La Petite Mort
FelWatchLa Petite Mort
FelWatchLa Petite Mort
She is not different from many other existences. The sweet Death, the wronged Death, the beautiful Death, who carries all souls to peace, the unwanted Death. The spark of all that is life into nothingness.
Sinopsis
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"Today I got up from the sheets with indecisive nostalgia for the enchanted innocence I had until I turned fifteen (which I had until I was touched by you). I woke up with a morbid playfulness, I woke up calm, as if my soul, which is the sea , had calmed down under the storm..."
FanFic Winner of the 2011 Originals Contest organized on another site. The brief, short and tragic story of a pathetic man, who had his fortune and future stolen out of sheer convenience, but it's not up to me to judge his deeds, nor his motives.
In Santa Amélia, the last trip of line 86 crosses the border between the known world and the existences that, for some reason, were left on its margins. For seventeen years, Marta Amaral has driven this route, coexisting with passengers for whom time, death, and reality itself seem to obey particular rules. The Passengers Who Never Got Off explores memory, grief, motherhood, and the desire to recover what life has taken from us. In a universe where abandoned possibilities continue to exist, the story investigates the limits of belonging, the consequences of our choices, and the difficult coexistence between love and loss. Between the absurd, melancholy, and supernatural horror, the narrative finds in the small everyday intimacies some of the most unsettling questions of human existence.
Ele se lembra de tudo. Da mãe, dos dias com Clara, das coisas que disse e das que deixou passar. Mas lembrar já não parece suficiente. Entre objetos guardados e uma carta inesperada, ele procura algo que ainda seja capaz de fazer diferença.
Coletânea de textos/anotações/poesias, sem conexões entre si, sem pretensão de ser algo de fato impressionante. Todos escritos entre 2015 e 2019. Com muitor amor. Na verdade, não. Não contém muito amor aqui, só magoas de forma predominante.
Eu sinto da liberdade que não me têm sempre que olho para ele. Ele é meu último pedaço de liberdade, nele eu posso me encontrar. Ele tem a versão mais nua da minha alma na palma de suas mãos.