The taste of friendship

There was a knock at the door... The Count went to open it...
It shocked him to discover who was behind the door...
It was Red-Nose... Years had passed since the last time they saw each other, nobody knew why he was there, so far away from his hometown.

Count Dracula had met the clown in high-school... They were best friends... Incompatible, you might think, but no, they weren’t so... both sides of the coin... terror and happiness... both mutually needed to keep with the course of universe...

Red-nose didn’t know how he had ended up in front of his best friend’s castle gates... he felt so confused, lonely, unloved... the happiness had faded away from the clown’s face... he was a dark clown, a dark cold clown with no shine, with no joy... for these
reasons he left home to wander...

Dracula was sad too, the bad press horror stories pushed him away the Transylvanians, he was alone too, alone in his huge castle, but thirsty more than alone... there wasn’t a living soul he could suck the blood out... he was paler than usual, as white as paper... and his friend was what he needed to recover the colours, to recover the blood, to satisfy the thirst which was killing him...

“Come in, please... so much time since the last day”

“Yeah, long long time ago...”

They continued as usual...

“Would you like a drink?”

Dracula was able to see the veins beat in Red-nose’s neck, he imagined himself swimming in a river of blood, drinking ‘till he dried it up...

Thirst didn’t recognise friendship... Red-Nose would be just another victim and it seemed he didn’t realise it yet...
As soon as the clown turned his back, the Count rushed towards him...


******

The first blood drop went through his fangs... Friendship, they say, is sacrifice for the other...

That was the first and the last time Dracula tasted friendship...

Diego

Merry Chrismas!

It was then that it occurred to her to give a party. There were always several parties at Christmas time. She liked sitting in a noisy dinning room… It annoyed her very much whenever she heard of a party given in the neighbourhood to which she was not asked. Thirty five years had passed since the last time she had been invited to one, for thirty five winters she had been alone, thirty five Christmas eves since his husband died… She felt lonely, unloved, blue; and it was those feelings what had made her the despicable wretched old woman all neighbours were afraid of.

Lots of stories that spoke of her as a bitch had pushed the children away, so they would not knock at her door anymore. But not only children were terrified, those who had been living in the neighbourhood for years were also scared: they thought that that repulsive person could harm their kids and might even torture them. This was her reputation but it was not reality.
Behind the doors of the enormous mansion lived a solitary old lady with nothing but pain in her heart. Her husband had been the only person who had ever loved her and her sons had not seen her since their father’s funeral.

She had started to plan the party a month before. It would be because of her beloved’s death anniversary. ‘I have to get my family back before I die’. This was her only thought, her only wish. She imagined day after day the wonderful evening which was to come, the whole family chatting and dancing as it used to be. No more silence would be heard inside that house… She delivered the invitations personally. Every neighbour and every member of the family were invited. She invited all the people his husband had ever met, indeed.

The day of the party came. Exactly thirty five years ago she had discovered her husband’s corpse sitting in the same armchair she was now. She waited… She patiently waited …

…

Three days after a drop went down through her cheek. Still in the armchair, she sobbed silently in pain for a long time, until she suddenly stopped.

…

She had choked to death with the tears she had swollen, and nobody would ever discover it because the only person who had ever cared for her had died, in that same armchair thirty five years ago.

Diego

Wallace

There are times when I believe that Wallace was no more than a victim of the coincidence between a rare type of hallucination and a careless trap, but that indeed is not my profoundest belief. I am more than half convinced that he had, in truth, an abnormal gift.

My suspicion started a year ago. Summer had arrived, and its lively colours inspired me and my best friend to retire some days to my uncle John’s cottage in the country, where we would rest from the anxieties and hurries of the city.

The little house was extremely comfortable. Two enormous windows in the living room allowed us to see the wonderful landscape that sorrounded us. Miles and miles of fresh green grass, a warm breeze which brought us the scent of the summer flowers, and the sweet singing of the birds and the distant rumour of the sea fulfilled our hearts. I was pleased. For two years I had been trying to write a novel, and now I was certain that my lost inspiration would come back to me. Every afternoon, while I was writing, Wallace would go out for long walks. He used to tell me that this activity calmed his nerves, so stressed during the rest of the year. He was a prestigious lawyer with a heart of gold, and people from all over the country looked for him to assess them in very profound issues. He was a young man, who never got married. He enjoyed his own company. He was a passionate reader and had a strongly inquisitive soul. Since we were kids he was curious about any odd subject he would find in my father’s library, subjects which were not of my particular interest.

Days passed peacefully, and Wallace’s long walks would extend more and more. One day he arrived more excited than the usual. His eyes glittered with a curious light. He smiled at me and said, his voice trembling:

“Oh my friend, I’ve found something in the woods. Oh, if you could only...” He paused and smiled again. I was puzzled.

“My dear Wallace, what do you mean?”

“Oh, oh... I can’t describe it properly... I can only tell you that my walks leaded me to some sort of cave... I was reluctant to enter at first... Who knows the dangers I would encounter? But after some days my curiosity was so strong that I had to enter... Oh, you can’t imagine... But I’ll show you soon...”

He did not say another word. That night I wouldn’t sleep, thinking about my friend’s words. I had never seen that expression in his face, like a child when he sees an exotic butterfly dancing in the air.

The next day when I woke up I found out that Wallace was not at home. I spent the rest of the day waiting for him, anxious and worried. He came back at night. He looked very tired, but his smile was bigger than ever.

“Dear friend, where have you been?” I told him, feeling really upset.

“Oh... I have to show you... Sit down...” I obeyed him, without understanding. He sat down in front of me and opened his right hand. A small purple rock shone enigmatically.

“I found it in the cave. It was in the floor... Waiting for me... You won’t believe... See by yourself...” he pressed the rock hard, his eyes closed in concentration. When he opened his hand again, the rock had dissapeared and my friend Wallace looked at me.

“My friend, I see the world in my eyes... Each treasure hidden, each ancient manuscript locked away from any man’s reach...”

“What!”

“ There are things which have never been discovered... And that are waiting for me... I don’t want the gold my friend, but the secrets, the real origins of our civilisation...”

My heart froze. Was he loosing his mind?

“I can’t explain it... In all my studies... I never thought I would come across something like this, not the sourcere’s stone, but a different one... Can you imagine? Oh my Lord... It would change the human world... I see the exact location of things which I have never conceived in any of my wildest dreams, and I have to look for them... Come with me...”

But I couldn’t. I tried to convince him to think rationally. But he parted. I haven’t seen him since that day.

I have come across curious studies about a very peculiar rock... The searcher’s stone they call it. A rock which, according to ancient philosophers, would lead the human race to amazing discoveries... But I cannot believe it. Six months ago I received a letter from Wallace. He is in the North Pole, searching... He says he is close to something that will illuminate the world... I do not regret my decision, but I hope in my heart to see him again. And although I refuse to believe my friend’s words, a feeling is growing inside me, the certainty that soon me and the world will have news from Wallace, and that these news will change our lives.

coni

A trip to Albania

Leo Van Koft was sent to Albania to eliminate the last of the rebels which had caused the largest civil war of the country. It had been years and years of fight and thousands of deaths that finally determined the Germanic government to send his best man to put an end to the cruel rebellion. Nobody knew why Germany was so interested with that matter, though nobody ever questioned this help. It was too valuable to lose it for such a minor complication.

Van Koft arrived at the capital city eager to find Frederick Dunstan. It would be an extraordinarily difficult job. No one could had ever caught him nor even found him. He was supposed to be hiding somewhere in the mountains or deep in the forest. Intuition was the only thing he could rely on. His own intuition and nothing else. Three days had he been wandering before he met a woman who had said to see Dunstan by the Derwat river, behind the hills and across the woods. Leo trusting her directed towards that site.

It was awfully hard to get. There were neither roads nor even a path. From time to time he thought he would not be able to get out alive of that cursed forest. After a two week journey he managed to cross it and reach the river. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Down the river was a mansion, a mansion surrounded by mountains. He decided to have a look. It was much bigger than any house he had ever seen. It was deserted, though. There was no living soul in that luxurious house. He stood in the grass looking at the clear sky, thinking in nothing but how to get out of there. That is when he realised that he has been fooled; he was led into a trap.

Behind him was standing Frederick Dunstan aiming Van Koft with a shotgun. In a split of a second Van Koft turned and pointed him with his gun too. The time froze. Every second that passed seemed an hour. Both of them were staring at each other. The silence was broken by a loud dull sound. The powder’s smell was still in the air. Down, on the floor lay a body. He drag the body to a secondary road. His work was finally done, he managed to survive and kill the enemy; but on the pavement was Leo Van Koft destroyed, but beyond defeat.

diego