Cold…
The freezing wind blows through the squeaking windows. The
cold starts to make the glass sweat. The rain drops on the
ground sounding of death…hell…evil…
A yellow face comes running in the rain. The dirty clothes
almost cover all his face. He runs away from the rain hoping
that this cold friend of his won’t destroy the last living
light of hope that still remains in his soul.
He finally arrives home. His drinking father and his mother
are not here yet. He goes to his room. Here you can see his
sad face more clearly. He is a ten-year-old boy with something
that might be a beautiful, blond, long hair and with sad, dark
eyes. You can see on his face that he hasn’t eaten for days.
The wounds on his body show the violent instinct that has been
around his family for long lost generations.
The room is not very large and the sad light of the candle
makes it look even smaller. Here you can see a hole in the
wall that used to be a window once, but now the glass is gone
and the cold wind blows free. The so-called bed is made of two
blankets on the floor.
All his life was on the streets of the City: his mother bought
him to life near a cemetery and since on the cemetery has been
his friend his parent and his teacher. Together with the
continuous run and hide on the streets. There, on the streets,
he understood the pleasure of pain and the darkness that will
become of his soul.
He goes to bed, closes his eyes and tries to sleep. His
painful tummy sometimes makes him remember that there is
something in this world named food, but now he falls quietly
to sleep. He is in darkness. He suffers in darkness, he hates
in darkness. He lives in this darkness, hating everything
that comes in his way, but sometimes he feels a light invading
his soul and showing him the hideous black hole that is his
soul.
The child keeps dreaming and now the room isn’t so cold.
Suddenly, the blood from his tuberculosis flows in red, cruel
rivers. Now the coldness of his body is one with the freezing
rain outside. A cold fear of death surrounds him.
- Nightmares? Now he realizes that somebody takes him by the
hand.
-Look at me! I’m the one who kills, gives birth and makes
people ill. People build me and destroy me, but they can’t
stop me, because now I’m stronger than ever. My eyes seek
beauty and my fingers seek blood.
-Who are you? Says the small boy?
- I’m the City! On my own blood vessels, on all this streets
made by the humans, that you know so well, I have all this
machines and cars. In these times machines dominate man and
they kill him. Yet he thinks he is supreme between creatures
living or nonliving. He’s the sick crippled memory of the one
he used to be and the living wound of what he could have been.
Even though it is so obvious, he does not see that I and only
I can dominate all these creatures.
After work, man goes and places himself into a world of
horror, sex and criminal acts. Then he goes to sleep hoping
that tomorrow will be different. But the next day is just like
the one before and so one goes his life. He lets his time on
Earth pass by him, unless I decide to take that time away from
him. Or, why not, to give him the opportunity of his life.
Oh, you must see in that moment, the men’s wings how strong
they are!
But I, the CITY, am stronger. I won’t let man fly higher than
I am determined to. He tries, he struggles, but it’s no use.
In the end, the wings, which should be his blessing, become
his course. He drags them around and he feels released when I,
the supreme force, take him back in his cage. All this
relationships that himself struggles to build in order to be
successful in his life, are the spider nets that finally
defeat him: business-men take the land of the Earth, make it
their own property; politicians start world wars just because
one insulted the other or because they want to demonstrate
their power; scientists play God and make brand new creatures.
But now the rest of these tiny little creatures got used to
all this and don’t bother to do anything about it. Or is their
mind so washed up by TV, computers and by the messages all
over inside their newspapers, books and even in the music and
paintings that they can’t think for themselves? Who knows?!
Ground is used only for the dead or for blood. They use highly
sophisticated machineries to travel from New York to Australia
in a couple of hours, yet they still can’t accept the truth:
there is no force like fate or God that can save them from
this hell that is there life.
As they fly above the streets, the boy and the CITY, they
stumble upon a much darker place. You can see two men
fighting: the trash-pile is won. It will give one of them
protection from the storm and from the devil’s dance.
Now let’s take a break. Lie beside me. I will take you and
tell you what else they’ve done. Speak the words I want to
hear to make my demons run away. Let’s dream away and let me
kill you for a while.
The kid’s body gets colder and colder. His mind starts to
float higher and higher and finally it disappears. Another
innocent mind to go to waste in a dark and lonely world.
It’s cold and a fear of death surrounds your soul. Do we have
any chance? Who kows?
Nr
Comentarii
Comentatori
1.
Mda..in afara de faptul k e un cenaclu romanesc, e ok. ai cateva greseli de scriere si de exprimare. in rest, merge.
