a morose wolf

· I will tell you a story. Once upon a time there lived a girl. She had no father, no mother, but the urge and aspiration for life was so vivacious in her, that she fought hard to maintain her place under the sun. Her name was Nathalie. She was a bit of a morose type, but nonetheless she was truly and deeply in love with life, she was bewildered by the magnanimous beauty of the life, her heart, soul and body often throbbed from the exaltation and she never ceased to explore new ways of thinking, imagining and loving, thus developing her personality. This was all very well, but one day something really grim and unexpected occurred. She was on her way back from school, when suddenly a giant, savage vulture appeared in from of her in the middle of the street, she happened to be so stoned, that a beasty, raucous shriek came out of her gorge petrifying everything around her. For a moment, it seemed, leaves on the trees ceased whirring, all was silent, frozen. And her mouth remained open from the ghastly shriek for about 5 minutes. She didn’t even remembered how long she had stayed like that, this moment somehow erased her consciences, time became illusionary and she was sort of sucked into a deep, hollow chasm, where she could not see, nor hear anything or feel anything alive around her or in her. She could not afterwards describe what had happened to her form that very moment. The next thing what she remembered was the incredible happiness that she experienced. Her memory and mind was completely transfigured. She was lifted up and put on the back of the vulture who took her to a completely sombre, dark, thick forest where was no sight of a human foot, where not a ray of a sun could penetrate through the magnanimous bushes and ramifications of trees. The vulture, with his long and strong legs took her as if on a ride through this strange place and she sat on his back like a nomadic princess, speechless, petrified, and almost stupefied. Her eyes slowly slide from one mutilated sight of this forest to other. Bushes and trees really reminded of savage and unusual figures, with acrid and putrid scents coming out of them and look of old, imprisoned souls. Her eyes became mild and she suddenly noticed tears pouring out her serene eyeballs, like long rivers heading towards the earth and making her own body and soul so heavy, quaint and grim, that soon she couldn’t bear keep crying but she wasn’t able to stop. Vulture plunged into a sombre forest like a shot bird falling into a the cradle of the air, like a star rapidly merging in a sea, and his way, his feet moved so quick that the girl felt like sitting on an orb. After several timeless moments when her eyes met the darkened visions and body quivered like a stick of a grass, she was ascended by luscious, exorbitant embrace of light pouring directly into her eyes. She stretched her arms excitingly, holding her grasp, prancing like a massive hoarse on his legs, leaning towards the gulf of orange pallid sea of mist, bewildered. She transmitted her feelings she had previously experienced as a child in this moment to a newer, statelier form of expression. Suddenly in her imagination cats started crawling and prowling around her room where she used to live as a baby, in janitor’s closet. They acted like snails, completely slow and deaden by the volubility of time, life or love. All was timeless, blossoms upsurge rapidly when the spring approaches and almost naked stands in front of your door, in front of your eyesight, sad, harrowing, invidious. Her lips parted, she sipped the water from the air as if drinking sand, nobody called her, she was all alone, stretching, waiting for somebody to appear, to stroke her hand or head, affably offering her a drink or something like that. Nobody arrived, all was as usual. Then she found herself talking to her mother, who has never been out here, in the world, for the reason because she was just a vision in vision’s vision, in her small, twisted brain hanging on a loop of light like an immortal breather not noticing her own existence. She squatted there like toad, complete shrimp, waiting, urging her own senses for awakening for several, numerous years or maybe more than years, lifetimes, incalculable lifetimes, and indecipherable lifetimes, descended upon reality like delusive, perilous, and superfluous seagulls gibbering, chanting in their bird language.