and back to working his way thru the thick of the forest when, pushing himself thru a man-sized bush, he found just what he sought: a small cave, as if by magic, had appeared at the other side of the bush. He simply couldn’t believe his luck. He hastily made his way into the cave.

The cave was dark, but he expected as much. The problem with dark caves was…he had no means of knowing how big it was. And if he entered a cave inside a forest,he liked to know how big it was: the bigger the cave, the bigger the creature that might be using it. But at the moment he was too exhausted to think about that. The flight from the village had cost him every ounce of his strength so, taking away all but his undergarments – which he stretched on the ground so they’d dry up a bit during the night – he made himself comfortable on the hard ground and slept.

Test

Pirilimpim Chapter Zero

Haha. The long awaited Pirilimpim novel is finally here. I will probably only post up to chapter three here, one chapter a week, month, year or lifetime. Want to read more? Buy the book if it's ever published. Or force me to show it to you, I bruise like a peach.

Oh yeah, I'd also like to comment that my blog has finally had it's 100th view. I'd also like to state that about 60 of those were me. Or more. Since I changed comps, I forgot to set the counter to ignore my new comp. Or maybe I didn't forget and just wanted to get more views on my blog. I can even admit this freely, considering nobody visits the blog, nobody will never know. Did I make you feel sorry for me? Mission accomplished. Now favorite my blog and check it daily!

***

Chapter 0
Agatha Sharp.

“This is Agatha Sharp, live from Houndsville, where…” I began, patting down my hair to make it look great. Not that any of that showed on camera:

“AAAARRGGHHHH!!!” That was the camera-man running away.

I wouldn’t blame him: seeing a creature the size of a three-story house gobbling down a full pet-shop is something quite… unique. Still, very unprofessional if you ask me. I’ll try asking my father for a camera-man with a bit more guts the next time.

Ok, you’re probably wondering what I’m talking about. Well we, the Ponga-pongas, were being constantly attacked by an evil creature, which we called Evil Creature. Catchy name, huh? I chipped in that idea myself, knew it’d be an instant success. And so it was! Although honestly, whatever name we called it, this monster would be a huge success.

The Evil Creature gobbled up a few cages full of doggies, boo-hoo, then turned in my direction. I was on the other side of the street, watching it all. Our eyes locked. Me, looking at the creature that would make me win the Pulitzer. It, well, looking at its dessert. I loosened my arms, ready for the assault. A sudden blur of movement: It came running towards me. Well, the appropriate term would be slithering towards me, as it had no feet. In fact, the Evil Creature resembled a mix between a huge snake and a gigantic human. When it was halfway across the street, I pulled out my secret weapon from my pocket: My mini camera. I took a shot right when it opened its huge mouth, towering over me, hiding the sun. But my camera had the flash function! Down it came, and FLASH, I took an awesome picture! Then… darkness surrounded me.

***

Introduction

You’re probably feeling very confused right now, and wondering what the hell Ponga-pongas are, I know I would be. I’ll bring you up to par with the situation.
On a far, far away place… to be exact, on an alternate reality altogether, there was a teeny, tiny little planet called Earthy. Earthy was such a small planet, that even Pluto – May its planetary status rest in peace – would call it a dwarf-planet.

Now, this minuscule planet was inhabited by creatures who called themselves Ponga-pongans. Now, Ponga-pongas are creatures very much like us, humans – assuming that you, reader, ARE a human too – they have two arms, two legs, two eyes, they eat the same way, their digestive process works very much like our own. They are different in some ways though. Ponga-pongas, for example, have only four fingers on each hand, four little toes on each foot, and therefore use the hexadecimal system – eight fingers, eight toes, its very common to see a Ponga-pongan sitting down to count comfortably.

It was not only the planet itself that was small. Ponga-pongas were very small creatures, some being as short as a foot tall, but usually not surpassing five inches. Another small feature related to them is their sense of morality. As you might have noticed, Agatha Sharp was not a soul worth saving. Selling, maybe. They also had another big problem, their mouths. If one would ask their neighbor for a pitch of sugar, the other would generously give it, then turn around and tell the whole street that one is in financial trouble. You’re probably thinking “Why, I know a handful of people exactly like that!” Well yes, I’m sorry to say, some humans are like that, but try imagining a whole small planet filled with that sort of people. You see, one of the Earthy’s rulers’ main problems was themselves. Another big problem on that small planet was the Evil Creature. The evil creature, named Evil Creature, as all devilish creatures do, eats people for a living, because they’re evil creatures. This terrible fiend was gigantic for Ponga-pongas: it was five foot tall, and its favorite snack, as one might have guessed by now was, naturally, the poor tiny creatures.

You’re probably wondering why that would be such a bad thing, but as you will soon learn, there are a few Ponga-pongans worth saving. Meet Pirilimpim.

(If you are desperately awaiting part one, please come back tomorrow! It won't be here, but then you'll just have to come here again the next day! And the next!
I really shouldn't have placed that darned counter at the bottom of the page...)

Bedtime

“Aahh… feels so good to finally lie down in bed!”

“You talk to yourself often?”

“Wha…? Who’s there?”

“I talk to myself too you know. It’s a good thing to do, helps me cope with the loneliness of it all.”

“Carlos? Is that you?”

“No, I’m not your boyfriend.”

“Then who are you?!”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I said it.”

“Try me.”

“I’ve heard that one before…”

“No, really!”

“…”

“Oh my God! Are you a spirit?”

“Perhaps. What is a spirit to you?”

“I don’t know! A-a soul, I guess?”

“Do you have a soul?”

“What? Of course I do! I mean, I guess I do…”

“Then, are you a spirit?”

“Ok. I get your point.”

“You seem much calmer now.”

“Yeah, it’s strange, but I think I trust you.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Wait… Are you like, God or something?”

“‘God or something’? Wow, you’re very respectful.”

“Oh! I’m sorry, um… my Lord?”

“I didn’t say I was God.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t worry, it happens quite a bit.”

“” So, if you’re not God, then what are you?”

“If I tell you, will you promise me not to be afraid?”

“OH MY GOD! You’re… you’re the devil?!”

“I liked the god theory better…”

“Oh, sorry.”

“Will you promise?”

“Umm… yes, I promise.”

“I’m here to take your soul.”

“Oh no! You’re the Reaper?”

“Well, I’d rather not be called by that name, too dark. It reminds me of my rocker years.”

“Wow, so you really are the Reaper…”

“I bet you wish I was Carlos.”

“Well, yeah…”

“…”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“Wow… there are so many things I wanted to do…”

“I’m sorry. I really detest my job.”

“Say, Mr. Reaper…”

“Yes, Isadora?”

“Will it…”

“Please, don’t cry.”

“It’s pretty damn hard not to!”

“I understand.”

“Well, will it?”

“Will it what, child?”

“Hurt?”

“Will what hurt?”

“Dying…”

“It didn’t, did it?”

“What?”

“You’re already dead.”

“Oh…”

“I’m sorry.”

John's Affair II

John's Affair, Part Two

“Hey, Bella! Mind cleaning up the living room? I shouted.
“Coming, sir!” was the reply. I made myself comfortable on the couch while I waited. And then I changed positions again.
In came Bella, and my heart seemed to stop. Sweet Bella, with her cute golden hair tied up at the back of her head. That had been the wife’s idea. The hot maid uniform had also been her idea. Not that the uniform was indecent, mind you, but it fit Bella so well I could see the curves on her body.
“You seem to be in a good mood today, Bella!” I said as she cheerfully picked up the plates.
“I just love Saturdays, sir.” She beamed at me.
“And why is that?”
She looked at the floor guiltily. “On Saturdays I get to leave early, sir.”
“Wow, is it really that bad to stay around me?” I said, pretending to look hurt.
“No, that’s not it!” she said quickly.
Taking a deep breath to gather myself, I said sweetly: “You know Bella, I really like Saturdays,”
“Why is that, sir?” she asked politely.
“Well, because even if just for a couple of hours, I get to be alone with you.”
The maid, eyes wide, opened her mouth, but seemed unable to speak.
“I really fancy you, Bella.” I said unnecessarily. And then she broke out of her trance.
“No,” she said, taking a step back, “no.”
Turning quickly around, dropping the plates with a loud crash, she ran away from the room. She might have been crying.
Fuck, John! What did you do now? I cursed under my breath. What the hell were you thinking?
“Is everything OK, sir? I heard a crash.”
I spun around and saw the gardener standing at the door, clothes and face filthy with mud and grass.
“You stay out of this!” I shouted, pointing my finger at him shakily, and then I ran after the maid.

John's Affair

John's Affair, Part One:

Today was the day I would finally cheat on my wife. I had come to this decision over the past few days. Truth be told, I lived a very boring life.
Not that I had an unhappy marriage. I loved the wife, I really did. If not for her, I wouldn’t know what to do with my life.
I loved my big house too. It was roomy; it was beautiful; it was everything I ever wanted, and then some more. The wife was a pretty good decorator too, so that helped.
I loved my job too. With it I had acquired everything I wanted. Heck, as a child I would never have expected to marry my childhood sweetheart, get a great job and buy a house so big it needed 3 servants to care for.
But that wasn’t enough for me. My seemingly perfect life bored me to no end. I had no hobbies I liked. Sure, I collected wooden models. They were big, beautiful and expensive. But I didn’t care much for the darned models anymore - they looked grand when showing them to a visitor, and that was that.
I looked over at the wife. She was sprawled on the bed next to me, still asleep. She was still wearing lipstick, her mouth still slightly smudged from when I had kissed her goodnight. I had never cheated my wife before, never told her a single lie.
But that was all about to change.
***
The wife and I were watching cable TV, eating our breakfast. It was Saturday, so I would be home all day. She wasn’t, though.
“I wish I could stay longer, dear.” She said. I, in turn, wished she was gone already. I had things to do.
“Then skip your Yoga class and stay here with me.”
“Now, you know I can’t do that!” she answered, pretending to look shocked. To be honest, I liked that she did her Yoga classes. I’d rather not explain why though. It was a husband and wife thing.
Finishing up the rest of her coffee, she left the house. I was glad she hadn’t kissed me good-bye. It would have made things harder.

New Year Resolution

Yeah yeah, happy new year, etc.

I guess my new year's resolution is...
(the part that has to do with this blog at least)
learn html (in process), write 2 full novels.

My sponsor (aka dad) just got me a laptop so lets see if this helps me write.

About my absence

Well
Sorry for not posting much lately, again
End of period is always a rush for me, not much time left for story-telling.
Hmm... I'm not feeling that guilty though, it's not like you're refreshing this page every ten minutes. If you ARE doing that, thanks! But thats really unecessary, please stop, I'd probably be creeped out if I found out you were doing that. But I doubt you are, you only check this blog when I tell you to. That's right, Im trying to con you into feeling guilty.
For every single day you dont post on my blog, I'll skip feeding my sister's dog.

Thats right, its a poodle, its cute and it's starving because of you.
The poodle looks a little thinner already. Or maybe that's just my imagination.

Well, as soon as I get a break from all these exams, I have a short story to write here, not sure if it'll be in two parts or not, but let me forward it to you: if you like happy endings, you'll hate it.
Actually, you'll pretty much hate everything I write, I hate happy endings. Unless it's my own ending. Not that I'll ever end.
I mean yeah, I will end, but not before you.

Castlings, sketch

Not a short story.
Just a sketch about something I will write someday, decided to make this for some friends to read. Working title: The Castlings. Not currently being written though, perhaps someday.

Sir Dethfyre was dead.

Erodian’s mind was numbed by shock. His friend, the champion of his people, the only hope for the Castlings’ survival, was gone. Many questions floated around his mind like angry ghosts. Why, How. But he brushed them away. None of that mattered right now. Their leader was dead; there was no coming back from that. He wondered who would bring Gwenlynne the news.

Rain pounded on young Zack Dragonwake’s shoulders as he sat on the forest floor, backs rested upon a tree, his tears mixing with the water. He was sobbing inconsolably, his whole body shaking with the effort, but his grasp on the sword’s hilt was strong. He couldn’t let go of the sword.

It was hours till the rain finally calmed down, and with it, Zack. A calm, cold feeling dangerously crept up from deep inside him, quickly consuming his entire being. Such an empowering feeling. His eyes, still moist, now had a dangerous gleam to them. His grip on the sword’s handle tightened even more as he brought himself up. He was completely soaked, but he didn’t care. He started making his way back. Not to the Castlings, no. Now was not the time to waste himself in the pubs drinking with his friends in the memory of Sir Dethfyre. He could mourn later.

Turning east from the village’s entrance, he headed towards the mountains. He wanted revenge.

And for that, he needed Holdway the Knight.

Where am I??

Well, for those wondering why I stopped posting so suddenly
No, I did not give up on this blog. I've just been reading more than I've been writing lately.

Books I currently Recommend:
Artemis Fowl and the Time Paradox
Faerie Wars

These are the last 2 books I read
Also read the 5th installment of the Ramses series by Christian Jacq
As all the other books in this series, it was great and I loved it.

Faerie Wars was a book I had never heard about, untill it was randomly bought for me.
I deeply recommend me, I started reading it and didn't want to stop. I read it even standing on the bus, but maybe that's all because I like fantasy genre and I haven't found a decent one to read in a good while (all the good series ended)

Well thats about it... I'll soon make a new post that'll be a sort of game for whoever reads this blog, stay tuned.
Or not, I dont care.

Actually I do care... leave me a comment or I'll cry.
Don't doubt it.

Childhood Love

(Well, this little story was just me on the bus trying to write up things that aren't really my style, such as romance. The only romance story I like is my own romance story. Well, and this story. And a few others. Oh well, screw this introduction.)

… And after so long, there he was again, in front of her. His calm, deep blue eyes still looked the same after so many years, and still had the same soothing effect on her soul as always. He wore a sad smile on his face, another old trait. She, in turn, was trying not to cry. From his look, she knew he could read her feelings, the same way she could read his. God, please, kiss him! She urged herself, but the ring on his left hand settled the matter for them. For the first time, it was she who was chasing him. After so many chances, where she had regrettably said no, she now longed desperately to say yes. But she knew she deserved this outcome, foolish girl that she was. So this was how it would end. The biggest love she had ever had and not a single kiss to remember it, though it would never be forgotten.
“Good bye,” he said. The way he seemed to still suffer so much with such simple words destroyed her from the inside.
“Goodbye.” She replied. No other words necessary, no declarations needed: they both knew it by now. And then he left, never looking back.

Self-service

She could have sworn he had looked her way.

He was cute, she would give him that. Not amazingly cute though. He was not very well dressed, but there was something about the way he carried himself and had discreetly looked at her that interested her deeply.

Clair was waiting in line in one of these self-service pay-by-weigh restaurants that are so popular amongst university students such as herself and, as she believed, the guy.

“Are you gonna just stand there all day?” Someone behind her complained. She had been lagging the queue during her daydream. Red faced, she moved forward, stealing a look his way. There was a hint of a smile on the corner of his eyes and mouth. Ok, he was definitely paying close attention to her.

It finally came her turn. She was famished, but she couldn’t let that cutie see her with a mountain of a plate. Salad: that should do the trick. She decided she wanted to show him she was a healthy eater. Lots of lettuce, a tomato or two… She scanned the selection for anything else she might like. Failing that, she picked a purple something.

Ok, now to see if all this hard work paid off, she thought to herself. Throwing her head slightly to one side so as to arrange her hair, she peered behind her shoulders. The guy was gone.

Nooo! How could I let this happen? She thought desperately, as she stole looks all around, looking for him. She turned completely around in a brusque movement… and turned right back. He was right behind her, looking at her with a hint of curiosity. She flushed furiously, moving on and away from the salad selection and picking the rest of the food to her liking (but still on small quantities of course, not all was lost). She weighed her food, asked for a diet soda and turned around, scanning the restaurant for an available table. She found one and only one: a corner table with only two seats, right next to another corner table with a lonely girl. Luck was finally turning her way (due to the table, not the girl). Conscious of the fact that he had just begun scanning the place for a seat himself, she couldn’t help but smile as she made her way to the table. She could feel him following her now. She sat down in what she hopped was a classy manner, and noticed that the lone girl on the other table was staring daggers at her. She shrugged the problem aside; after all, she had better things to worry about. Relaxing on the seat and arranging her plate, she glanced sideways: he was coming her way!

Clair was careful not to start eating: she wanted a crumbs-free smile available for when he inevitably sat down, which would be soon. He was only ten steps away, five, and then two. He turned. Something was wrong. Clair watched helplessly as ‘her’ guy moved towards the lone girl. As he placed his plate on the table, the girl, looking pointedly at Clair, pulled her boyfriend to a quick kiss. Suddenly Clair decided she didn’t quite like that restaurant anymore.

Introduction.

Ok... Im not gonna post all cute and nice all the time. Screw grammar, youll see enough of grammar when I post a short story or anything of the sort. I suck at html and everything to do with it, so this blog is gonna start ugly and hopefully stay that way...

Im pretending to be tough and all that, but if you flame me on a comment, Ill cry. Thats a warning.

Well, this blog is mostly for posting short stories and the such, but you might open this and find me ranting about life. That will all be fake :P All posts will be made by the fictional character "Zack Dragoon". Thats just so people dont find out too much about me. If they do, they might want to kill me in real life. Or worse.

Not that there's anything worse then dieing I guess... well there's... um... torture? I guess Id rather die than be tortured. But that'd depend on the kind of torture. I mean the term "torture" is banalized nowadays. I wouldnt mind being tortured if the torture in question was watch 100 girls in bikini and not be allowed to touch them. But if the torture in question was something real nasty like physically hurting me again and again or stealing my pokemon cards, then yeah. Id rather die.

Wait, where was I?
Just kidding, I remember where I was. That was just a cliche (no Im not going to write it correctly) way to return to topic, its always used by bad comedians. Kinda like short 1-3 word sentences are also used by them. A lot. All the time.

Oh well... a friend distracted me on msn, so 2 hours later trying to come back to this and well...I lost my train of thought, Ill just end this here.
And remember, if youre mean, Ill cry. I swear. Really. Bad comedian cliche.