One Day, One Story
Take a ride on the wild side
わたしの冊子[さっし]です。
わたしの冊子[さっし]です。
There are things that even Stephen King didn’t think were evil, yet, and I believe a simple fountain pen is one of them. Little did anyone know it was forged in the very foundries of hell, using lumps of charred human soul as a metal league. This pen is filled with tears of suffering and blood of virgins. Its writing can wreak havoc and chaos, it is this exact pen that was said to be mightier than any sword, and for good reason.
It is little after noon on a bright summer day, Jack rests on his lawn chair sipping his soda and gazing absentmindedly to his lands. Here is in the rural parts of the land the pace was quieter, you could just feel the days slowly rolling over the landscape as you went about your business, be it of the land or otherwise.
Jack was a successful business men back in the city, he cast a wide net with the help of several associates and thusly reaped sizable profits that balanced those times when things didn’t go his way. He usually made sure they did, but that’s a thread we will tug on in a later while.
He grew tired of the restless nights, the incessant phone calls and the sheer insanity of commuting during intense traffic hours. He organized his life, cut most of the non essentials and made it so he could work on his portfolio remotely, and barely. It’s not everyone that can pull off the 4h week, but he could.
So here we are now, on his farm some distance away from all that cacophony. He had bought a farm with some land and animals and hired qualified help to manage most of it all so he didn’t have to bother. Almost as good as a paid vacation, he reckoned to himself.
All of the sudden the sky grew darker, the temperature grew colder and the world around grew stiller.
The earth rumbled and bulged, crackled and sizzled when all of the sudden a portion started to cave in, revealing a massive gap which seemed to extend to the bowls of the planet. Screeches rose from the depth, slightly muffled by dreadful gurgling sounds and low snarling.
A column of heat seemed to burst from the hole as what seemed steel claws grinding stone started to be heard. First a massive hand appeared at the lip of the gap, then peered a horned head and at last in a leap a monstrous apparition made itself visible from the hellish pit.
It was the Devil itself, snorting and huffing and puffing. Jack froze in place, flabbergasted to all which was unfolding before his eyes.
Devil - Don’t tell me you are surprised, Jack.
Jack stood stone-still, not a single word forming in his mind.
Devil - You have seen me before, and you well remember it, do you not?
You see, there was a reason for Jack’s success, one particular reason why he rose from the bottom of the corporate ladder all the way to the top and then even a step higher. He had made a pact with the devil.
The occasion was Jack’s first possible promotion. He was in the run with 6 other candidates, and entrepreneur Jack decided not to leave anything to chance, not measuring the consequences. He consulted with a coven, saying he wished to make a pact for the devil and they somewhat hesitantly accepted. They provided him with the instructions and sent him on their way. To be honest they hadn’t thought it were even possible, but oh did Jack prove them wrong.
He set everything up, performed the various steps as described and waited. And waited. For weeks nothing and Jack was already giving up and thinking it all a silly idea that he would push to a hidden place in his memory. The decision was nearing and Jack wasn’t so sure he would get the position, he had taken a couple of forks in the road that the board couldn’t publicly condone for ethical reasons. He knew they wanted him to do their dirty work. They knew that. But no one should come to the same knowledge or many a things would start going downhill and fast.
Suddenly one night, as Jack was lying in bed thinking about himself as usual the room started to darken. There was already no lights on but this seemed to be a special kind of dark, as if light itself was afraid of it, a dark completely devoid of life. Then came the flames, red and orange, engulfing everything around him. Jack screamed at the top of his lungs as the flames scorched his skin and the panic took over. In a second, it was all back to normal. The room was normal, Jack was normal, everything seemed normal. Until he looked ahead. There was a giant shadow right in front of his bed. The creature seemed to unfurl and its lizard skin started a glowing. It went as high as the ceiling. It was, as you’ve posited by now, the Devil.
He made the pact, and in ten years he would come back to recall.
Devil - So, where’s the pen?
Jack - Here, here it is - he said mumbling, - I’ve kept it close to me as a second skin! I wouldn’t simply afford to forfeit my entire life on account of losing a simple pen! nervous laughter
Devil - Yes…
The Devil took the pen in his hand and stabbed it in Jack’s chest, who let out a blood chilling howl.
Devil - You’ll never lose it after I’m done with you.
The pen sucked Jack’s blood, leaving behind a dried heap of meat and bones. Picking Jack up with his own hands the Devil began to crush it to a pulp. Bones cracked left and right, bits and pieces dripping to the ground. He started to ingest the broken body, careful not to let the soul slip out.
And it was the end of Jack.
Ora bem, cá vamos nós. Reverse engineering do algoritmo de encriptação, buffer overflow attack mascarado de pedido HTTP e estamos dentro.
A partir do momento em que vi o anúncio do concurso de hacking, sabia que isto ia ser fácil. Só não esperava que fosse assim tanto. Registei-me na base de dados, apaguei o meu rasto e levantei-me para sair. cinco minutos bem passados, ao menos.
Ignorei as caras de espanto à minha volta.
“Então, já desistiu?” pergunta um encarregado.
“Não, já acabei o desafio de hoje”
“Em tão pouco tempo? Não me parece…” retorquiu.
“Pode confirmar, ‘tou registado,” respondi antes de sair do recinto. Não si se volto amanhã, não me diverti grande coisa a resolver estres problemas de criança.
chego a casa, pouso as coisas e ligo novamente o portátil para perder-me no meu projecto mais recente. Faço o login, mas algo parece diferente. As cores não são bem as que esperava, o processador a obrigar as ventoinhas a trabalhar a todo o vapor. É então que aparece um vídeo no ecrã, um personagem a falar.
“Arrogância não faz bem a ninugém. Mas não te preocupes… não és o único. Vão todos penar; exorcizar os vossos pecados para o Senhor vos receber.”
Olhei impávido para o ecrã, incrédulo como seria possível alguém violar assim o meu espaço.
cedo iria descobrir que a história não tinha senão começado.
A tempestade ressoava nos enormes corredores do castelo de Frankenstein. O Doctor, melancólico, olhava para os seus últimos apontamentos. Há muito que se encontrava desinspirado, depois do falhanço da sua criação máxima.
chamou o seu ajudante para que lhe trouxesse o seu chá. Fechou os olhos para descansar momentaneamente, mas depressa a sua consciência se apagou.
Igor debruçou-se sobre o seu amo e encostou um espelho à face deste. Não respirava, o veneno havia resultado. Soltou gargalhadas por fim, sentindo o peso da escravidão a ser levantado dos seus ombros.
Agora era a sua hora. Desembaraçou-se do corpo de Frankenstein, sem grandes sentimentalismos. Estava na hora de vingar a morte da sua amada, de fazer toda a aldeia pagar pela forma atroz como a haviam tratado.
O recentemente promovido ajudante laborou semanas a fim, aproveitando ideias de Frankenstein, transformando-oas, e deliberando sobre as suas próprias ideias. Havia decidido sobre um canhão, cuja munição estava presentemente a forjar. Era uma magnificente bola semi-oca de ferro, com gravuras alusivas à sua dor, a ser preenchida com pólvora.
Hoje é o Dia D. O Dia Delançamento, repetiu Igor safisteito consigo mesmo. Estava tudo pronto, tudo calculado como demonstravam as imensas paredes repletas de fórmulas de projécteis e resistências e alcances. Igor Abriu a escotilha, confirmou a pontaria e acendeu o fusível do canhão e da bala.
Igor viu as faíscas e prontamente um enorme estrongo. No entanto… a aldeia mantevesse imaculada.
A biblioteca estava silenciosa e quase deserta. Ouvia-se o respirar vagaroso acompanhado do dedo, seguindo atentamente as palavras nas páginas.
Ele sentia-se num mundo à parte, perdido nos corredores de carvalho e pedra do imenso edifício, rodeado de todo o tipo de encadernações. Pousou as suas coisas numa arcada e encostou-se a ler à luz ténue que perspirava da janela.
cada vez perdia-se durante mais tempo e mais fundo, os livros pareciam falar consigo, murmurando os seus segredos ao ouvido, fantásticas histórias impossíveis.
Encontrou um livro novo. Finalmente o seu livro. Acariciou a lombada sentindo a encadernação meticulosa e cheirou as páginas centenárias.
Sentou-se uma vez mais no seu recanto habitual, impaciente. O livro emanava uma aura que o seduzia por demais. Abriu-o e sentiu-se a ser lentamente envolvido por uma escuridão, um manto frio e enturpecedor. Passou a mão sobre a página, e um instante depois de ler a página, parou.
Os seus olhos aterrorizados deixavam transparecer a agornia que lhe ia dentro.
O livro não era outro senão o diária da sua vida, relatada com mais ou menos pormenor. Folheou as páginas inquieto, procurando sinais de que isto não passava duma piada de mau gosto.
Deparou-se, no entanto, com a última entrada, datada do dia de hoje.
A entrada acabava a meia frase, no momento em que descrevia o rapaz a fechar o liv
Era uma quarta-feira e, lá fora, os céus choravam em pranto. Quatro jovens músicos haviam se reunido numa garagem remota para avassalar o mundo musical do seu país.
Infelizmente, a coisa não corria a seu favor. O baterista não acertava um ritmo, os guitarristas insistiam em divagar nas suas masturbações cerebrais egocêntricas.
O baixista, verdadeiro génio da banda, recostava-se a um canto da sala provisória de ensaio, desolado. Via ali algum potencial ainda não aproveitado, por pouco que este fosse.
No fundo, queria somente poder tocar, dar largas às suas asas e sentir de novo o ar rarefeito das alturas a gracejar a sua face.
O baixista apagou o seu cigarro e soltou um suspiro sentido. “Vou-me embora,” disse ele. Pegou no instrumento, desacoplou-o do fio e caminhou para o carro. Estava na hora.
Ele sentou-se no carro e ao ajustar o retrovisor viu atrás de si a casa em chamas, “é melhor assim…” disse.
Sentindo que o mundo estaria melhor sem alguns males, o baixista tinha deixado o seu cigarro pousado perto de umas botijas de gás, de modo a que quando as cinzas caíssem houvesse uma abrupta combustão que envolvesse a casa em chamas letais.
O seu trabalho aqui estava feito.
John sat there lost in his own little world, twirling a pen in one hand. He was staring blankly at the chalkboard, “isn’t this interesting” muttered John to himself, “surely I couldn’t get through my academic career without learning that”, “oh shut up” replied Jessica, “this is very important if you want to be a successful..” “..prick?” “no! Engineer.”
John continued twirling his pen as he slipped back to the comfort of his own mind. Jessica greeted him there, but it wasn’t the same Jessica. She had a crossbow strapped to her shoulders and a sword sheathed by her side, “Welcome, Sir, ready for our journey?” she greeted. “Let’s get moving, we have barely an hour before sunset”, replied John.
They rushed through the lush woods to meet the rest of the gang. At this point, John wondered why the hell he was dreaming of robin hood-esque adventures, but he soon shut up, right when his gaze fell upon Lady Catherine, the fairest creature he had ever seen, more magical than Merlin’s enchanted creatures, more precious than the blood of a fallen elf.
Everything went dark and John opened his eyes to find himself in a scented and candle-lit chamber, Lady Catherine before him. Neither spoke, there was no need for it. Lady leaned forward and they kissed. John slowly disrobed her, feeling the warmth of her skin, caressing each inch of her thighs, going up her waist, her torso. And the bell rang outside the classroom, bringing John back to the real world.
