Draga Mos Craciun,
Unu la mana, te rog sa le pui un dop in cur sa nu se mai poata caca la toti aia care zic “genial”. Doi la mana, te rog sa ii faci o bucurie pritenului meu Vasile care are 300 de kilograme si care e foarte suparat ca e trecut cu “1” la recensamant, un “2” cred ca l-ar bucura foarte tare. Trei la mana te rog sa inventezi un animal care caca pizza. Patru la mana, te rog sa ii pui pe niste oameni de stiinta sa spuna ca oamenii cu capetele mici is mai prosti ca aia cu capetele mari (ceea ce eu cred ca este adevarat).
Cinci la mana, te rog sa le faci nasu disproportionat cu fata oamenilor care iau partea cea mai mare din ceea ce imparti tu cu ei. Opt la mana, sa ii faci pe cei de la Coldplay sa scoata un album in care ei trag basini pe melodiile lor, un album care mi-ar placea foarte mult. Noua la mana, te rog sa le dai oamenilor nume amuzante cum ar fi “Slabaru”, “Zoia” sau “Stefan cel Mare”(auzi tu, sa te cheme ca pe o strada).
In ultimu rand te rog sa imi faci curu cu gust de ciocolata. Aaa si sa ii faci pe aia de folosesc “unu la mana, doi la mana” pofticiosi la ciocolata.
Cu drag, Victor.
Arhive lunare: decembrie 2008
Draga Mos Craciun,
People were gathered as much as the small street could accommodate, and every now and then angry yells of approval would be heard towards a man that was sitting on an improvised podium, and which was carrying out a speech, that to the listeners seemed nothing short of igniting.
In any other situation, the man could have hardly passed for an orator, as his face lacked the charisma needed so as to attract an auditory visually. Tall, with graying hair on the sides of his head and a long pointy beard, the man seemed ready to blow away at the following stronger gust of wind that would appear. His face was even less appealing, marked by wrinkles of premature old-age. Even more so, his eyebrows shaped in the form of a “V” when he would frown, accompanied by the so often smile that would appear on his face whenever the crowd approved of his words, made his image somewhat frightful, like that of a devil.
Despite such a disadvantaging physique however, his voice was strong and convinced of the truth it spoke, his hands describing vigorous gestures at every word he would emphasize.
”Long has the world been plagued by their kind and many righteous and noble souls lost their immortality and peace dew to their unholy birth! They know what they are, even more, so they always knew!” he yelled, pointing towards the luxurious house that stood in front of him, and the mob approved his affirmation with yells and hollers.
“And instead of admitting to their crimes, proving humble of their shame, they hid it for centuries thinking that the common folk would not see through their disguise! They represent a taint on our blood, a shame and a curse!”
Again the crowd roared with approval, fueled by the energy of his very speech, entranced as if by his conviction and devotion to his beliefs.
“Is it not bad enough that the scourge of all which is divine and righteous are living as kings, when they should have known no better existence than that of the maggots that they are?!” the man rhetorically inquired “ Is our country to always live with the specter of their demonic family? What will stop them from ravaging the bodies of your loved ones for their sick want for power and knowledge? The bodies of your mothers and your fathers, your bredrin and your wives!”
The specter of his words seeped deep into the people’s hearts, as the man made a theatrical pause so as to assess the impact of his words. Proud of reading anger on the men’s faces and fear in those of the women, he carried on with force.
“And now, a child is born to carry on this proud bloodline! One as impure and unholy as the lot of them, which hides in its heart the venomous poison of corruption! As a weed it will grow, carrying in his or her loins the plagued seed of damnation, of malice and of necromancy! ”
The door of the house opened and in that moment, all eyes turned towards the man that was standing in front of it, including those of the agitated orator. The occupier of the house however looked far from the image of any man that ever walked the face of this world. His face was livid, as white as wax, and his eyes, once clear blue, bore deep and purple circles beneath them, while the pupils were sickly and red. His red shoulder-long hair dangled uncombed in his eyes, and it rendered the image of a mad man which in terror and desperation had attempted to rip it with his very hands. Once revered as handsome, the man seemed but a ghost wondering the world in aimless agony.
Slowly, he stepped towards the end of the highest step and with a voice that seemed to be almost dyeing he yelled out as much as his grief and sadness allowed it of him, so that all, with no exception, would be able to hear him:
“My child is dead! Do you hear that?” he asked, his eyes taking hold of each and every person that was present “My child is dead and my wife is barren!”
Ludvich was pleased to see their faces now whipped of any expression, if any one thing would have been able to bring him joy under the present condition, this had been it. They had called him poison, a taint, but what were they other than mindless, unimportant brigands, unable to grasp the true concept of what they could not understand but feared and hated. He had nothing but disdain towards his own people, and their hatred only ignited his own. The man remembered those words, “the plagued seed of damnation, of malice and of necromancy”, repeating them in his head even though the only thing he desired was to forever erase them from his mind.
“Worry not for our plagued seed,” he yelled once more “it will not spread!”
Then, throwing a last spiteful glance in their direction, his eyes beaming with unhelpful anger, the man turned his back towards the mob, shuffling his feet towards the entrance. He opened the door, and leaning heavily on it, he entered the house without another word, in the plenary silence of astonished ignorance.