Just trying V.

With wine under my sneackers and cold under my clothes, I felt that point had no return. I pushed the door and the yellow light filled the wet floor and next racks. I’ve been too surprised watching the faces that were sitting around a round table on the centre of the room. The yellow light was coming from a lamp over that table, which was covered by a green carpet. Colored chips were piled. Five people were there, but I recognized only three. They were standing up, while I opened the door. They were my parents and Ms Korina, those only ones that I loved all my life. Astonished, I couldn’t make a sound when they came after me, but passed away with no words, but they all smiled at me like saying a “good luck”. When I recovered my sense, purposed to go towards them, but the white beard man said with a rough voice: “Don’t. They cannot hear you, nor talk to you. Come on, have a seat.”

- Who are you? - I replied.

- I am something you might call god. Or devil.

Then I really thought that was a dream, yet it was too real.

- No, it is not a dream. – white beard, or God, started again – You are going to die, it’s simple. Let me introduce you my brother. You might call him Devil. I would like to explain something to you. We are entities, superior beings, but we were never described well by the humans. We actually are not good or evil, we just are. There are other brothers of us, who are designed to other worlds out there. For sure, we are not like you are seeing right now. I’ll make it clear: right now, we are going to decide where your soul will stay forever. To make it fair, we’ll play poker. Do you know how to play, don’t you? Yes, for sure.

He started to shuffle a deck of cards, while I open my mouth to ask a lot of things. Before I’ve done, God said:

- You would like to know how does it work, but I won’t tell you. I’ll just tell you that it happens to everyone, days or hours before their scheduled date to die. It is not poker to everyone, although. We provide a lots of games, cards, board games, even video games. We know everything that could be done in your world. Well, we are superior. Ok. It will be Texas Hold’em; thousand in chips for each one. The game ends when one of us hold all three thousand chips. Your soul goes to the winner, if I or my brother wins, but, if you do, you will live more twenty years. It is ok to you? Sure it’s ok, these are rules you cannot change. No one can change. I am going to shut your mouth now. You cannot talk. Dismiss your doubts, you better concentrate in the game.

As he said, I could not open my mouth and even make a noise. Perturbed, confused, I walk to the chair that belonged to me. I sat and wait for my cards.

To be continued.

Just trying IV.

It was like I have been in front of that door already. I just could not remember exactly, but I felt the same way once in a similar situation. Then a flash of memory came to my mind. I got those scenes back from the graves in my brain. They were lying there for a long time, covered with all my will to forget them forever, but know they’ve returned, alive, clearly and stronger.

I was doing very well, even for a boy raised in an orphanage. I had my problems since my parents left me to get to the paradise – that beautiful place Ms Korina said the soul of the dead men went to. Ms korina was my best friend at the orphanage. She was a tiny woman, whose the goodness made everyone in that house feels that they have a mother. Her short and blond hair was just the same of a beautiful singer that we used to see in rare moments that we watched that old TV without remote control. Her hair shone like Madonna’s. Every evening, at about six pm, she called us to the main room to sit and listen to a story. She used to tell us various stories, about various themes, even exotics, even common. After the story she left us with another woman, which took care of us in the night. I never like the other woman, and neither remember her name. One day, at story hour, Ms Korina’s voice was very low, almost a whisper, to tell us a story about a woman who lost her husband by a gun. For more than once, she had to stop telling the narrative to dry the tears that came to her occasionally. I didn’t remember the entire tale, but I have exactly engraved in my cells the part that she told difficultly: “and then the woman, after shout her husband’s name once again and getting no response, walked up the stairs towards their room. The door was partly open, and a yellow light was coming from inside. She felt fear and thought about bad things, but call again for her husband. Again no replies. She entered the bedroom and all she saw was the dead body of her husband lying on the bed, with a pool of blood on the white sheet.”

Now I am sure that she was getting crazy, what a story to tell the kids! I was sad about the woman of the story, because her story was similar to mine. I had lost my parents suddenly, too, and I thought Ms Korina have had the same lost because of her tears. I just did not understand that time why she told us: “You go to bed and sleep. Tomorrow no one calls me Ms Korina again. You call me just Lia.”

It was hard to me to call her with that strange name, but I could, as she was always replying us more sadly and silent. One day, she said that she was going to live with us, and I became too happy with that. She smiled quietly when I told her about that and then I saw that she was becoming older, with some white hair growing around her ears.

She was living with us about a week when, one night, I decided to visit her in her bedroom to beg for a tale. Quietly, I walked from my bed in the first floor, to the door of her bedroom, which was upstairs. When I got in front of the door partly open with yellow light coming from inside, I remembered fast of the story that she told us. I was afraid to step inside, but I did. All I found was her dead body lying on the bed, with a pool of blood on the sheets, coming from her neck. Her left hand was still holding a long knife.

To be continued.

Just trying III.

Stood in front of the supermarket, I was watching to the yellow light while remembering that sad story from my childhood. How sad I was that day. Less by the dreams but more because the news that were coming with that cop: my parents were dead by a car accident. My father lasted until the ambulance arrived, and everything that he said was to take his child home, to take care of his child. He was locked by the scraps, which perforated his body. He lost a lot of blood and closed his eyes forever. I don't know if there is a heaven out there, but every year I take some flowers to the cemetery.

I turned again to see the street. Nothing has changed: it was very silent, like there was no life. I felt a shiver on my backs, after remembering all this scene since I get out of home. Where were everybody? It was the only thing I asked.

My eyes turned back to the supermarket, straight to the light. Something whispered in my ears that I had to go in there, that I had to see what was going on under that silent light. My fear and panic tried to talk with that voice, arguing with the prudence. It said that better was to stand alive, rather than being sliced like dead meat. If I were the only one walking on earth, would be better to keep alive, for sure.

Then I paid attention to my thoughts. The only one? What did it mean? Could it be? Before I becoming to freak, I put my right hand on the glass door. I had to come in.

I was surprised because the door opened easily, it was not locked. Would it be a sign? Entering the market, I felt a good wine smell. Somewhere in the room, a bottle was opened. The racks were full with products, most part of them were food. While walking, I hesitated sometimes to see the products, but, in fact, I was hesitating. The panic was still stuck in my bones. I saw potato chips at the left, lots of colorful chocolate bars at the right. Then, following the right rack, there were biscuits, then some packs with peanuts, then beans, then rice. The other side was filled with drinks: juices of all kinds and colors, then some soda, then a freezer with at least ten kinds of beer. Next to it, a small rack where bottles of wine were lying with their stopper slightly pointing to the ground. One of them was broken in the neck. The ground was replete with the red liquid, lighted by the yellow light that comes from the door just in front of me.

To be continued...

Just trying II.

When I was younger, my father used to tell that unbelievable story about a butcher who killed people to make sausage. I was eight or nine, I believed everything they told me, then. One night, my parents left me alone at home for the first time. They said they were going to buy something to eat. They've been planning to make barbecue for dinner and they went out to look for meat.

I've been sat on the couch, watching TV and waiting for their return.

They took too long to get back in home. Two movies I watched, then I felt asleep. In the land of the dreams I came. It was a very dark land, with screams and suffer; laughs and pain. I realized it was an obscure dungeon and there were a man and a woman, lying on an old wood table. I stared at the couple and felt very sad, but didn't know why. I tryed to recognize them, but their faces were terrible. They were crying silent now. Behind them, a man who was laughing loudly. He had a long knife in his right hand. He stopped laughing and his right hand got up to his head. Then started to bring down the knife and Irealized the couple were my parents. I woke up harshly with tears in my eyes. I desperatly looked around for my dad and mom and found nothing. I felt on my knees and started to cry hopeless. They have been turned into meat, I realized. Tired of crying, after a couple of hours doing only that, I felt asleep again, just right on the floor. I woke up and stood at the centre of the living room. Remebered everything. Was not all that a dream? I called my mom and dad, but I did not receive any answer.

Again and again. The tears came over again.

I became silent a few minutes after that, when I heard movement on the knob of the front door. I was cold as ice. Would it be the butcher coming after me? When I thought about it, in my nine years old mind, I ran fast behind the kitchen's door - a good spot where I could see the man without him seeing me. The movement at the door stopped. After some seconds, a big noise filled the house, while the entire door felt on the ground. I saw a cop, backlighted by the red flashing lights from his car.

To be continued...

Just trying.

It was eight and a half pm and the sun was still shining near the horizon – a common scene on summer. But it was not summer.

I realized that just when I left home to walk to the supermarket. I wasted my whole afternoon on the computer, cloistered in my room with the windows closed, working on a sheet full of numbers. I decided to take a break and walk a little bit. I saw a good idea on buying a pack of beer and some salty peanuts. I would have my own happy hour, alone. So I put my dirty sneackers and my heavy coat and got out.

The streets were silent and I did not see anyone. There were no cars, any sound. It was very strange, since we were on Wednesday. All windows that I saw were closed and, while the sun was shining, houses came to my eyes apparently dark. It is crazy, I know, but it is just the way it was. Something in my mind said that the supermarket was not open, but I kept walking. When I started, my steps were slow and placid, but when I heard that noise of a closing door, my feet speed increased and I closed my hands tightly inside the pockets of the coat. I am not a fan of crowds and lots of people and noise, but that completely silence, filled with mystery and terror, was leading me to panic.

Five blocks I had walked. I was time to turn right at the corner of the old dark two floor building - that was darker than ever. I took a deep breath and turned. Two blocks ahead, the supermarket. So I went to it. As I suspected, it was closed, like every building in the neighborhood. But, although closed, there was light inside - a mysterious yellow light, coming from the back of the store. Coming from the place where butcher used to slice the meat.

To be continued.

Como faço para baixar músicas?

Provavelmente a chuva caía, criando uma sonoridade que colaborava para a sonolência, quando eu fiz o o telefone celular parar de tocar o despertador. Provavelmente por culpa dela acabei acordando trinta minutos depois do que deveria e, consequentemente, acabei perdendo o ônibus. Tive então que pegar o metrô. Parecia que seria um dai ruim.

Entrei na estação de São Leopoldo, fechei o guarda-chuva que pingava e me pus na enorme fila para comprar um ticket. Depois, entrei no trem e até consegui um lugar para sentar. Não estava indo tão mal, afinal. E não foi, o dia correu sem nenhuma incomodação, nem de leve. Maus presságios são tão falhos quanto a meteorologia, que não tinha previsto chuva para aquela segunda-feira.

Fui-me para a capital gaúcha com o ronco dos trilhos que perturbava a leitura do Quixote. Caminhei até o trabalho, trabalhei e voltei a tomar o metrô. Tumulto na estação do Mercado. Muita gente à mesma hora, no mesmo lugar. Paciência, cidade grande é isso. Entrei no trem, mas dessa vez já não tinha lugar para mim. Fiquei de pé e, a cada nova estação, a cada nova parada, entravam mais pessoas, de modo que eu tinha de me ajeitar para cá ou para lá. Pelo menos, na estação em Canoas, o vagão esvaziou substancialmente. Ali também desceu aquele jovem trajado de rapper americano, o qual deixara ligado o seu celular em um volume superior ao barulho vindo dos trilhos, tocando músicas que nem ele mesmo podia entender. Talvez ele só estivesse sendo gentil, proporcionando som ambiente para um vagão que não possuía rádio, mas eu não agradeci a sua gentileza.

Duas estações depois, arranjei um lugar nos bancos. Deixei as costas eretas e me pus a mirar pela janela, mesmo que não houvesse nada para se ver senão fabriquetas ou casebres amontoados sob um céu cinza. Por um instante pensei em igualdade para todos e socialismos, em outro, lembrei do jovem do celular. Terminei em cima do muro. Desviei os olhos daquela tristeza e comecei a observar a pouca gente que ainda restava sentada aqui ou ali. À esquerda, no fundo do vagão, um casal me chamou a atenção. O homem aparentava ser muito mais velho que ela e, abaixo do boné azul, carregava uma expressão abatida. Vestia jeans e um casaco simplório e seu rosto, apesar de abatido, mostrava dignidade. Ao seu lado, a moça de pele cor de cuia trazia a juventude camuflada, vestia jeans e tênis preto de homem, assim como o blusão amarelo escuro não exibia suas formas. Ela tinha o cabelo negro preso em um rabo de cavalo e o seu rosto era de uma beleza persistente, por mais que o resto de seu corpo quisesse mostrar o contrário. Nos olhos dela, havia compaixão. Porém, nada disso teria validade se eu não tivesse pousado as vistas naquele humilde casal no momento exato em que ela entrelaçava seus dedos na mão dele, apertando-a e falando-lhe algo com um sorriso triste e esperançoso. Ele não fez nada além de retribuir o aperto firme na mão. Ela entendeu e tentou manter o sorriso, olhando para além das janelas.

Eu entendi algo sobre a união entre um homem e uma mulher. Percebi que não foram feitos para viverem como seres separados; que não são animais, nem máquinas. Senti um ímpeto gay (alegre) de abraçar e ser abraçado, escutando música sob um telhado de chuva.