A Romance in the Cemetery

          It seemed to be a normal evening. Mr. Antonio left home and was heading to his night journey in the municipal cemetery. He was expecting that it would be only some more boring and tiresome hours of work.

          As soon as he arrived at the place, he started to walk silently, counting hours for that night to end quickly.

          Suddenly, he heard some noise. Something, besides him, walked around the cemetery. He trembled with fear.

          Would it be a thief? Drug users? A ghost?

          He needed to figure it out. He walked slowly. He didn't want them to notice his presence. After some footsteps, he saw the shadows of two people over the cemetery wall. He could not see the people, only the shadows.

          He remained stuck where he was, watching. And got surprised with what he saw: the shadows seemed to hug each other. A true embrace.

-A couple. -He whispered.

         He got even more curious. He wanted to know who those people were and why they chose a cemetery to date.

         Walked a bit more, but realised that the shadows were kissing then. As he didn't want to be inconvenient, he returned a little. The shadows looked happy. The old man felt touched with that scene.

          He did not need an explanation, a reason, didn't even need to comprehend that situation, after all, they were happy.

          Suddenly, the shadows stopped kissing. And, holding hands, they walked towards the way out. For Mr. Antonio, knowing who those people were did not matter anymore. Despite that, he went after them, just curiosity. When he turned right, he stopped, shocked. Actually, those shadows did not belong to proper people, they were two skeletons that walked calmly, crossing the gate of the cemetery and disappearing next.

          The old man got confused. He sat on the ground and stared at nothing.

          Those skeletons, whom did they belong to?

          Did they belong to a man and a woman? To two men? To two women? To black people? Or to white people? Did they belong to thin people or fat ones? He would never know.

          The only conviction he had was that, regardless of everything he believed in or used to think it was right, they were happy.

Lianderson Ferreira

Footsteps

       Around 11.00 O’clock p.m., in a dark evening, with no moon, no stars, I was coming back home after a long and exhaustive day of work, walking along a dark street and, apparently, desert. The silence was loud. It would be possible to hear pins dropping on the ground. But, suddenly, I heard some footsteps. Strong and hurried footsteps, as if they were trying to reach someone.

       I looked back, the noise paused and I saw nothing. I continued to walk, a little less slow by this time. And the noise of the footsteps restarted. What would that be? I was not even a bit curious to find out. I hurried. And the hidden footsteps followed my rhythm. I ran. I didn’t know from what I was running away, but something told me that I had to run as quickly as I was able to. The footsteps did the same thing. I shouted.

       I got to run even quicker. That street seemed to never end. No cars, no houses. Only the footsteps and me.

       I stopped for a second, breathed in and tried to hear the footsteps. I didn’t need to try that much, they kept firm and increasingly hurried. What would that be? I wondered once again. But the footsteps were getting closer. I wouldn’t be able to keep the rhythm any longer. I teetered, stumbled several times, but I knew that I couldn’t stop. The noise was louder and louder, stronger, closer. The footsteps had reached me. So, suddenly, I fell off my bed. And woke up!

Lianderson Ferreira

Memories

The living-room clock struck 3:00 p.m., she got up from the sofa and went to the window. It was a rainy Sunday afternoon. It was dark outside, but not as dark as her heart.

It had been exactly three years since her son had left to the war. In her boy’s bedroom, she insisted on keeping everything as he had left. The same bed sheet, the same messed-up desk which still had Robert Musil’s book open on page ninety-eight, she even insisted on keeping on it the cup of tea that he used to drink before sleeping.

Her husband had passed away a few months ago; she had never experienced that loneliness. She used to think she was too much old for morning walks or comings to Sunday masses and she was not able to see that much to pass her time at a sewing machine.

She closed the window and walked towards where the old piano was. She sat down, cleaned up some powder which had gathered over it and tried some notes. She remembered the time when her husband used to play some good jazz on Monday nights, when he came back from the government department while she followed him by drinking some French wine. She made herself be standing and started crying. She cried as much as she had never cried during those three years, because she realised that she wouldn’t have her husband back and her son would never come back home.

That was the moment when she made a decision. She left the living room without hurry and walked towards the bathroom, picked up a bottle of her medication which Adalberto, her private doctor, had prescribed to help her sleep. She passed by the kitchen and brought a glass of water with her to the bedroom. She took ten pills at once. She thought that taking away her own life would be a lot easier. She lied down on her bed and waited for the sleep to come up to her slowly, and, the next day, there were no memories anymore, no more tears, no more pain... there wasn’t anything else but the certainty of death...

This short story was written by one of my mates, 

Amanda Luna.

Cinderella’s Revolting Story

          Well... you probably know me, but you don’t know my story, my damn story. I’m gonna tell you my real story. As all of you may know, my dad has died and I’m living with my two half-sisters and my damn witch stepmother. You also know that they (you can call them “bitches”) are too evil and I am the poor and naive girl who works as a house cleaner for them. So, let me tell what is different...

            Throughout the story, there is a fairy godmother who makes some things turn into other things with magic, like a pumpkin into a carriage. So far so great, but hmm, you don’t think that she would do anything for free, right? Oh, do you? Well, well, fairy tales are always tricking you. How long, Gosh?! So, basically, she does things for free, but have you ever heard that you should always be suspicious when something is too easy to get or someone is giving it to you without asking anything back? If you haven’t, start to think about it.

            Anyway, there is a prince, right? All of the fairy tales bring a prince... bleh, I can’t believe how stupid princes can be. Moreover, I don’t even know what happens in the princesses’ mind to fall in love with them. I think it’s because of the money, of course. Sorry, I’m destroying your childhood, but this is the truth.

            Well, I’m not like those princesses, because they all (or most of them) had a good life compared to mine. Were they cursed? Really? Like sleeping forever or something like that? Hmm, nothing compared to my curse! I didn’t need magic or witchcraft to be cursed. I’d rather sleep for a thousand years or marry a beast than staying up all day and night cleaning the house, the basement, and even parts of the house that I didn’t know! These are the reasons why I’m so angry at my sad life and the good life that the other princesses have got.

            So, I guess you think that my life has changed after my fairy godmother came. YOU ARE TOTALLY WRONG! I’ll be very brief: she was wonderful when she came over, she promised me a better life... well, there was a prince in her plans, I didn’t really care but it was free and I couldn’t complain about it, right? Alright, she made me very excited and I had to go to the ball that the king was organising. She said that I was the most beautiful lady in the ballroom and I believed her. But wow, I don’t know how she managed to look so pretty, and OH MY GOD, she made me say things that I DON’T KNOW HOW but I said to the prince about her, things that leave me really confused. Such as how pretty she was, or perhaps, the prettiest lady in the whole world. Well, she was cute indeed, but she seemed a little old, I’m not trying to disrespect anyone, but which prince wants an old woman? But believe me or not, SHE WAS BEAUTIFUL, I was open-mouthed. But that has passed. Now I’m frustrated and too angry!! Nowadays, the prince lives under a spell that makes him love her and do everything she wants to! Stupid...

          I guess you want to know what happened to my stepmother and my two half-sisters. Well... I ran away from there. There are rumours that they are living very well. And what the hell, my stepmother married the king. Oh Gosh, do you want to know what happened to me? Really? Get prepared because it’s not what you were expecting. I’m living in the forest and the only thing that makes me happy is that my mice friends are always with me. And guess what?! I’m living with Tarzan and Jane!!! They are very nice and kind with us. 

          So, I’m sorry if I ruined what you thought about fairy tales, princes, princesses and fairy godmothers. Well, behind every story, there is a lie, right? And, wow, what a lie my story is, yeah?!

This fan fiction was written by one of my students, Iury Sonho,

as a way to evaluate the use of the English language

to express his feelings in a creative way.

A Fallen Angel

Well... First of all, I’m the narrator and you shall never know who I am, you don't need to see my outside to know in deep what I am from the inside. I'm going to tell you a story about an angel, a fallen one, to be specific. Don't you worry, he's fallen but he's not mean at all! You must be wondering "why is he fallen if he isn't a bad angel?" and now you must comprehend that intense love can also take you away from your path and it isn’t a bad thing. From the beginning:

Miguel wasn’t very tall, actually, pretty short... Tiny eyes, his skin tone was gold and bright as the colour of his eyes, he would be an ordinary angel, if he didn’t have those beautiful and big wings that could take him anywhere he wanted to. But the most important thing about him is that, besides the beauty, he was usually concentrated in something good, he was always trying to find his love, he didn't want something or someone to call his, he wanted something or someone to fill his empty and good heart and that is when the story begins…

It was a normal day in his life, he was flying around and meeting new people until the moment he saw a pretty girl, but she wasn’t like the others that he had ever seen, those red cheeks and those eyes got him as easily as stealing a child’s candy. He couldn’t let her go without talking to her, he tried to approach several times, but the girl didn’t notice the angel and that made Miguel realise that the girl wasn’t okay, that she wasn’t protected, she needed his attention.

He followed her for fifteen days in a row and he found out that she has always been putting herself in troubles and that she had a secret place, a random place with trees and sand; he also found a way to contact her: he left a part of his feather every day that she was there, but he knew that, by doing that, he would lose his life as an angel and he would become a human and that was what happened. His fall was so big that he also lost his powers, therefore he was a fallen angel without any power, he could be seen but couldn’t be felt… Then, he was the one who needed someone to help him; the girl, for the first time, felt his presence and helped him.

Thus, he learned a lesson with her, he’s never needed a love to see him, he has always needed someone to feel his presence.

This short story was written by one of my students, Rebeca Bivar,

as a way to evaluate the use of the English language

to express her feelings in a creative way.

Clare

Clare is an intriguing girl who I met during one of my trips around the world; she has dizzying eyes which have mesmerized me since the first time I saw her. Maybe she is ten or eleven… I am not sure about her age, but I can say that she does not seem to be only that age. She has an unbelievable wisdom and knowledge that make her soul a hundred years more experienced. She has a white skin,  long black hair and a curious smile that is always on her face.

I met her when I was coming back to my hotel after a walk at Youghal beach, in Ireland. She was sitting at a small square playing with one of her dolls and suddenly she stood up and started staring at me with a curious expression.

- Hey little, what are you doing here? – She asked me. I was surprised with that attitude and it took me a few seconds to respond.

-Oh, little? – I smiled -  I’m coming back to my hotel!

- No, you don’t understand my question, what are you doing here? –She repeated with a smile.

- Little, what do you mean by this? – At that moment, I was very confused.

-You know, I'm sure. I'm wondering why you have travelled so far to find something that you can find within yourself – She looked at me quietly and gestured at me to sit by her side.

-What I’m looking for? – She continued to play with her doll. After a long time in silence, she stared at me again with those eyes that mesmerized me and answered quietly.

- I felt some emptiness inside you since the first day you arrived in this town. I tried to figure out why. I couldn't see anything but a lonely soul looking for a place to be in peace. Actually, before I saw you, I felt that I was committed to show you a way to find this peace. – She picked up some sand, smiled once again and threw the sand in a small pond. – Come see the magic, little! - I got up quickly and got down on my knees next to Clare. – Do you see the magic?

- Sorry, but I can’t see anything unless water and sand.

-That’s your problem, you’re always looking for peace, but you don’t understand that peace is in everything that can be in harmony with nature. See… - She repeated what she had done before. – Look through the water, even with the unexpected visit of the sand grains, after some time, it manages to suit its calm rhythm again. It's all about acceptance, the water is in peace because it accepts whatever comes, good or bad. When it accepts, the intruders become part of its reflection. - I watched the water while she sobbed. When I looked at my side, the little girl had gone, leaving only her doll near the small mound of sand. After some time processing what had happened, I got the doll and saw that it was written: "belongs to Clare”...

Without a doubt, Clare was one of the best things that has ever happened to me. I’m saying this because in a few minutes she created inside me an outstanding feeling and she gave me the way to find my peace by myself. She brought me more than everything and somehow she taught me how to see the things with other eyes, maybe dizzying eyes…

This short story was written by one of my students, Maryna Viana,

as way to evaluate the use of  the English language

to express her feelings in a creative way.

Die, you devil!

      He hated him. Actually, they hated one another. Was that right? Wasn’t it considered as a sin? It doesn’t matter. There wasn’t any kind of good feeling involved with their relation. They lived under the same ceiling, always meeting in the middle of the living room or the kitchen, they needed to bear each other. They were so different. Having to see those faces that none of them could deal with was awful.

     In some evening, after another daily fight, the boy locked himself in the bedroom, mad. He couldn’t bear that anymore. He thought of several ways to end that torture and send that being back to the shadows, the place which he should have never left. That monster’s voice, his face, his walking, his clothes, everything bothered the poor boy. Mainly, knowing that they still breathed the same air and inhabited the same world. NO! There was no place for both, only one could survive.

     The time passed by. The dawn came out quickly. And the boy was still awake. He wasn’t being able to sleep, not with that beast breathing in the next room. He got off his bed, made himself be standing, opened the door and went straightforwardly to the monster’s place. As soon as the boy opened the other door, he was there: sleeping so comfortably as the devil does in hell. All that anger controlled him and, along with it, an idea came out of the blue, so cold and so exciting at the same time.

       He walked smoothly towards the kitchen of the house. He couldn’t be noisy. He lit the cooker, got a pan full of water and warmed it. He waited anxiously.

         -Time, damn freaking time, you made me wait a lot and I thought you would fix that for me, but you didn’t. Don’t worry, nevertheless, this ends now. –The boy whispered staring at the roof.

      He picked up some cloth from the ground, unlit the fire and carried the pan carefully. He walked slowly, very smoothly, trying to avoid breathing in order to make sure that nothing could wake the devil up from his deep sleep. He pulled the door using one of his feet, went in, stared at, for the last time, that face which would never be the same again, that devil who was going to meet his mates in hell.

     Suddenly, in a swift motion, he poured out the warm water into the sleeping being’s ear, spreading it for all over his head. The devil woke up. He screamed weakly and quickly, shut his mouth up with the amount of water which entered into his mouth. The boy laughed out loud and felt relieved, a fantastic and comfortable relief, even after killing his own dad.

Lianderson Ferreira