Note: Reading again the short tale I posted on Monday (Ain’t no wise girl) I found it rather embarrassing but, at the same it, I feel it could be a nice frame for a collection of twisted, wicked, dreamlike tales. What do you think? Here is an abstract, a thought of the main character. I was thinking to make the girl a first person narrator but I am still not sure about it.
Sometimes I just want to cry until I am all tears and the tears run down the couch on the carpet, the tiles and their cracks. My tears flow deep in the cushions padding, entrapped there forever. They walk miles along the corridors tiled in black and white of this infinite place and out the unattainable door and down to the see. The tears squeeze between tile and tile and go through the underfloor to the underground. They wash the face of the tortured. They liquefy the dried blotches of blood. They bring new sadness to the desperation and flow and flow. They will never stop until I am done. They will never stop until I am only sadness running away from itself, dissolving into the sadness of the world.