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My Noah tale( a story I tried to see through the eyes of a boy)
Delicate… do u know what this is for me? The soft veil on the face of thedead, the same one she lifts when she kisses her husband. That soft,that frailshe was to me. Her name was like precious crystal just broken on the floor:Otilia. She would like to think that I am the one writing her story; she fell inlove with me when she was little. Well, it is her hand that lies on this page.She might’ve been my teacher; but not before the day I had found her lyingwith enormous spread wings by the river. She was wounded and had beendragged. The dark feathers were stained with blood. I never told anyone.When she entered our day-lighted classroom she still had something of afairy about her. And she fell for me like a fool, though she still likes to believe… well, it doesn’t matter.People wanted to burn her or cut her to pieces; she was beautiful. We hadprivate lessons.When she was on the scaffold she turned to me. She gave me a helplessgirlish look. And u know something? I still feel her in my mouth. And can’t ufeel her tiny hand thinking and moving over this page?Didn’t she belong to a sick class ? It’s a deep grief for a teacher to try to be afairy in her free time. Not a good-natured one, I dare say.And then there was Phoebe, my girlfriend. We were both fifteen. She kind of knew how I felt for that lady and was jealous. She made me a naughty boyand we used to give her a hard time with us. We just didn’t behaveourselves. Classes were difficult; besides, our school was a dangerous one.One day I found her crying in a hidden corner. Her dress had been torn upand there was a soft light coming from her bare shoulders, wrappingeverything around us. It was the second time she went through this and thesecond time I arrived too late.“I wish it had been u instead of them.”“ But I would never do this to u.”“ No, indeed. U’re no more than a child. A naughty child.”“ I could’ve arrived earlier…”“U didn’t. Go away!”I drew closer to her; and closer again, so I could feel her breath on my face.“ Say it again and I’ll go!”Her cheek came next to mine; still there was hardly any touch. And I felt likethe lower part of my body had moved into my ear when she whispered: “Go
 
away!” Suddenly, there was a harsh exchange: I bit her and she scratchedme.“ Fine then! I hope they come and rape u again!” This is how he left me there, just the way he had found me the first time hemet me by the river and I was unconscious. This is how children do: they runto u as to a coloured wounded butterfly that draws their attention anddistracts them from playing; they shake the pollen out of your wings, so theymake sure u won’t fly again and leave u.
 
Figure 1this is the boy I wrote about, trying to see myself through his eyes
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