Creative writing

(Joyce style)

Random thoughts

Actually I didn’t know what to do when he was still there on my bed sleeping and in the meantime smiling at his joyful and light-hearted beauty and wrapped on the sheets even more attractive upon the faint light of the windy dawn and then there were pictures appearing like rumors and rumors like voices reminding my mother or maybe my sister yes my sister and her old boyfriend with his strange mustache decorating his pale face and an old green bracelet on a green dark hood  and I was just a little girl and lots of curly blond airy hair covering my shoulder and a terrible nostalgia was devouring me in all my thinness of feelings and my weak body and my sense of starvation and my eyes towards his glorious expression of appeasement and I was blue as the blood flowing in my veins and his newly grown beard and what was the colour of his eyes? An intense desire and the wavy sea (oh yes they were blue) a barefoot run on a cloudy day and my pain and my trembling legs for a sense of  inexorable loneliness  and the big loss of myself in that room that used o be mine and lots of imported cigarettes and the smell of something wrong when you woke up.


(modernist style)

Don’t tell lies Mrs. Johnson!

Whit a rapid movement of his wrist Logan looked at the time indicated on his watch and, without saying a word, he moved towards that woman handcuffed to a chair. She strongly looked at his eyes.  “What do you think why are you here?” asked Logan, placing gently his hands on her knees “I have no idea”… “  What’s your name?” replied  him “Megan” she answered keeping looking him on  his eyes. “Don’t tell lies Marissa, you’re not able to”.
“What do you want from me?” she asked curiously, “ Don’t care about this; now, we just want you to be sincere…” he said calmly “…because lies make us extremely nervous” and continued “What do you do in your life, Marissa?” asked Logan getting used to her humbug “ I work on a shabby café, cleaning up whatever people leave on the tables and making espressos; that’s what people ask for now: espresso”.
“Well Marissa, maybe you misunderstand my words my dear…” he said angrily “I was testing you, you failed. You must we have discovered everything about you” he moved his eyes towards her eyes “you’re a spy sent by FBI, and you’re neither able to prepare a decent espresso…”. He put his hand on his pocket and, in a quick instant, shot her to her head.
by  Silvia Altomare   V H