By the time I got her back to the Casa Verde after dawn, the sun
was already high in the sky. Time for me to go in and close the
coffin.
I gave her a couple of valiums and took off, back to my little crib.
I took a quick shower, looking out the bathroom window, looking out over the green landscape of my city, Rio de Janeiro, the earthly home I love with all my heart… as I love Narcisa.
Then I closed the wooden shutters and turned on the overhead fan she’s always so terrified of when she’s tweeking and spun.
I lay down on my sofa getting ready for sleep, distractedly watching the tail end of a tv program about lion poaching in Africa and thinking vaguely of poached eggs… thanking God for another day in this crooked, fucked up, brutal, lush paradise of surreal experiences and sensations.
I awoke in the afternoon and opened the window to another hot,
muggy day.
I got dressed, got out, and rode the motorcycle straight over to
Copacabana beach.
I pulled up by my little seaside coconut shack. I stripped down to
my shorts and walked right out over the sand into the sea. I floated
around and caught a few crucial waves.
Then I walked back across the short strip of sand to sit by the
bike, finally waking up now, feeling the warm summer breeze on my
skin drying the salt water from me, smelling the sea and smell of
mold and fish and septic memories surround me in a fond cavalcade of
sensations.
I think of Narcisa again now. She’s probably passed out cold up
there in her dark, abandoned attic hideaway across town, surrounded by
all those shadows and crawling things that invade her solitary sweaty
nightmares there.
And I think it’s such a pity that she must miss out on so many
beautiful, lively sensations, as I sit here quietly recording it all
for her, filling up on sounds and smells and sensations to feed to
her non-verbally at the end of my flesh antenna sex wand, whenever
she awakens again like sleeping beauty into the poignant dance of
these last days on Earth….
Copyright Jonathan Shaw 2008. All Rights Reserved. NOTIFIÇAO: Os eventos relatados neste site são contos de ficção – registrados na Biblioteca Nacional como ficção com todos os direitos autorais revertidos ao autor, Jonathan Shaw. Os personagens mencionados são interamente ficticios. Certos eventos, personagens, lugares e relatos foram baseados em fatos reais, porém qualquer semelhança a qualquer pessoa viva ou morta se trata de pura coincidência. As vários fotografias apresentadas se encontram com o rosto distorcido para preservar o anonimato das modelos que representam personagens fictícios.
I will keep reading your writing… it’s inspiring me!!! I was just about to worry myself sick about the writing process but your example just made me kinda wanna slide into it. Obrigada!
– diana