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Hot Water

It was surreal beyond belief what I saw that night with my inner eye: the colours brighter that any other yellow or pink or blue or orange, the white whiter than white, not as transparent but visible, touchable yet so precious, as a smooth shining iridescent  mother of pearl.

This is the first recollection of that wonderful night: the happiness those figurine left in my soul. The suspension beyond belief my spirit was floating in as part of those colourful characters smiling at each other as they were encountering one another in that ethereal atmosphere.

Words will never be able to recapture and describe that perfect picture still visibly clear in my memory, always the same – movements, ductility, harmony, music even – yet still static in my mind, unchangeable in front of my eyes, always bringing me the same happiness, a sense of freedom of floating above the material essence of the world, above the ‘troubled hot waters’ of daily living, being able to encounter higher dimensions unimaginable to the naked eyes.

Often I have wondered being a painter like Mark Chagal or Kandinsky would have I been able to depict those images? Would have I wanted to share it with the rest of the world? Should I keep it only for my self? Would it make any sense to anybody else but me? I could only try to, but should I?  What if those delicate creatures will abandon me and never return to bring me that serene happiness, unconditionately? Should I even attempt at describing that immaterial essence? But I am not a poet, words do not come easy or rather do they refuse to attend my services?

Yet how strange! Those images, or rather, those figurines, are pushing me, they are encouraging me, they are pleading me to unlock them from my secret closet. They want to encounter all of you, wherever you are. They are urgently pressing at the door of my inner world as if they have a mission. What could it be? Bring you happiness, serenity, felicity, joy –  as if they were the Three Wise Men.

If I was a computer graphic I could draw them on computer, show them on the screen as I saw them that night, give them life and movement as if dancing over a hot water surface. Those bright white horses, as beautiful and candid as unicorns, elegantly relaxing and floating in that sea of hot water. The water had a colour but I cannot recollect the tone, possibly a pearly gray like melting led from which  the white mares and stallions were emerging calm and relaxed at first, furious and recalcitrant all of a sudden, as if in an attempt to escape from a dangerous suffocating mould. Or as if they were being moulded by a clever sculptor under that surface of hot water, in the centre of  the universe, and once ready they could emerge in their full splendour and vigour like a new born baby coming into the world.

To welcome them, there were, on the left hand side, two cute small fluffy Easter chicks. The egg yolk yellow of their down feathers was quite a contrast of bright light against the darker surface of the hot water. The two cute chicks resembled two young teenagers going for a walk on a sunny Sunday afternoon, talking and laughing about their carefree life, full of hope for the future,  startled by the beauty of the emergent horses and couldn’t but admire them, speechless.

In the far distance, in the middle of this perfect triangle, whose base was formed by the yellow chicks on the left hand side, and the candid stallions on the right hand side, there were two other creatures of yet another brighter colour, to complete that perfect pyramid. The brightness of that shocking warm pink was so unusual. A combination of papaya, mango, red water melon and sharon fruit, had been artfully mixed together to form a palpable paste. Its consistency was such that the two figurine I had initially seen, fused to form a unicum round contour. I could not distinguish their features or characteristics anymore. They had melted in a hot ball of fire rotating on itself, emanating light and warmth, pulsating life like a smiling heart, emanating waves of energy and strength.

For sure I was under no effect of alcohol, drugs, or any other substances that night when my inner world got populated by these jovial creatures. They were the only companions I had that troubled hot summer in Rome studying for my art exams. They disassembled themselves from their various original masterpieces and   regrouped in yet other forms, in my dreams, to comfort me and give me strength and courage to carry on. I trust they are ready now to leave my inner world, as well, and accomplish their mission to colour other solitary, troubled lives and touch them, brighten them up with their delicate butterfly wings. Just don’t close your doors to them!


Un racconto inviato e scritto da  Anna Maria Forti Sheik


Author: Alieni Metropolitani

Gli Alieni Metropolitani non cercano soluzioni. A volte ne trovano… é irrilevante. Appartengono alla Società e con sguardo consapevole ne colgono l’inconsistenza. Non sono accomunati da ideologia, religione o stile di vita ma da una medesima percezione del mondo. Accettano i riti della vita, riuscendone a provare imbarazzo. Scrivere! Una reazione creativa alla sterile inconsistenza del mondo.

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  1. Mille Grazie, Veniero e tutto il team di Alieni Metropolitani,
    che bella sorpresa che mi avete fatto.
    Che strana emozione rileggere questo mia storiella on line. Che strano effetto che fa la scrittura.
    Ho qualche altro raccontino se volete ve lo invio.
    Complimenti per questa bellissima iniziativa.
    Tanti cari auguri,
    Anna Maria

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  2. Molto bello vedere che un sito in lingua italiana accolga contributi in altre lingue. E’ la prova che la cultura letteraria deve abbattere le barriere linguistiche. Idea moderna e al contempo antica, come la caratterizzazione della cultura pre – nazionale. Mi piacerebbe che su questo sito che sta diventando sempre più’ un punto di riferimento per la cultura letteraria venissero ogni tanto pubblicati contributi in altre lingue. Stracciamo il provincialismo e eleviamo la cultura al posto che le spetta di diritto.
    Grazie all’autrice e agli alieni metropolitani.

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