Miei adoratissimi! Finalmente mi sono deciso a pubblicare il racconto che ho presentato qualche mese fa per il corso Creative Writing.
Le prime righe sono solo una sorta di presentazione, richiesta per giunta dalla professoressa che sosteneva il corso. So che l’intero racconto non è un granché e che è pure abbastanza scontato(sembra scritto da un bambino), ma lo ritengo lo stesso molto importante in quanto mi ha ridato la voglia di scrivere. Spero che lo apprezziate :-)
Funeral Fog by UnchainMyHeart
“This story is dedicated to my grandmother.
This is a dream that has persecuted me for many years after my grandmother’s death. I’ve chosen that dream because I think that it is a piece of a mystery that persecutes all the mankind from age to age: the binomial God-Suffering”
RegressionThe fire lights up my face and my mind starts to go away. The smoke of my cigarette flies up to the air, like a dream catcher that brings my thoughts to escape in an another dimension.
Life, death, everything starts to rotate on my brain in a sort of trance, a mind soup that enlarge a sort of void sensation.
Things of my past life invades all the parts of my body, making me feel bad and sick, but only one of that memories has the force to pass through my ego and destroy it: my grandmother’s funeral. I perfectly remember that event, better than other ones.
In that day the sky was covered by black clouds and the wind was blowing like a Odin’s scream.
The funeral took place in my grandmother’s hometown, a small village on the Alps of Friuli Venezia Giulia. When the priest finished the Mass I started to cry, and I felt that tears began to run down on my face; even though I was only 9 years old, I knew that I wouldn’t have seen her again. I knew that she would have read no more fables to me…she wouldn’t have played with me… Why does God want you in heaven? Why does he make me feel bad like this?
In that moment my mother hugged me, and she started to encourage me; she told me about angels, absence of pain, sainthood, God and paradise. But her words were useless…my faith was severely tested in that day. At the end of the funeral I damned God, ‘cause he stole me an earth’s angel to bring him to his Right.
Shit! The cigarette burned my fingers!
Damn…what a pain.
Damn…My glass of wine is empty!
Snorting I rise up from the armchair directing myself towards the kitchen, when a voice starts to call me on my back. ”Emanuele…Emanuele”…I recognize it. I turn myself back and, suddenly, my grandmother appears in front of me, in a smoking black cloud. Her figure is surrounded by a brilliant white light and she’s dressed with a white shroud.
“It’s not possible, you’re dead!” I scream to her when she starts to come towards me.
“Believe me, everything is possible…”, her voice sounds like the blowing of wind, “I come here for you, my baby. I’m proud about you…and you’re strong enough to know the truth..”.
I can’t believe that, my grandmother is in front of me twelve years after her death. I can’t think brilliantly and the only words that can go out trough my mouth are “The truth? About what?”. She rises up the arms towards me and, after a minute, she says “About my death…Don’t blame God for it. It was the cancer that have stolen me…”. In that moment she starts to dissolve herself and, in about a minute, she vanishes in the air.
Now I know the truth.
Now I can be forgiven by God.
Now I can stop with alcohol.
Thank you Grandmother…now I can start to live again.