The death of love. All the princesses died bathed in their own blood. The universe turned into indivisible particles, pulses and arteries exposed in jelly jars. An open portal in local newspaper articles.
Another body fallen and consumed by the news. Pathetic comments of ruined lives. The beautiful death of love in the bodies of skeletal princesses. The sublime make-up and the smile stamped on the media, showing the joy of a Sunday afternoon.
Happiness in likes, glittering dresses, joy in a bottle of soft drinks, ropes in showers, sheets stuck in the windows, sharp stilettos, pill cards prescribed by the psychiatrist. Mom's reminder on the table before breakfast.
The loneliness exposed in the lonely noise of the front door. The emptiness. The silent noise of loneliness. All the dead princesses over their own blood on a Sunday afternoon. The death of love at the end of the page.
(Primavera de Oliveira)
Just a delicate morning with the smell of indigo
Today I accidentally woke up with a smell of angels in the air. My senses were sharper, and an immense peace invaded my being.
I didn't even regret my evil writings. The day was magical, enchanted, I felt as never before, my heart smiled and my lips obeyed.
But the sinister and depressing writings had to continue, even with that sweet smell that contaminated my environment. The angels smiled at me that Christmas morning, and I found myself surprising my face with a light smile.
Even though all the princesses were bathed in their blood, something poetic accompanied me in these deplorable writings.
Death is perhaps even sublime for bodies that are still young and full of dreams. And all day long it was sweet in my bloody thoughts.
I continued to stain the delicate pages of red drops in each story that emerged in my sick and bloody mind. And in the end all the princesses died bathed in their own blood.
This book was not written for young dreamers. Teenagers in dreams. It's too cruel for innocent eyes. On the following pages sad and heartbreaking stories will consume their minds.
These pages were written by stories created solely by my mind. Some events in local news may have influenced my emotions at some point. But my writings are fictitious and as true as possible.
But I abstain from any resemblance to real events. I repeat again, they are all fictional stories and if real life has mirrored any of them, I only regret the profound discouragement we are experiencing.
At the end of the afternoon the stained dress and the blurred lipstick she plummeted off the cliff and ran into nothingness, stunningly beautiful and mad.
February, and your boyfriend broke off his engagement. And with her heart in pieces, she threw the key to the room and died in her deepest loneliness.
And she who always told everything to her best friend, that day forgot to ask to keep her secret. The sweet friendship was soon undone after everyone started laughing where she went.
After the end of class she went to the school bathroom, and from there, mumbled the bad tongues that never came out her spirit. They say that when the girls are smiling and laughing in the mirror, the walls shake in an endless hiccup.
It was May... the month of the brides, in the aisle of the altar the flowers emerged in beautifully beautiful songs. After the wedding night his body was thrown into a ditch of indigents.
His parents never knew his whereabouts. They say they are still traveling on their beautiful honeymoon. Only the worms know of its existence.
Love happened in a beautiful park in her city, every Sunday afternoon she took her ice cream carelessly. The boy was always ready on the other side of the bank, he seemed to know his favorite time.
And so after long afternoons shared throughout the year. At the end of December she changed her path, as soon as the rain started to fall thinly.
And on her way a plastic bag swallowed her youth, was dragged into the forest abandoned and devoured, soon after the dogs of the park consumed the remains of corpse.
The new dress full of flowers and colors. And when his body was spinning, he accompanied it in a perfect dance. The whole spring seemed to bloom in an enchanting field.
The white shoe and the ribbon in his curly hair gave even more life to that angelic face. God seemed to smile.
Mother was proud, whimsical in the bow. It was novena week in her community. The faith always strong and present in family meetings.
On Sunday, after the liturgy, the little flowered dress went to play at the door next to the altar, there were many flowered vessels at the entrance.
And each flower kept a smell, after Sunday Mass all the roses withered. After a week a police officer delivered a pair of shoes found on the side road, a few kilometers from the church of the workers' neighborhood. Only a few petals were left on the body.
The courtship began in his youth, just fourteen years, he was a much older boy, buying sweets and dolls. In her fifteen years of age she won a seductive dress, was raped that night, but continued the courtship.
He now won adult women's clothes, perfumes, lipsticks, high heels. And when she turned eighteen, she wanted to break up.
He smiled and poured three straight shots into her face. He accepted the breakup, and now he could buy other candy and other dolls again.
I dedicate this book to all the princesses interrupted in their dreams... in an eternal sleep, bathed in blood and despair.
To my little princess who grows up fast. Just a lament of a decaying society.
Thank you for reading!
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