Rina ZanteI stared at the cut on my arm which had a hand in keeping me awake throughout the night. It burned still, but not as bad as before. I could trace a finger across it, and even the densely packed rashes. Same went for my wrist and thigh. The injuries brought in yesterday's events. The utter confusion and strangeness that had existed. I'd long known Vincenzo was abnormal. However, the true extent of his problem had been lost to me until yesterday. That guy… He was sick. Mentally disturbed, and here I was in the center of it all.I don't just get it. He hated me, right? He'd called me all manner of names, humiliated me in front of everyone, looked at me like I was some rotten garbage; so, why then wouldn't he let me be? I'd done what he’d demanded. I had left, I'd walked out of his life, so why?Why come looking for me?He made me sound like a broken record because this would be the zillionth time I asked myself that. I'd simply wanted to go. I'd simply wanted to end it.I b
UNKNOWN POVBlank. That was all I saw. All I heard. All I felt. And I knew not what I painted; I wasn't frustrated either. The last bit sounded good since I hated being like everyone else. I wasn't like other artists.I selected some pigments and stroked them across the canvas, wallowing in the void I'd found myself. One would think that after all my hard work, I'd be happier than a king for finally achieving my goal. I had thought so, in fact. Uncle Emiliano too. Zia. But here I was. Worse than an average person. Life taster blander water. And I honestly didn't know why. Initially, I'd thought it was remorse. My fright at that point was nothing I'd felt before. And my relief upon learning remorse wasn't the case couldn't be measured. It wasn't remorse because I still thought about Father and gnash my teeth. I thought about him and battled with the urge to destroy his remains. Now that I knew I didn't have any atom of remorse in me, what then could explain this empty feeling?
Vincenzo MorenoEveryone had their definition for peace. Mine was the ultimate peace. I didn't speak out of pride or cockiness; it rather was pure fact. My idea of the concept overthrew that of the dictionary, and by extension, that of nature. Or natural law. One could only be said to have peace when he resided in a building—sea front—with the love of his life. When he woke up every morning to the angelic face she had. I had been watching her since I woke up. Nothing less than five minutes. Her face held more interest than a slasher movie or anything at all one fancied. She was beautiful. Her features, so many, I couldn't begin to mention. My ears received the soft snores leaving her throat. My side got caressed by her breath. I stared at her lashes. The spiky ends that always impaled me with a breathless feeling. I couldn't think of anything but her. As if reading my mind, she blinked. Creamy brown eyes met me, bringing forth a smile that melted my heart. "Buon ginorata," I sa
Vincenzo MorenoI grabbed a glove and slid my fist into it. Teeth clenched to bottle in the hurt, I wrapped the glove straps around my wrist; then headed straight to the ring.“Signore, you forgot the second glove.” I blocked out the voice and continued till I reached the ring. I waited for my opponent to show up. I would heap my frustration on that motherfucker . The murderous desire stacked up with every passing nanosecond. It was a great deal keeping still. After several agonizing minutes, the dick emerged. My icy eyes followed him from the locker room opposite to some feet away from the ring. He stomped closer. His gait, and in fact, his entire person irked me. I didn’t wait till he fully got in before rendering a blow across his cheek. Having caught him off guard, I dragged him across the ropes, and into the ring. Just then, he came around. Body going rigid, he sent a fist my way. I dodged, more pissed than ever that he’d challenged me. I dealt a merciless blow to his stoma
Vincenzo MorenoI should be excited. I should have my heart leap. I ought to grab the phone and hold it tight to my ear like a lifeboat. All these and more should have happened because Rina was calling.Instead, I stared on as the phone rang. A part of me, a teeny weenie part, wondered why she called. But the other side of me which was numbed by horror overshadowed it. I was sober enough to see the phone call as a bad sign. We were feet apart. Only a stone throw from each other and she was calling? She was terrified of me.No. I couldn’t shit myself any longer. The sooner I told myself the truth, the better for me. Rina wasn’t scared of me. She wanted nothing to do with me. I wasn’t part of her future.I looked away from the phone when it stopped blaring, and rose. I rose only to drop to the bed again.I hadn’t felt this anxious for a while. The person responsible wasn’t lost to me. the old bastard, Russo. He messed with my mind.What could I say? What exactly could I say when all o
Vincenzo Moreno The door let loose by a single twist of the key.I gripped the handle, only to freeze. Annoyance seeping onto my face, constricting my brows. My damn hands were sweaty. I was fucking nervous. I ground my teeth, hard enough to produce an ache. Sure I’d gotten my shit together, I pushed the door. Unsurprisingly, the first thing I set my eyes on was Rina. Seated on the floor; her back to the bed, she looked up from the carpet and cast her dazed eyes on me. Tiny balls of sweat dotted her forehead, gleaming under the fluorescent light. Before I could respond to that, she wrung her face, whimpering. I took an uncertain step forward. "Non mi sento troppo bene." [I don’t feel too good]. Her increasing whimpering snapped me out of my trance. “Hey,” I whispered, rushing towards her. I held her cheeks, brushing some strands of hair away from her face. “It’ll be fine. I’m here now.”The joy I felt when she clasped her hands on my flanks was unquantifiable. Yes, Rina. This i
Rina ZanteFeet shuffled into Michalis Gallery, the workshop where we art students created pieces. Once everyone settled in, the professor dished out his instructions yet again. We were to paint using any medium, and make use of any style we'd learnt so far. Surrealism was my choice. I guessed what they said was true. That passion was a driving force. It made you keep going even when the zeal was lost. My love for painting and the desire to teach it were the reason I was here despite all that'd happened. And in spite of the fact I'd be rudely reminded of the worst day of my life because of a particular face. I didn't wrestle for a spot like everyone did. No energy for that; I dreaded people now. As luck may have it, there was an unoccupied space facing the corridor at the far end of the gallery. And even more awesomely, it was secluded. The dots connected quickly. No one took it because Professor Carlo, the no-nonsense patriarch, had his seat close. I got to the spot and laid out
Vincenzo MorenoI shoved water out of the way as I made a beeline to the other end of the pool. The seventh time I did so. On getting there, I pierced to the surface and slid a hand across my face. A few blinks later, I spotted an object in the sunshade opposite. Dragging my gaze away, I pushed out of the pool.My focus returned to the object; even when a guard brought in my towel, I didn't look away. Drying up, I walked towards the shade. A thought descended from nowhere. A wish. I wished Rina had been here to see me pull myself out of the pool. My dripping body to her full glare. Humour stretched my lips as I imagined how flustered she'd have been. The tray would have slipped from her hold, and she'd work frantically to clear the mess. Then, I'd claim her by the waist and kiss away the embarrassment. When I got to the shade, I picked up the glass of juice with the intention of picking her scent. Though faint, it entranced me. I laid on the lounge, partly sipping the drink and pa