sábado, setembro 10, 2005

Fiction... or not?




Ás vezes (muitas vezes), é mais fácil exprimir determinados sentimentos num outro idioma, mais distante da realidade crua e nua que a própria proporciona. Ás vezes... a línguagem de todos os dias alimenta as memórias de tal forma que a fuga se faz imperiosa.

Ás vezes... é com o linguajar dos outros que é preciso sentir e falar os sentidos...


THE END

She sat there. Just sat there, hiding amongst the shadows of the dark corner where she had slowly crawled into. Feeling the cold of the tiles on her back, the cold floor beneath her knees. She just sat there.

“- Useless - you are useless. You gained too much weight, you don’t work, you fake your illnesses - useless woman, bad mother, bad house wife, liar, useless, slut, whore, fat, ugly.”

She felt her heart stop. Like that - one beat, two beats… stop. She knew it had stopped, she couldn’t understand how she could still be breathing, seeing, crying - her heart had stopped, why wasn’t she dead? She should be dead. She had to, no one could live with a dead heart.

And yet she was there. Kneeling, curled up in a ball, her arms over her head, eyes closed, not seeing, she could not see anymore… her mouth opened in a vain attempt to let out a primeval scream, yet no sound could be heard… dead hearts scream in silence.

“- you disgust me, I can’t touch you without feeling like puking, you smell like shit, look at you, you drag that fat belly all over and do nothing, you have no place to die, you have nothing, you are nothing, I could step on you like a dirty rat and feel nothing”

SNAP!

He was no longer there. He was no longer a part of her world. He had ceased to exist in a fraction of a moment. No one. She was alone. Silence.
She stood up… her eyes were now totally dry. He heart came back to life… thump-thump-thump-THUMP-THUMP-THUMP!


Her chin lifted up, she aimed her eyes at the front wall, blank wall, nothing between her eyes and the wall. Her feet moved. In an unconscious movement, she stepped slightly sideways to avoid bumping into something… something that wasn’t there anymore.

She left. A vague notion of loss still clingued, but behind her there was only silence… absence of life and sound. Her world had a void place now.

She decided to live. His insults, His violence, His indifference had been her punishment for something she could never understand… Her life would be His punishment for ever.


He was no longer. She was beginning.

5 Comments:

At 10:30 da manhã, Blogger São Rosas said...

Tu escreves muito bem em francês... isto é francês, Noé?
^0^

 
At 7:26 da tarde, Blogger Maria vai c'as ostras said...

É... ás vezes só uma língua não chega, Dona São, né?

 
At 12:59 da manhã, Anonymous Luis Moura Serra said...

Acho muito mais fácil expressar determinados sentimentos noutras línguas, parece que custa menos!

 
At 11:23 da manhã, Anonymous Shortbow said...

yup! é menos pessoal, pelo menos eu ganho uma certa distancia emocional do que estou a escrever...

 
At 11:26 da manhã, Anonymous Shortbow said...

by the way... adorei o texto! e a personagem hipotética teve uma grande coragem.. pelo que sei, uma coragem que infelizmente poucas conseguem ter... ou podem ter...

 

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