Flanked by the only carbon stain with fan-shaped wings in the village, the old man shattered his sick laziness and suddenly jumped into the alley to walk the true path one last time. All the newcomers had gathered around the thin gates to lead him towards the church, a tall structure much more than old, rather a broken shipwreck of stranded hearts raised around The Flood. His big eyes whispered for a new light to hide him from all the crosses that had turned into calendar sheets. “Come home, my man,” he heard from somewhere above. He had forgotten about the open gate.

He had entered relatively late into the most beautiful elevator in this world, her collective heart. Being devoid of any gravitational inertia, he found himself floating aimlessly. He was surprised to find that inside the darkness of the enclosing and fragile cage there were no directional buttons, only faint ideals, passively augmented through dissimulation. The horizontal movement made him jump, weighing the authenticity of the time spent in a box of eternal mercy. Our salvation will come from somewhere above he heard until his release.

The 30 pure silver coins were nowhere to be found. The cheap production, triggered by too much plastic and thin cardboard, betrayed itself in a crude manner. Everything seemed to be sewn with a white thread, literally. He thought opportunistically that His own betrayal had become a half-measure, played out in a small and impartial theater, pointless to the futile cause. What’s the use of suffocating myself now under the guise of a pseudo-drama? I could make a meta-cross with just 2 fingers. The third one could possibly indicate the direction of salvation or maybe the Self. Amen. Bis !

I was born from a broken water. I remember that feeling of sweet guilt, absolutely exposed to my first prank of notoriety. I didn’t really understand this forgiveness thing, I had only heard about it from my parents through waves of exaggerated compassion, directed at me, but consumed natively from their restless souls. The judgment panel invoked for the current case seemed lenient, again with a protective scent, an apparently essential attribute in this new world that kept dreaming me.

A sea of asphalt had been suddenly displaced to cover the crack left by the blind and sovereign splitting. However, it was already late and he no longer knew, instinctively, how to clearly argue the source of their slow time, the essence of dialogue, the taming of a deaf burden of useless symbiosis, which lost its shine with each suicide. He let himself be carried away by the wave for a while, then worriedly took over the rain-hit helm to avoid the straight road home. His heart was clearly drowning in the water of life.

It was raining so hard with wings that he felt suffocated for the first time. There was no longer any flying anywhere, the mirage of heights had been played on a massive shorting trend, pasteurized by a collective silence. He looked broken at the premature graves, how they rustled with the weight of black swan feathers and looked for missing bodies. It was strange that in all this December silence, some believed that there was shooting happening now and then. The bird-like angels were reigning more strictly over the shame of the new people, hunted by freedom.