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  Monia Colianni

  ABOUT

  DAFNE

  About Dafne

  Copyright © 2012 Zerounoundici Edizioni

  ISBN: 978-88-6307-451-2

  On cover: Image of Monia Colianni

  Any events reference, places and existing people really it is purely casual, because fruit of the imagination of the author.

  To my small prince

  To my family

  Because after all I am a tame fox

  Speaking of Dafne

  From child Dafne continually dreamt him/it. The man of the dreams was a true fixation. Breads and cartoons were grown to, and not rarely mother Dolores roused her/it in his/her cameretta to recite with conviction of it the most romantic scenes. The edge of the closet was perfectly lent to personify its rider, to which it often clinged hardly repeating the wisecracks of the episodes sights:

  «Oh, André, also I love you. The revolution waits us, but with I feel me to you to the sure one!»

  They were exhilarating scenes, an actress of cartoons deigns of Oscar.

  Spent Dafne the years of the innocence in the total conviction that a man of the dreams would also have arrived for her. And that day would not have been a closet but a young prestante with proper voice and enchanting aspect.

  Since the adolescence an awake and extremely original girl was shown. To the eyes of the contemporaries it often resulted strange, for many parents the classical girl with too many crickets for the head. It possessed an unbelievable dowry: it drew and it painted in sublime way. It was an eccentric creative. To twenty-four you/he/she would have purchased a reflex; after thousand photo, you go off to gust in alone two days, he/she thought that that gadget was prodigious, but it destroyed every thing. From his/her articulated point of view, the photo of precision exactly immortalized the things and the people as we sees her in the reality. For the most greater part of the people, this is the primary purpose of the photo; for Dafne, an injustice, that defined the beautiful and good homicide of the amusing part of the brain.

  Also its style was all of this that people often labored to understand. It never passed unnoticed. Naturally whimsical, one for which, in the good or in the evil, it always turns us.

  Did it have two piercing and three tattoos; butterfly, elf and tribal? Absolutely no. To adorn his/her body had chosen planned sketches and eccentric, that few would have had the opportunity of understanding; but it didn't interest at all after all her, that this happened.

  The day when Dafne went him to make the third tattoo, it entered the study a very refined girl, without doubt dressed of tall tailoring. Dafne observed the scene. The girl" serious" it hastily drew near to the counter and it turned him to the tatuatore, regardless of the people that anchor waited.

  «I want a dolphin on the right ankle, of around four, five centimeters; if I return to eighteen o'clock you make her/it in a hour?»

  Dafne didn't do in time to activate the silencer of his/her thoughts, and to big voice it expressed his/her opinion.

  «And then he/she wonders us because the dolphins are extinguished!»

  Ska, the tatuatore, looked at her/it for a long, endless instant and, nonchalant of the new client, he/she answered to the thought expressed by the friend.

  «Mah! Do you want to say that in the mesozoico they were tattooed the whole tirannosauro?»

  Dafne never understood because the girl" serious" went beating away the door and smashing her eardrums. But of sure, from those parts they would not have him more sight.

  The concept of fashion generally irritated her/it. Dafne had used for years the All Star when for the world they were sfigati shoes. When the world began to spend a fortune for those footwears, she stopped using her because he felt sfigata. It returned so, with endless appeasement, to the everlasting Clark color camel. Only when the fashion was years seventy, Dafne it seemed to the fashion.

  «When hands the leg jeans and bra in sight are one drugged! When the fashion imposes leg jeans with bra in sight are a correct tipa! You save the brain if I am me the crazy person!»

  This howled once to a friend speaking of fashion.

  I have not forgotten the physical description of Dafne. The delicate features of the face and the physicist were in perfect tuning with the personality; simple but out of the schemes, certain days left without words, in others they silently passed unnoticed. The color of its hair quickly changed; from the sixteen up to the twenty-six years you/he/she had changed innumerable shades. The recurrent tonality in its experiments had always been the red; red mahogany, red fire, black with flaming red locks, red carrot, red with traces of green on the points. Dafne would have lived painting, but life needed money. Already from ragazzina it feared that to paint would never have brought him of it enough. Not in Italy. But he/she didn't want to admit him/it, kind with his/her parents, that instead didn't lose occasion to do him him to notice. Often, approaching himself/herself/itself to the adult age, you/he/she was stopped to think about his/her future. He/she thought that perhaps you/he/she had not understood thing yet he/she wanted to do from great, and that it was better perhaps to return to a natural color of hair to look for the everlasting fixed place, in that frantic and hypocrite society in which you/he/she had had the adversity to be born. Crossed the crisis, it returned her in mind the love for the art, for the creativeness, what gave sense and life to every thing. Of hit cleared him and listened to music isolating himself/herself/itself from everything and from the ugly thoughts. It began to dream an ideal life; to be himself/herself/themselves in a cottage on top of a hill, contained by a small enclosure of colored wood, with one of those characteristics boxes of mail in American style and an I swing for two in the garden, in which to cradle him with the man of the dreams. Other times its preferred music transported her/it on the eyelash of a bluff; the wind disarranged her the long ones and thick hair. It was free. The dreams didn't guarantee money, but nobody could tear them to him.

  Dafne went away of house a lot of youth. In the first years of independence you/he/she was given to a variety of lavoretti, that somehow you/he/she was made pleasure, even though select to the solo purpose to disembark the almanac. You/he/she had worked for a long time in an art cafe. In that place, to her very dear, you/he/she had exposed various times his/her paintings, and this had thrilled her to excess. The art cafe had been its second house for a lot of time. You/he/she had worked us the first time in 2004, to twenty-four, and after various and tormented vicissitudes you/he/she was found to work again us a few years later.

  For one period you/he/she had collaborated with a social cooperative, brief experience but that you/he/she had allowed her to know very different reality from his; durin
g the time of lunch it brought home meals to the sick or to the elderly ones of some peripheral districts in Milan, city where you/he/she had been born and grown.

  To hiss the people with a cold and incisive sentence was the genial peculiarity of Dafne. He/she didn't mind anything; that it knew you or less, for her it didn't do difference. If one is stupid it has the whole right to know him/it, this thought after having cooled someone. The truth and the purity of his/her own thoughts were for a long time untouchable dogmas of its life. Particularly it hated the injustices, above all those to load of people that judged defenseless. He/she didn't succeed in making him slip her I set, also at the cost to make himself/herself/themselves the blood water for matters not his/her. A particular anecdote to this intention was verified during the activity of the home meals.

  One Tuesday went to bring the lunch to Mrs Buzz, that called this way because of the sound of its bell; it seemed her one of that sonorous buttons of the television quizes. After having played him/it, immediately howled": The lunch has served!" Inexorably, the dog of Mrs Buzz got mad. After having announced his/her presence, Dafne took under the key from to the vase of cyclamens and entered.

  That particular Tuesdays, crossed the threshold of house, it placed the food and it directed as usual him in the kitchen to prepare. The lady was on his/her wheelchair, and she remained in an angle of the stay. When Dafne served capolino as the kitchen, it still flowed the elderly woman in his/her angolino, with in hand a silvered portafoto. It observed the photo of his/her/their daughter.

  «Here Christian was only twenty-six years old, have gone off her the day of the degree; is a good executive, rather managger, as say you young people! Be always very busy! But soon will see that calls me for the wishes! My mother, makes settantanove of it!»

  Dafne remained in silence. Did Mrs Buzz want to convince her or herself?

  The following day didn't touch to Dafne to bring the lunch the woman; definite however to pass to find her/it. The elderly one was very amazed in to receive that unexpected visit. Surprise stayed in even more the to see all of this that Dafne had brought her: sweets of every type, all rigorously tender and to test of denture. Mrs Buzz cried and thanked about ten times.

  After having eaten a sweet whole, Dafne asked to the lady if his/her daughter had called then her for the wishes. The woman had again the shiny eyes, that invaded that tired face of an overwhelming sadness.

  «Will surely have held back her in the office! Christian is so good, certain days cannot live just without her.»

  Dafne didn't say anything, the churches only at what time the badante would have arrived and if you/he/she could be her profit somehow.

  Before leaving the apartment, the girl stole for some instant the index book of the telephone and copied a number on his/her jail cell. Once in house it composed the number; on the other side they answered after two rings.

  «Salutes Christian, we don't know each other and you now excuse me since if I steal her precious time. I will try to put indeed us few to make her wishes for his/her settantanovesimo birthday.»

  Riagganciò without attending answer.

  That night Dafne fell asleep with sadness thinking about that tender oldie. Christian Vincents it fell asleep prey to the weeping, hopeful that did soon him day to go to his/her mother.