Eles estão por toda parte. Malfeitores trajados de bons samaritanos. Forjam a realidade e mostram-se bondosos, cheios de pudores e de vontade de fazer o bem. Facínoras! Não se contentam em ver o mal dos outros. Gostam de pisa-los e acharem que o que fazem é a coisa certa. O mais imundo é que eles têm a certeza de estarem corretos. Covardes! Ainda se eles tivessem a coragem de assumir o que são. Mas não! Mentem o tempo inteiro. Até mesmo para si. Imundos!
Alguns seguidores passam a vida inteira sem se dar conta do que realmente são. Isso não os redime do mal que causam a tantos. A Sra. S., a quem prefiro me referir desta maneira, uma vez que o nome será irrelevante, era uma seguidora. Gritos ecoavam até as casas dos vizinhos. Seus gritos ensandecidos podiam ser escutados todos os dias, a qualquer hora. Suas risadas de felicidade eram um som rasgado de sarcasmo, muito mais do que alegria em si.
Meu senhor! Glória!
A Sra. S. adorava passar o final da tarde em frente à sua residência observando o que as pessoas faziam, o que falavam e até mesmo imaginar os segredos de cada um dos que ali passavam. Uns talvez fossem ladrões, outras, mulheres infiéis. Sua língua era afiada, e apenas os mais chegados conheciam sua opinião. Seus dois filhos, crias perfeitas treinadas para serem seguidores assim como a mãe. Um homem vivia com ela, mas não era o seu marido. Uma viúva que não queria perder a pensão do marido, então resolveu que Deus, o todo poderoso e tão bondoso Deus, perdoaria aquele ato tão pequeno. Afinal de contas não há nada de errado em mentir e fingir para se apoderar de riqueza, certo? Imunda! Os vizinhos a achavam perfeita. Não fazia mal a ninguém e ainda desejava o bem para todos. Pelo menos era o que todos ouviam.
Naquele entardecer a Sra.S. não pôde fazer seu exercício diário de “colher” informações acerca da vida de outrem. A chuva que começara a cair no final daquele dia a impossibilitou de faze-lo. Mas ela não deixou de seguir as tradições. O som das músicas cantaroladas por ela em voz muito mais alta do que a própria música ecoava pelas casas dos vizinhos mais próximos. A chuva não cedeu um minuto sequer durante aquela noite.
Glória! Glória! Aleluia!
O som destes gritos misturava-se aos da chuva numa melodia com um som chiado. A chuva era tão forte que preocupava muitos ali no bairro. Trovoadas começaram a ecoar com o avançar da noite. Relâmpagos iluminavam tão forte como o sol ilumina o dia. Todos na casa da Sra. S. já dormiam e ela fazia serviços domésticos nos fundos da casa. Ela podia olhar para o céu, carregado de nuvens, enquanto fazia os seus serviços. Já era madrugada e não havia ninguém pelas ruas.
Um raio cai, oriundo de nuvens carregadas. No entanto ele não segue em direção ao pára-raios que existe no bairro. O raio incomum cai bem no meio da rua 13. Asas negras brotam da nuvem de fumaça causada pela queda do raio. A fumaça toma forma lentamente. As asas recolhem-se até sumirem dentro daquela nuvem de fumaça que toma a forma de um homem. Longos cabelos negros lhe caem sobre os ombros e ele mantém o rosto abaixado. Qualquer um que o olhasse jamais iria conseguir ver o seu rosto. Apenas via-se os longos cabelos caídos por sobre o rosto e os ombros. Aquela figura põe-se a andar pela rua, mas antes ele abre suas mãos como se tentasse sentir a chuva lhe tocar a pele. Ele olha ao seu redor e depois olha fixamente para frente. A rua de número treze é o seu caminho. Ele caminha lentamente em direção à outra extremidade da rua. A figura traja roupas negras e tem a pele muito pálida. Seu ritmo de andar é desconcertante. Ele não altera a velocidade nem a forma de andar. Anda lentamente, com passos firmes e bem elaborados. Parece uma marcha muito bem treinada para ser realizada de forma impecável.
***
Chapter I – Part 1
They are everywhere. Maleficent ones wearing the skin of a good Samaritan. Mislead the reality and show themselves as nice peoples, full of shame and with a great will of making the good. Malefactors! They are not satisfied only in watching the bad happening to others. They got to despise them and think that are doing the right thing. The worst is that they are sure they’re right. Cowards! If they had courage to assume what they are. But no! They lie all the time. Even to themselves. Filthies!
Some followers pass all their lives without to know what they are. This fact doesn’t redeem them from the evil they cause for so many. Mrs S., who I prefer to call this way, once the name is irrelevant, used to be a follower. Screams echoed until the houses of the neighbors. Her crazy screams could be heard every day, at any time. Her laughs of happiness were a sound of sarcasm, much more than happiness itself.
Oh Lord! Glory!
Mrs. S. loved to pass the ending of the afternoon in front of her residence, observing what the people were doing, what they were talking about and even to imagine the secrets of every people that passed through there. Some maybe were thieves, others infidel women’s. Her tongue was sharp, and only the closest ones could know her real opinion. Her two sons, perfect spawns trained to be followers just like their mother. A man lived with her, but he was not her husband. She was a widow that was not interested in losing the pension left by her dead husband. So, she decided that God, the all powerful a so kindhearted God would forgive her for a so small lie like that. Anyway, there is nothing wrong in lying and faking to take some money, right? Filthy!
The neighbors used to think that she was perfect! Harmless to everyone and even used to wish good things to everyone. At least it was what everyone used to hear from her.
In that afternoon, Mrs. S. was not able to make her “journey work” of “to harvest” info about the life of somebody else. The rain that began to fall in the end of that day made it impossible to be done. The song of the music’s that she was singing in shouts echoed through the house of the neighbors. The rain didn’t stop even for a minute during all that night.
Glory! Glory! Alleluia!
The song of these shouts mixed with the song of the rain, in a shrill sound. The rain was so strong that some peoples in the district began to be worried. Thunder-claps began to be heard as if the whole sky were falling. Lightning’s as bright as the sun could be seen. Everyone in the house of Mrs. S. was already sleeping and she was doing some domestic works in the back of the house. She could see the sky from there, and it was cloudy. It was already at down and no one was in the streets at that time.
A lightning falls, derived from dark clouds. But it does not follow to the lightning rod that exists in the district. The unusual lightning falls right in the center of the 13th street. Black wings grow from the smoke cloud created by the falling of the lightning. The smoke takes shape slowly. The wings retreats until disappear inside that smoke cloud that takes the shape of a man. A long black hair falls above his shoulders and he keeps his face down. Anyone who looked to him would never be able to see his face. It was visible only his long black hair fallen above his face and shoulders. That figure begins to walk by the street, but before it, he opens his hands as if trying to feel the rain touching his skin. He looks around and then fixes his eyes ahead. The 13th street is his way. He walks slowly to the north of the street. That figure wears dark clothes and has a very pallid skin. His walking rhythm is disturbing. He doesn’t change the speed neither the way he walks. Walks slowly, with firm footsteps and it looks quite smart. It looks like a march very well trained to be made in a perfect way.
They are everywhere. Maleficent ones wearing the skin of a good Samaritan. Mislead the reality and show themselves as nice peoples, full of shame and with a great will of making the good. Malefactors! They are not satisfied only in watching the bad happening to others. They got to despise them and think that are doing the right thing. The worst is that they are sure they’re right. Cowards! If they had courage to assume what they are. But no! They lie all the time. Even to themselves. Filthies!
Some followers pass all their lives without to know what they are. This fact doesn’t redeem them from the evil they cause for so many. Mrs S., who I prefer to call this way, once the name is irrelevant, used to be a follower. Screams echoed until the houses of the neighbors. Her crazy screams could be heard every day, at any time. Her laughs of happiness were a sound of sarcasm, much more than happiness itself.
Oh Lord! Glory!
Mrs. S. loved to pass the ending of the afternoon in front of her residence, observing what the people were doing, what they were talking about and even to imagine the secrets of every people that passed through there. Some maybe were thieves, others infidel women’s. Her tongue was sharp, and only the closest ones could know her real opinion. Her two sons, perfect spawns trained to be followers just like their mother. A man lived with her, but he was not her husband. She was a widow that was not interested in losing the pension left by her dead husband. So, she decided that God, the all powerful a so kindhearted God would forgive her for a so small lie like that. Anyway, there is nothing wrong in lying and faking to take some money, right? Filthy!
The neighbors used to think that she was perfect! Harmless to everyone and even used to wish good things to everyone. At least it was what everyone used to hear from her.
In that afternoon, Mrs. S. was not able to make her “journey work” of “to harvest” info about the life of somebody else. The rain that began to fall in the end of that day made it impossible to be done. The song of the music’s that she was singing in shouts echoed through the house of the neighbors. The rain didn’t stop even for a minute during all that night.
Glory! Glory! Alleluia!
The song of these shouts mixed with the song of the rain, in a shrill sound. The rain was so strong that some peoples in the district began to be worried. Thunder-claps began to be heard as if the whole sky were falling. Lightning’s as bright as the sun could be seen. Everyone in the house of Mrs. S. was already sleeping and she was doing some domestic works in the back of the house. She could see the sky from there, and it was cloudy. It was already at down and no one was in the streets at that time.
A lightning falls, derived from dark clouds. But it does not follow to the lightning rod that exists in the district. The unusual lightning falls right in the center of the 13th street. Black wings grow from the smoke cloud created by the falling of the lightning. The smoke takes shape slowly. The wings retreats until disappear inside that smoke cloud that takes the shape of a man. A long black hair falls above his shoulders and he keeps his face down. Anyone who looked to him would never be able to see his face. It was visible only his long black hair fallen above his face and shoulders. That figure begins to walk by the street, but before it, he opens his hands as if trying to feel the rain touching his skin. He looks around and then fixes his eyes ahead. The 13th street is his way. He walks slowly to the north of the street. That figure wears dark clothes and has a very pallid skin. His walking rhythm is disturbing. He doesn’t change the speed neither the way he walks. Walks slowly, with firm footsteps and it looks quite smart. It looks like a march very well trained to be made in a perfect way.
Um comentário:
o homem é mesmo sujo, e realmente nutre dentro dele muitas coisas.
parabéns pelo texto.
sorte e luz.
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