Tag Archive italian

Vendetta!

Vendetta

— Read in English —

— Leggi il pezzo precedente —

Quella lettera

Gli occhi vitrei, come quelli senza luce di una grossa bambola. Il ragazzo, come lo chiamano tutti da sempre, guarda verso la porta, immobile. Non è un’entrata o un’uscita che cerca, dietro quel rettangolo di legno, ma un po’ di riposo. A terra qui vicino sta la lettera, ancora aperta

Non poterti difendere è stata la mia malattia. Non vederti diventare quello che saresti potuto essere. Nulla mi ha mai fatto più felice del vederti nascere

Dal negativo…

Tre frasi che iniziano tutte in negativo, come chi volesse fin dal principio preparare al peggio, mettere i piedi avanti. Quel vostro cugino più giovane che ha appena preso la patente e vi invita a fare un giro in macchina con lui. Voi e la ricerca forsennata di quel freno che non c’è , dalla parte del passeggero. Questo sembra abbia voluto fare la nonna del ragazzo. Che però aveva continuato

Vorrei aver avuto la forza di alzare la testa, il coraggio di difenderti quella notte

… al condizionale

Da frasi negative a condizionali al passato, non ci resta dunque che la verità. Il dubbio, ombra cancerogena e ragno dei pensieri, non fa che perseguitare gli occhi del ragazzo. Tutto quell’amore era dovuto ad un senso di colpa senza più spazio per affogare, oppure era un tenero affetto della nonna per il nipote? Come ha potuto nascondere una verità del genere per tutto questo tempo, fino a farla diventare un cancro? Fino a far andare quell’anima così nobile in putrefazione. Se solo avesse avuto il coraggio non di salvargli l’anima, ma almeno di rivelargli

Le cose come stavano, lo so. Non è stato facile nasconderti queste parole per tutto questo tempo. So che se avessi fatto questo passo prima forse non sarei malata. Forse non staresti nemmeno leggendo questa lettera su cui cadono come macigni le mie lacrime

Un dettaglio

Eppure bisogna andare con ordine, fermarsi un istante. Certo, la nonna ha avuto una parte in questa storia, ma il ragazzo sa che la sua attenzione deve concentrarsi su qualche altro dettaglio. Sul vero responsabile. La notte dell’incidente, ad esempio

Vendetta!
Vendetta!


Erano le tre o quattro del mattino, un giovanotto bussò alla porta accompagnato dal dottore. Ti ricordi, il dottor B.? Era la vigilia di Natale e tuo padre non faceva che piangere in camera sua. Tutta la disperazione di un marito senza moglie, di una metà senza meta, ingrigito e rinchiuso tra le stanze della sua memoria. Poi c’eri tu, l’allegria in persona, la fiammella che accendeva di calore tutta la casa. La mia lumachina. Stavi coricato sul letto a disegnare, ricordo ancora che all’epoca ti piaceva dipingere di elefanti. Non sapevo cosa fare, quegli uomini si misero a camminare sulle scale, lasciando tuo padre seduto sul suo letto a cercare qualche musica vana nel vuoto. Gli occhi persi, chissà dove

Oh, tremenda vendetta!

E poi la lettera andava avanti con la descrizione di come avessero dovuto immobilizzarlo, stordirlo e indurlo alla morte per potergli estrarre l’anima. Un’anima bianca, che illuminò la stanza e fece ridere perfino il papà al piano di sotto. Il medico, all’ultimo, sembrò avere qualche remora e venne spinto fuori dalla porta. Qualche particolare prima, però, qualcosa c’era di sicuro

Quel venditore


Ecco, non so dirti quale fosse il viso di quell’uomo, perché tutto avvenne davvero in fretta, lumachina mia. Però ricordo che vollero parlarti qualche minuto, prima. Forse per distrarti, forse per capire se davvero l’anima era quella che si aspettavano di avere. Forse, il dottore aveva già iniziato a sentirsi in colpa e cercava un modo per fermare la ruota

Un disegno dell’anima

Ma certo! Per quanto non possa ricordare quei momenti, c’è sicuramente qualcuno che deve aver immortalato tutto. La sua anima aveva in mano una matita e un foglio di carta. Sicuramente deve aver ritratto quei due, con le sue stesse mani. Certo, bisogna cercare tra migliaia di blocchi di appunti e schizzi, ma di sicuro quello sarà il più semplice. È stato l’ultimo. Troverà il volto di quel venditore e con lui la sua anima.

Più vicino di quanto non creda

Forse non ha ancora compreso che il nome che chiama la sua vendetta è inciso nelle scarpe strette che porta, giusto sotto il tallone, nel piede sinistro.

Leggi il primo capitolo!

La storia avrà pubblicazione a cadenza settimanale. Tutti i diritti sulla storia sono riservati da Flyingstories.org e nella persona di Daniele Frau.

Tutte le grafiche sono eseguite a mano e in stili misti dall’artista Gabriele Manca, DMQ productions, che detiene i diritti sulle opere.

Vendetta!

Vendetta!

— Read in Italian —

— Read the previous one —

Searching for the salesman

Glassy eyes, like the ones emotionless of a big doll. The guy, as everyone always calls him, is looking motionless at the door. No, it’s not an entrance or an exit what he’s searching for, but a bit of rest. Here, on the ground abandoned, lays the letter, still open

Not being able to help you when you needed, that’s my disease, not being able to see what you really could be, but nothing ever let me be happier than seeing you coming to this world

From negative…

All negative sentences, as someone whose intent is to prepare for the worst, put the hands ahead. Like the day your younger cousin asks you to come with him for the first ride alone in the car and you just try to press on an invisible brake. This seems to be the purpose of that incipit, that continued

I wish I could have the force to rise my head and fight for you that night

…to conditional

From negative phrases to a conditional one, you can see you’re close to the truth. A doubt, anyways, a carcinogenic shadow spider of the thoughts, cannot stop oppressing the eyes of the guy. It was only a feeling of guilt without hope or a real immense love the one his grandma always showed to him? How could she hide a fact so important for so long, letting it mutate in a cancer and letting the soul itself suffer? If she would just have the bravery to say something like

I know how things were and it wasn’t easy to hide it from you for so long. What I know is that if I’d told you this before, probably now I wouldn’t be sick, and you weren’t reading these lines suspended by those stones that are my tears.

A small detail

Yet, it’s not the grandma what matters right now. She helped doing so, but someone else is the one who actually did it. If he wants to find out whom, he needs to focus on another detail. The night of the accident for example

Vendetta!
Vendetta!

There was three or four in the morning, when a young man knocked the door followed by a doctor. Do you remember, you used to like doctor B. It was Christmas Eve and your dad was crying all day in his room. In that room you could see all the misery of a widow, a half man without purpose, getting grey among the rooms of his memory. And then there were you, the happiness embodied, the fire able to get warm the entire house. You were drawing as always in your room, laying in your bed. At the time you were into elephants, I remember. I didn’t know what to do, those man passed through the stairs leaving your dad in his room, searching for some useless music he couldn’t find in the air.

A white soul

Then the letter continues with all the details, how they had to restrain him, knock him out and drive him to death, in order to extract his soul. A white soul, so bright that it makes everyone laugh, even his father downstairs in his room. The doctor, at the last moment, seemed to feel it was wrong, and they pushed him out. Everything seems to be so smooth, but something else should be important, right there

Who was that salesman?

I don’t know how to describe the face of that man, the salesman. everything was so rapid, my small snail. I remember the wanted to speak to you, before. I don’t know if it was just to distract you, or maybe to understand if that soul was the real one. Maybe the doctor wanted to stop everything and he was trying to find a way to do so.

The soul sketched it!

Sure! Why he couldn’t think about that before! Even if he cannot remeber anything, he had the pencil and the sheet in from of him. His soul draw that moment, that’s for sure. The doctor and the other man, they have to be somewhere, the last draw of his helpless soul is the most important.

The stolen soul

This is the case of the stolen soul, it must be. And the guy doesn’t know yet that the person he wants to search has his name craved in his left foot, right now.

Read the first chapter!

This story will be published once per week only, with all rights reserved for the story and its translations by Flyingstories.org and in the person of Daniele Frau.

All the graphics are handmade and designed with different techniques by Gabriele Manca, DMQ productions, who reserves all rights. 

All English articles published in Souls (alive) proofread by Elisabeth Corcoran

quel ragazzo_la mano della nonna

Quel ragazzo

— Read in English–

— Leggi il paragrafo precedente —

Una giornata di sole

Per quanto assurdo possa sembrare, alcune giornate vengono definite “di sole”. Come se, in tutte le altre occasioni, il sole non fosse comunque là a testimoniare che non c’è solo un immenso buio a nascondere la Terra nello spazio. Perfino nei luoghi in cui gli orsi bianchi e le foche sembrano saper sopravvivere, il sole si cela talvolta per molto tempo, ma in realtà è solo un adulto che si nasconde dietro una coperta per far sorridere un bimbo. In una giornata di quelle come sopra definite di sole nessuna coperta avvolge la città e così questo robusto ragazzo dal sorriso quadrato può camminare senza giacca. So tutto questo perché il suddetto ragazzo porta le scarpe sbagliate ai piedi, le stesse scarpe che vi stanno raccontando umilmente questa camminata solitaria.

That boy_ the hand of the grandma

That boy

— Read in Italian–

— Read the previous paragraph —

A sunny day

As absurd it would sound, sometimes we refer to a day as a “Sunny day”. As if in all the other cases the sun wasn’t there to show that the Earth isn’t hidden alone in the darkness of the universe. Even in the places in which seals and polar bears still survive, the sun is still there. Maybe you cannot see it for sometimes, but it’s still there, as an adult hiding from a child to win a laugh.

The wall

The wall

Great expectations

— Read the previous paragraph–

— Read in Italian–

Tik, tok, tik, tok

Two pair of shoes follow the same pace, right at the foot of the wall. This pair of high- heeled shoes keeps walking on the white waxed floor at the HQ, leaving behind a trace of perfume and a blue shadow.

Puck, Pack, Pick, Puck

Down The Mask Gabriele Manca

Down the mask

–read in italian–

Down the mask, dear G.

Short chat in III acts with Gabriele Manca

First Act

Ok, you’re probably here as a friend. I can possibly imagine you either as a friend or a curious young Internet surfer searching for “how to make a mask“. Anyways, not that it matters. What is really important here is the existence in this world of rare people as Gabriele Manca, as well as his favourite animal, the amazing Elephant. Born in the last Century (Gabriele, not the elephant), it seems having a problem with his re incarnating. It happened already twice and he’s not even dead once! This story is half an interview with Gabriele and half my own fantasy. Feel free to understand which is which. But speaking about witch, let’s see who’s behind the mask. Literally.

Gabriele Manca (quello sopra l'albero)

Gabriele Manca (the one over the tree)

First Life

Designer, art lover. He decide to call himself The Herald of the Arts. It sound quite strong, right? ‘Cause you just don’t know him. Yet. Anyhow, this Herald have one enourmous giant dream: the Extinction. The secondary and most likely achievable goal is to get better and better, everyday. It’s not what artists suppose to do, though?

Second Life

gabriele al palo

Gabriele and his pole

However, we just pass through his first life easy, in few lines. That’s mainly ’cause Gabriele has a natural skill as designer. So, when you think he’s going to accept this challenge as everyone else, it’s when you get wrong. He decided to jump from creating new worlds, to work as a performer in this one first. His life started again, this time with clowns, new spaces, countries without sun and poles. In one of this poles Gabriele took his degree, at Codart, Rotterdam. Funny enough, you’re probably thinking that most of this story is fantasy. Nein, that’s all true.

Inspiration

Start with the concept that if you need to make a table, an iPhone or a mask, you need a concept. Usually people write this concept, as me. I know people that need to speak about their idea to everyone, so they can really think about the concept. Gabriele? He’s in a third group, called designer- thinker. So called not ’cause as us he’s drawing misshapen heads in a notebook while at the phone. He’s making a freaking Da Vinci Gioconda from her finger perspective, the guy! And this just to remember he needs to buy bread for dinner.

Different cultures

If you know Gabriele you must know his love for Arts, cultures and miths. And languages, recently. The greater the difficulty, alien, distant, unknown stories, the greater is the interest in this shaved head. In this way this same head started making masks after masks, with all different styles. What we should expect from a guy whose thesis was “The role of Mask in circus_excursus about mask from dawn of time until today” for his degree? Nope, not a serial killer. Not this time. He can be really pissed, but most of the time is pacific.

–continue in the next article–

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