evomag.ro
    science-fiction fantasy poezie eseu arte vizuale
Caută :  
Resurse Contact
Povestea ţării Nucalanoi  -  Petrecerea  -  Stăpânul - Volumul I : Răpirea zeilor  -  Toate celelalte popoare  -  Cruciada bucătarilor  -  Caseta pirografiată  -  Corabia nebunilor  -  Începutul  -  Mamă de duminică  -  Către a opta zi  -  Casa de la marginea pădurii  -  Luminile oraşului XXV  -  Alfa şi Omega  -  Valea însângerată  -  Omul-care-stătea-cu-nasul-în-flori  -  Accidentul  -  A şaptea faţă a tăcerii  -  Cu preţul morţii  -  Povestea gândacilor  -  Theron Girradus  -  Nu vreau să fiu un erou !  -  Războiul lumilor  -  Viola  -  ªarpele de aramă (I)  -  BO  -  Ceasul voinicului  -  Variaţiuni pe o temă mai veche  -  Jocul Zeilor (I)  -  O viaţă fără început şi fără sfârşit  -  Program de criză  -  Depozit.01  -  Recreaţia  -  Arta fugii în cinci acte  -  Intoxicaţia. Investirea de novice  -  Meditaţie  -  Paradox  -  Bumerangul lui Zeeler  -  Pulbere de stele  -  Război obişnuit  -  Povestea trenului  -  Transplant de suflete...  -  Păsări de pradă  -  Mamal - Beciul  -  Luminile oraşului XX  -  Luminile oraşului V  -  Aura urii  -  The Alien Revolution  -  Dispariţia  -  Stâlpnicul  -  Vizita


Muddy angel

Muddy angel
  Ben Ami
But Gods!
Ursu` la miere
varianta print

Ben Ami



Publicat Duminică, 20 August 2006, ora 11:53

      “No golden wings

      Just two small lips,

      You kiss my Smile and I could fly

      But without Light of Love I die…”


      Ela1

     

      I’m scared! I’m sitting here, eyes closed, touching softly my skin, smelling the Fear and swearing that everything was real and now it’s part of my World.

     

      That day a cold mist had risen as usual and was floating greedy everywhere, linking the curbs of the pavement, the sleepy bodies of the buildings, hunting the dogs on the tramp. A day as all the others …. But different. I had the strange feeling that Reality was broken into small ordinary things, cold and clearly separated: good or bad, black or white. The warmness and all the colours of the world seemed to be stolen or … hidden while we were sleeping.

     

      No human being could feel the TRUTH anymore. Nobody was wondering why everything had changed, nobody felt…

      And then, a deep, unknown side of the Reality merged out to our world and here THEY were.

      Among us! From everywhere!

      The One near me was sitting hunchbacked over a canal opening warming his thin body dropping it into the foul smell that was coming up from the depths. From time to time He was putting a small bag to his lips; It was the Lacquer of Gold.

      Underfed, his boney arms with only shadows of the veins, the creature measured the world around Him having the sight incarcerated in another Universe that was flowing besides ours… up-stream…

      Convicted, without any guilt, to a disagreeable condition, He was waiting to pass from one express train to another. He had only to feel the right moment when they were close enough to allow the screw nut from the end of a crash barrier to fill the distance between the railways.

      The screw nut was Him.

      An old man not like others, even no difference could be seen. Like a well taken “photo”, just almost cut out from a lost species dictionary, lost species – once real, once dictating… rules.

      I was interested in the Virtual Reality, the Game Theory and Verdi’s Music. His only interest seemed to be the Lacquer of Gold that was making smoother the time flowing from the day when He had the hard luck to start again the Way of Life. The hard luck of a first class Lab Mouse…

      Being almost sixty years old He simply knew everything. He had lived everything! He was a real Lab Mouse, a Guinea Pig. And even if one of the unnamed civilizations of the Industrial Middle Age had made cruel experiences on such beings that were pushed by History back into the caves from where they succeed to crawl out, the present first class lab mice were judging one another, governed by the Rules of the Concrete, and of the Promiscuity, and of the Lacquer of Gold..

      “Only the black Beetles and the Rats would survive into a nuclear War.”

      Black Beetles and Rats….WRONG

      The only survivors would be these incredible Angels rose from the depths and looking like small dark pieces of them were continuously melting into a muddy light.

      Muddy Angels…

      As They deserve… bearing the Burden of our Indifference, the Indifference of each of us… and being the last children of AIDS, the bloody goddess whose smile had killed the Love power… our power of Love.

      I saw Him again after a couple of days. He seemed to be at least ten years younger. A no name Grown-up aged too early, no named… he could choose as name a beer mark or he could choose another name everyday… In this world his freedom was simply formed out of the freedom of hundreds of us.

      A week later I heard that a young man was raped by three Barking in the dark passage of the Ragged Square. Among the columns. Between the fingers of the old building where Fatman’s personal bodyguards lived. Refined intellectuals definitely blind.

      Even nothing was seen, I heard the Nights whispering about Him…about the impassive Blues that had done nothing to hold back the Barking pack from putting their predator instincts into practice… here in the very heart of the most industrialized Mega in the South-Eastern Euro Headquarters. The Genetimagi’s Neocortex.

      The Nights’ Song whispered about the neo-geyser that paralyzed Him and about the electric knuckle-duster that was breaking the unfortunate Angel’s ribs… one by one. The refrain was murmuring “Inti-mi-datioooon… Inti-mi-datioooon…”

      Could He mumble a word… any word? He was just praising…for them.

      He knew that they were infected with the Black Death Foam. He could see the mouths uncovering decayed sharp teeth, the suppurating wounds …. Protected hairy toes separated by yellowish pus, rotting before being ever washed.

      Despite all these, He was silent.

      “The Silence saved his Life.”

      I barely recognized Him as the ten years old Boy that was shivering nearby the Robbedoldwoman, at the Anthropomorphya Corner, where the old woman begged from the Buyers the eternal Nakedly forgotten in the back pocket.

      Not even then I dared to ask Him if there was any connection between His pneumatic biological regression and the Reality Odors. He seemed to absorbed.

      And – because everything was strange – from that very moment – for two days, keeping a certain distance, I watched Him, believing that He wouldn’t be able to feel my presence.

      The odors had dug strange concave situs into the Child’s flesh. The same Hunger was diluting the Solution of the World in which he was bearing, on his small shoulders, his destiny of Catalyzer. The Lacquer of Gold was only a co-factor, but an essential one that He was consuming as He would like to exhaust all the Mega deposits.

      The next day, in the Ragged Square an apple farmer caught Him when He was trying to have a bite of a red juicy fruit big enough to be the lunch of a normal child. But the Appler saw scarlet and threw a stone at Him…”Damn you, Anthropomorphics, and the Blues that aren’t able to exterminate you” he shouted after Him still surprised by the kid who was quietly walking away lamely.

      The Appler had broken his left leg shine bone, but the Buyers didn’t know. They were smiling indulgently; being glad that still there was somebody able to skip a rule of this “aberrant taxing world” as an old man grumbled looking at his half empty marsupial.

      The Child was admired by some Buyers crushed by the hard life and the ridiculous wages.

      “Did anyone know the price he had paid for their moment of pleasure?” the Nights asked whispering softly. Maybe the reason had no significance for them as well as – at the elections that had taken place six seasons before - they hadn’t been concerned with the three times Delirium of the One who had uselessly strived himself to make them understand that “the predictable winner”, Fatman would BURY their Wishes under illusionary dead bodies.

      As they were concerned nothing had changed.

      Behind that Wide Waste Warehouse, in a vacant land at the Megan’s border, the Child stopped. Just for a moment. Then He came in through a small hole. He stayed inside only for 5 minutes. When He came out, His shining face lighted his way to a pit where He let himself to slip into. He was shivering with cold, His leg hurt, but it was His pit. Taking a piece of cardboard He put it over His head. The Night whispered:”A fine rain began to fall over the soul of a sick Mankind.

      I kept a certain distance from Him and I pictured how the cold greasy rain was making its own way onto His broken ribs – wrapping them into a thin skin. Small, irregular pieces of earth from the edge of the pit were melted and were slipping slowly towards His temporary shelter. His nobody-knows-which shelter in a too insignificant life…

      I had decided not to interfere, so until morning I just stayed and listened to His screams – that were piercing the Dark, and to the lugubrious howling of the dogs which were looking for food among the decayed remains surrounding the pits.

      The lights shining over the neighboring residential districts were uncovering for me ordinary stories I had already known. Around those shiny spots there was everything the Muddy Angels couldn’t ever possessed. Everything They missed in the wet darkness that protected Them both against the Barking and the Blues.

      The luckiest small creatures were dreaming the words of the Next Day Song – their disagreeable trade crept along the bars of a Reality stuffed with some Fatman’s Laws, the laws of those sprawling in the middle of the privileges granted by them to themselves. “Laws which could forbidden even out gravitation if they could find a way”…whispered the Nights.

      Before the dawns the Child’s screams stopped. And so did the dogs’ howling. Many of the pits would be available for the next night.

      After the green rolls – full of odors – rose up from the fetid ground, the Child came out of the pit. ”Another morning!”the Night had agreed, and the Kid took off the rag that had covered the broken shine bone. Even for Him seemed to be too difficult to believe His own eyes! But I could not be surprised by anything. I was just curious to find out how He had succeeded in stealing the shoes he was just taking out of his feet. They were now too big, too uncomfortable so He threw them away.

      I watched His gesture and I couldn’t help laughing, a nervous unburdening after a cold night in which I had believed that the majority of the World’s Nightmares had crowded into that Pit Graveyard – I should have never discovered. “The place where the balance between dogs and angels was prepared for the next day”, I thought loudly. And, for a second, I believed that He had heard me… because He had fixed His eyes upon the place where I had tried to pretend that I was knotting my shoe laces.

      Then He stepped away, beginning to run towards Mega. With soft, small steps of a Child just five years old.

      It was The Nova Year’s Eve and in only few hours the first Season was to be artificially recreated, the only way officially allowed.

      I kept my eyes upon Him every moment. He was stepping on the other side-walk or, opening his mouth wide at the electric bulb garlands hanging from the ceramic poles in the Ragged Square.

      With His small fists fully pushed into his huge trousers pockets, He was shuffling His feet among the hurried Buyers. I was feeling Him wondering. He arrived quite near the Huge Pear tree in front of the Anthropomorphya.

      The sky full of snowy clouds was pressing the atmosphere – magnifying the shine of the thousand thorns, taken back gifts and Santa-Misers hanging from the thin branches. The golden rose wood thread fascinated the Child who admired the Fairy Show. The tree was so high that the Child kept on stepping backwards trying to see the top of tree decorated with a scarlet golem. He reached the end of the pavement curb and He stopped. Then, in that very damned moment, grey high speed bionic machinery braked off, stopping over its turn… over the place where the Child was staring at the Genetimagi’s Construction, throwing His small body onto the steps of the stair He hadn’t dared to climb.

      Two Blues appeared from the middle of nowhere were already registering the facts. When they saw the Child strangely spread on the snow, they turned their heads and spitted disgusted on the pavement.

      “What were you doing there, you son of a bitch?” asked one of them hitting His temple with the spike of the boot.

      “Nothing!” the Child mumbled, almost dead of fear. Thin threads of blood were dropping out of His temple and were gathered into the dimples. Fear…as he couldn’t move any more.

      “To whom are you trying to lie, hey you Anthropomorphic?” shouted the Blue before leaving. He had not forgotten to offer the Child a kick dislocating His left clavicle… the gift from Santa-Miser.

      I came closer to the little Muddy Angel and I looked at Him. He didn’t cry! Not even a whimper could be heard.

      “Please, bald man, don’t hit me” He asked me kindly without moving His lips, while I was sitting down onto my knees, nearby Him.

      I let Him watch me for a while ignoring the Offense and waiting for the Buyers to disappear.

      “In just two minutes the Gate between the Worlds will be open”, He whispered while I was thinking to the two express trains if they could ever stop together in the same station. The Buyers were no longer there.

      “Today is your birthday!” I thought when I took the Child’s hands into mine. Huge snow flakes began to fall down from the silver sky over us, melting on His small bright face. I was surprised by their whiteness…

      “Where are they coming from?”. I didn’t know the answer. “You’ve never known” the Nights whispered – out from their Eternity.

      Surprised by my silence, the Child looked for the last time at the World whose fingers crushed Him. Beginning to glow He stretched his translucent members into the Frost that had reached deep into my bones; He took wing to the Snowflakes Land…

      I kept watching Him until the tears closed my eyelids. Neither could I bear the Reality of thousands of Blues, of millions of Buyers….

      I was sitting there, eyes closed; touching softly my skin head… while huge white snowflakes for ever cleaned the last traces of my almost forgotten horns….

© Copyright Ben Ami
Nu există nici un comentariu  
Comentează articolul  Spune-ţi părerea

    Toate câmpurile sunt obligatorii.
    Comentariul nu poate include link-uri.
    Dacă sunteţi logat, numele şi emailul se autocompletează.
    Comentariile sunt moderate şi vor apărea pe site numai după aprobare.

Nume :
Email (nu va fi afişat) :
Comentariu :


   SFera Online v.3 Final Edition - arte vizuale şi literatură de anticipaţie
      Toate drepturile rezervate. Copyright © 2001 - 2011 SFera Online | © 2011 - 2015 Arhiva SFera Online