Small note. The illustration is by the very talented Juri "Duke Ercole" Guidi .
Another small note. This story is a bit 'heavy.
dream Whatever it was, was interrupted when her father began to call him.
Each time, his father called him three times. It was only the third, that his voice became stronger, almost as much as the smile that would open him, not just walked into his room: a smile that he would need to be repaired, who chipped more and more, in an effort to become reassuring. Each time, he counted to twenty, before seeing that smile dangling from his mouth his father, and then asked him the same thing, the same two years now.
And invariably, he felt the same answer.
"takes you to see the pink elephant"
The smile was wider than ever. Sistrappadessosistrappadessosistrappa now ... but does not tear anything, stayed there on his face red and shiny.
"All children want to see the pink elephant"
Perhaps it was true, maybe not. He had never talked with other children, the elephants. He did not know what in fact they think.
Then, in her room, the hottest of the house, undressed her father, loosing her clothes in a hurry, scrollandoseli off before they came into focus. Eventually, he was always in his underwear, in front of him, staring at him with an air of stupefied, as if it was the first time I saw him. Always remained so at first. A look at each other, the child was asked what he was doing there ... and the feeling that it would not ever occurred, that maybe his father was being asking a similar question.
long as the elephant trunk sticking Rosa draws back, peeping from Dad's underwear.
"He's a bit 'scared ... try to stroke," explained his father ever, and for the umpteenth time, he would have stroked her trunk in the way that the had been taught, el'elefantino - in return - he would spit in his face angry froth.
"It's not bad ... just wants to play "
breathed his father's voice always on that verb, play, managing to render it in some tangible way. And smelly. The stench of sweat is beaded in the body. His voice grew heavy. Perhaps it was to bring him a whole elephant, which made his father so tired.
"Now close your eyes"
spoke in a sort of falsetto, a high-pitched voice, very high, shrill. Fragile ... And with a thousand cracks that could break (el'avrebbero did) at any moment.
"It 's got my mother ... my mother came, a little ... do not worry ... here is my mother." Embraced him and if he clutched his chest. Held his head pressed against the left nipple and its smell was rolling on him, for entrargli in and never leave it again. And the elephant's purring, rubbing upon its trunk.
"Mom will not let you touch that pig more than your father"
The world is tinted red, narrowed abruptly without giving him time to breathe. And before he could understand what had happened, his father beat another punch him, knocking him to the ground. He had learned to fall on earth without shouting, and just fall, losing his balance, dying, with the batteries run down, with the wires that gave way, the toy that broke. Fell to the ground and felt his father pick it up and put it on the bed on his stomach.
And at that point, his father turned to the door and say, Come and well. " He heard the door open and the light footsteps of someone coming in who was there without saying a word, perhaps to watch. He would never do it (even years later) to understand who he was in those moments, his father always kept his face pressed against the pillow, and began kissing her neck.
was waiting for the Pink Elephant's trunk was thrust into it.
And the elephant, then, would have called princess.
My little princess.
