A Phantasmagorical and Very Entertaining Trip to Italy. Part 4 of 42.

Waking Up

I fell off the planet Earth, but I haven't forgotten, no, no, no

Note from the author


The original idea of this writing was a tribute. A tribute grew to the size of a novella and had to be cut in at least five if not ten parts. Then came protuberances of surrealism portraying fictional characters, such as Narcissus and his author(ess). Echoes, shadows and reflections took the project to the universal proportions. I kept writing and kept cutting.


The scope of the project went out of hand, and while I still loved it because I had it in my head and I had already written some drafts, bits and pieces, I could not fully commit to it and then I fell into coma.


Winter in Rome

Comma


The hardest part was the jungle of self-fulfilling prophecies. I was unsuspectingly taken in directions, unforeseen, unforetold and unforeheard. Nobody warned me that I entered the labyrinth of mystery/misery. The only difference between Mystery and Misery is “T”. Never mind the spelling or the spells, mind the sounds for when you read, you sound out the words. Oh, yes, you do. And I know it. Charm is about singing, music and melody. Charming…mys-T…


It was September/October when the journey began, actually it was September, and then I had to leave my characters in Rome sipping too much espresso to the point of jeopardizing their health and I had to lock some other characters sitting in Roman Baths or swimming in nightmares… The water became cold…


It is February now, nearly St. Valentine’s Day, almost my suggested Wedding Day (it was suggested to be February 13th, I should have taken notice how OMINOUS that was, but instead I just changed the date to February 6th (4 + 2 = 6) and went with it. It was cold. The marriage was long. And now I am taking my characters for a ride they did not ask me for, yet, unable to part with the idea, and responsible enough not to promise anything anymore, I shall continue… For how long? Who knows…?


It is cold, yet charming… there is a song…there is a butterfly…


Yellow Dress

Farfalla


It is snowing in Rome…


Look what cold can do to LOVE. It instills inspiration nonetheless and lends itself to creation of beautiful songs. There is cold, yet there is a butterfly (farfalla)…


Maybe I am a careless writer who keeps her characters asleep and then mercilessly puts, shifts, and drags them from one nightmarish reality into another. I fell into the pool myself. Writing is a mysterious matter. Not to be taken lightly. This writing took a life of its own and even this part was going in different directions like an escaped under pressure water hose. Cold water. Icy cold.


Yes, it is February, cold and charming.


The month of LOVE.

We are still in Rome, the city of ROMANCE.

Back to writing in the midst of snowing…


I feel like a butterfly

that's no more flying on flowers

that's no more flying

that's no more flying

I was burnt from the fire

of your great love

that's already lit off


Mi sento una farfalla

che sui fiori non vola più

che non vola più

che non vola più

mi son bruciata al fuoco

del tuo grande amore

che s'è spento già

It's so cold

3 p.m.


Abre los ojos!

Abre los ojos!

Abre los ojos!!!


Translation:


Open your eyes!

Open your eyes!

Open your eyes!!!


Dolores awakens. ‘Oh!’ She has a splitting headache.


‘Yellow,’ she thought. ‘Daffodils, yellow, insanity, bath, bath? Bath!’


She remembers that she came to Rome to meet…


‘Oh, my head is killing me! I am still a woman, am I?’ Panics. Unable to check anything or remember what the difference is between a man and a woman she walks unsteadily towards the bathroom in a zigzag motion. She feels like… she feels like she has been heavily drunk for a month… She thinks: “It is all a dream, a bad dream, a big fat YELLOW dream…”


There is a man in a tub, fully dressed. He has a book.


- Dolores: I know you.


- Man: You’d better!


A man in a bath with a book


- Dolores: You are Narcissus that I wrote. Are we in Vienna?


- Narcissus #2: I think we are in Rome. You kept the bath part, but changed the location.


- Dolores: What about the butterfly?


- Narcissus #2: What do you mean?


- Dolores: I wrote him, too. But you should not be simultaneously a butterfly and a man or a woman (her face reddens…)


- Narcissus #2: Maybe he has re-written your insanities. Maybe he changed his fate.


- Dolores: Can he do that?


- Narcissus #2: Why not? We all create our own realities.


- Dolores: So, I am no longer a murderous writer?


- Narcissus #2: I don’t know. I think you are asking the wrong person. I don’t know what our friend, Monsieur or Madame Butterfly decided to do, but it seems to me that he is overeating. Soon he will reach the size of a sumo wrestler. Size matters after all.


- Dolores: I thought butterflies seek light and die.


- Narcissus #2: Don’t be ridiculous. Moths are attracted by light, not butterflies.


- Dolores: Butter… flies. Flying butter? Flying YELLOW butter? What a strange name… Do butterflies eat butter?


- Narcissus #2: In your criminal mind, maybe. I don’t know what exactly you feed your Narcissus… Whatever it is, you’d better stop. Why is he growing? It creeps me out. He won’t be able to fly, that is for sure.


- Dolores: He wants to have a presence. Maybe he will be safe, no matter what objects or subjects will attract him, he will be in no danger.


- Narcissus #2: But we might be.


- Dolores: We? In danger? From what?


- Narcissus #2: From flying objects.


- Dolores: What flying objects?



A brick flies through the window.




- Dolores: ???!!! What the hell?


- Narcissus #2: Don’t worry, it’s D. Jones practices.


- Dolores: What does in God’s name D. Jones practice? And who is D. Jones?


- Narcissus #2: He is such a Gothic figure…


- Dolores: It does not answer my question. Who is D. Jones?


- Narcissus #2: Take a dictionary.


- Dolores: Dictionary Jones? Dictionary Jones practicing throwing bricks?



Thirteen bricks fly through the window (or whatever left of it) in a stunning formation.



- Dolores: Such flight of Bricks requires mastery of the Thrower.


- Narcissus #2: Of course, he is a Master.


- Dolores: But I don’t feel very safe.


- Narcissus #2: Safety… is an illusion. Maja…


- Dolores: I beg your pardon? Majaaaaaa….?



Twenty six bricks fly in an elaborate formation. The sound of breaking glass is akin to the sound of Cathedral Bells.



Maja


- Dolores: Maja?


- Narcissus #2: It means a dream, an illusion…


- Dolores: In Italian?


- Narcissus #2: No, in Hindu.


- Dolores: Do you plan to talk Hindu to me now?


- Narcissus #2: No, we’ll start with Italian.


Thirty nine bricks fly through windows forming three planes each consisting of 13 bricks. All of them are yellow. Later in the story the bricks keep flying according to the certain mathematical rule that must be apparent to the reader. If not, don’t despair… leave it to the mystery of existence. Mathematical or not.



- Narcisssus #2 (almost to himself): “The ships hung in the sky in much the same way that bricks don't.” Douglas Adams


- Dolores: But I don’t see much damage done by those bricks.


- Narcissus #2: They are metaphorical, they are nothing but wake-up calls.


- Dolores: Alarming… Very alarming… I think I woke up enough… to…


- Narcissus #2: to have a conversation… Let me ask you…


When you wake up and you are no longer what you are used to be...

© 2012 kallini2010

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Comments 2 comments

asmaiftikhar profile image

asmaiftikhar 4 years ago from Pakistan

awesome hub and i like the images .Thanks for sharing such a beautiful hub.


kallini2010 profile image

kallini2010 4 years ago from Toronto, Canada Author

Thank you, asmaiftikhar, for your comment.

Of course, it is a long story, 42 chapters or not...

I am not quite sure, if I will ever finish, but maybe it is not the finish line that is the reward, but the process.

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