[ORIGINAL] BALLOONS Title: Balloons
By: ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=1)
rizafk
Fandom: Original
Rating: PG / Green
Notes: No-one
Summary: Marta not mad ... Nor is called Marta ..
Disclaimer: Although he tried to bribe the judges Criticón with a juicy offer yaoi fan fiction, they have not been persuaded (ispiegabilmente) from my advances, so the story came "only" sixth in the competition criticoni.net ! XD
Happy reading!
BALLOONS
"What in the mouth, Martha? Chewing gum? "
" No. "
" E 'chewing gum. "
" No. "
"You swallowed."
"I have nothing in my mouth."
was true. When Aunt m'aveva accompanied with the machine, to make sure deviassi some sweets shop in stealing of butts, I had a check-up at the door: a thorough examination of shirt pockets, jacket and jeans. Revision of shoes and socks. Even under the sole, because "you never know." Then my brother, who at the time was in junior high and had always thought fixed in his head (not that now he has passed, even if it goes to college), had suggested to control me even underwear.
Even I was a drug dealer.
Mine was just a nervous nibbling.
"He was chewing gum?" Insisted the doctor.
nodded giving reason. She nodded, even though it was not true, because otherwise it would never end. If that guy was convinced of one thing, we just could not think.
That must be a big problem for a psychologist.
My name is not even Martha.
But it should be 'to make him understand.
*
The teacher, one day, had given a topic to the class.
"What would you do to restore peace in the world?"
He had said so. Report.
As if there had never been peace in the world. Since the dawn of time, when the men took a clubbed on the head and killed his brother pandering to envy, world history was a single, eternal war against their fellow humans.
But perhaps dreaming of a world in which there was a return to peace, one in which the solution was in the hands of children, was in some way of consolation. There was no harm in dreaming a bit '.
Also for the teachers.
The stack necks of machines there had been a girl with natural curly hair and blacks (not like Diana Pergola, made them do that if his sister with the iron, however, were not as beautiful as his own).
A child nor good nor donkey, nor beautiful nor ugly: like a lot, that he had picked up the pen as everyone else, but a blue pencil with eraser tip and chipped at the top a bit 'corroded.
the end, the children had made the theme.
But she had delivered a beautiful design.
He reported world peace in his own way.
*
The doctor kept staring at me with his air Petrovic .
The air of someone who is already come to conclusions.
I had ordered.
I was crazy.
I knew from the very moment when Dad, looking lazily chewing gum in front of the television trying to give my balloon strange shapes, he thought it would be better for me to speak again with someone "(which is a euphemism for "Let's daughter hopeless in the hands of the professionals of strategic paid so that I must cancel the appointment at the barber to be with her), but when I came into that studio, in a way that sounds strange and stupid, I could not help but think that maybe I should have been included.
this guy listened to the children to work.
I thought something so logical.
Then I looked at.
Just a moment.
And I realized that, no, it was useless.
The doctor had twisted her fingers on the table and bent a little 'head to the side with a doing very reminiscent of that of our dog.
laughed with that nice smile and good-natured.
with glasses who fell out a bit 'on the nose.
"Why do not you tell me about the balloon, Martha?" He asked grinning.
*
The children were all very good and had responded well.
There was only one girl who was forced to stay after school.
waiting for dad, who would come to take it soon, but would have preferred his mother.
had natural curly hair and blacks.
and big brown eyes.
sat on the chair of the teacher: his head bent down between the shoulders and legs swinging in the air, nervously biting the inside of the mouth, throwing quick glances at his task. On any design, cut across the page, stands a great WRONG in scarlet letters like a wound.
The was a great desire to cry.
was not enough.
was just wrong.
He felt the tears press them into a corner.
The teacher, in front of an open window, had lit a cigarette in silence.
The child did not mind because they all smoked at home.
But at least it would have been nice to ask permission.
"Why did not you do your theme?"
She blinked in disbelief, and tears of mortification he was looking for had fallen desperately to hold the paper in stripes, making the ink smudge in a halo ring.
"I did it."
"That's a drawing, and has nothing to do with the theme."
"Yes beside the point. "he blurted out in a small jet pride, frowning.
The teacher shook his head.
"You've drawn a strange and eat apples."
"No. I drew a little girl who makes balloon-shaped fruits! "
For a while the teacher looked at her, incredulos.
The cigarette ash fell on the ground.
She had deviated with one foot.
"balloons in the shape of fruit?"
"Yes," nodded firmly.
"rubber balloon?"
"bubble gum."
and slammed into my teeth to mimic the gesture.
"Why should just be in the shape of fruit?"
"Because the fruit is good."
"I understand."
The child could see them in the head, those balloons. Pink, green, yellow and blue. It would be special balloons, not opaque, pale-looking and a little 'dirty, and ugly ones round her older sister who was devoured like a cow pasture to make her first break in her hair. But lucid and transparent, like soap bubbles, as the shop windows of sweets, like the animals in Murano well stacked on the shelf in the living room at grandma's house.
Those that his mother loved so much.
And she, too, even if he could not play.
The voice of the teacher had brought to a reality of opaque balloons.
"You believe that if children learn to make balloon-shaped fruit could regain peace in the world?"
"No." said the girl shaking her head firmly. No, it would be impossible for all children. Children are so many, and many grow before they learn to do it. And why peace would be to force the hands of children? "Just one person. Even my grandfather. "
But in his speech was an indication," the oldest man in the world. "
The teacher laughed at her. That laughter and a bit low ', always ended in a hoarse cough grew thick and disgusting that distort the mouth of the child. The mother was coughing so.
Even my mother as she smoked.
If his mother had tried to learn how to make balloon-shaped fruit, however, would not have had time for cigarettes.
And maybe it was still there with them.
*
I was tired.
A little tired.
Stanca and pressed by a man who did not care at all.
"You think to balloons in the shape of flowers can bring peace to the world?"
How many months had continued to respond to that very same question? People who did not even know I wore all white and shiny in places, which made me want to enter only with muddy shoes to bring some 'color, and after a few questions of convenience always asking me if I was convinced, truly convinced of my idea.
And I kept saying yes.
Yes, I was convinced.
And then they asked me again.
This guy with glasses and a square face and without a beard was just the latest in a long line of people who had taken under his wings a little girl crazy. They had a mission to make me understand, as he vainly tried to do my poor teacher, who was repeating what I was pure madness.
And there was no way that I knew would understand that perfectly.
In a world like that, where raining on the day of picnics and where children are left without a mother, what hope can have someone to be able to make a shiny balloon-shaped fruit?
was precisely the point.
The idea behind it all.
was impossible.
For this reason, perhaps, if anyone had seen a girl do balloons in the shape of fruit, have begun to believe in miracles.
So was it really possible peace.
*
"What a stupid idea." Sighed the father once came home. "What you say is absurd."
I know, she thought, clenching his fists until the child to feel the nails too short to affect the skin, the palms.
But the peace that the teacher had asked them to "recover" was absurd.
*
There was only one answer I could give it all to end.
Why quit to haunt them.
But I could not ...
"balloons are shaped fruit." I whispered timidly.
"Why avoids the question, Martha? "I asked him.
And why do it with my answers?
I had shrugged.
"You think to balloons in the shape of flowers can bring peace to the world?"
Yes !
Yes, tell him!
You really believe it!
Tell him again, and again!
Tell everyone, until someone is willing to listen!
As long as man does not decide to at least understand that your name is not Martha.
But I did not. I was just a child, and I was tired.
After so many months to talk about anything ...
I was just tired.
"... No."
And the doctor smiled.
And that was the beginning of the end.
Because it takes little to please adults.
You just have to see the world in their own way dull.
*
Here lies the hope for a girl like many others,
whose name is not given to know
and it does not matter.
Killed in age sweeter
he saw off in a world of round balloons.
Reference Porfiry Petrovitch , investigating judge Crime and Punishment. Plot in brief work: the young and poor student Raskolnikov murders an old money-lender. It would seem a perfect crime, but his conscience torments him more and more until, torn by remorse, he decides to form and accept the punishment. Complicit in this repentance, the young prostitute Sonja and the investigating magistrate Porfiry Petrovich, sure of his innocence since his first encounter with him.
