Raccontami una storia – Tell me a story is an initiative by Maria Guidi, La tana di Aloiz  and Sandra Giannetto. 

Raccontami una storia is a game that consists of writing a story following certain directions and a theme.

The theme of the second edition: ‘drawing inspiration from a painting!’

I suggest you follow the organisers to discover interviews with the three winners.

Then, if you feel like it, you can read my story: 

Even this morning, I am watching the sun rise beyond the skeleton of the building opposite: since the soft orangey pink has begun to contrast with the grey illuminating the sky and hope, I don’t want to miss the colours because they are proof that it is not over yet.

I thought I would never see them again, I thought my punishment for not having exploded yet was to become a useless part of a single inexorable leaden gloom.

I regret that I was unable to count the days accurately, that I succumbed to confusion, that I did not even take care of my memory.

Had I done so, I might now know how much time had passed.

But I didn’t want to think any more, I just wanted it all to end. Each new day was just another skipped meal, another interminable darkness strewn with anguish, another series of exhausting yet unsuccessful efforts in search of an impossible solution.

Instead, the light has begun to mark time again and I now believe it, it is not just a dream, nor a coincidence, nor even my illusion: the sun still exists.

One enemy lurks, however: fear.

I have not been hit, I have not been crushed, I have not been asphyxiated, and I have even managed to hide from the incursions of the human jackals, but I still cannot free myself from the grip that presses on my brain and paralyses me.

I tell myself it makes no sense.

Then I relive everything.

The gigantic ball igniting the sky and suddenly bouncing upwards, and immediately the shockwave.

A macabre, accelerated domino that shatters everything.

Without my eyes having time to see, the heat was already on me.

Pain is not food.

But I must eat more of it if I am to find real nourishment.

And then Frances is at the end of her tether, and I want to do everything I can, just as she did from the moment she dragged me by weight into the cistern until she taught me how to climb down the shaft to the warehouse.

She held the rope and sang U2 to give me courage

You’r in the mud
In the maze of her imagination
You love this town
Even if that doesn’t ring true…

The first time I wanted it to stop but I didn’t dare shout it out for fear that some of the marauding Huns would hear me. Yet if it hadn’t been for those sung words ‘sky falls, you feel like … it’s a beautiful day …’ I wouldn’t have been able to find enough strength to climb back up.

The more things I could carry, the longer I could rest in hiding again.

And to think that on the various occasions when I had more or less tried, I had never managed to climb up a rope: my hands burned within minutes and the non-existent muscles in my arms didn’t even pretend to contract.

Survival.

A huge challenge to overcome in order to stay alive, even when staying alive seems like the worst of ideas.

Adrenaline, instinct, terror, mixing in a closed circle of pulsations bouncing between heart and brain at uncontrollable speed.

Survival.

Force that becomes flesh split between two heads: hope and despair. Like a Cerberus whose paws rest on the breath with all their agonising weight.

Survival.

Thinking that there can never be anything worse until existence turns into waiting.

Waiting for respite, waiting for food, waiting for mercy. Waiting for a miracle, for help, for a new day.

Like today.

The painting is Light and Colour (Goethe’s Theory) by William Turner.