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Black Revenge

Black Revenge

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WpMetadataReadMatureOngoing<5 mins
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Sun, May 6, 2018
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Fiction
Romance
Prologo Ero rimasta ad ascoltare per anni le parole di quel freddo inverno, perdendo gran parte dei momenti che ogni adolescente dovrebbe vivere. A causa della mia ossessione per la vendetta, ero diventata di ghiaccio senza accorgermene. Non cercavo piu' l'amore e non avevo alcuna voglia di provare emozioni... ma... l'inverno non dura per sempre. Chi avrebbe mai immaginato che colui che mi avrebbe salvata sarebbe stato qualcuno con un passato discutibile? Chi avrebbe mai pensato a Damien Lewis? Tratto dalla storia Il vento mi investi' in pieno e cercai di scaldarmi al meglio, stringendomi nella felpa che fortunatamente avevo portato prima di uscire. Abbassai ancora di piu' il cappuccio sulla fronte, stando attenta a non calpestare i fiori di quel parco abbandonato, che purtroppo, nessuno frequentava piu'. Persa fra i miei pensieri nemmeno mi accorsi di essere andata a sbattere contro qualcosa, che riconobbi come ragazzo non appena un profumo da uomo mi inondo' le narici. Dopo qualche istante alzai lo sguardo e mi imbattei in un paio di occhi verdi, o forse marroni; non seppi riconoscerlo con precisione ma seppi con certezza che , facilmente, non li avrei dimenticati.
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A few months ago, I bought a mug with gold gilt. On sale. Not a gift either nor because of an occasion to remember by it. Just plain, pretty mug for 15PLN. I drank my coffee from it since. I spat loose tea leaves into it. It never felt particularly significant. An ordinary object. Only when I lost it, I realised its true value. I sat comfortably at my desk one evening. Looking at my phone, I reached to take my song-text notebook. Trivial situation. My clumsy fingers were unable to avoid the mug. They allowed it to topple over, to slip from the desktop. Even though I did not see the split-second occurrence, I felt the pressure of unease. My head painted the trajectory of the fall on its own, the shattering, spillage. The loss. For a millisecond I still had hope, that I would be able to catch the mug, that I would be able to avoid what was about to happen. But I knew I was headed for failure. I don't have any superpowers. I only scalded my fingers. I looked at the mug's new shape for a long while, at the shattered pieces. At the spilling liquid. Our adventure came to an end. Irrevocably. I won't be drinking coffee from it anymore, nor spit tea leaves into it. Well. I shouldn't be sad, it was just a regular mug, just like thousands of others. I grew to like it, it kept me company throughout hundreds of warm drinks. I lost it. I hate this feeling the most. In the moment when I am losing something, I stop in my tracks, I hold my breath. It is always a very intense moment. A short one, but one that gives me the tight unpleasant feeling in my stomach. The feeling of loss is always accompanied by hope. Silly and naïve. Making me believe so strongly, that I can make it. That I will still be able to catch the mug mid-flight. When the feeling is entering the body, crawling into me I realise, how important it was to me. Whether it's Nivan or a stupid mug with gold gilt.

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