ECRITUREWRITINGSCHREIBEN 2008

Abbat

ecriture2008 — Fri, 24 Apr 2009 13:33:27 +0000

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Salem- Virginia. Año 1753.Han pasado dos siglos desde los primeros episodios de esclavismo contra a los negros, que venían retirados de África y transportados con las naves negreras en las diferentes colonias inglesas, francesas y españolas instaladas en el norte y en el sur de América. Fenómeno terrible, que pisotea los derechos humanos de los que cada persona tendría que ser tutelada. Tendría. Fenómeno terrible, vivido desde mucho tiempo que ha entrado a hacer parte del estilo de vida y de la manera de pensar de muchos, que se consideran superiores y, anublados por esta infundada superioridad no se renden cuenta de como ésa representa sólo y pura ignorancia. A esto tipo de personas pertenecía su familia, la de Michael, una de las más ricas de la zona, que poseía una vasta propiedad en la que trabajaban como servos esclavos negros. Michael tenía nueve años a la época, un niño como los otros, acostumbrado a vivir en una realidad que injustamente imponía una jerarquía en la que los negros no tenían derechos y eran tratados como bestias. El padre de Michael, latifundista, se había enriquecido con estos tráficos, pero nunca se había ocupado directamente de ellos. Aquel ano había decidido participar personalmente al viaje y Michael habría ido con él. “Es bien que aprenda este trabajo de pequeño, una experiencia más grande podrá tan sólo ayudarlo cuando se hará adulto’’ decía. La vida de Michael ya estaba hecha y ensuciada de las acciones que aún no había cumplido y que todavía estaba aprendiendo. Su destino ya estaba escrito. Tal vez no… Para llegar al puerto emplearon un día de viaje. Llegaron a las tres de la tarde y todo ya estaba listo para salir. El asombro y la felicidad de Michael eran indecibles, siempre había deseado viajar por mar en una nave tan grande. Su padre lo había preparado para el largo viaje pero el niño no parecía por nada perturbado. Había tomado la experiencia como una aventura. Una aventura que duró un mes y que lo llevó a desembarcar en el puerto africano con menor entusiasmo que antes. El pequeñito no estaba acostumbrado a aquellos lugares, aquellos paisajes y aquella realidad tan diferentes de los suyos. Eso un poco le asustaba. Para un igual tiempo a lo del viaje el niño, su padre y los otros hombres vivieron en un pequeño pueblo del que después se habrían llevado la mayoría de los hombres sanos, fuertes y capaces que sostener trabajos duros. Al día siguiente Michael encontró por casualidad a un niño, mientras que su padre estaba afuera; su nombre era Abbat, y pronto trabaron una amistad especial. Fue suficiente una mirada, algunas palabras para romper el empacho inicial y desde aquel momento todos los días los dos se encontraban y pasaban horas juntos jugando. Michael conoció también a la familia de Abbat, que pero no sentía por él el mismo amor y la misma confianza del amigo. En cada caso los dos disfrutaron cada instante despreocupados y aprovecharon el poco tiempo a disposición en la manera mejor que podían, sin pensar, como hacen todos los niños, que pronto todo se habría terminado. Llegó entonces el día de la salida, Michael se dirigió al lugar escondido para encontrar a Abbat por la ultima vez. Esperó horas pero Abbat no llegó. Desengañado el niño se fue al puerto donde pasó algo raro para él. Entró en la nave y desde allí vio a Abbat y a su madre que lloraban, que gritaban el nombre del padre, que había estado cargado como esclavo, arrebatado de su familia como muchísimos otros. Y mientras que la nave se alejaba y su amigo se hacía siempre más pequeño hasta que se había reducido a un punto en el centro del mar, Michael sintió un gran despiste y una amargura singular en el corazón. En un estado de caos su mente viajaba inquieta buscando una respuesta, una explicación que llegó tan sólo algunos años después, cuando ya era bastante adulto y consciente para comprender la feo del trabajo de su padre. Un trabajo respetable y normal según la sociedad de la época, que pero enfrentándose con el corazón puro y sensible de Michael no encontraba y nunca habría encontrado aprobación. Cuando tenía veinte años y era bastante maduro para decidir de su vida y abandonó su casa y su familia, rechazando la oferta de su padre de seguir con el trabajo. Una noche, vagabundeando para las calles de la ciudad, llegó sin darse cuenta al puerto y se hundió en los viejos recuerdos. Una nave estaba atracando. Eran los hombres de su padre, los reconoció pronto. ¿Cómo olvidarlos? Revivió sin quererlo aquellos momentos, la nave que atracaba, los esclavos negros arrancados de su tierra que bajan del puente llorando. En aquel momento lo vio. Como la primera vez fue suficiente una mirada. Era él, Abbat, su amigo especial, el más especial de todos. El instinto inicial fue de llamarlo y abrazarlo, pero tenía que mesurar bien sus acciones. Decidió esperar. En él percibió fuerte el deseo de acabar con aquella grande y vergonzosa injusticia. Porqué la historia no tenía, no podía repetirse otra vez. Al día siguiente fue al lugar donde Abbat trabajaba. El asombro del joven en el verlo fue indecible. Pero los dos no podían perder tiempo. En la noche estudiaron un plano. Al día siguiente, tomado todo lo necesario, hicieron explotar el centro de organización del padre de Michael, donde trabajaban todos los hombres y con el incendio todos los nombres y los viejos proyectos, todas las informaciones se quemaron. En poco tiempo una grande muchedumbre llegó, también el padre de Michael y sus hombres. De la niebla y del humo aparecieron Michael y Abbat con todos los esclavos negros liberados. Michael se dirigió hacia su padre, lo miró: “A veces se gana y a veces se pierde”. En su corazón sabía que aquel gesto no habría sido suficiente para cambiar años de historia, pero ahora estaba claro en su mente lo que debía hacer . Si algo está mal hecho no es dicho que tenga que quedarse para siempre así.

englishwriter — Wed, 15 Apr 2009 20:16:43 +0000

A cold dark night

I woke up with a start in the middle of the night. It was very dark, so I couldn’t see anything. I tried to turn on the light but the switch had disappeared! I realized immediately that I wasn’t in my bedroom but in an ancient and unknown room, the walls and the floor were wet and cold.
Then I saw a pale ray of light on the floor. “So there’s a door” I thought. But suddenly I heard someone walking. I shuddered when the door opened and I saw a man, with a dark cloak. “Did you call me, young lady?” he said. I didn’t understand his question and I couldn’t speak. He asked me to follow him and I nodded.
He took me downstairs and I understood where I was! I was in an old castle, it was medieval and I knew it because I had seen it in an illustration in a horror book that I had been reading. I knew that the landlord was a ghost and his name was “unpronounceable” because anyone who dared to call his name would be killed by him. The night before I had read his name more than once.
I was really frightened but the ghost laughed and asked me: “Are you ready to die?” “I won’t die”, I cried, but the ghost laughed again and then he said: “Well, I must kill you unless you find a way to stop me, and there’s only a solution, if you find it I’ll set you free. But remember, you have an hour only, at midnight I’ll come back”.
I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t know what the solution was. I rememberd that the night before I had read the second last chapter of that horror novel and I realized that I was entrapped in the old castle like its young heroine. Unfortunately I had left the book on my bedside table and I was sure that at the end of the book I could find the solution! I tried to call the ghost to beg him to spare me but I didn’t remember his name!
Then, at midnight he came into the room and looked at me with his terrible eyes. I gazed at him too and, like a flash, I remembered his name! I cried out his name, praying and begging him.
Suddendly I awoke in my bedroom, it was morning. I was lying in my bed. The sunbeams lit up all the room from the cracks of the window. I recognised my beautiful room, clean and warm! I was so happy and comforted. I realized that it was only a dream, a terrible nightmare, I had dreamed everything!
I took the book and before going to school I finished reading it. At the end I was shocked: the solution to save yourself from the ghost was to pronounce his name in front of him. I understood everything: it wasn’t a dream. It was all real! The ghost really existed! I was horrified and frightened by that book and I decided to burn it, so that nobody would be killed or frightened by the terrible ghost any more!!

“…And Justice for all”

englishwriter — Mon, 12 May 2008 19:33:12 +0000

I. Setting: Reno, Nevada, last days of May 1879

The first rays of the morning sunshine, filtering through the flowering branches of the trees created light effects on the pale dead body of Mary Stipe. She lied upon a dirty bed, on the first floor of the local inn. Her long red hair and her face were covered with an old yellow pillow.

The night before she had had only one client (the last one of her short life). She was a 24-year-old girl and she had three children (but she didn’t remember even the face of their fathers). At the local inn, she sold herself every night: with the money that she got from her “lovers” she could buy some food for herself and for her children.

At 10 o’clock the innkeeper entered the room and discovered the body (the night before he was not there: the inn was in his nephew’s hands because he had just come back from a journey in Colorado); he immediately called the sheriff who came forty minutes later. The sheriff wrote up the list of the people that had been in the inn the night before, from 9 pm to midnight. The list included the innkeeper’s nephew, the pianist, the bartender and many other people that had gone there just to get drunk or to pay a visit to the young prostitutes.

The sheriff gathered the suspects in the main hall of the inn and started the questioning: everyone had a perfect alibi…no-one seemed to be able to commit that murder.

The investigation had ended up in a blind alley when, three days after the murder, in Mary’s house the sheriff discovered a red book in which she had noted down the names of her clients; under the date of her death there was just one name: Henry Macy, the richest and most influential man in Reno. He did not figure in the list of the suspects: a conspiracy of silence protected him. Everyone in Reno feared Henry Macy, even the sheriff who said that he could not arrest him without at least one witness of his guilt (as a matter of fact, Henry had also provided the sheriff with his job…). The night before, the men who were in the inn had clearly seen Henry escaping from the room on the first floor after having suffocated Mary Stipe with a yellow pillow and they had let him go pretending not to have seen anything…

At last, in spite of their fear, pursued by remorse, they decided to make the conspiracy of silence crumble and to denounce Henry Macy.

II. Setting: Reno, Nevada, first days of June 1879

The trial against Henry Macy began with the evidence of all the witnesses before the Court. The Sword of Damocles was hanging over his head: if the Court absolved him, he would be free, otherwise he would die.

All the circumstances were unfavourable to Henry but there was something that no-one had considered: even under indictment, the power of his prestige and of his money was unchanged. He paid the judge and the greatest lawyers; in the Court, his pleaders asserted that that night the witnesses were for the most part drunk and that they could not have seen clearly the murderer. Needless to say that the judge agreed with them…

About fifty minutes later the bulk of the witnesses had put in doubt or retired all accusations. Only three men kept on testifying Henry Macy’s guilt but no-one paid attention to them because they were known as three inveterate drinkers. For lack of evidence, the judge could not condemn Henry Macy and absolved him from the accusation of Mary Stipe’s murder.

III. Setting: Reno, Nevada, last days of May 1913

The first rays of the morning sunshine, filtering through the flowering branches of the trees created light effects on the old wrinkled dead body of Henry Macy. He lied upon the white, clean bed of his big rich house and his grey thinning hair was surrounded by soft perfumed pillows. He was 77 years old and in his life he had been through a lot (you could perceive a satisfied, untroubled smile drawn on his dead pale face).

At 10 o’clock his dead body was found by his son who immediately called the doctor and the priest. Within twenty minutes he had already organized the funeral.

Two days later, the dead body of Henry Macy was buried in the graveyard: his expensive white marble grave was next to a very poor, simple one. It was quite difficult to read the name written on that tombstone because of the ivy: the grave belonged to a young girl who died in May 1879 and was soon forgotten by everybody…

On Henry Macy’s tombstone, under the name and the golden cross there was something else written:

“He wanted the reign of God on Earth,

and Justice for all.”

The Doctor’s choice (short version)

englishwriter — Mon, 12 May 2008 19:25:29 +0000

30^th January 1933

I’ve just come back from a journey in the USA and today I’m very happy for two reasons. Firstly because after a long time I’ve seen my love, Karla. She is beautiful and I love her very much, but there’s also a negative fact: both our families don’t like this relationship. My father is a nationalist and doesn’t like Jews, he believes they are responsible for Germany’s defeat in the Great War, but I don’t think he says this nastily. Karla’s family is Jewish, but for me it’s not a problem and I think that our marriage (I hope it will be soon) will sort out all differences.

Secondly, this morning Adolf Hitler, my father’s old friend, has been elected Chancellor. My father says that we must be very happy for this event because he is charismatic and capable of giving new enthusiasm to the nation. Karla instead is very worried because she says he hates Jews, sincerely I don’t know him, but I trust my father.

1^st April 1933

I’m a little worried because I’ve noticed a growing intolerance and violence from the right-wing party towards the German Jews. Today some nationalists painted stars of David and slogans on the windows of shops owned by Jews, maybe trying to intimidate the shopkeepers. Karla’s father is a shopkeeper, too, and he seems very worried… talking of Karla… she seems very detached in this last period. It’s true, I’m very busy working in my father’s clinic, but when we are together she seems to be miles away. Does she still love me? I hope my impressions and suppositions are wrong…

14^th July 1933

I’m shocked, Karla has confessed she has another relationship. I can’t stand this situation! She has deceived me and lied to me… She says that we and our family are too different and we’d better break up. How can she break my heart in this way? I’ve always loved her more than my life and I was ready to marry and leave everything for her… I’m furious, I’ve been a stupid, I’ve confided with my father and he has given me comfort, he says she doesn’t deserve me, he has always known that I could aspire to someone better. I agree with him, I don’t deserve all this!

When I see her in the streets my heart starts racing, I can’t stand her look.

I’m trying to find some distraction working. A law for the prevention of hereditary diseased progeny has just been introduced. My task is to determine if someone has a hereditary sickness, These people will be sterilized to avoid the birth of sick babies. My father thinks that a person who is born sick, is destined to suffer and needs a lot of money to be cured; this is a difficult period for Germany, after the humiliation and the defeat in the World War I, caused by the Jews, families don’t have much money. So this is an act which will help restore our nation.

I’ve already examined some interesting patients, they all suffers from hereditary diseases and as chance would have it, they are mainly Jews!

30^th July 1939

A wave of nationalism has swept over Germany, I’m overcome by events, I’m not able to react, to defend my thoughts and values, I’m a coward; with my work I’m sending a lot of people to death, but I prefer closing my eyes pretending that all this is right and necessary. Don’t I deserve to die? Only now I see what I’m becoming and all this because I’m trying not to disappoint my father. After the break with Karla I’ve been muddling things up, I’m not able to think with my own mind. My dad is a monster, only now I’m opening my eyes, he is not a model but a mad killer… now it’s too late, I’m like him.

20^th June 1940

War has started, I lost any joy in life a long time ago, but I know I have to act, finally.

Two weeks ago I learnt that Karla was brought to Auschwitz, a concentration camp, from that moment I understood that I wanted to see her, still my love, for the last time.

I moved to Auschwitz and started to work as a doctor there. When I saw Karla, I felt my heart race. I managed to talk to her in private, to confess her all my errors and my plans. When I finished talking she was crying, but I’m sure, this is the right choice.

Tonight I’ll help a group of Jews to escape, my plan is ready. If the guards try to stop us, I will fight and keep them busy while they will be running towards freedom.

I will not escape from my destiny, not this time… It’s late, time is running out and I have to go.

For the last time, goodbye.

THE ROOM

englishwriter — Sun, 11 May 2008 14:01:52 +0000

You, man, live your little life thinking that all the things must be logic and explainable.

Usually it is so, but in the universe there are things that you can’t explain. But these things are far from here, you think. No, they are here, around us.

I’m going for my evening walk in the neighbourhood when it starts raining.

I protect myself from the rain under an arcade of a house that I’ve never seen before.

I see a light in the house so I knock at the door to meet the house owner but nobody answers me.

I see that the door is open, so I say: “Is there anyone in?“ Nobody answers me.

I ask again but again no answer. So I enter. The room where I am is a little living room covered with dust, without windows, so I think that the house is uninhabited. I go back but I’m not out of the room, I’m in another room like the previous one.

I exit from this second room but there is another room like this and after it comes another one again. I start to run but I continue to cross the same room, again and again.

I run and run, but I never exit from the house and all the rooms that I cross are the same. I can’t believe it.

I stop to run and sit down on the floor, I’m tired and confused and I think it must be a dream, but everything is real. I stand in fear so I lie down trembling…

When I wake up, I see a man with white hair and a beard in front of me.

I jump up and ask him: “Who are you?”

He answers me: “I arrived in the room when I was a young boy and never went out from here”.

I look around and the room is not the same one in which I was before. “Where am I?”, I ask. “Ha, ha ha! It’s the first night you spend here and you don’t know yet that here every day you wake up in a different room. There are a lot of rooms and many people live here and sometimes they meet each other.”

“How can I go out from the room?” I ask.

“You can’t go out. You are imprisoned. You have to stay here forever, until you die”, the old man says.

Nevertheless I seek for safety, but all my efforts are vain. I am terrified and exhausted and I fall asleep again.

When I wake up, I am alone and in another room. I don’t hold out much hope for an escape route when I notice a grandmother clock. I get closer to the clock door and open it with caution. Suddenly the room is flooded with light and I am under the arcade of the house.

I spent two days into the room, but for the people outside time hasn’t passed.

Now I’m happy and I return home running.

Since that day I’ve been searching that house but I’ve never seen it again.

Susanne

englishwriter — Sun, 11 May 2008 13:59:55 +0000

On a sunny day, Susanne, a very absentminded girl, was lying on the ground outside her house. Nobody used to walk around there so she felt free to use her imagination….. Looking at the sky…

One cloud started to move faster than the others, faster and faster until its perfect white turned into

green, red and all the rainbow’s colors …. “Susanne!!” the cloud disappeared. “Susanne what are you doing? It’s late! You must go to the market!” screamed her Grandmother, a lovely old women.

Back home, the young girl prepared her backpack while Grandma explained the road to the town again and so she left.

Once on the street she was still thinking about that fantastic cloud, so colored and so fast; who knows where it was going to.

Walking through the field she found a crossroad: and now? Left, right or straight?

Trying to remember the Grandma’s, poor Susanne completely forgot which was the right direction. Right behind a tree a dwarf was quietly smoking his pipe: “Why don’t you proceed straight on that way?“. A little grumpy but very helpful.

Finally she arrived at the lagoon: it wasn’t a beautiful place, really. Fog surrounded her. “Now you are completely at a loss” she said to herself.

Suddenly a crow arrived right in front of her. One second later another bird reached the first and so ten more. Completely scared, she jumped behind, falling on the ground. She was now surrounded….. A music started and the wind moved the leaves…. A dark hooded profile appeared through the fog. His slow movements charmed Susanne’s eyes and hundreds of crows hid his true face.

The man came closer and closer; he wanted to touch her with his black hand…. Almost touched but….. he stopped for a second, he put his hand up and…. Flash…. An incredible light opened the dark and Susanne’s eyes opened again. The black Figure screamed and all the crows started to fly all around to protect him, but something was shining through the darkness. A small colored cloud held up at ten meters from the ground. A stair came down: “SO WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO? ARE YOU COMING OR NOT?” a voice from the top of the cloud was calling Susanne, which, finally free from the spell, started to run along the cloud.

The Black Man stood up and very slowly followed the girl. She was now climbing the stair but he grabbed her foot. All the crows started to caw and another lightning blinded the black birds which flew away. Half a body came out from upstairs: a young boy with a very serene face was playing the violin. Something magic came out of that instrument: a wonderful melody irradiated the colors of the landscape, enchanted notes lit up the darkness.

Another hand from the cloud grabbed Susanne’s arm and quickly pulled her body up. With a scream Black Profile disappeared together with his crows and his ugliness.

“COULD YOU PLEASE PLAY A LITTLE BIT EARLIER NEXT TIME? THANKS” said the boy.

“AND WHY NOT, MAYBE A LITTLE BIT FASTER AH?” answered the musician “YOU REALLY CAN’T UNDERSTAND MUSIC!“.

“OH REALLY, AND SO JUST BECAUSE I’M A DRAWER, I’M JUST A STUPID BOY WITH HIS BLACK DIRTY HANDS RIGHT?“

“OH COME ON, YOU KNOW THAT I’M JOKING”

“Ehm… Good evening… ehm… I have a couple of questions: where are we going?” intervened Susanne a little shyly “and above all: Who are you?”

“OH SUSANNE IT IS NOT IMPORTANT WHICH IS OUR DESTINATION” said the musician “AND OF COURSE YOU WILL DISCOVER WHO WE ARE DURING OUR JOURNEY. DO YOU TRUST US?“

“Y…Yes but….”

“GRANDMA ALREADY KNOWS EVERYTHING” said the drawer starting to sketch something in a large sheet.

A STORY OF ANGELS

englishwriter — Wed, 07 May 2008 19:42:58 +0000

One evening Marie was at her best friend’s house with other friends. They had dinner together and then they watched a film on television. When they finished it was really late and outside it had been snowing for three hours: everything was completely white. So Marie and her companions decided to pull up there. They tried to sleep but nobody succeeded in doing that, then they thought to tell each other a little story. Everyone told fantastic stories, about love, adventures in magic lands, etc. At last Marie’s turn arrived and, watching outside, she decided to tell a real story, about a mysterious and frightening thing that had happened to her when she was only a young teenager.

“The winter in which I was twelve I went to Canada for Christmas with my parents.” she said.

“ We stayed there for ten days and it was a really nice time. On the first day we threw a lot of snow balls and we skied a lot. Then I tried to ice-skate, but I wasn’t certainly as good as people who lived in that country and who could train every winter. I also saw at an ice-skating show: I had never seen anybody so good at it!

But one evening it snowed too much.

The landscape appeared awesome so we decided to go skiing. The snow was very soft and twice I sank with my feet into it. At a certain moment I was at the bottom of a slope and I was waiting for my parents who were just descending it. Then they met some olds friends who used to go there with them when they were younger. So I moved to my left and sat down on a stone, but I was very impatient at that age so I took off my skies and I started walking among the trees. Probably I went too far from where I had left because I didn’t recognize anything around me. I was frightened so I started running and screaming calling for help. I continued walking for a very long time and, after about half an hour, I found a cavern made of ice. I was hypnotized. I got into it and every step I did I was more surprised. After walking for a while I felt sleepy and I yawned: blocks of ice fell from the ceiling. The entry was blocked and I was snowed in! I started crying but only ten minutes later someone opened a little hole where I could got out: I was safe! But I didn’t see anybody and anything around me. Who opened the hole?

Then I looked down and I saw some little branches that formed a sort of footpath. I decided to try to follow this footpath and in less time than I thought I found the ice run and down my parents who were talking with a policeman. I ran to them and they were at the same time surprised and worried because I had my clothes a little ripped. I told them my story and then I asked them if anybody was looking for me: I wanted to thank the person who had saved my life. But nobody was looking for me and after some researches somebody found the cavern but there wasn’t any hole on it. I’m sure that an angel has saved me that day, there isn’t any other explanation.”

All her friends had their eyes wide open and nobody had the courage of saying anything.

Mon Papa

ecriture2008 — Sat, 03 May 2008 15:31:20 +0000

Mon Papa (je n’écris pas cher, tu sais pourquoi),

Ce soir je n’ai pas dormi à la maison, mais je ne sais même pas si tu t’en es aperçu. Pour toi je ne suis que la « fille de réserve », n’est-ce pas? Je ne fais jamais ce que tu voudrais. Tu voudrais une fille avec 18/20 à l’école… tu voudrais une fille qui ne fasse pas de compétitions… tu voudrais beaucoup de choses chez moi. Mais tu n’as jamais compris que je suis différente de toi. Tu n’as jamais voulu le comprendre.

Combien de fois tu m’as dit que tu n’aimais pas mes amies? Et pourquoi? Seulement parce qu’elles n’avaient pas 18 de moyenne dans leur bulletin trimestriel, ou parce qu’elles préféraient sortir avec leur petit ami. Tu es égoïste: tu veux seulement les justes amitiés, les justes personnes, les choses justes… mais justes pour qui? Seulement pour toi! Pour toi , je suis encore la petite enfant qui ne sait pas ce qu’elle doit faire. Réveille-toi! J’ai 18 ans Papa! Tu as choisi ma vie: tu as décidé l’école juste, le sport juste, le loisir juste… même si je ne voulais pas. Tu te le rappelles ce jour-là? J’étais en pleurs dans la voiture, je faisais de la danse classique, mais toi non, tu ne le voulais pas, je devais faire du volley-ball. Avec le temps, j’ai commencé à aimer ça, et je me suis améliorée. Et donc j’ai commencé les matchs. Mais alors le volley-ball s’était transformé, et je ne devais plus le pratiquer. Mais j’aimais ça ; aujourd’hui encore.

Puis l’école. J’avais 13 ans, et j’adorais la peinture, je vivais pour dessiner. Mon professeur de dessin m’avait dit que j’étais plus compliquée que Van Gogh. Je me rappelle tous mes profs qui te disaient que la section artistique était le choix le meilleur. Mais non, ce n’était pas vrai. Et voilà, je suis là! Quand j’étais au collège, je t’ai prié plusieurs fois de changer d’orientation, mais pour toi, ce n’était pas possible. À la fin, en seconde tu es arrivé dans ma chambre en disant : « si tu veux, tu peux changer de section. » J’ai bien entendu? Après 3 ans, tu me dis que je peux changer? Mon Dieu…en seconde tu as compris que ce n’était pas l’école pour moi? Ta réponse fut : « C’était une expérience, je voulais voir comment tu t’en sortirais… » Mais, c’est ma vie, les expériences fais- les dans la tienne!

Et maintenant, tu te plains de mes résultats à l’école, que vous n’avez pas de soirées de libres, que vous devez m’emmener aux matchs… ET QUE C’EST DE MA FAUTE! En plus, vous savez que j’adore les motos, mais quand je vous dis que je veux en acheter une, vos réponses sont : avec quel argent? Comment tu t’en occuperas? Où tu penses la garder? Même si c’est une solution pour vous, pour avoir plus de liberté. Mais non, je suis encore l’enfant…

Dans deux mois, j’aurai 18 ans. Je pourrai faire tout ce que vous ne voulez pas: un tatou, un piercing, je peux travailler, je peux aller où je veux et quand je veux, je peux retourner après 23 heures comme les amies de ma sœur qui ont 14 ans…

Le monde tourne seulement autour des personnes qui le méritent: les personnes qui n’ont pas de vie sociale, qui passent toute la journée sur les livres, qui vivent pour obtenir de bonnes notes. Des personnes comme toi.

Tu ne me comprendras jamais.

Valérie

Le regard du Panda

ecriture2008 — Sat, 03 May 2008 13:00:53 +0000

Je les vis arriver, pendant qu’ils se frayaient un chemin avec des machettes parmi les tiges de bambou, remonter avec un grand effort le cours du fleuve qui dégringolait du versant de la montagne.

J’avais un odorat très fin et mon nez piquait à cause de l’odeur de leurs armes.

Je revins, il était tard, et ma mère s’était sûrement inquiétée pour moi.

Je venais juste d’arriver, quand je vis la désolation: le groupe avait changé de place; alors je me dirigeai vers le lac, où d’ assourdissants bruits résonnaient comme des foudres dans une tempête.

Je courus plus rapidement: ma mère était là, blottie contre Lula, mon amie.

Mes copains aussi étaient là et sur leur visage il n’y avait plus de sourire mais des grimaces de douleur: aucun mouvement.

Alors je les vis de nouveau devant moi, avancer; ma mère se tourna vers moi et après un long pas, elle me prit et «bang!». Je vis tout en noir, l’obscurité et je fermai les yeux.

Une tiédeur m’enveloppait et me berçait parmi les rêves. J’ouvris un oeil , puis l’autre, la lumière de l’après-midi finissant m’aveugla.

De nouveau j’ eus cette horrible vision: voilà mes copains et mes amis étendus par terre, plongés dans une unique flaque rouge. Je pleurai et je m’approchai avec prudence de chacun d’eux. Ils ne bougeaient pas, ils étaient immobiles, comme endormis, froids et inanimés. Quelques-uns avaient les yeux écarquillés, d’autres avaient la peur dessinée sur leur visage. Je ne croyais pas que Va puisse être possible: j’étais restée seule, ils m’avaient laissée là, abandonnée.

Les larmes tombaient abondantes; j’étais à côté de ma mère et je continuais à la toucher pour voir si elle bougeait. Je ne pouvais rien faire; j’étais si petite et elle, si grande; ainsi je me suis approchée encore et je cherchais à l’embrasser plus fort, ainsi elle se serait réveillée en sentant mon cœur battre sur le sien, qui s’était arrêté.

Je pensais seulement à elle; pendant deux jours je restais là à pleurer et mes larmes se mélangeaient au sang.

À l’improviste je me sentis soulever: on m’avait prise par le cou et puis de nouveau «bang!».

Maintenant, mille yeux me regardent fixement comme si j’étais un phénomène et moi impuissante, derrière ces barreaux nus, seule.

J’ai perdu l’unique chose que j’avais: la liberté que ma mère m’avait laissée.

Un lointain souvenir: nous vivions parmi les hauts bambous, cachés parmi les nuages blancs des montagnes du Sud-Ouest de la Chine. Un fleuve s’ élargissait dans une anse en formant une vallée. Je n’avais pas encore mon épaisse fourrure à peine tachée de noir. J’aimais jouer.

Maintenant je suis enfermée ici: pas d’amis et ni d’ écorces à manger.

Tout autour, je ne vois que solitude, amertume et d’autres animaux arrachés comme moi à leur famille.

Voilà ce que c’est, un zoo.

The unicorn legend

englishwriter — Sun, 27 Apr 2008 13:03:43 +0000

Shaila was a princess and her father was the chief of an Indian tribe. He wanted his daughter not to marry because only in this way at her death her spirit could become the spirit of purity and it could be evoked by the people of the village. He wanted an afterlife for his daughter. Shaila was a beautiful girl with black straight long hair, and she could play the Pan-pipes very well. She usually went into the forest on horseback, sat on the ground in front of the lake and played her flute listening to the sound of the water.

One day, while she was playing, she saw the lake reflect the face of a boy who was behind her. She immediately stopped playing and stood up to run away but he seized her hand and looked at her in silence. He was a handsome boy with blond wavy and long hair blue eyes and a fair complexion. His voice was sweet when he said that his name was Derek and that he had listened to the magic sound of her flute every day, but he had never understood where that sound came from. Shaila introduced herself and then they started to speak as if they had known each other for a long time. But as soon as the sun set she said she had to go back home and she rode her horse.

The day after Derek went to the lake to meet Shaila again. It happened for many other days and they fell in love. They spent all the afternoon speaking about their different cultures, the problem Shaila had with her father and swimming in the lake. But one day while Shaila was joining Derek in the forest, she understood that someone was following her and she saw behind her some of her father’s warriors. He probably had understood she was hiding something from him. She took her crystal sword and she tried to free herself from them but her horse slid into a precipice. It was the last time that Shaila rode her horse, and then nobody had news about her. Naturally the warriors never told their chief that his daughter had met a terrible death, they only said she was missing, but he didn’t see her again. That day Derek was at the lake waiting for Shaila, and he never saw her either. But he never gave up hope. Every afternoon he went to the lake, he sat on the ground and he stayed there until the morning.

One night he was sleeping on the ground when he heard the magic sound of a flute; it seemed Shaila’s Pan-pipes and he thought he was dreaming. Then a voice called him from the lake. It was Shaila’s voice. He stood up and he came near the lake. The water was of a strange colour and the waves drew Shaila’s face. The voice told him not to be afraid because she had come there to ask him to go with her. He was incredulous and he was ready to do everything to reach her. She said the only thing he had to do was to be hit on the forehead by her crystal sword. He didn’t hesitate and he kneeled down. A hand that kept the sword emerged from the water, he recognized the sword and he let himself be hit. Immediately his skin became white and velvety, his hair became white too and they were similar to a mane and the sword stayed in his forehead like a unicorn. He become a marvellous horse, a horse that had never been seen before. Shaila emerged from the water, leaped into the saddle of her horse and they rode through the sky and they always stayed together.