That Damn Cry
When she wakes up to the cries of a desperate baby, a baby she feels deep down she knows, she knows that from then on her life will not be the same - as well as her sanity. [This story is an unofficial tale from the Bird Box universe, created by Josh Malerman]
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Oi, ser humano curioso que parou pra ler meu perfil ^^ Me chamo João, e sou um escritor amador que tem muita curiosidade, mas pouca vontade...
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A set of chronicles of the ''Jikan Ryoko'' story, usually One-Shots, or short stories from a few chapters. These tales serve to present parallel stories with links to the main story, or stories that tell the backstory of some characters, or about an important past in the story. Generally, each tale promises to be small, with a few exceptions. You don't need to read the original story to understand most of the stories, but if you're interested, the link is in the disclaimer.
+14 It all started the day Honoka had that dream. From that day on, her life changed radically, in a way she never imagined could happen. Honoka was an average 15 year old, weird and normal. When she found herself in a strange situation, she found herself in a different universe than everyone else lived in, where she could do one thing everyone has always wanted one day: go back in time! Isn't that too much?? With that, Honoka became a girl who would change people's fates throughout history, fighting evil in some way, and it made her feel good. Isn't it great, together with friends a walk and changes through the past? Yeah, it might seem very tempting right away, after all, everyone wants this power. However, this may seem more serious than it really is. More disastrous than it looks. And it might not always be a cute thing. It's in a way she couldn't even imagine. ...
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.
O relacionamento já acabou, mas continua sendo ensaiado todos os dias. Um teatro póstumo, sustentado por gestos automáticos e um repertório infindável de pequenas violências.