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‘MY’ road
( Milani Marco ITA – LA ‘MIA’ STRADA – tran. Pierangelo Tendas )
Car horns.
PEET! PEET! POOT!
Several kind of car horns, with several kind of sounds, shrill, piercing, powerful, but all of them, definitely, maddening noises. Horns, simply everywhere.
PEET! POOT! PEET!
The noises resound between the buildings around Giovecca Drive, bouncing against the walls just like rubber balls, almost making you believe that there’s a hooligan “sniping” with gas trumpet from every window, resolved to make your head inflate just like a soccer ball. More than the old town centre of Ferrara, this place looks like… it’s just like being… I don’t know, definitely somewhere else, this place surely has nothing to do with the quiet provincial town I always known this to be.
PEET! POOT! PEET!
Oh, fine, my chronic headache has just decided to get its ugly mug out of the dark. A sudden, stabbing pain to the temples obscures my sight, but it’s just a moment, I know, by now I’m accustomed to the pain that comes like a knitting needle planted in my head, side by side. But there’s a chemist’s shop on the other side of the road, just a few steps forward. Ten white stripes of walkway on the black asphalt of the road, and maybe one, two Excedrins… Traffic light?! “Walk” signal for pedestrians??! It was about time…
DRIN! DRIN!
Oh, shit! The car horns weren’t enough, all I needed was this old man on the bicycle, one of those who act just like the road was theirs, and the “Stop” and “Give Way” road traffic signs were placed there for nothing but decoration. Crap, people, I do hate this crossroad. Since now, I’m going to hate it forever.
PEET! POOT! PEET!
Better hurry and cross the walkway before the pedestrian light turns to “Don’t Walk”, the cars are already chafing at the bits just like unbacked horses… or nervous donkeys, it always depends from the driver.
DRIN! DRIN!
Oh, the shitty old man is having fun, huh? He wants to pass through the group of Japanese tourists while they keep on snapping photographies to the Este palace, even passing on the walkway. Yeah, they’re always true to themselves.
SKREEK!
This feels like a slam on the brakes… a pretty annoying noise, in addition.
TUMP!
Strange noise, I’d say it’s a BUMP. Too bad everything is becoming black, I’d have turned around and see what’s gone…
Light. White. Dazzling.
Whassup? Was I asleep?
I was dreaming of being walking around in Ferrara. Yeah, it was a dream. It was a complete balls-up to be real, and furthermore I never take Excedrin, it burns my stomach in an unbelievable way. But… where the fuck I am now?
It looks like… it IS… a… lift. White, clean, neutral. Linear. Not a single detail out of the line. The whole thing is too particular, too perfect for being true. It tastes like unrealty. Right now.
And, what about before? Yeah, also. Maybe.
Okay, I got it, it’s pretty clear. My dream changed. No problem, what time is it? I take a look at my watch, it’s twenty past six. Confirmed, it’s a dream: I do can understand what time is it, even though my watch has a single hand, rushing headlong the clock-face. And, I never carry a wrist clock...
Relax. Let’s enjoy the sleep and the dream and the visions, it’s not bad at all. Sure, it’s one of those dreams… a bit strange, but already too singular, can’t avoid to be tied by its plot. Hope all goes well.
I remember dreams, absorbed in other dreams, and turning from fake awakenings in nightmares. Wooohooo! Just thinking about, I can’t avoid shivers of fear. But, here, there’s no horror atmosphere, this is a truly intricate, multi-tale slept, just like a Marvel comic book from some time ago, the story goes on from one scene to another without interruption, one of those dreams where you can wake up when you want. Definitely, the best in the world.
So, where am I? If there’s a party, then, let’s dance. White, perfect, clean, aseptic lift. The door? There, right in front. The button panel? Right there, on the left.
Just one button. What a while array available…! I push it. The door opens. Pretty logic.
The light enters slowly, azure, skyblue and blurred frames, a street. A street? Okay, no questions, just go, no questions. Them are useless, anyway, right now.
I take a step, no, a little jump. I wouldn’t like to stumble over… TUMP! Asphalt!!!
Okay, it should be made of thoughts only, isn’t it a dream? Anyway, this asphalt isn’t tender at all. Pebbles prick my hands, and my left knee beats with a little, acute, skunky pain. I get up, there’s no way to quarrel with a piece of asphalt, and I look forward. What I see almost makes me bounce back for the astonishment. That’s disarming.
I feel a little sense of fear, now, and I turn back, looking for the reassuring familiar look of the lift. I wasn’t supposed to. The street now ends behind me, in a thin black line, and behind it the lift is going slowly down in the absolute void, without supports, noiseless. I turn back again, before the dizziness overcomes me, desperately trying to get the situation, and I sit down, I think it’s the best I can do by now. Sit down, and try to understand...
What I see is an absurd, beyond any description, mix between an Escher paint and a motorway junction at the outskirts of a metropolis. In front of me, over me, beyond me, besides me. Roads.
Roads, as far as the eye can see. Tracks, crossroads, junctions. Large, small. And long, I can’t see the end of them at all, some of them remain sheared, just like Christmas ribbons assaulted with a pair of scissors. Infinite bridges run over motorways, roads out, and other bridges again.
And, no traces of any support, nowhere. Grey metal straps standing out clearly against the summer blue sky, sunglasses obligatory. Wait, I really have sunglasses in my hand. Black, cool frame, Blues Brothers – style, and I put them on. Getting used to this is easy.
Everything is still, just like on a brand new print. No, wait, maybe… on that road, up there. What’s that, a reflex? A little, little dot, in movement?
Down there, too. Same thing. And up there. And down there.
Looks like a “Chase the details” page on a book of riddles: completely USELESS. It takes you for the first five, six objects, but then the boredom overcomes you, and by then you’ve already turned the page. It’s time to move my ass.
I get up and brush the pebbles off my suit with my hands. I make a step forward while I’m still brushin’ my pants, and then the noise of a siren, approximately thirty centimeters behind my ears, in stereophony, makes me stiffen, eyes wide open and embank my neck between the shoulders, as turtles do.
TLEN-TLEN! TLEN-TLEN!
Alarm bells from a railroad crossing. I got them right behind me. I turn around.
TLEN-TLEN! TLEN-TLEN!
Same bells. In front of me, now. I turn again.
TOOT-TOOT! TOOT-TOOOOOT...! A train, coming on my right, still pretty far away.
I turn my head, look… nothing. In front of me there’s just the road, the very same road that was there before, my road, lying down and stretching forward straight as a spindle, not seeming to have any change of direction, or an end at all.
TOOT-TOOT! On my right. And…!!!…?? An AIRPLANE?
Right over me, low altitude. A little Cessna, one of those single-screw propelled tourism planes one can see often flying over the sea. Just as far away as when you see it on the seaside. One of those bearing a large advertising banner, what would you put it on fly for what else. It’s gliding right in front of me, now.
TOOT-TOOT! TOOT-TOOT! And, here the advertising banner comes:
---
“DO YOU REALLY NEED TO KEEP ON LIVING? – Mephisto Corporation, LLC –”
---
I’m astounded. I lower my sight, staring at my feet for a second.
TOOT-TOOT! On my right side again? It has just passed! Here the airplane comes again. And here’s the advertising banner, again:
---
“NO, YOU DON’T – Mephisto Corporation, LLC –“
---
I’m astounded, more and more, but this time I don’t distract my sight, I want to see what the small plane does, now. I just rapidly look at my right side, wanna see if another plane arrives. But there’s nothing, as fast as I can I stare again at my left, and… the plane’s no longer there. I’d have betted on it, it’s classic. I know this kind of dream.
I’m still astounded, however. I should look for the meaning of that phrase, and of its answer, in some hidden angle of my mind. Being this a dream of mine, I invented it, so there must be a WHY in block, cursive, underlined bold letter. But I actually don’t want to look for it: why should I strive in that way? Think…
I start to walk, and here’s already something new. If the first road was asphalt grey, now it’s white, and a few step forward it crosses with another, and this is completely black. It was not there before, well, now here it is. Let’s keep it (let US keep it, “Plural Majestatis”. It would seem impossible, but the more one strives to keep himself coherent in following a dream, the more distractions follow one another, and one finds himself wandering, losing the thread, and images change. I hate inconstancy. End of digression).
I walk through my road, in the meanwhile I stare at the black one (sepia black?), while it keeps on coming closer and closer, looks like a gigantic piece of electric tape. Now, here, the roads cross, getting one over the other, giving life to a perfect lucid silver-chromed grey square, shines dazzling. I hear a voice, and consequently feel my heart accelerate, just like it almost went to failure. I turn my head to the right, I see a mouth moving, but I cannot understand its words, even though it has a very melodic voice. Is a black guy, with a nice smile. He is positive, I feel it.
« What do you said?». While I ask him so, I notice that we’re both everyone on his own colourless road, one step back from the common dazzling silver. He says something, spreading his arms.
« I don’t understand!» I answer, and I gesticulate with my hands the equivalent sign, specifically, the thumb and the index finger pointed in vibrated rotation, while shaking my head. It should be between the universal gestures: everybody understands the “I Don’t Understand”.
The boy smiles again, and says something else, then he asks me to step forward, with a gesture of the right hand. I understand, because after this gesture he has made by himself a step forward, entering in the silver square. I follow him.
« Hello» he says to me. « You’re the first one I’ve met since I started this walk».
« Hello» I reply. « And I’ll also be the last one, ‘cause you’re walking around a dream of mine. You’re a creation of my mind».
« I wouldn’t be so sure of this, after all. You may be a creation of somebody else’s mind, even mine».
Nice answer, I think. « Nice answer!» I tell him. « Why do we understand each others, now?».
« Don’t you get it by yourself? We’re in the No Man’s Land, or Buffer Zone, call it just like you want it, a cross between two roads. You, white, and I, black; the grey is the common encounter point. I thought it was pretty clear».
« Oh, I simply wanted to check if you were prepared…». I’m astonished to hear myself say automatically this phrase, and I feel embarrassed, two, three times embarrassed. What a jackass I am.
« My name is Marco, and you…?». I held out my right hand to him, trying to recover a minimum grade of dignity.
« I’m Jacob». He replies. « However, I know who are you».
« Oh, really?». This hurts me.
« Sure, I was sent to tell you a thingy or two».
« Who sent you?».
« You don’t know them…» he replies, and indicates the sky with his eyes and his right index.
« You’ll even know I’m atheist, then, do you?». I grin, waiting to see him in difficulty.
« That’s not a problem, I just have to administer you a pair of words meant for effect. I think you got brains enough. You decide to use it or not, I don’t give any shit about».
« You’re pleasant, do you know?». I’d like to tell this to him in another way, but I cannot find an alternative. I asked for it, after all.
« Question!». Jacob starts, in a perfect TV Quiz Show style. I retain myself from gesturing like putting a pair of headphones on, it would be a very jackass move, but it was seriously coming on in me, I had already raised my hands.
« Would you be happy to exist for a just cause?».
« Yes, of course. What a dumb question». I answer without even thinking about.
« Fine. Then, remember: you always have the possibility to choose, or at least to try».
« Okay, thanks for the hint. And then?».
« And then, stop. The end. I told you “a pair of words”, and a pair them have been: a question, and a hint. They told me to do this, exactly: “Since you’re passing close to him, tell him…”, and so I did». His smile is more disarming than anything before.
« Where are you going, Jacob?». Better change thread.
« Oh…» he absently replies, maybe taken by surprise by a such dumb question. « I’m just… following my road. Do you see… right over there. Obligatory direction». And, he indicates me the endless stripe of black electric tape. « I have to. I haven’t any other chance!». His smile doesn’t diminishes, though, neither for a single moment.
« However…». He continues before I have a chance to speak back, though I had no real intention to. «…it was a real pleasure to meet and exchange some words with you».
« Well, for me too. You go away already?».
« Do you know, you white people don’t act very pleasantly with us, black people, some times. But that’s not your case, so they told me, and I feel it in your aura».
His words make myself be pervaded by a great sense of satisfaction and self-congratulation which makes my heart lighter. Am I rejoicing? Maybe.
« Thank you. I like to hear you saying so». I talk to him smiling by myself, I feel the corners of my mouth relaxed, open. May Jacob be contagious?
« The last two white guys I met weren’t so glad to meet me» he reprises.
« Oh… really?».
« Not to mention the insults and the insolent remarks they addressed to me, words are just made out of air coming off the mouth making noise and cannot damage physically. But they had a pair of flick knives, too».
« Bastards a bit, then».
« Bastards a lot!» he replies, slightly frowning.
« But, for people like them, colour of the skin is just another excuse, same as being supporting a different football team, or finding a lone woman on the street or an homeless man under a bridge. It’s about being buttheads».
« True. Well… sorry, but I gotta go, now». He tells me as if he had suddenly realized to be on late. « I have an appointment, I can’t miss it».
« Well… I don’t know who is inside the other’s mind, I think it’s you in mine, but… I hope to see you again, sooner or later, in another dream or somewhere else».
« Somewhere else, for sure. Later, I hope, and… another little hint, this personally from me: the answer is wrong, the right one is “Yes, I do”».
I feel myself out of time. « Which answer?».
« The one from the advertisement banner of the airplane. There must be a reason why you’re alive, isn’t it? Try to stand still, while you still got the choice, ‘cause somebody else hasn’t it anymore». So he declares, emphasizing the last words.
I’m still confused. « Why do you tell me this?», I ask, and in the meanwhile Jacob has already stepped back twice.
« Because of those two punks, the butt-headed white guys I was telling you about before…».
« Yeah…?».
« Stabbed me. Twenty-seven times. I’m dead. Goodbye». He turns around and a second after he’s already again on his own, endless black way.
I have a moment of bewilderment. I shake my head, look at him again while he moves away, and he’s already disappeared, along with his road. My road is an asphalt stripe again, while the mix of roads that used to make out a non-sensed muddle is now impending over me, just like I was inside it. Everything bigger, everything closer.
The electric siren of an ambulance fulfils my ears with its noise almost making them bleed. I cover them with my hands in an automatic and instinctive protection gesture, while I look around trying to understand where is it coming from. But it isn’t there, nowhere.
As it came, it’s gone, but hell, it was fastidious. My left ear still whistles, I put my little finger inside it, then rapidly I take it out, as if with this fast movement the whistle could come out of my ear such as a worm from inside an apple. Okay, the comparaison between my head and a maggoty apple was a bitch, I’ve cut my own throat. But, at least, the whistle has reduced a bit.
« Oops-a-daisy… surprise!».
In front of me, the totality of the scene has changed. I had to expect it, due to the “rule of distraction”. My road is descending, then curves to the right, in a long hairpin bend that winds without getting straight again as far as my eyes can see, just like a smoke grey snake in the desert. There where the road is bent at the maximum grade, hell.. I can’t even hypothesize the distance, and cannot understand why, but at least it’s not that far away, I see a strange complex raising from the void beyond My Road (I’m starting to feel like it’s a property of mine), on the left. It’s a sort of building.
At first sight, it looks like a strange cross between a tunnel, a silo storage, and a motorway restaurant. No, wait, its resemblance with a motorway restaurant is supported by the presence of an enormous rectangular advertisement panel, hanging over the building. I cannot read it, though. I keep on walking towards it.
It was not that far away, since after a few steps I’m already on the curve, looking down with the sensation of being staring at a “bones creek”.
Skyblue and roads, roads and skyblue. I see summertime skyblue heaven as when I wear sunglasses… what a surprise. I haven’t the sunglasses anymore, though. Well, I can live without them.
The pseudo- motorway restaurant now looks like an enormous octopuss, an asphalt - grey and dirty wall – white Kraken.
It was not clear from the distance, but the side of the building hidden by My Road features an enormous crack, similar to black hole, inside which an incredibile series of roads enter after having compacted themselves around there… I may compare them to the branches of a tree if you follow them backwards, from the burgeons to the trunk.
The advertisement panel is really enormous, and placed under a balcony which remembers to me, in its complex, the famous Balcony of Romeo and Juliet, in Verona. It bears on a phrase in… intelligible letters. Strange, but intelligible:
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“THE LEGENDS OF A PEOPLE ARE ANCIENT AS MOUNTAINS” – Sicangu Lakota –
---
And, under it, in smaller letters:
---
On duty today: Saint Peter
---
The words “Saint Peter” appear cancelled by a red line, and an irregular series of letters over them say “GREY BEAR”.
Nice. Not very professional, but definitely nice, very distinctive.
« That’s my name».
The voice is powerful, thundering as a series of gong strikes inside a ten square feet room. No matter if it has almost made me have an heart failure, the enormous human figure that now stays on the balcony over the advertisement panel is perfectly suiting that voice.
So I imagined him, raising my sight on him, a big tall native American dressed up with long feathers, iron knobs and coloured stripes, lots of coloured stripes, on a buck leather jacket with the classic fringes on the sleeves.
And so he is, seen half-length up the waist, with the hands leaning on the balcony. A polite smile and a mature look of infinite wisdom.
« I… knew…!». My tongue feels furry, I’m positively impressed. I’d say that I feel subjugation in front of Grey Bear, and before I could even associate three sensed words to say, he’s already talking again. And I listen at him. It’s easy to. He has a good, robust voice, it’s good to listen at. It almost forces to listen, but at the same time it’s not an obligation, it’s a rapture of attention, an ecstasy of senses.
« I’m doing a favour to a friend of mine, Saint Peter. He had an appointment. I already know what would you ask me: “Doesn’t Saint Peter receives the souls of the dead in heaven? And, what are you doing here?”. Well, this would be the second question, I heard it so many times… okay, Saint Peter can not be always here, or in heaven… and, however, that’s not your business, by now. Do you like this phrase?». He indicates the advertisement panel under his balcony.
« Yeah…». Wow, I finally said an sensed word. Sensed? I can’t even understand if I’m blinking or if I’m frozen still, mouth open and dull-witted look, while staring and hearing at Grey Bear.
« While absolving certain duties, it’s necessary to let everybody know who you are». He’s speaking with rush. I feel this is important for him. « You must always carry with you something that makes you recognizable, a signature, a stamp, or a perfume, a colour. All in all, a “Symbol”. Symbols are created by Us with a purpose, Us… you, me, they, everybody. It was so in the past, it is so in the present times, it will be in the future, but them do are Symbols and so them will remain, and being them Symbols, them can be changed and adapted, always and in all cases. ONE MUST UNDERSTAND THEM. Remember those words from me when you’ll have to take a decision and you’ll be in times of trouble».
« Oh… okay». I’m even able to drool two intelligible words, I can’t believe it. Maybe the wax statues at the Louvre museum are more mobile and loquacious than me, in this moment. Possible.
« Jacob has already arrived there, he asked me to salute you should you have been passed this way. Now, go on your way, and… even if I shouldn’t. I’ll give you an hint, it’s me on duty today and I do whatever I want. Answer “YES”!».
« Thanks… thanks for everything…». I cannot say anything else, or maybe there’s nothing else left to say. With those three words I formed a phrase, and, with this deep thought, I find myself thinking, and walking, in front of me I have a straight, grey road. This time it’s slightly descendant, and ends up in… ENDS UP?!? Yes, it ends up in a square. It’s still far away, cannot understand what it really is, but it clearly looks like a square.
Go on, and on, and maybe I’d start to run. I run.
I’m running down a slope, and I’m going fast, long steps, almost jumping. I feel light.
The square gets closer, and I can now see straight, horizontal and vertical lines inside it.
The square gets closet, and the lines are actually three triangles, two identical ones under, and one larger above.
I stop in front of the square.
No doubt: two lift doors, complete with push-button panels, numbers and direction arrows. Over them, a wide video screen. I’m sure it is a wide-screen, because it has briefly shown a rewind, and now it’s displaying images. And I look at it. Even after my run, I have no signs of being out of breath, not a single drop of sweat on me. Clear, crystal bright, I think I flied, after all. Maybe I flied, it is my dream. And I look at it.
Car horns.
PEET-PEET-PEET!
Several kind of car horns, shrill, piercing, powerful. Horns, simply everywhere..
PEET-POOT-PEET!
I recognize it, that’s Ferrara. Around the Este Palace, on the main drive that crosses the town, from one side to the other. The screen shrinks in a zoom until it stops on a close-up on the “Don’t Walk” sign lit on a walkway traffic light.
I got a suspect, it becomes a certitude when the image enlarges when the walkway traffic light switches to “Walk”, now the screen shows the white stripes of a walkway on a black asphalt road, a consumed marble sidewalk, and even a “piece” of the Este Palace enters in it, dark red blocks and oxidized iron gratings. Certitude confirmed by the sight of the people who steps down the sidewalk to the white walkway stripes, gradually evolving from a compact group in small groups, then in couples, then in single individuals, in queque.
The image enlarges a bit again, enough to carry at the centre of the screen a single person between the crowd, a man, one of the single individuals in queque. He has a pair of white, consumpted stripes and a pair of single individuals behind him..
The man walks slowly, he’s not in a hurry.
The man is absent-minded, he minds his own business.
The man, that man, is me.
WHY NOW SUDDENLY EVERYTHING IS SO CLEAR?
It’s a silent scream that doesn’t comes out from my mouth, and bounces inside my head. I always knew that it wasn’t a dream, however I kept on, undeterred, to insist on this, just trying to convince myself.
FEAR… simply, fear. There’s no need to look for complex, or unconceivable, or fantastical answers. Only fear, period.
I see the man, I see myself, following with the eyes an old man on a bicycle after nearly crushing on him, and, from the other side, I see coming up a car, not a big one, a FIAT “Uno”, isn’t it?
I see the man, I see myself, run over by the car even thought the car was jamming on its brakes, and I see people gradually running towards him, towards me, in a knot, and other cars stopping by or slowly passing away around the crowd after having tooted and honked their horns for several, long minutes. I hate car horns.
I know, at least I can imagine, the continuation of the movie on the wide-screen, the continuation of my story, and I completely loose all interests in this. My conscious eyes lower down to the two lift doors.
In short, Number One: was it so long and painful to be concrete?
Number Two: I had an accident, I’m in a coma.
Number Three: I have to decide if I want to live or die.
Number Four: I had hints, suggestions about both choices, now it’s up to me.
Number Five: Somebody, more than One, gave me time to think about it.
In the meanwhile, a siren noise grows up getting closet and closet, and I think that, if I look upside, I should seen the ambulance coming up. I refuse to do it, and I suddenly understand how things become uninteresting when them are or become already seen, foreseen, just like an already seen crime story movie or an already read Spider Man comic book.
In conclusion, here’s all I have to do, decide if I have to live or die, taking the lift of life, that naturally will go up to heaven, or the lift or death, which will carry me down to hell. STOP!
No. Maybe it’s the opposite. Death lift belongs to heaven, life lift belongs me down, on earth. Or... isn’t it?
Does it depends from my behaviour, if I’ve been a good or a bad guy? No problem. All I need is to check the indications on the lift, then choose the one I want. What a limp story.
Now, I understand that I cannot see the lifts, because I’m still looking at the wide-screen, even though I’m not following the images on it. So, I switch my brains on a sequence I was previously just staring at, not really perceiving. There’s a young physician, he’s asking me if I can hear him, with the left thumb and index finger he’s lifting up my eyelids, with the right hand he’s checking my pulse.
« Hey, you, don’t touch my wallet!». I screamed it, before realizing that it’s a paramedic, and I relax, but not too much. He finds my driving license, raise his voice while reading my first name and surname. Puts the wallet back again where he’s got it. Now I relax.
« He doesn’t answers» the young physician says. « Gotta move him immediately. I don’t know if he’ll make it out».
« Oh, now shut up, you jackass!» I scream on him. « It’s me, I have the choice!».
In the meanwhile, a subtitle appears in the lower zone of the wide-screen:
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MOVE YOUR ASS. MOVE YOUR ASS. MOVE YOUR ASS.
---
They’re putting me in a hurry, and that’s annoying. However, I’ve already decided. I just have to take my lift, see which of the two is the one I’m looking for, and them… are… IDENTICAL!
I feel a bit of anxiety growing up by itself in me, under the form of pure terror, mingled with gastric acids raising up their ugly, scorching mugs.
« Which one are you? Which one are you? WHICH ONE ARE YOU?». Let me take a careful look at the lifts.
Arrow up and arrow down, here and there. Doors open, here and there, buttons, here and there. The two lifts are identical. IDENTICAL!!!
And, now? Which one of the two?
How is this possible? I got the choice and I am at the pray of the case, forced to choose randomly. That’s it! It’s impossible. Think. Think … GREY BEAR!
« THAT’S IT! I knew it!».
I push the call button for the lift at my left, while the ambulance over my head is moving again, destination hospital, I hear the two-tones siren. The doors of the lift cabin open. I turn around for the last time to look at the road, at My Road, the road that has belonged me ‘till there.
My lips stretch in a strange, suffering smile, I softly thank Grey Bear, now more than ever convinced that the Symbols are just symbols, we create them in this way for our purposes, we MODIFY them for our purposes. That’s what I did, too.
« Turn that siren off, please. The headache is torturing me…».
« Hey, he’s awake!». It’s the paramedic who took my driving license from the wallet.
« The siren, please…» I repeat, and an incredible stab of pain voyages through my left leg with a T3 Internet connection, without logging in, and reaches my brains.
I never thought a so dreadful, atrocious pain could have existed.
The physician is injecting something inside my left arm. I close my eyes and I see the faces of Jacob and Grey Bear; they are looking at me, and smiling, just like in an American TV movie when at the end the face of the actors appear along with the subtitles with the names of the actors and of the characters they play.
“We were good, isn’t it?”. So them look like saying.
Yeah, I know. I understand from your faces’ expressions that everything was pretty damned predicted since the very beginning, at the end of the tour in the “Never-Never Roads Park”. But then, why you forced me to make this tour? Lack of faith in me? Or was it obligatory? Does everybody makes it? Why you don’t want to tell me?
But, all in all, it was useful. A new concept opened in my mind, a concept that, before, was completely out of my parameters, hidden alone in some dark alley of my mind as an useless Christmas present, never taken out of the box.
I got a road in front of me to travel through, My Road. I’ll cross other ones, roads of persons just like me, better or worse people than me, but it doesn’t matters, or maybe the unknown roads of an already written, scoffing destiny. WHO KNOWS?
The fact, the only real fact that must be considered is that, if I’m alive, there must be a reason why.
Which reason? We will discover it in the future (We: “Plural Majestatis”, sometimes it comes out when I wander).