-
.
Sempre bellissima 
-
.
Ma ciao, straniero 
SPOILER (clicca per visualizzare)Lenin best waifu -
.
Sono d'accordo: rispettate ovviamente le regole essenziali della grammatica, ritengo che queste rientrino nell'ambito delle scelte stilistiche e debba essere la punteggiatura al servizio dell'autore, non il contrario (almeno nella narrativa).
Quello della congiunzione dopo la virgola è un "errore" che mi è stato segnalato spesso, ma ne ho sempre fatto ricorso per dare al racconto il giusto ritmo e spingere il lettore soffermarsi sulla prima frase.
Inoltre, penso che ci sia proprio un'interpretazione sbagliata della regola: ha senso se si interrompe un elenco o due coordinate di pari livello, diciamo, come "indossava un paio di jeans attillati, e portava a spasso un rognoso chihuahua", ma nella frase dell'esempio secondo me la virgola era perfetta -
.
Beh, non proprio, perché il padre non è schifato dal figlio, ma dai suoi assassini xD -
.
Non credo sia importante, suppongo sia genericamente "la guerra". Per come l'ho interpretata, credo che la madre sia morta nell'attesa del figlio e che in un certo senso il suo spirito, libero dai vincoli fisici, stia adesso vegliando su di lui, standogli a stretto contatto -
.
Mi sa che proprio non l'avete capita
Il lettore è portato a pensare che il padre abbia ripudiato il figlio e stia parlando di lui, ma il colpo di scena è che col suo discorso si scaglia invece contro i suoi assassini. Non ci è dato saperlo con certezza, ecco, ma da ciò che si legge sembra chiaro che il padre lo avesse accettato e non avesse affatto problemi con la sua omosessualità -
.
Ma infatti lo si capisce definitivamente a metà e per me non vuole puntare sul colpo di scena, infatti, bensì sull'orrore dell'apparente banalità della situazione e sul non detto, che certamente fa sì che il lettore non smetta di pensare al racconto appena lo finisce -
.
"Enjoy yourself," he said as he tossed me into the box.
"Make a few things, destroy 'em later if you want. It's nothing to me." He added one last thing before leaving me to the void: "No time will have passed when you return," he said. "Spend as long as you want here, and when you do go back, it'll be the same time you left, down to the second."
In the time- or the absence of it, I should say- it took to grasp what had happened, small buildings were already forming in the blank space. Central figures to my childhood. My home. The salon where I'd happily accompany my mother. All sorts of things, perfectly scaled and just the way I remembered them. Had I recreated them subconsciously?
I took a nap. When I woke up, my entire childhood town was back.
I was forever thirty-five here- a good, strong, age, and if I really could do as I pleased...
I made a sugary lollipop appear in my hand, just as a test. It tasted amazing.
My power wasn't limited to objects and buildings, either. I brought everyone back, old teachers, neighbors, friends- even made new ones. In that world, nothing was beyond my power.
Life was heaven.
My friends and I went out for drinks every night, with no nausea or hangovers or repercussions. My mother and I were closer than ever, and I was getting married soon. The stone that sat on my finger was one I saw in a catalogue of things I couldn't dream of affording, but then... I didn't need a job. I didn't even need money. With every last atom of the world bending to my will there wasn't anything I couldn't do.
So I got destructive.
I'd shoot my friends. I'd murder random kids in the park while their parents looked on helplessly, frozen by a realistic lag. I'd manufacture bombs, and when I accidentally blew myself up, I realized I was immortal here, too. No matter who I killed, what horrible tragedies I cooked up- one nap, and the world reset. My mother still gave me the tenderhearted smile of hers, even when I'd smashed her face in the day before.
Utter. Euphoria.
Now, my problem isn't boredom- when you can do literally anything, there's no limit to reality. I suppose the fact that I can do these things is what's the problem, because, outside this little bubble, my life has fallen apart. Alcoholic. Depressed constantly. Here, I can be perpetually happy.
His words always come back to me: "Spend as long as you want here, and when you do go back, it'll be the same time you left, down to the second." Naturally, I don't want to leave. No one would. But I can't leave- he's trapped me here- he must've known that if I do go back, I know I'll be caught, mid-fall, about a hundred feet from the pavement.
So I might as well enjoy the ride.SPOILER (clicca per visualizzare)https://redd.it/625amq
questa mi è piaciuta un sacco -
.
Gaston had gone too far this time.
Ever the brute, he transcended mere buffoonery into outright malice as he locked Belle and her father in the sanitarium while he whipped the townsfolk into a frenzy. They marched off into the woods with pitchforks and torches, bound for the Beast’s castle. With luck and a bit of magic, Belle managed to escape her cell, but only had time to free herself. She promised she would return for her father, and then set off towards castle.
She hoped she wasn’t too late.
As Belle rode, she thought back on her year with the Beast. How she slowly eroded his savagery through compassion and tenderness. Beast proved to be kind and thoughtful, and eventually granted her access to his magnificent library. It was there that she discovered the rose. He told her that his curse would be broken only with true love’s first kiss before the rose's last petal fell. Then he would become a prince again.
The gate of the castle was ripped from its hinges, the front door hacked to splinters. She entered and saw the floor was littered with bodies, as well as broken furniture that Belle knew contained the souls of those that had once served the castle. She ran up the great staircase, stepping over more dead, more shattered friends. She knew where she’d find her love.
The library was in ruins.
She was heartbroken to see so many rare books destroyed, but she needed to press on. On her way to the balcony, she notice the case that contained the rose shattered on the ground, the flower nothing more than a stem.
On the balcony she found Beast, crouched and cradling the body of Gaston. His huge muscular shoulders hitched with quiet sobs, devastated by the destruction of his home and what he had done to protect it.
“My love.” Belle said, clutching at her chest as tears filled her eyes. “It wasn’t your fault. You had no choice.”
The Beast shuddered, and continued weep, but as Belle listened, the sobs became titters and then guffaws that were terrifying to behold. The Beast stood and turned on her, his mouth and doublet awash with blood.
Only then could she see that he had been eating Gaston.
“Not my fault, hrm? That’s a relief!" His voice had become a guttural mockery of human speech. "Here I thought someone would come and punish me for all I’ve done!” Belle backed away, her grief turning into horror. “Didn't you ever ask yourself why I was cursed? Not because I turned that crone away during the storm, I assure you! I thought I'd make you fall in love with me to restore my original body, and once again seek my delights unnoticed, but do you know, I think this body will serve just fine." He tilted his head mockingly at her. "Now," He flexed his dripping claws and bared his sharp yellow teeth, "how about that kiss?"SPOILER (clicca per visualizzare) -
.
When I was growing up, I always thought life was like a video game. I did everything I could to keep up the illusion: doing homework was like completing a quest, talking with friends was like navigating branching dialogue trees with NPCs, and making it to the podium at graduation was like killing the final boss.
I kept these fantasies to myself and didn't think much of them until little details started standing out. Sometimes I'd be walking along a trail in the woods and my eyes would gravitate towards a tree that looked just a bit blurrier than the others. Other times I'd be talking with my parents and the conversation would seem off, as if their responses were just vague enough to make sense if I had said something else.
"Mrs. Bainbridge gave us way too much work tonight!" I'd argue. "Homework is important, son," Dad would say. "There's no way I can finish this project on top of baseball practice!" I'd yell. "Where there's a will, there's a way," Dad would say.
I grew skeptical. I started testing the universe to make sure it was real. One by one, the pieces of the puzzle that I thought I had solved became detached. One afternoon, I punched my best friend Aidan straight in the teeth. His face recoiled a bit, but then snapped back into place, his big smile unfazed.
"Want to play Smash later?" Aidan said immediately after, grinning from ear to ear.
The next day, I tried to get my parents to say my name.
"Come down for dinner, honey!" Mom called. "How was your day, sport?" Dad asked. "Elbows off the table, dear," Mom said.
This went on for the rest of the night. I couldn't remember the last time my parents ever said my name.
Looking back on it, I should have just accepted it. It wasn't hard to live my life as the game intended. I could have been happy if I had drowned out all the red flags. It's too late for that now.
Yesterday, or at least I think it was yesterday, I decided to push the game to its limits. Right before school I stole my mom's keys, got in her truck, and drove. It didn't matter where I was going, so long as it was somewhere new.
Eventually, the road got less familiar. I was entering the wilderness. In a half-hour, I had reached the city limits, beyond the thick canopy of trees that isolated our town from the outside world.
Except...there was nothing. The road ended there. The land just stopped. Everything was blue. Up, down, and out into the endless expanse. It was all blue.
I stood there on the precipice, wondering what my life had been up until that moment. I wondered what it could be. I took my first step into the blue unknown. I started to fall.
In those final seconds, the scariest thing I could imagine was living a life that someone else had chosen for me.
But now?
I'm still falling.SPOILER (clicca per visualizzare)https://redd.it/61js02
Premessa interessante, potrebbe piacere.
Edited by DamaXion - 12/4/2021, 22:39 -
.
He comes into the kitchen where I'm cooking dinner. "Mommy," he says.
"What?" I answer, distracted.
"There's a red boy walking in my room."
I glance at him. "A red boy?"
He nods. "He walks like this." He presses his chubby arms tightly against his small body and cocks his head to the side. He takes a few jerky, shuffling steps.
He carries an armload of plastic dinosaurs into the living room and dumps them on the floor.
"Why aren't you playing in your room?" I ask. I'm folding laundry and watching TV.
He doesn't answer. He arranges the dinosaurs on the rug, with careful concentration. I watch him for a minute, then go back to the clothes and Dr. Phil.
"Mommy, can we go to the playground?" he asks, suddenly. He is not looking at me. He is looking down the hall.
"Not now," I answer. "It's getting dark."
He is standing beside my bed. "Mommy," he whispers.
"What?" I ask, softly, sleepy.
"The red boy is walking in my room again," he says. I throw back the covers and he climbs in, his small body shivering. I tuck the blankets around both of us.
"There is no red boy," I whisper into his ear, in the warm darkness, snug in bed.
He lies awake for a long time. I can feel him watching.
He is late for breakfast.
I go to his room, and I open the door.
I see the red boy. He looks like he is inside out. He is lying on his bed, seeping red onto his Star Wars sheets.
But he is not the only red boy in the room. He isn't moving.
He isn't the one walking.SPOILER (clicca per visualizzare)https://redd.it/6176zt
Non mi ha fatto impazzire, è una cp old style carina, imho appena sufficiente -
.
Perdonami, sono mortificato 
-
.
BenvenutA!
Edited by » S h i n † a k a ™ - 5/4/2017, 17:22 -
.
Che tristezza, vorrei poter finalmente giocare a questo Zelda, ma al momento per me è abbastanza fuori budget xD -
.
Benvenuto!