Spring is a symbol of rebirth, of life force that returns After overpowering the ice.
Here, alas, we are poles apart.
Spring is a grotesque joke, a poisonous potion that diverts the mind.
The following story is the first of the writings that make up the chronicles of madness.
Here we go, we have entered into his world.
Ps The period is the right one, pay attention to things and if you can not fall in love with strangers.
THE CHRONICLES OF MADNESS - # 1
The first time was almost natural, like a stone begins to roll down a slope.
action governed by some kind of force, a gravity dark precipitates the events by making them spin out of control of the actors.
inertia was unknown, such as that surrounding people's minds when they become normal, even for a moment only, into something dark and unexpected.
In those moments, everything seemed normal, as a reflection of spontaneous and necessary.
probably were his actions, his movements, his words to put things on the inclined plane. The latter, unable to win slipping, s'affossarono completely into an abyss, running almost noiselessly up to the end of the base.
In April they began to feel the scents of the awakening, the nature spread its colors and haunting humans trying to follow the their instincts, becoming carried away by the obscure meaning and direction of the hypothalamus.
I dragged through the streets of the city, trying to avoid the disappointments and eliminating the discomfort that I felt I had out there, somewhere.
I became a loner since for some reason I was leaving the real life.
distinguish dream from reality was more complex task, which required each time a major effort, effort that I was not quite as willing to offer in exchange for that small truth and do not cross.
I had friends, some girls around the projects rather than real life and a clearly distinct from the dream world. Then
slipped and now I find myself always in the company of my nightmares, they, those who accompanied me in the darkest of nights and days through the most lucid and bright.
That evening, the warm air of spring pushed the dust in my eyes while my nostrils drew perhaps beneficial, perhaps annoying, from what little could be distinguished in that chaos of organic molecules loose.
I sat on the stone slab that separated the churchyard from the row of columns, holding a bottle, while smoking you would do later, so that we can return home without having dealt too much to think about the course of life.
The future is terrible when you are no longer teenagers.
When you're young you always have the strength to imagine a future that is better than the present condition, and then when you get older, you understand how it works, how to spin the wheel.
Tomorrow becomes a doubt the worst day of today, the problems will increase, you will have less money or there will be more costs, health will not be as firm as a time, face filled with wrinkles, your teeth will hurt, women do not go more to support your view, no one will blend the meat with your.
All actions of today would not prevent the decline, the move only a little 'forward on the time axis.
And then you understand the futility of these actions, in fact, perhaps you would realize and understand how the search for good tomorrow is indeed a further worsening of being today.
Decadence, stinking, come anyway, but in the meantime we have done nothing but worry, follow the rules, go to bed early, study up stupid stupid, washing dishes, making the bed, buy a car in installments, with exit just because a woman is the only one who accepts us.
If you know the movement of the wheel, all this worry and live very well on the track suddenly seems a futile effort.
I had understood the mechanism, then waited for the decay of granite sitting on the bench, while trying to make me less unpleasant the world by drinking something cool.
The square was, as usual, full of people more or less young people who spent their time in an apparently very serene.
Two girls sat down beside me, straddling the bench, one with his back almost attached to my shoulder.
deliberately avoiding almost hear their speeches, with the fear that they would have disturbed my concern with their frivolity.
I remember that I lit a cigarette butt from less than a minute just crushed under the sole, so as to distract from what was around me.
cigarette and ended up in minutes even finished the beer I had clutched in hand, so I decided it was time to approach the vendor and buy another bottle.
I made all the appropriate steps and lit another cigarette, this time, perhaps, to hurt me.
My thoughts were stopped and the smoke, like a modern Zeno, I was a sort of guilt, a clear sense of what was stupid and foolish to suck the foul-smelling smoke and harmful because it is only a way as any to fight the boredom that accompanies the ticking of time.
While I was intent on these thoughts from person weak (the strong do not smoke or if you smoke it does so with great taste), I noticed that someone was staring at me.
I felt his eyes resting on my face, I felt, as we perceive nearby objects when you have your eyes closed.
did not want to turn around because I knew that I would not be able to look at who was staring at me without pretending a false surprise, because I realized a bit 'of that look.
Then just finished his cigarette and crushed between the rubber sole and the porphyry soil, I turned my head.
who was staring at me was the girl who sat beside me, straddling the bench and with air from stupid.
I had thought were two, especially since she was not the one with my back almost against my arm, but he was the one who sat in front.
Her friend was getting up while my thoughts were focused on smoking, or, this is likely, I was distracted and I did not realize that she was alone.
All this matters little, because the stranger uttered a phrase that I turned away from all the other chores, "but you know I'm falling in love with you?".
The first thing I thought was that this had to be completely stupid, but then I looked around looking for someone to laugh, a prey to the happiness of having cheated his friend Romeo with a trivial joke.
Not so, the option that fits the situation was as before, that the girl had to have mental health problems, not least because it takes to approach someone like me in this way.
At first I threw a joke, but then we started to get acquainted in a rather serious, despite the fact that he kept repeating in love with me.
His name was Paola, a student at Bocconi, Apulia was, plump and dangled from my lips, no matter what I said.
I was not ever do so in a lightning strike on a girl, not that it was a great blow to be honest, but my ego is feeling invigorated and for a time that could vary from half an hour to three hours , I thought no more to the misery of human beings.
We know him a little, 'I told her a lot of balls, I told her that I was a student fuoricorso the faculty of physics, so to avoid possible links to a Bocconi (When did attend the physical?).
Then she started to say a series of banality, stupidity, clichés, putting on a veneer slapped by a typical nice and plump you feel liberated.
My instant peace of mind begins to leave, I felt an uncontrollable desire to stop that his tongue sparacazzate, I could no longer bear his speeches on Vasco (Christ of God) and how beautiful she was.
I decided that I should fuck her in a violent way, there, on time, or as soon as possible so as not to hear her speak.
Within a few minutes, with a skill and an ability unknown to my normal personality, I asked her to leave the square to move into his college dorm room.
arrived at the stable when I had already stopped listening and I could only think that I would fuck to hurt her, to rape her soft body of Bocconi trivial.
was kind to me, even when she tried to be provocative, biting his lips, trying to be desired.
managed to achieve an erection only because I thought that I would have done evil, beating, slapping him, leaving marks that night.
While he was below me, while the call with the worst words that came to mind, as my sweat dripped on the white roof, as I heard his mucous membranes become increasingly soft, I was overwhelmed by a rush of heat that made me dizzy and a demon rising from the stomach.
I never felt like I was drunk as hell at the center of where everything was moving jerkily to the effect of some evil strobe light.
His face was terrible, I could just make out, it was horrible, it was a devil. He had completely smudged makeup, her cheeks red from the impact with the palms of my hands and smeared lipstick on the mouth like they are circus clowns.
Horrible, it was horrible.
a monster spring, where I slipped my dick with all the strength I had, trying not to get scared by the sinister light that poured into the bed.
I heard her moans, hours of use, hours of pain, and I'd had enough.
My hands, a natural characteristic of a reflection, he led his neck, holding up to hurt me, until you hear the sound repulsive stress of the joints of the phalanges.
Its scary face became even more fearful when he realized what was happening.
clown was a formless, raped, raped, with flames in her eyes.
Then it was over, damn the lights went off, the weather began to flow again without intermissions, and I felt the warmth of my cum leak out from the body of the girl.
removed her hands from her neck, and how hard I was shaking, I got a immense pain in the fingers to return in a natural position, while I avoided watching the ghost of my victim.
I did not bother to hide my tracks, I made sure not to be seen.
simply put my clothes and tried to get away from that den of death as quickly as possible.
I did walk your way back home, avoiding the eyes of the people.
I was active in a sort of coma, I felt that the outside world and myself were two different things, I could not understand what was happening.
But I was quiet, strangely quiet, as if what I did was so horrible and great to be ashamed to show myself some form of distress or displeasure hypocrite.
I crossed the line, crossed the threshold of no return.
"The girl is dead" I said to myself, "now is a murderess, nothing will change these things, not going back, time does not forgive. It's like a river, flowing in one direction only. And I'm the human beast, a black beast who loses control, is a madman, a sorcerer under his own spell. "
got home and lay down on the bed.
the Milky Way That night I dreamed, I dreamed of flying to the galaxy between the stars.
I felt happy in my sleep, like a child.
The next morning, the awakening was the exact opposite of the night, I remember the nausea and vomiting, tremors and anxiety.
I had left too many tracks, I would find, I over-correct-my life in jail.
I still could not think in a completely gloss on what had happened, because the moments of madness are difficult to re-float, even if only a few hours had passed since the terrible event. Besides, I was really worried about what might happen in the short, imagine that the police would come into my house breaking the door with machine guns pointed and full, to the best action film. I also thought that the investigators would have been a breeze to get to me, reassembling the pieces of the evening.
The girl was in the company of a friend I definitely had seen, then we went to her, the dormitory, where surely some of his fellow university must have noticed me. Finally, there was the most damning evidence: the DNA. My residues were scattered all over his body and my fingerprints decorate every surface in the room. I was sure I would have stopped within a few hours, so do not even tried to run away or go and hide, I knew what would happen and was waiting for the police almost calmly.
He had already made the lunch hour when I made the mistake of turning on the TV: Two TV news at the same time spoke of the murder.
across the screen I saw the entrance of the dormitory, its gate, the marble staircase. My head was spinning like a whirlpool in the throat and not dropped a drop of saliva.
When I then saw the white bag that must have contained the body of the girl, almost choked with my own vomit.
I was finished, I have now captured in a few minutes and I would live the rest of my life in a dark cell too painfully trying not to perish under the boulder of unbearable guilt.
I fell asleep, woke up nearly dinnertime.
The military had not yet arrived, no sign of special forces or FBI.
closed his eyes and slept again for another night.
The next morning I woke up it was dawn, he had nausea gone, the headaches had decreased and I was back some appetite.
I prepared a warmed milk and coffee, as I started to realize that maybe I could go unpunished. It was likely that no one had seen me, also the DNA found, as far as I know I could of those things, belonged to a stranger happy.
Days and also the news began to speak less dell'efferato murder of Bocconi, going right to work on new disasters and new bloody tragedies.
I went back to normal, forcing the bottom of my dark story of madness that suddenly exploded in a fresh and fragrant evening of April.
also rethinking the incident (not that everything would be clear to me, to tell the truth) now I no longer felt sick. I had even more guilt. The stone was rolled into the valley, that's all.
Only by that night, I was a strange defect in the left eye: every time I moved around trying to look hip, a strange lightning came from the corner of my orbit.
Maybe I was destined to bring at least a sign that reminds me of the senseless sacrifice of that poor girl.
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