Treason!
Under the hat
Days and days without any sound, just the same bicycle parked in front of the house. From the room, a dim light which seems more a way to waste energy than illuminating. People passing by doesn’t really like our car parked here. Maybe this guy, or this hat, but I’m quite sure they will call authorities, soon. Waiting here is getting more and more unnerving every minute.
Puc, Puc
Knocking on the window
Outside, close to the car window, a man with hard features. One of those rare people whose never felt scared in his whole life. The eyes hidden, protected inside the skull, sharp forehead, he seems to have the right characteristics to be a survivor in this world. Enough for sure to scare someone knocking in a car window in a cold evening. Even if with well- cured hands.
Puc. Puc.
A small pause stands between the two knock, now. As if he wanted to speak with his fist.
Hmpf
And finally the guy opens the window. If it was me in the car, I would probably start the car and run. If I was him, right, if I wasn’t just a hat. My role is to protect him from wind and rain, how could I possibly understand about fists and car windows talks?
Cold like a fridge
The windy air runs inside the car, and it suddenly starts being cold as a fridge. Yet, no fruits or vegetables or anything else to make it a real fridge. The air, anyways, awaken the guy, which was almost asleep at the wheel.
Hi
La una nuova voce of the rough man says. No answer, if not a blink and a bored look from this perfect skull which wears me.
I know something you don’t know.
The voice changed, now it’s a bit less scary.
Hmpf
Oh, how chatty this guy! The other man thinks is an invitation, maybe, because he opens the door and seats in the car. Not in the front, but in the rear of the car. My head now has to decide, to turn three quarter or look at him from the rear view mirror. A leather seat makes some strange, funny sounds, but in the new comer’s voice there’s nothing funny.
I’m a track finder, my name is KI
Hmpf
I’m quite good tracking
Hmpf
It’s because of me if you’re sitting here watching like a fool a lamp in an empty room. And the person you’re searching for, would have changed already two times the timing of her watch while we’re speaking.
Empty?
Says the guy, abrubtly. Sometimes it’s just a word, a simple word to activate an entire vocabulary of reactions. This time he tries to turn and they find themselves with the noses one nose away from each other. They can smell the rancid caffè and the poor oral hygiene from each other’s mouths. The voice slips out of his lips before he could replace it with a more simple “hmpf”. The rough voice of the man, as a mumble of a old man, continues.
Yes, it’s empty. Briefly, it’s why I’m here. My task is to mislead you, so you’d take the wrong path while they’re far away. Did you like the bicycle? It was my idea
Where?
Maybe, before I would answer where, it would be easier to answer why
From features like these and a voice so low, I wouldn’t ever expect to be so polite. This is disconcerting, and a man so big and without any hat! But then, here he continues, with that voice that seems a recorded, crackling low sound.
We have a friend in common
Who?
S.
Not a friend of mine
Yes, well. But I’m pretty sure you met him and he knows you’re after the girl
He knows a lot, this man with no hat! Obviously, all this sounds suspicious. The eyes mounted in my perfect skull turn and watch in front, as ready to stop the conversation.
What do you want? My soul?
Finally, some real conversation, here!
No, my interest is on where your soul is leading
Hmpf
Hmpf, indeed
Here the silence sew some sounds around them, like a good tailor would do. One of those sounds is a dog, another a cat jumping from a waste bin. Why cats do such crazy things?
They’re going to the prison of souls
The Prison of Souls!
No, that’s enough. Probably cats are crazy, but at least are elegant, beautiful animals. Why two men would ever decide to jump in that waste bin which is the prison of souls? Come on, you’ve got brains, please think about something else.
That’s a monstrous place, if not even just a bad idea, a non- existing place. As if the real prison of men wasn’t his own body, his illusions and his eyelids. Which souls would ever been there, in that prison? I’ve never seen this guy so surprised, the pupils dilated as cat’s eyes. Speaking about cats.
The wind moves the tops of the cured plants in the gardens. The lamps is switch off, in the house, while the two men close the door and walk silently. Then, the guy with the grim speaks again.
Only the doctor knows where the place is. S. doesn’t know it yet and it would be an advantage for me, for us. Help me find the prison and you’ll have your soul in a plate
Do you mean, in a box
Yes, yes. Anyways, you understood me
The car now pass through small roads, outside a small house for shepherds. Or people escaping.
Here is where she’s been hiding. Until this morning, when she caught the train
Let’s go, I don’t want to waste more time. Why did you wait so long to approach me?
You must give your pray some advantage, if you want to take it by surprise
Umpf
Bom Bom Bom
A bell ring somewhere, the trees vibrate and dance in the air, while two men go in the dark. One of them has a small smile under his hat.
— And the next week, the End of the Third Chapter. The train! —
La storia sarà pubblicata una volta a settimana e tutti i diritti della storia e relative traduzioni sono riservati a Flyingstories.org e nella persona di Daniele Frau.
Tutte le grafiche sono fatte a mano, realizzate con tecniche differenti da Gabriele Manca, DMQproductions, che ne detiene i diritti.
All English articles published in Souls (alive) proofread by Elisabeth Corcoran
