I was 19 when I made a good friend. She was a demon.
She had a part-time job in a library owned by her father and, occasionally, she'd invite us there.
The library was quite nice. There were a lot of fireplaces and screams from the pits of hell. Our voices echoed in the distant ceiling of the entrance hall, coming back in strange deep tones and sounding more or less like 'BOGOHLAGATH! SHOBOROGOTH!!'
Those were happy days.
But, as these things usually go, she vanished one day, along with the library, without saying anything to anyone. Except to me.
She appeared in my room the night before and said 'I have to go now, John.' My name wasn't John, but she called me like that no matter what. She said it was the first name my mother gave me, before my hip grandmother came and showed her a list of unusual, new-age names.
'Will we ever meet again?' I asked.
'I don't think so, John. I seriously doubt it.'
'Why?'
'You are a good person, John. You help your parents. You will save people. You will give a life of happiness to your wife. And good people, John, usually end up in a completely different place than hell.'
And with that, she climbed my bedroom's window and jumped into the dark.
Well, time went on. I married. My wife couldn't have been happier than I was. We had children, a couple of hyperactive brats. We were even happier than before, if that was possible. We grew old, our children left our house. We moved to a quiet neighbourhood, into a house with no stairs. My children had children. We were so proud.
And then, with 79 years, I died. While I was lying sick on the bed, I muttered, '... as if this tiny cold would kill me,' and passed away, with less-than-dignifying last words.
My friend was right, I didn't end up in hell. I got a small occupation in this new place, installing newcomers and organizing tours. While these peaceful days go by, I wait patiently for the day when my wife comes to me.
And, sometimes, when we have a little free time, I fly to the lowest clouds hanging over Earth and I wait for her, my friend that I met so long ago.
'Hello, John!'
Sometimes, we play cards. Others, she tries to teach me how to play bridge.
She had a part-time job in a library owned by her father and, occasionally, she'd invite us there.
The library was quite nice. There were a lot of fireplaces and screams from the pits of hell. Our voices echoed in the distant ceiling of the entrance hall, coming back in strange deep tones and sounding more or less like 'BOGOHLAGATH! SHOBOROGOTH!!'
Those were happy days.
But, as these things usually go, she vanished one day, along with the library, without saying anything to anyone. Except to me.
She appeared in my room the night before and said 'I have to go now, John.' My name wasn't John, but she called me like that no matter what. She said it was the first name my mother gave me, before my hip grandmother came and showed her a list of unusual, new-age names.
'Will we ever meet again?' I asked.
'I don't think so, John. I seriously doubt it.'
'Why?'
'You are a good person, John. You help your parents. You will save people. You will give a life of happiness to your wife. And good people, John, usually end up in a completely different place than hell.'
And with that, she climbed my bedroom's window and jumped into the dark.
Well, time went on. I married. My wife couldn't have been happier than I was. We had children, a couple of hyperactive brats. We were even happier than before, if that was possible. We grew old, our children left our house. We moved to a quiet neighbourhood, into a house with no stairs. My children had children. We were so proud.
And then, with 79 years, I died. While I was lying sick on the bed, I muttered, '... as if this tiny cold would kill me,' and passed away, with less-than-dignifying last words.
My friend was right, I didn't end up in hell. I got a small occupation in this new place, installing newcomers and organizing tours. While these peaceful days go by, I wait patiently for the day when my wife comes to me.
And, sometimes, when we have a little free time, I fly to the lowest clouds hanging over Earth and I wait for her, my friend that I met so long ago.
'Hello, John!'
Sometimes, we play cards. Others, she tries to teach me how to play bridge.
6 comentários:
Epá Diogo, acho que te excedeste neste, esta mesmo muito bom, gostei mesmo muito!
ta engraçado.ja li contra capas de chocapic mais giras
He's just a man that wiiiishes to be freeeeeeeeeee!!
e foi assim que tudo começou.
prepare
DRAAAMAAAA
Do you hear the music?I hear the music!
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