24 abril 2012

Unnamed or Little lost boy

He began to feel that sense of not feeling himself, the feeling of being welcome and warmth, warm ooze; he woke up, he knew it.

As if he was inside that kind of movies he used to watch, he opened one eyelid after the other, so softly and slowly, as if nothing else in the world could be more important than that act.

The light didn’t bother him because there was not so much of it in the room, the morning light seemed not to exist in such a pale day, however he shut his eyes again and he did it so quickly that it seemed that they were burned by flames.

He turned to the other side, facing the wall, as his closed eyes were still being hurt by the low light. He curled himself up, like a fetus, trying to recreate the feeling of not belonging that he had just lost.
He stood up and walked to the window.

No! That would be a hyperbole, to imagine that it could be considered a walk, it was more like dragging oneself in a ridiculous small space, between the bed and the window.

Jacques Bordier 2010
Sketch Crawl
And the window revealed a dark-grey sky and the weather was like the fresh and softly-cold breath, in that morning. A perfect day to drink coffee, smoke and do nothing.

After stretching out, he walked in the house, barefoot and in undies until the kitchen, where he got fresh coffee in the coffee pot. Then, he lit a cigarette and went to the balcony where he put himself down in the rocking chair and enjoyed the time.

His relaxed mind brought memories... Best remembrances of a day like this one, that seemed to be a long time ago, as if it was in another life.

- He was there with him, embraced and with his head in his chest, playing with the cord of his shorts. That long dark hair fallen in his face, white as milk and eyes of a child…-

Those memories made small electric impulses run all over his body, burning him out. He smiled. That boy, his memory still had effects on him. They made him feel silly, silly as a person in love.

Suddenly, a hummingbird flashed in front of his eyes and went to the lilies in the garden. It made him wake up from those dreams, slightly disturbed.

He wondered why he still let those things disturb him; after all, that stuff was so much time ago and there was no reason to remember the past. Those things wouldn’t come back and neither has he wanted that…

He stood up, got more coffee and came back to the rocking chair and he spent all the morning this way.

Original written Não-nomeado ou Menininho perdidoby Daniel Prestes
Translated to english by: Daniel Prestes (2012)
Reviewed by: Vinícius de Souza (2012)

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