The Last Ride is the title of my story for the Bisarca 2024 competition organised by Il Perdilibri

I have already told you about the Bisarca  competition in past editions: but I quote directly: what do you win? The satisfaction of participation and eventual victory.

I would therefore like to take this opportunity to thank Il Perdilibri for hosting The Last Ride.

Habit is regarded as addiction, but asking questions is also a habit.

Eleonora, however, is not in the habit of doubting her schedule, starting with the alarm clock: for which there are three repetitions before getting up, every day, regardless of tiredness, weather, hunger, or stress level.

After that everything is calculated, including the delay, a luxury offered to her by an anonymous traveller.

A group sub-habit is created among the usual commuters: a kind of unwritten code according to which, occasional invaders aside, seats are occupied according to a kind of hierarchy acquired over time.

Eleonora remembers the day when the man with whom she shares the seat beckoned to her: ‘as of today the seat is free’ were the only words other than good morning and good day, which they exchanged over a period of what may be a thousand days now.

Eleonora arrives at six forty-three minutes, sure to find the seat reserved by her travelling companion, who, as always, rests his briefcase on the window side until she reaches him.

All she knows about him is that he travels daily to Milan, that he perpetually listens to something on his earphones, that he prefers classic, good-quality clothes in shades of grey, and that he uses a perfume with Vetiver as the base note.

Every morning they exchange a single good morning each, Eleonora sits down, takes the book out of her bag and starts reading. In these thousand days she will have read a hundred books, all in strict silence until she arrives at Porta Garibaldi, when her travelling companion wishes her a good day before gettinf off, leaving her for her ritual minutes during which she waits for the crowd to thin out.

If you want, you can find the rest here

But first tell me: what would be the last ride for you?

There are many examples: books, movies, on a personal level though, does your first instinct lead you to think of last in a positive or negative way?



Il Perdilibri was kind enough to accept my participation the Bisarca contest 2022 too.

What a cute logo, don’t you think?

How much time passed with Settimana Enigmistica

Are you in the tunnel too?

Crossword or rebus, what do you prefer?

Did you know that it is possible to do crosswords online

As soon as I found them I couldn’t resist because immediately after the Mickey Mouse they were another “addiction” of mine.

But I missed browsing to get to the bottom, towards Bartezzaghi’s crosswords, anyway I’ll try again.

Returning to the Bisarca contest 2022, the chosen theme is “reason / emotional.”

With emotion, I’m a bit like a roller coaster, and theoretically I should be on a pro level, so to speak, yet mine is a very simple story, and I can’t explain …

Mr. Croda again this morning is sitting in front of the coffee that Susanna served him without saying a word: it is now a ritual, same time, same place, last table before the planter.
Mr. Croda again this morning is counting mentally to hold off anxiety: he is now accurate, there is no need to check the clock, he only deviates a few seconds.
Mr. Croda again this morning sees Mrs. Pedretti leave the church after the celebration: by now he knows that she lingers in the churchyard to chat with her friends.
What he does not know is that Mrs. Pedretti again this morning set her gaze on him: by now she would be disappointed if she did not see him.
Mr. Croda and Mrs. Pedretti no longer spoke to each other since the day when, while Mr. Croda was looking for a supplement for immune defenses in the pharmacy, accidentallt heard one of Mrs. Pedretti’s friends mocking her: “that hobo went to her handing a daisy, and she had the courage to accept it, easy, without showing a modicum of shame. “
“This makes her really ridiculous” was the pharmacist’s reply, before blushing when she saw him popping out from behind the shelf and running to the exit.
Mr. Croda does not want to embarrass Mrs. Pedretti.
Mr. Croda doesn’t want to embarrass anyone.
Mr. Croda again this morning hides his regret behind his dark glasses: he is now emotionally exhausted by people’s judgments.
Mrs Pedretti again this morning would like to go to Mr Croda to greet him: by now it is clear that he is deliberately keeping his distance, but she does not understand the reason.



”Whatever ” you can do or dream you can, begin it.
Boldness has genius, power and magic in it.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Monica dedicated this sentence to me as one of her many encouragement.
Audacity and I are not even distant relatives and you will tell me “yet you had a lot of courage to participate.”

True! In fact, thank you very much Il Perdilibri for giving this opportunity and for accepting me.

I suggest you also read the stories of past editions which are really very interesting.

Regarding the 2021 edition, in addition to Il Perdilibri, I also thank the other participants who supported me, and even endured me, although they are much better: I had the opportunity to broaden the horizons of knowledge but also of reflection, to learn, and especially to read BEAUTIFUL things.

Then, if you like, there is also mySunset” 

One hundred and seventy-fourth day of captivity, I am writing only now, after my damned jailer has repeatedly prevented me.
Yet I had deluded myself into a loosening of retaliation after my last escape attempt, at the moment when I could taste the food today.
I hadn’t eaten like this since the early days, when the coward still allowed me to go out and walk.
At the first spoonful I felt the desire to bite: an unexpected desire to eat that I didn’t let go.
It was extremely satisfying after all this time to be able to decide to do something with a simple impulse.
When you lose your freedom, nothing is taken for granted. Not even the brief sleep I fell into after devouring everything I could.
But now I wonder what induced the coward to let me seize these moments and I fear he intends to strike me.
I am so tired of feeling like a prey, of feeling totally vulnerable, of annihilating my strength by dint of defending myself.
With my fingers I touch the scar, in the braille writing that I invented I decided to read the word alive, I have been doing it since the day I thanked for those points that put my life back together as well as my skin.
But now the challenge has shifted to the psychological level: my body is almost completely atrophied, but my mind is not.
He knows it well and has honed his perfidy.
Every time I tried to escape, he recaptured me and locked me up in a worse condition than the previous one. Exactly like a noose, but leaving me the breath to allow the suffering to manifest itself in all its devastating repertoire.
Today I was winning until he came back: I feel him so much that I can see the bright red of his fire like a November sunset that sets the sky on fire.
I understood: the time of the night has come.
The time has come when that cowardly carcinoma will swallow my light.


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