World-Wolf - (ENGLISH)

Chapter 19

At the end, I decided to go to visit mom. In front of the ground, there was her friend, the professor.

"Hello. Nice to meet you. I'm Steven." He stretched the hand out. I felt too cold to do the same.

There was the damn snow. Should I have un-pocketed my hand to greet him? Then he was dented and all. He still had to heal from the car crash.

"I know who you are. Don't worry about that." I did without looking at his eyes.

"Good. So... How are you? It's a silly question. I know that" He was embarrassed.

That one, the professor, had the hairs up to the scruff and whitish. But for me he was one who had had plastic surgery. I don't know why: his lips looked like something of fake and were swallowed like an inflatable beach mattress.

"Very good. Tomorrow I'm going in Disneyland, that one in Paris." I know how to be crabby.

I think you have noticed that I am a first quality bastard. Now that I'm thinking about, though, lots of stuff Duerf Lomo said are good-packed bullshit. I could understand Einstein-Rosen bridge and the badass sentences about mankind, faults and all.

About time travel, I couldn't find peace with my senses. I mean, if it was possible, I could meet the dude that created Peter Pan. I would tell him that he's a big guy and that his fantasy knows its business. Then, though, if I figured out that the English did not write Peter Pan yet, what would happen? I might have fucked his mind, literally.

Hold on, this time I have do a research about the dude who created Peter Pan. J.M. Barrie. Christ, he wasn't English, he was Scottish. I hope Mr. Barrie forgive my sloppiness.

Thinking about it deeper, I might have come back at the exact moment when Russovski Oilman had told me that he would have gone back in "his country." And then I might have prevented that mom went with the professor in the car.

"What do you think about time travels? Would you like to void what happened?" I asked to the professor. I have to confess that he opened his eyes socket very deep. He looked scared.

"Yes, I would like to. But we have to deal with what happened. I must. It's all my fault." At that point the professor started whining. Those kind of situations are awkward. Watching an adult crying is a time paradox. I really enjoy making up these stuffs. I thank kindly the lively Duerf Lomo for having inspired me to create more craps. Thank you from the heart.

"It had to end like that. It's destiny that chooses these things, not you" the professor nodded still whining.

"She miss me so much," he confessed.

Boys, he was depressed and all. I felt a wormhole in my stomach because of him.

"Indeed. Mom was mom. If you wanna stay alone with her, you can. I gotta go away with a friend of mine" I made up a lie instantly.

The professor started saying stuffs like: "No, if you want, I can go and bla bla." Phony sentences, in brief. At the end, he shouted his mouth up and I went away from the cemetery.

Hell if you can meet uncommon people in that place.

There was this lady knelt near a headstone, praying with a crucifix held in her hands. She looked like a nun, spiritually only though, because she had a huge G-string which you might have admired it from the Antarctic. Unbelievable stuffs. Cemetery employees were watching the kneeled lady's back as if it was an Oscar winner film. She wore an almost invisible dress. Her shoulders were covered by an animal fur, though.

Boys, when I got out from that place, I felt dizzy. The County was alive. I mean the routine was working as always: people were working, some kids with backpacks on their shoulders were getting out from school and then there was me who didn't have the slightest idea why I was there, in that exact place and in that exact moment. Yes, time and all, but it isn't friendly with me. It doesn't give a shit about me. It's selfish. I have to be honest. Like those aristocrats who have noses up and walk with the stovepipe hats and the walking sticks and then enough. In the County, there was only one library. It was an old storage closet where mouse cheered with sparkling wine. I had never been there. That day I passed by it, leaned forward it and nobody was in. I didn't have to courage to come in. Sometimes I can be a coward.

I walked along the 17th, then I turned in a boulevard which led on a parallel street next to the Park. It was all perfect, but I stopped in front of two graffitos: the first was honeyed. "TIME IS ON OUR SIDE, WORLD AS WELL". The other had been painted masterfully, rich of details. Unreal matter.

"TIME IS AN ILLUSION"

and guess who was depicted below it? Albert Einstein with the tongue out. That boulevard had always been apocalyptic. The bins' reek made you to vomit seven meals ago. But when I turned back, a boy was kicking a foil ball and playing a poem.

"And immediately resumes the journey. Such as after the shipwreck. A survivor. Sea-wolf" He went on with it.

It sounded clumsy, but I liked it at once. So what I did... I asked the boy what was the meaning of the poem.

"How the hell am I supposed to know it? At school, they force you to memorize a poem, not to catch the meaning," he said. Hell of asshole was he.

He was bringing a shining book under his arms. On top, you could read The First Generation or something of similar.

"What about that? Do you the meaning of it?" I gestured to the book. The reddish-hairs boy looked at it.

"It's a book written by one of us. Sometimes I prefer books written in a punch-in-the-noise way. At least they have a damn message. I hate those ones all well-described. You do too many question, by the way" He started leafing through the pages. Even his way to speak was a punch-in-the-noise.

"Sorry. Tell me... a boy wrote that book?" I made the second question.

"That's how it seems. One that lives nearby. Are you not interested that I'm annoyed by your questions?" Reddish-hairs ended with a rude tone.

"Not at all. I wanted to know what the book is about."

"It is about us, questioner dude. About how the old bastards pilot our lives and make the fuck they want of them. We are marionettes, and we have been mistaken for the rotten. Those old bastards gotta pick the stuffs up and go fuck themselves. Anyway, now I gotta go. Goodbye questioner dude. It was a pleasure."

"Bye." I greeted him, but the Reddish was already gone.

And immediately resumes

the journey

such as

after the shipwreck

a survivor

world-wolf

I swear I remember it like that. Sea-wolf, maybe I made it up. Should I have trust in my mind, after all?

AUTHOR's SPACE

Giuseppe Ungaretti was a great writer

Luca 💙

Note: The original poetry is by Giuseppe Ungaretti. It's called 'Joy of shipwrecks'. 'Allegria di naufragi'

🇬🇧

And immediately resumes

the journey

such as

after the shipwreck

a survivor

sea-wolf

🇮🇹

E subito riprende

il viaggio

come

dopo il naufragio

un superstite

lupo di mare