I stole a flower Hair I still have them all, or almost.
Supreme insult to my faith grenade, are blacks and whites, salt and pepper, grizzled say cheerfully.
said (the Hon.?) Verdini, reported to the President of the Republic, ergo I can say, referring to my hair: who cares!
I'm going to tell an episode of my flower period, which may have contributed on snow in my hair.
had come into the store to order a husband and wife for a dead pillow. It was not to be a relative or close or near or far, why not appeared much grieved at the passing.
For what little experience I had seemed most annoyed the 'duty' to share in that loss.
weighed subjects, I proposed an alternative to the Pillow, a puff
, which would then be a round cushions that are required and in spending.
Single flowers, ribbon adequate written basic, affordable without worries.
were pricked in their pain so that if I had suggested to drop the flowers in their place by offering a hug of consolation to the relatives, they would have gladly picked up the board. Taken
order, made
puff, with the usual handyman Simchetta I had brought to their destination, the morgue of a hospital in the city.
The mortuary is a kind of deposit, where the corpses are awaiting the subsequent to their arrangement in the crates and start 'mortuary'.
do not know if readers have ever had the opportunity, I will not say frequently, but only to pass, maybe by accident or necessity.
For those who do not know, know I'm a cold and desolate without equal. It has a lot to say there, or in similar places, we finirci everyone visiting from the live reaction is spontaneous cold shiver.
And I'm not shivering from cold.
This room was situated in a kind of basement, the door wide open, lighting the limit dell'inciampo.
Outside, a courtyard, desert.
Inside, a series of long marble tables a wall, the size of single beds, each one was lying on a corpse, covered with a sheet.
A plate of cardboard attached with adhesive tape at the foot of plank, with the data of the former living for prompt tracing by the employees of the funeral.
Along the wall in front of these 'beds', there was a shelf along with various equipment, piles of linen, cotton bags and other non-detectable. In
local, more or less still alive, I was there.
and 'them'.
found my 'client', I had deposited
puff at the foot of her bed and was about to leave.
leave and euphemistic, more accurate would be 'to escape'.
But it was not a day for a flight, however inglorious: the corner of my eye I had 'appeared' to see something that had moved onto the shelf tools.
(The cat is a distant relative of the rabbit, is also the case when the hare has a different, perhaps curiosity, which is superimposed to FIFA and the speed of flight, gives you a courage that usually did not).
I looked better, and everything seemed quiet.
The beat of the heart, meanwhile, was reduced to a minimum, convinced that the movement was the result of stupid fantasy, nourished by the environment, I was away ...
No, dammit, something was moving on that shelf!
not tell me I made him just because everything about me had shrunk so as not to allow any kind of bodily movements.
throat, heart, stomach, intestine and toileting ... all blocked channels.
The temptation was very strong in a stampede, but it was more curiosity.
had identified in semi-darkness, the precise point of that movement.
I had approached a cover, lying on that table in long, holding out his hand to lift it, this was again agitated, to my subsequent start.
But now I could not go back.
Sollevatala, from beneath a bird had flown away, terrified in turn, almost urtandomi escape.
No time to ask how it was done down there.
It was the first blow in a nervous system already made pudding.
The second was the discovery, under the cover of the little body of a child, a creature that perhaps he had had time to see what kind of world was over, and he preferred to say 'thanks, I'll step out and I '.
strongly shaken (if you read 'shocked', know that you have not been affected by an attack dyslexia is the real truth of my state of mind at that moment, and for several long moments later), I had gone through the combination of the mind sparrow with the soul of that child, finally free, flew into the sky.
I thought about it long after, remembering.
Story, and after so many years I can even smile, thinking about the sparrow spaventagatti, but his eyes are swollen, as then. I went to my
puff, I had taken a flower, a small white gerbera (which is like a big daisy), and receiving placed under the cover next to the little creature, now the ex.
I am sure that my 'client' will be taken if not bad for an innocent pilferage.
fact, I like to think we have found ourselves in a great green meadow dotted with flowers, and that the child has returned, thanking him for the loan.
not have gone months or years, many decades have passed, but that child, that sparrow and the gerbera are still in me, I have assimilated, and when it is time, bring them with me, than 'that' goal.
