Tag Archive souls dead

Second Chapter

Second Chapter

Souls (Alive)

Death, souls, escape and truth

So many pieces of this story seem not to match, as they were a complicated w/b puzzle. We have flashbacks accounted by a crying grandma ashamed of herself, suicide offices and souls hidden inside cut fingers.

A story of souls?

Little by little we start understanding that this story is not all about souls as we thought. Not really. Souls are just an energy, the hidden force behind our world, which tell stories, give us a structure. In a word, they are the shape of th world itself.

A story of desires

S. has a desire: having his souls back. His ultimate dream would be one day to have his father’s soul, which was his own present. He desires a great career, and this as well as having his father’s souls has to come to terms with reality. The boy, in the meantime, is searching his own revenge against whom, his grandma said, stole his soul (and all his perspective with it). M. is the most cyinic of all the characters. She doesn’t want to dive into the world. Not anymore. Souls, corpses or the chirping of birds, everything’s part of an alien world for her. Even though the fate, in the shape of a soul, is going to take her in a journey.

The escape

Finally, an escape for three. An escape for souls and desires, ready to lead us in an unexpected travel. A travel in a souls world in which people are still planting its own dreams, drinking coffee and eating in restaurants.

The second chapter

Second Chapter
Second Chapter: The journey of souls
  1. The Big day
  2. The night
  3. About body and soul
  4. Find him!
  5. That boy
  6. Vendetta!
  7. The pyramid
  8. Bu
  9. The patient of 8.05 a.m.
  10. The doctor
  11. A corpse that… speaks?
  12. The hat
  13. Steps

Didn’t read the First Chapter? Do it now!

The meeting between S. and the boy

Steps

— Read in Italian —

— Read the previous one —

The encounter

The colours and the sounds are fading away, colours in the eyes of a man drunk of life. He drops the bottle and

P-ach-sh

The hat_ il cappello

The hat

— Read in Italian —

— Read the previous one —

At the market

Markets are complex places, full of colours and voices. Sometimes theatre and cinema try to replace the murmur of crowd just saying

Walla Walla

All together. But if you have experience of markets, you won’t be fooled. Maybe I’m not as useful as a pair of shoes or as precise as a watch, but I know how people yell in a market. I also know how winter changes the market itself. I’m familiar with winter, the season in which I, an humble hat, suddenly become important.

The life of a hat

In between this indistinct chattering and yelling, this human crowd murmuring, a hand takes me, another tries me over his head and looks at me in his reflection. I don’t have any advice to give to anyone, but that skull is too big for me, while that one has a sweaty forehead. In case they’d buy me, I would fly at the first wind blow and then who’d spend a minute to pick me up from a puddle?

No respect for hats, that’s all. Not even for gentleman’s hats.

This guy

Right now there’s a guy coming towards me. He’s not good looking and has a serious grim, but the shape of his head is perfect for me. Sure, we’re a lot here. So many hats to choose from, even though I feel I’m more elegant than a fedora,  a panama, a bowler, or a flat cap. Oh, I said that, didn’t I? He chose me! He wears me perfectly and pulls me over his eyes. Homburg is always a good choice.

Hmpf

Mumble in appreciation to the salesman

It’s only 30

Hmpf

Reply the man, not happy about the price. So the price drops to

25? I think it’s honest for a hat like this one

Hmpf

He left!

He answers back once again, still not happy about the price suggested by the salesman, and he quits. No, you small head salesman, go after him, stop him, he seems to have the perfect head shape. And probably some story to tell. With a head like that, it will be a shame not to understands his end.

No, no, wait! are you going for real? It was a joke, you see. I would never let you go without this hat. Wait, my friend. I say, wait! Let’s make it 20, deal?

Hmpf

Answers happily the guy with the perfect skull. The head of the salesman makes a lot of small wrinkles of happiness, while we leave fast out of that screaming mass of people

That face, that face

The hat_ il cappello
The hat_ il cappello

That square, that cube to solve in every side and every lost colour. The door opens, bringing the smell of forgotten, of dust, paper. Small pieces of wall, white, are in the ground as a reminder of a sad white and black carnival passed.

The room is simple, with a small red table. On the door, an elephant drawing, that the time discoloured.

The eyes watch down, the back bend and all together with the hands they try to find a drawer. Inside the drawer, a lot of random papers, the dark side that was forgotten, giving the back to the sun. Elephants, leaves, clouds, mountains and tubers, but no trace of a face. Why I know he’s searching for a face? He just keeps repeating

That face, that face, that face, hmpf

What a face looks like?

As a hat I don’t really know a lot, I’m just a thing, an element useful to repair heads from sun and rain. But one thing I know it’s that the faces are ovals, with a nose in the middle, two red or dark strips horizontal under the nose, with which the faces can yellto call yellow cars. Over the nose two things called eyes coloured the world and the soft one on the side record the sounds. And keep hats on, most of the time. On top of the heads, you’ll find most of the time a natural hat, called hair.

It’s him

So, a face is roughly as simple as that. Oh, the boy just finds out a face. The face is long, with a nose long and narrow as a finger and two small moustaches as commas over the lips. If only that man would buy me, with that moustaches I would be a star! The hands now are shaking, while they found a small note on the side of the paper

His name is S. Follow him

And next week, the End! (of the second chapter)

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

A corpse that... un corpo che...

A corpse that… speaks?

— Read in Italian —

— Read the previous one —

A corpse

that

speaks

Do you believe in reincarnation?

M. il medico_ The doctor

The doctor

— Read in Italian —

— Read the previous one —

I’m a humble wristwatch

Time

Time is just a matter of rhythm. The bigger is the space, the easier is to see that movement stretch until it dissolves completely. Here, then, in this small controlled space, time seems to be small, tiny. A midget of time, in the big circus of lights and planets. And yet, you cannot open a door that a second seems to fly away, together with some whitish yellowish body.

Il paziente delle 8.05 the patient

The patient of 8.05 a.m.

— Read in Italian —

— Read the previous one —

A patient certainty

Between one of the few certain things you’d find in your existence, believe me, you must add the 8.05 of every Monday morning. In a red bricks buildings with a noisy neighbourhood, an alarm awaits just for an electric impulse to ring. I should say it awaits to sing, instead. The alarm will start in a metallic voice an old song of an Italian singer, Claudio villa,

Bu, l'ufficio_ the suicide office

Bu

The suicide office

— Read in Italian —

— Read the previous one —

The lights of truth

The stairs reflect a yellow light, even though today for S. they’re whiter and more lucid than ever. The shadows itself seem to be colourful, all colours coming from a wonderful palette. The stairs lead to floors that all look the same, one after the other. His walk is light, sure as he wasn’t for long time now. Happens the same when my laces got inextricably tied. Then, after few minutes of painstaking work, with the right move they are free, again. Finally, the life of this handsome man with well sharpened moustaches seems to have some relax. There are new colours and a small light at the end of his spyglass.

Piramide, l'anima

The art of pyramid

— Read in Italian —

— Read the previous one —

The soul of a salesman

Oh how easy is to follow a salesman, when you’re at his feet. It would be more difficult if I was a glove, lost in between one shake and another in a cold winter. And  an old witchcraft seems to  connect inextricably offices and handshakes, enough to raise the question if are born before the cold pleasantries or the awful furnishings in the cubicles.

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 body, the soul

About body and soul

–Read in Italian–

— Read the previous paragraph–

Such an healthy man

How could you possibly expect from an healthy, powerful, strong man to die without showing any sign of it? Time decides to stop in an human existence, and doing so chooses smoothly every small details, never explaining them to mortals- or immortals. A soul is an immortal being, out of time. If it’s going to disappear in a certain time and place is just to be ready to reappear in another one.