Andei muito estressado e sem tempo nessas últimas semanas para reanimar meu ócio criativo, que com certa contradição eu aprecio. Dedico este post para entregar um texto que estou devendo à alguns, especialmente à dona Bianca que me ajudou dando ideias na hora de escrever.
O breve conto-não-acabado que escrevi foi mais um de meus trabalhos para as aulas de Inglês, mas dessa vez, eu não tenho versão em português. De qualquer forma, você deve saber inglês ou pelo menos deve saber que você deve saber inglês.
Enfim, a ideia de escrever foi baseada no clichê "acordar sem saber como e onde foi parar ali" porque eu pensei no tipo de história mais fácil para eu não esquentar a cabeça e terminar o trabalho o mais cedo possível, então não espere nada de mais.
"GCSE English – Eric Santos – Creative piece of writing
These chains make me feel like I am in a spider-web! I have any idea about who tied me up on this old wooden chair and how I got here. What is this place? In this room there is nothing but a huge heavy door, my not really comfortable chair, these shining chains around me and four concrete thick walls. Something also smells very morbid!
At least, judging by my beard, I have not been here for more than three days. Furthermore, judging by my headache, either someone had beaten me or I drunk yesterday, or both because the pain is really killing me. Oh! I feel awful! Why would I have been drunk yesterday? The only reason that I can think of that I went to Italy two days ago to celebrate the birthday of an old friend of mine, Mr Mario Deboni. Oh, Yes! I remember now. I was savouring some Italian red wine. I do not remember much but I do remember that I love them altogether. Good people they are. I found them very cheerful and so hospitable are the Deboni family. What happen then?
My thoughts have been interrupted by a loud noise of an unlocking door. Someone on the other side has to use a lot of strength to open it. I am so curious about who locked me here but I am even more afraid of finding out. My captor is a small middle aged man with a slimy hair wearing a black suit. He does not look in a good mood to me. His Italian accent proves me that my theory is right, I am in Italy. Nevertheless, the words that he speak to tell me his intensions are not pleasant at all. ‘You disrespected the wrong mamma, boy!’ he says for as much as he closed the door behind himself.
I`m shaking and pale as he takes a cigar out of his pocket, lights it and lets his eyes follow the floating blaze that his cigar expels. Slowly, saving the smoke, he asks in a gentle and cruel manner, ‘You do not mind if I smoke, do you?’
Well. The room is closed. It does not have windows. I am allergic to the smoke. However, all I can answer is nothing. For the first time he looks into my eyes speaking the worst combination of words that I can ever hope to receive ‘Do you know what is going to happen to you?
As he finishes his cigar, I still cannot emit any sort of sound. ‘Maybe your name will appear on tomorrow`s newspaper? What do you prefer, a car crash or a plane accident? Anyway, first, I want you to meet my two brothers; Luciano and Luigi.’ At this point, two twin mountains walk into the room, both wearing white shirts and black formal pants, with black braces over their huge and defined bodies. ‘When the night comes, they will take you for a ride so you can know the town properly. I hope you enjoy. By the way, I am Pietro Deboni. Farewell.’
I am locked here alone again. I wonder what kind of places they will show me. Besides, what have I done to their mother to motivate them to kidnap me? I did not kill her; I have not stolen or done any other kind of harmful deed. What could it be? Ok, he said ‘disrespected’ but I am not rude at all to any kind of woman. In fact, the only woman I met yesterday was a beautiful charming woman with black hair called Larissa that taught me how to dance to Italian folk music. I would never do anything harmful to such adorable person. Not even as drunk as I was! However, even though, she is no more than thirty years old to be the mother of those creatures that lock me here. At least, she did not look like having more. She was very kind to me and I was very kind to her. And I was drunk! Oh, God! What have I done? No, no, no… I cannot believe I done that! How stupid was I!
What about now? What should I do? I mean; is there anything I can do? What they will do and where they will take me? Some horrible torture place… I am dead! I do not think they will forgive me and escaping looks impossible… it is not up to me anymore… Will I ever go home? Oh, I am dead! I am certainly dead! Unh? What is that noise?
I follow the sound, it sounds clearly like a key ring. What is that familiar, sweet and sneaky female voice? ‘Shhh… I am going to get you out of here’…"
terça-feira, 22 de março de 2011
domingo, 13 de fevereiro de 2011
Victoria Park Notes - Versão traduzida em Inglês.
Traduzido e com algumas correções. A primeira verção em português já foi postada aqui no blog há um tempo já
" I am in front of the Victoria Park’s fountain, in a cafeteria located inside the park, watching the sunset, which shines especially bright today. 04:15 PM - There are ducks, swans, geese and pigeons flying over the lake screeching to each other in a strong and cold wind, but my cappuccino is still hot.
No. My cappuccino is no longer hot and the cafeteria closes at 4:30 PM. I will anticipate and sit on a bench beside a tree by the lake, which begins in late February to take colour, but I am still facing the fountain in the centre of the lake and also the park’s cafe on the other side of the pond. Because its symphony and visual beauty, I suggest getting silent and just listen.
The sounds I hear are formed by the aforementioned source, the occasional "quacks" of ducks, the screaming children who are learning skating with their parents watching alongside as eagles guarding their chicks and the trot of runners and cyclists pedalling. Also, there are some couples , relating to his dogs, barking and sniffing, one in particular tried to urinate on my leg just before receiving a warning of his respective owner, others tried to frustratingly grab the pigeons or are afraid of the cold water not ventured not even wet his paw.
According to my hearing was absorbing the most subtle whispers of the surroundings, dusk and the wind blew stronger. I looked at the clock - 4:35 PM - and returned to capture the sounds that were offered me.
Could not pass without not been heard the noise of the wind, which the newly emerging leaves gave voice to the trees, the works in the adjacent streets, the cars coming and going and whistles as occasional as the "quacks" from the ducks filled the fusion between what is natural and what is urban.
Every second, the clock announces the gradual reduction of the sun’s strength -4:40 PM. I have work to hold the sheet of paper, which now makes the tear, shiver with cold, leaving me barely legible (those who know me well should imagine) and now, right now, my pen starts to fail.
What I see and feel do not differ much from what I hear. The sun about to set, projecting horizontally, both on grass and water on the tarmac, beautiful shadows of the trees, the fountain and buildings. Everything now is getting orange and once again I am around the clock - 4:50 PM - the fast and glamorous farewell in the morning. There was an elderly couple that I also watched, but now they up and left. The children, with nothing to give to the pigeons, complaining to parents saying they wanted to go home, were cold and his legs ached. Even the ducks were coming over and quiet. A swan was up to the lake shore, just in front of me, and with all its beauty, grandeur and arrogance, looked at me fixedly probably meaning "Go home!”
St. 5:04 PM - I can hardly see the sun, urban life began to gain more prominence, some pubs, which still can not attend, have been moving toward open, my hand was red and purple does not open anymore. Again the clock - 5:09 PM
5:13 PM - Only the crazies live in the park; hallways that scare me, to make the latest and icy parts of its course, being only a shirt and shorts, the last couples who survive the cold, those who cut way to avoid catching the dark streets, the night watchmen, who have just arrived, ducks and squirrels and the fountain, the same fountain, that never tires, just like my watch - 5:19 PM - and a young writer sitting on a bench and freezing to death .
I look at the clock again - 5:20 PM - It's getting dark soon, I'm afraid that my blood freeze, the ducks are gone and then we the park will close. I’ve put my gloves on, pack up my belongings and went back home."
EM BREVE: A primeira parte do meu primeiro conto que fiz para a aula de inglês.
" I am in front of the Victoria Park’s fountain, in a cafeteria located inside the park, watching the sunset, which shines especially bright today. 04:15 PM - There are ducks, swans, geese and pigeons flying over the lake screeching to each other in a strong and cold wind, but my cappuccino is still hot.
No. My cappuccino is no longer hot and the cafeteria closes at 4:30 PM. I will anticipate and sit on a bench beside a tree by the lake, which begins in late February to take colour, but I am still facing the fountain in the centre of the lake and also the park’s cafe on the other side of the pond. Because its symphony and visual beauty, I suggest getting silent and just listen.
The sounds I hear are formed by the aforementioned source, the occasional "quacks" of ducks, the screaming children who are learning skating with their parents watching alongside as eagles guarding their chicks and the trot of runners and cyclists pedalling. Also, there are some couples , relating to his dogs, barking and sniffing, one in particular tried to urinate on my leg just before receiving a warning of his respective owner, others tried to frustratingly grab the pigeons or are afraid of the cold water not ventured not even wet his paw.
According to my hearing was absorbing the most subtle whispers of the surroundings, dusk and the wind blew stronger. I looked at the clock - 4:35 PM - and returned to capture the sounds that were offered me.
Could not pass without not been heard the noise of the wind, which the newly emerging leaves gave voice to the trees, the works in the adjacent streets, the cars coming and going and whistles as occasional as the "quacks" from the ducks filled the fusion between what is natural and what is urban.
Every second, the clock announces the gradual reduction of the sun’s strength -4:40 PM. I have work to hold the sheet of paper, which now makes the tear, shiver with cold, leaving me barely legible (those who know me well should imagine) and now, right now, my pen starts to fail.
What I see and feel do not differ much from what I hear. The sun about to set, projecting horizontally, both on grass and water on the tarmac, beautiful shadows of the trees, the fountain and buildings. Everything now is getting orange and once again I am around the clock - 4:50 PM - the fast and glamorous farewell in the morning. There was an elderly couple that I also watched, but now they up and left. The children, with nothing to give to the pigeons, complaining to parents saying they wanted to go home, were cold and his legs ached. Even the ducks were coming over and quiet. A swan was up to the lake shore, just in front of me, and with all its beauty, grandeur and arrogance, looked at me fixedly probably meaning "Go home!”
St. 5:04 PM - I can hardly see the sun, urban life began to gain more prominence, some pubs, which still can not attend, have been moving toward open, my hand was red and purple does not open anymore. Again the clock - 5:09 PM
5:13 PM - Only the crazies live in the park; hallways that scare me, to make the latest and icy parts of its course, being only a shirt and shorts, the last couples who survive the cold, those who cut way to avoid catching the dark streets, the night watchmen, who have just arrived, ducks and squirrels and the fountain, the same fountain, that never tires, just like my watch - 5:19 PM - and a young writer sitting on a bench and freezing to death .
I look at the clock again - 5:20 PM - It's getting dark soon, I'm afraid that my blood freeze, the ducks are gone and then we the park will close. I’ve put my gloves on, pack up my belongings and went back home."
EM BREVE: A primeira parte do meu primeiro conto que fiz para a aula de inglês.
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