STORY OF A LUNCH

It is seven in the evening and, on the fifth floor, Mrs. Kapoor is ready to devote herself to preparing dinner. Like every night. At that time, you will be able to see her busy in the kitchen. The first thing you'll notice through the open curtains is the flamboyant color of her Sari. Looking closely, you will notice the graceful decorative effect created by the folds, similar to the petals of a flower. In many years, I have never seen her dressed differently. It holds true to its traditions, despite having moved here to Venice for some time now. He does it with clothes and food. Every day, at seven in the evening, you will always find her there, struggling with the preparation of Roti. You will see her carefully knead all the ingredients, expertly dose the spices for the accompanying curry, divide the dough into many small balls of equal size, heat the usual old plate until it becomes hot, place each cooked disc in a cloth after having brushed it with oil and close the flaps with extreme delicacy. His are habitual gestures. Simple. Family members. Actions repeated almost mechanically every evening. Year after year. Mrs Kapoor, every evening, without knowing it, makes me feel at home.
Mrs. Kapoor is a certainty in a world full of uncertainties.

THE STORY OF A SAD TOAD

Once upon a time there was a pissed off toad who was always sad. He went around and said bad things to everyone. Nobody knew his story but one day a fairy asked him something.
But he replied very badly and told her that she too was bad for all the others.
The fairy ran away crying and flustered began to look at the river.
The fairy had always done spells to help everyone but this time she didn't know how to do it.
She felt really tired and was crying at being so badly judged.
While she was crying, a small puppy dog ​​approached her asking for strokes. But she was very sad and apologized for not being able to caress him because at that moment he was sick. But she said to him "Come near here, I'll keep you with me while I cry." So the puppy came alive and started licking her tears. And as she cried the puppy turned into a wizard. And he asked her "What happened to you, sweet fairy?"
And the fairy replied "It was a toad, he told me bad things."
And the scowling wizard asked her "And why do you think she said all those bad things to you?"
The fairy thought about it and replied "Maybe because she is suffering, I hadn't thought about it, it must be so."
The magician took her hand and said to her: "You fairy have a good heart but at this moment he sees neither you nor your good heart. He is full of pain and he does not like his life. him. Go, go back to your house. "
But the fairy replied: "I can't be calm if I know that the toad is in pain. Maybe I got it all wrong and now I don't know how to fix it, I'm desperate. What can I tell him to make him feel good?"
The magician told her again: "He would not listen to you, whatever you would tell him for him now it would be all bad."
Then the fairy, disconsolate, threw herself into the nearby river. She could not swim and was immediately dragged to the nearby waterfall.
But at one point a huge toad leapt into the water and grabbed it. She was already passed out and did not notice what had happened. When she came to, she saw two big eyes staring at her in a sweet way and she said: "Excuse me, fairy, I treated you badly, you had nothing to do with it, it was not with you that I wanted to vent."
The fairy looked at him with her shy and sad eyes and then passed away. The toad didn't believe she could be dead. He tried to revive her but the fairy remained dead because this is not a Disney story but what happens in reality.

STORY OF A TENDER LIGHT

Your words, clear and clear in appearance, stun me. Maybe I'm the one who heard wrong, maybe you really said it, but I still can't believe it. I finally find the courage to ask you to repeat. "Four weeks" is the answer that, immediately, materializes on my temple like sweat that slides along the entire length of my profile, up to the neck, exhausting itself on the collar of my khaki shirt. You look down, but you look happy.
Now, listen to me because I'm not capable of being as good as you, smiling from the other end of the table, and not brave enough to repeat myself. Turn off. Put out the spark that burns in your belly, which in another eight months will ignite the projects we had of our lives reducing them to miserable ashes. Drown her in the bitter tears of a mother's ghost, let her not follow into this world. It is not to sadden you or to extinguish your hopes, but for your own good. "Mom" and "Dad" are not the nicknames for us, moody and distracted, who barely make ends meet. Would you say that my son could ever feel loved in my calloused hands and your soiled with paint? Would you say that his eyes are the same blue as your oil paints and his voice resembles the notes of my guitar? Would you ever say that we could be up to the task entrusted to us? I tremble for another split second when I realize I've already called him my son. I realize that I love him, out of nowhere, that I have given him a role in our future. Just as I would like to be able to see if it is as I imagined it, if it will derive order from chance, if it will make knowledge of our inexperience and of its own life as art, if light will flow from an incendiary spark.
"We will have a baby," I say in a faint voice that dies in my throat, suppressed by emotion.


STORY OF SO HIGH

Once upon a time in a beautiful city in a place where peace reigned, it was full of flowers, evergreen plants, little birds and butterflies. In this place Tibetan monks lived there who loved looking at nature and praying in the middle of the green. They had many birds and each of them had a name, but one day a golden finch appeared inside the convent walls.

It was beautiful, it had two large golden wings and two large paws from which 10 gold threads hung. When the monks saw the bird they could not understand what it wanted because it kept going around the convent walls. One day the youngest of all the monks clung to one of the ten strings and let himself be carried out of the high walls.
He saw a world different from his own, there were no more flowers but poverty, misery, darkness, the green he had always been used to seeing was gone.

So he called all the other monks and together they transformed that country into a huge green area full of golden birds and all the
colors, make holes, plants and flowers.

THE STORY OF A LADY

The snow was falling in large, wide flakes as she struggled to move, sinking into the fresh snow. She raised her head, covered by the hood she had raised in an attempt to protect herself, and watched the house on the hill glow in the night. He pulled a large cloak against his body and kept walking until he reached the door.
When she entered the room she found herself enveloped in warmth. With a sigh he lowered the hood.
"Was it really necessary?" She asked the woman who, sitting in the armchair in front of the lit fireplace, was looking at her.
"Mmm ..." Only the woman muttered, as she stood up and walked over to an old turntable.
Music filled the air as a counterpoint to the sound of fir logs burning in the fire.
Outside, the snow storm did not seem to want to stop raging, but there, in that room, everything seemed to be quiet and harmony. The contrast was striking.
He took off his cloak and hung it on the side of the door, then walked over to the fire and stretched out his hands towards its warmth. She might also know that this place, that bubble, was just dream magic, it wasn't real, yet her brain kept telling her she was cold after climbing the hill in the snowstorm.
“You knew it was going to happen. It was inevitable. " He said, turning towards the woman.
The record was spinning, playing an old song: a female voice telling of a lost love.
"Unavoidable." The woman murmured. "I'll kill him." He then added and the way he said it contained no inflection, it was not a threat, it was simple reality.
"No you will not." She said, approaching her and wrapping her arms around her, leaning her face against the woman's back. "You'll resist, you'll watch him touch me, while you can't even touch my skin, you'll watch him marry me when you can't even talk to me, you'll watch him possess me, when you can't even ..." eyes and placed two fingers on her lips, stopping her.
"How silly." He murmured, his eyes closed. "The betrothed of the king and his court sorceress ..." He opened his eyes to look at her, and they were splendid green eyes, the green eyes that he had sought in his sleep that first night and that had attracted her there, in that bubble in which they had talked, for the first time and for many more nights after that.
"My chains and my freedom." The woman countered, a smile on her lips, the song rang out its last verses, so bitter yet so beautiful, so desperate and yet so sweet. "He can do what he wants with my body, he will never have my heart."
He saw the woman's eyes stiffen again and then surrender as she lifted herself up on her toes to kiss her.
"This dream will be enough for me, this fiction will be my reality and, out there, just a bad nightmare, from which I will wake up in your arms." The snowstorm stopped howling and in the night there was only the sound of the crackling fire in the fireplace and the scratching of the tip on the turntable.

STORY OF A BOX OF BUISCUITS

A girl was waiting for her flight in a waiting room of a large airport.
Since he would have to wait a long time, he decided to buy a book to kill time.
He also bought a packet of cookies.
She sat in the VIP room to be more quiet.
Next to her was the chair with the biscuits and on the other side a gentleman who was reading the newspaper.
When she began to take the first biscuit, the man also took one, she felt indignant but said nothing and continued reading her book.
Between her and her he thought "but look if only I had a little more courage I would have already punched him ...".
So every time she took a biscuit, the man next to her, without making the slightest nod, took one too.
They continued until there was only one biscuit left and the woman thought "ah, now I really want to see what he tells me when they are all finished !!"
The man before she took the last biscuit divided it in half!
"Ah, this is too much" I think and began to snort and indignantly took her things, the book and her bag and walked towards the exit of the waiting room.
When he felt a little better and the anger had passed, he sat in a chair along the corridor so as not to attract too much attention and avoid other sorrows.
He closed the book and opened the bag to put it in when…. when he opened the bag he saw that the packet of biscuits was still whole inside.
She felt so much ashamed and only then realized that the packet of biscuits like hers belonged to that man sitting next to her who had shared his biscuits with her without feeling indignant, nervous or superior unlike her who had snorted and even she felt a wound in her pride.

THA STORY OF A COLOUR

Once upon a time there was a color that belonged to a famous painter. It was never used, it was almost always in a drawer of a piece of furniture that was in a corner. His color friends mocked him and chased him away. One day he couldn't take it anymore and so he ran around the streets of the city.

He was carried by the wind, was wet with rain and ignored by passers-by. By chance he found himself in a poor street and was picked up by a poor child dressed in rags. The color made this child happy who felt rich and started doing it right away
of the drawings.

When the painter realized that the red color was no longer in the drawer, he suspended his painting to look for it. He looked everywhere, but he couldn't find it and so he went to buy another one. From that moment on the painter decided to use all his colors and not to exclude even one.

Finally, with regard to the child, he remained a very happy child who made some money by selling people beautiful drawings. With the proceeds he bought other colors and painted even more beautiful designs.

STORY OF DARK AND LIGHT

Dark and Light were children of mother Nature and father Universe. Two brothers, then, but they didn't look alike at all. Luce was cheerful, joyful, and always happy. Dark, on the other hand, was gloomy and sad. Light used bright colors and Dark only knew black. They were really different but they had one thing in common: they both loved children so much. Light was very loved and well-liked by them and Dark? No, he didn't, on the contrary he scared them and the more they got scared the more he suffered. His greatest desire was to be able to watch over the sleep of children, to be able to enter their rooms and be close to them all night. In fact, once he tried but it was a disaster: he went to find two children who were already in their cots. The first, as he saw him, began to scream and call his mother who chased him away by turning on a light bulb ... even that made light ... Dark then he tried with a little girl, he went into the bedroom but ... here is a deafening scream so loud that he was so frightened that he ran away. These had been the experiences of poor Dark ... it was really sad, no child wanted it. Light, one day she came up to him and asked him why he was always so sad. He told her about his misadventures, then concluded by saying:
"... If at least you could give me some of your light ..."
"Dear brother, I can't give you my light, but you don't have to be sad, do you know that you are very important?"
" For real ?"
"Of course, if I were there all day people would not be able to sleep and to recover their strength they would not be able to dream, the fireworks could not be done, the owls and the owls would not go out to eat, you would not see the fireflies ..so, you see how important you are? And if you want some light talk to the Moon, it will surely help you."
Dark felt relieved and less sad ran to the Moon and asked her if she could help him by giving him some of her light ...
"Not even I can give you my light but I can help you anyway, I will come with you, I will also tell the stars and together we will form the Night and only thanks to you everyone will be able to admire us in the sky ... with the light this will not it could have happened." 
Dark's joy reached its peak when one evening he heard a child say: "Mom, I'm not afraid of the dark, he's my friend, and every night he cuddles me before going to sleep". Finally Dark knew happiness.

STORY ON THE WALL

She was perched on that wall. Right on the edge of a barely hinted spring, yellow with sun and scattered words. She looked around torn between the hesitation of taking flight towards the uncertain, and the fear of staying still and waiting. Stop on that wall aware that waiting was not the best choice, but the alternative ... then she realized that he was approaching.

She had noticed him immediately, as he wandered around her with a synthetic and brazen indifference. He had seen him approaching from afar, when he was a barely hinted silhouette, yet as if he already had a perceptible and concrete presence of his.

It was nice.

It was not an explicit thought that manifested itself inside her, and she certainly did not want to admit it to herself immediately, but she understood it in the very moment in which she understood that she had chosen the alternative of staying, of remaining still on that wall waiting for life followed its course even beyond its will to choose. He made another round, more and more concentrically close to her, then overcame all hesitation and stopped on the wall next to her.

Illuminated by the rays of the sun she was beautiful.
Here he is, he is here next to me. But she turned her head in the most opposite direction, staring into the void always full of emotions and anxieties. They didn't move. There are moments that are so solid it is possible to mark them in all their prolonged instantaneity. Those were such. Prolonged, slow and delicately sweet.

But she was turned towards nowhere and stared at the nonexistent. Almost he wasn't there. But he was resolved now. He concentrated all his vital energies in one point of the mind transmuting them into resourcefulness, circumnavigated her body and alighted next to her on the side of the gaze.

If she had turned her gaze again it would have been a definitive refusal. He couldn't do it. He didn't want to do it and he didn't. They finally looked into each other's eyes. You could have sworn they were smiling.

She blinked nervously. He wanted to talk to her, but he couldn't. He wanted to take her hand but he had no hands to do it. He just emitted a garrulous chirping remodeled in harmony with the essence of the universe. She answered with a syncopated and irresistible chirp.

They soared together, moving in a scented cloud of spring sounds. Below them the world was increasingly distant. The scattered words faded, and those teeming shapes were smaller and smaller, tiny, voracious and corrosive bacteria too busy devouring each other to have time to raise their heads and watch their flight.

More and more distant, more and more useless, more and more non-existent,

And they flew more and more alto.

STORY OF THE BUTTERFLY GIRL

There was a girl who was a butterfly and suddenly she decided to become a caterpillar. And she didn't care that she no longer had wings and was just green. She no longer wanted to fly, she just wanted to stay on the ground, in the grass, lie down outside, not stay closed in the concrete of the house, she always wanted to look at the sky, not to see people anymore. And he remained a caterpillar for a long time and did not want to go back to being a butterfly. He said to himself, spider yes, maybe, but never butterfly again. But then he saw a strange bright green beetle. He asked who he was. And he didn't answer and went about his business. And she lay on the grass sleeping, and she didn't want to see anyone. But one day a strange music came with the wind. Was it a flute? Maybe a child was playing somewhere. And she followed that music and she saw a home, a family, everything she never had, not like that. And he listened to the flute and within himself something melted. A weight that he had held within himself. A stone he had had in his stomach for so many years melted. She was hungry. He returned home but found nothing. He went out into the garden and went into the garden. He saw the fruit trees loaded and began to eat and eat and he felt better. The fruit was good, so sweet. He would buy a flute and play.

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