Pieces

She was sick. In her pitch black pit she gave a look upside, huffing away some dust. The air around her moved in a small circle, while tiny shiny particles swung round and round slightly reflecting the outside’s light.
They were still out there, glancing down at her from time to time. Their voices’ echo reached the girl in a noisy melody. Everything about it was out of tune, that background buzzing was driving her insane.
If only the pain could extend to every inch of her body, then maybe she would have been able not to feel. She was grabbing that thought with all the strenght left in her hands: feeling it all to not feel at all. Cause it was tiring listening to that over and over. Someone new adding to the choir singing those exact same lyrics.
It was the same for them, don’t forget about it: it was the same issue all the way, thay had it all the same, the could just feel it as well.
They didn’t know a thing.
She got up, walked to her pile of glass and studied it for a second, then started gathering some of those shattered pieces on the floor. She had to go on building. Yeah, glass did cut, it wasn’t refined and its edges were just as sharp as a knife as she held them while climbing up the pile, but her feet couldn’t feel pain anymore, they’d eventually become used to those cuts, to the point she couldn’t mind that slight bleeding they caused. It just stained glass.
As she climbed some pieces fell down, slipping along the sides of her handmade tower.
The voices kept on going.
They just looked at her, not at the pile, nor at her work, nor at the glass shattered around. Maybe their light wasn’t enough to see it all, maybe they just didn’t care.
Cause they had it as well. The exact same issue.
They had that exact same ghost inside, the same memories flew in their mind. They all had seen the same person go away like that.
And they were so loud and proud.
Loud and proud.
She jumped down the pile, to gather some more.
Particles in the air followed her.
She couldn’t stand it anymore. She just wanted to reach them and stop their blabbering.
She took some quick steps around, grabbing whatever she could find down there. Her hands were bleeding, she was grabbing too tightly the glass, but that soon would have been a pointless thought too.
A particle slipped into her eye. No point in trying to get it out, she could already see them, the memories. It all became disturbed, looking up at her guests she could barely see people and light, maybe some city in the background, but was that real? In front of that there was now some kind of dusty veil, while pictures and scenes from the past were enacted right in front of her eyes. So close. So close she thought she could…
Quickly she moved her hand forward to touch him but it all vanished and suddenly glass crashed against the floor, while her body crashed on the pile’s side. She was back.
Someone offered a hand, to say they had to vent.
She got up, sitting in the place, listening.
Once again listening to the voices.
They had it as well.

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Non ne poteva più. Dal fondo del suo baratro oscuro diede un’occhiata in alto, al “fuori”, soffiando via la polvere. L’aria attorno a lei si mosse in un piccolo vortice, mentre piccole particelle scintillanti le svolazzarono intorno riflettendo appena la luce esterna.
Erano ancora là fuori, lanciandole occhiate di tanto in tanto. L’eco delle loro voci raggiunse la ragazza in una melodia stridente. Tutto suonava stonato, e quel vociare in sottofondo la stava facendo impazzire.
Se solo il dolore si fosse espanso su ogni centimetro del suo corpo, allora forse avrebbe potuto non sentire. Si aggrappò a quel pensiero con tutta la forza rimasta nelle sue mani: sentirlo tutto, per non sentir nulla. Perché era estenuante stare ad ascoltarli ancora e ancora. E qualcuno di nuovo si aggiunse al coro, ripetendo quelle stesse esatte parole.
Loro non sapevano niente.
Si alzò, si avvicinò alla sua torre di vetro e la studiò per un attimo, poi tornò a raccogliere i frammenti sparsi a terra. Doveva continuare a costruire. Sì, il vetro tagliava, non era rifinito e i suoi bordi erano affilati come quelli di un coltello mentre si arrampicava su per la torre, ma i suoi piedi non sentivano più dolore, si erano apparentemente abituati ai tagli al punto che nemmeno si accorgeva del loro sanguinamento. Semplicemente sporcava il vetro.
Mentre si arrampicava, alcuni pezzi scivolarono lungo i fianchi di quella torre improvvisata.
E le voci continuavano.
Guardavano lei, non la torre, non il suo lavoro, non i frammenti di vetro sparsi per il terreno. Forse la loro luce non bastava per vedere tutto, forse non gli importava.
Oh, perché anche loro l’avevano, lo stesso identico problema.
Avevano lo stesso fantasma dentro, gli stessi ricordi gli attraversavano la mente. Tutti avevano avuto la stessa persona, scivolata via allo stesso modo.
Ed erano così rumorosi e orgogliosi.
Rumorosi ed orgogliosi.
Balzò giù dalla torre per raccogliere altri pezzi.
Le particelle nell’aria le svolazzarono attorno.
Non ne poteva più. Voleva solo che la finissero col loro blaterare. Fece pochi rapidi passi là attorno, raccogliendo qualsiasi pezzo le capitasse vicino. Le sue mani avevano preso a sanguinare, doveva aver stretto con troppa forza i pezzi di vetro, ma anche quel pensiero ben presto divenne superfluo.
Poi, una particella le scivolò in un occhio. Non aveva alcun senso cercar di toglierla, poteva già vederli, i ricordi. Tutto divenne un’immagine disturbata, guardando su, ai suoi ospiti, poteva appena intravedere le persone e la luce, e forse una città sullo sfondo, ma era reale? Un velo polveroso le offuscava la vista, mentre immagini e scene del passato venivano messe in scena di fronte ai suoi occhi. Così vicino. Così vicino che avrebbe potuto…
Tese una mano in avanti velocemente per toccarlo ed all’improvviso il vetro si schiantò al suolo, mentre il suo corpo crollò di fianco alla torre. Era tornata.
Qualcuno le offrì una mano, per potersi sfogare con lei.
Tornò a sedere, ed ascoltare.
Ce l’avevano anche loro, lo stesso identico problema.

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