ALL LANGUAGES 👇
And late autumn arrived.
In New York City, the plants in Central Park, not yet bare, were reflected in the pond along with the surrounding tall buildings. A cluster composed of gray, yellow, red, purple and green colors shone on the water. A clear blue sky, thanks to the rain that had occurred the previous night, also tinted the pond, participating that morning in the symphony of nature and concrete.
A breeze coming from the Atlantic sea blew everywhere enveloping everything: the park, the buildings, the skyscrapers and even the streets clogged with the usual traffic of cars and vehicles. A breeze swept across Manhattan Island, Brooklyn, Queens and the suburbs of Raritan Bay. Just in the latter New York area, the light sea air reached a brownish-gray villa surrounded by greenery, from which came the notes and words of a Depeche Mode song:
“Reach out, touch faith
Your own personal Jesus
Someone to hear your prayers
Someone who cares
Your own personal Jesus
Someone to hear your prayers
Someone who’s there…”
It seemed that air and music mixed to create an unusual scenario of something that was happening in the house….
“…Feeling unknown
And you’re all alone
Flesh and bone
By the telephone
Lift up the receiver
I’ll make you a believer
Take second best
Put me to the test
Things on your chest
You need to confess…”
In the dark basement of the dwelling, a muffled moan joined the music coming softly from upstairs. On the concrete floor was laid a black nun’s robe all rumpled….
“…I will deliver
You know I’m a forgiver
Reach out, touch faith
Reach out, touch faith
Your own personal Jesus
Someone to hear your prayers
Someone who cares
Your own personal Jesus
Someone to hear your prayers
Someone who’s there
Feeling unknown
And you’re all alone
Flesh and bone…”
A few feet from the black dress on the floor, a naked young woman sat on the cold floor, her back leaning against the wall. On her wrist was a chain attached to the hook on the wall. The woman had her mouth taped shut with a thick duct tape all soaked with her tears….
“…By the telephone
Lift up the receiver
I’ll make you a believer
I will deliver
You know I’m a forgiver
Reach out, touch faith
Your own personal Jesus
Reach out, touch faith
Reach out, touch faith
Reach out, touch faith
(Reach out, reach out)
Reach out, touch faith
Reach out and touch faith.”
On the ground floor of the mansion, the music ended and switched to a cheerful whistling of a man who was opening a chest freezer. Instead, the room in the room was well lit by the sunlight, which had already been rising for several hours. The person was bizarre as he wore a black kitchen apron that came just above his knees and was completely naked underneath. His blue eyes looked at the inside of the freezer where there were only two large packages with one sentence written on each:
“THIGH OF EMILY” and “THIGH OF PATRICIA.”
<<Ma Bien sure! I’d say to make the Patrica baked thigh fillet, but naturellement>>, said the man speaking in a French accent.
The package “PATRICIA’S THIGH FILLET” was pulled out and placed on the kitchen table. The wacky cook took a book from a cupboard and opened it to the page where the recipe was described, “Baked Pork Thigh.”
He immediately went down to the basement carrying the cookbook in his hand, having gathered, in a ponytail, his long blond hair. He turned on the light and the poor young prisoner had to close her eyes, as she had been accustomed to the darkness for too long. As soon as she opened them again she saw before her her executioner, who appeared to be dressed as a butcher. Terror completely took hold of the woman’s veins and soul and was clear in her black eyes.
The blond cook always read in a French accent the whole recipe:
“Preheat the oven to 150°. Massage the meat with fresh salt and pepper from the mill. Tie it tightly with kitchen twine. Brown it evenly in a saucepan in oil and butter, turning it with two wooden spoons so as not to puncture it and allow the juices to escape.
Transfer it to an oven dish along with all the cooking juices, add the head of garlic from which you have cut off the top cap, the poached shallots and a few sprigs of marjoram. Add the white wine and place in the oven. Cook for 1 hour and 30 minutes, basting the roast and vegetables occasionally with the cooking liquid. Remove from the oven, let rest for a few minutes, then slice and serve….
Et voila! Lunch is served!” the lunatic exclaimed as he showed the recipe page to the next victim to eat and walked back upstairs, letting out a fat laugh at the top of his lungs.
ALL LANGUAGES 👇
Speranze Letterarie 