Cursed chocolate Read online

Antoinetta Maria Usardi

  Cursed chocolate

  www.quellidized.it

  www.quellidized.it

  Cursed chocolate

  Copyright © 2012

  Zerounoundici Edizioni

  Smashworlds Edition

  Cover:

  Image Shutterstock.com

  WARNING!

  This ebook, Zed Experiments series, was published as an experiment in English language with Zed Lab.

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  Cursed chocolate

  Up to the eight years I/you/they have been a normal child: I had a normal family and I conducted a normal life.

  Then.

  We have come here then, in Italy.

  That for me has been the beginning of the end.

  I say seriously, put you in my cloths.

  You imagine to be an eight year-old child, gotten used to wake up him with the noise of the sea, to be him of it barefoot to the warm one for good part of the year and to go to school not too far the beach in an attractive wood cottage dipped in a garden of eucalyptuses.

  You imagine that they have been telling you for one day the other, that you will depart for another Country and that to your house you will return there, perhaps, only for the vacations and not even every year.

  And you now imagine that same child his/her first day of school, in front of the front door of a labyrinthine building of five floors, covered as a small dwarf Michelin - yes, because as if it was not enough, here in Milan we have arrived in full winter there - that it looks hopelessly around him looking for something of known to make courage and to cross the gates.

  I have felt to die: eight years and any future before.

  Eccomi there with my new suits and an expression frozen printed in face: a destroyed man without not even having reached the puberty.

  My mother naturally you want the new house, you want the transfer in such a different city from our village, you/he/she had started to develop strange worries, you ever manifest before.

  Every morning, when it inserted me in the backpack the crisp chapati, my usual snack, fixed straight me in the eyes and, with desperate air, it never missed to tell me:

  "I beg me, promise him/it to your mother: never accept anything of that that offers you to school. If your companions offer you the merendines, you day of no. If gives you some chocolate, you day of no, I beg me, you day of no. Samir listen to me, is it an important thing, won't you want to end in the hospital of his/her/their children at all, true?"

  And naturally I nodded and I promised, every morning.

  To eight that other you would want to do when they look out upon you visits from the doctor?

  In reality I hardly knew about thing you/he/she was speaking: ever had to whether to do with chocolate and merendine if not for felt to say.

  To our arrival in Italy I had received in worth of the fundamental coordinates from the greatest of our cousins, that alive here already from a few years.

  I was aware, in the order, that: sugar makes to fall the teeth, the chocolate goes straight to the head and sends yourself in tilt and that to eat too merendine he becomes you blind - beh goes, the third one has not perhaps understood her very well.

  What then it is not that you/they had ever come to offer me something, the others.

  It was not a promise difficult to maintain that sort to my mother.

  During the interval I was alone in an angle of it to fix the leaden sky over the left half open window and to crunch my crisp chapati dreaming the air of my perfumed house of spice.

  Them, the others, were instead, sat in circle, everybody together, to pass him merendine and to snicker.

  Me from a part and them from the other, despite the efforts of the teachers because I integrated me.

  Four months and any progress.

  Rather you/they had also started to take around me, saying that I was just as the bread that I ate me every day: insipid, without substance and from poveretti as the Country in which I had been born.

  This way one day I have not made her more to bear: played the campanella, I have thrown the chapati in the basket and I/you/they have gone straight straight from the Biscossi to ask to do him me to taste someone of their stuffs.

  "Ahaahhhahah.Non eats him/it to you more your malodorous bread?the Mangini provoked " me.

  "Not to pay him attention! It was now that woke you" he/she answered me with a gentleness that I would never be waited me for the Biscossi. "Had betted on how much would have waited before coming us to look for! Come, take a seat here, made this Buonos! Offer the house! But go plain there if it is the first one that tastes" it added with a sorrisetto in to pass me the merendina.

  When I have held the chocolate of the sin that so much terrorized that poor woman of my mother, I have tried to be an expert, what had already tried of everything in the life, but in reality, thinking about his/her recommendations, I was serving under me her as the fear.

  And if something terrible had happened to me? If with a solo bite they were me fallen all the teeth? But they looked me at all, it was or inside or out, so I have opened the wrapper and I have slipped in mouth the biscuit.

  That first bite I will never forget him/it: the teeth sink, the mouth is mixed marvelously and the language tastes tastes ever tried before: the chocolate, then the wafer, therefore the cream and when you don't wait yourself more nothing arrives the filbert.

  Holy God, was in orbit: vigilant, careful, reagent and it seemed me to touch the sky with a finger.

  Something heated me, bossily, from the of inside.

  I felt me a lion: to the time of physical education I have made four goals to the 3°A, I had finally succeeded in understanding the divisions and you/they had also entered me head, without some effort, all and seven the kings of Rome.

  I had started to gear: in one afternoon I had gotten more results that in four months of frequency. And everything thanks to the chocolate.

  I have not made her to stop, the Biscossi you/he/she had always known him that when you start then it doesn't even give yourself for the antechamber of the brain to go down from the train.

  It passed her to me him the merendines: Kit Kot, Diplo, Children Pinguì, Ciocori, Galas, has tried her all and I felt me in heaven, even to study seemed me easier.

  With the Biscossi naturally we have become friends, inseparable.

  While our classmates were closed in the house with the video games, him and I we preferred to go to the park the afternoon.

  No worries, were a life in descent: we were under the leafy branches stretched out of it to it stuffed of flux and to look at the sky imagining a best world in which the chocolate was free.

  Naturally all these changes had not passed unnoticed to the vigilant eye of mine: I fattened up rapidly, by now I had taken two ransoms and it was my greater brother what time it brought my stopped suits besides protesting to big voice to be forced to go to the high school with the shirts of my preferred cardboards.

  And' normal that a family of convinced vegani doesn't understand u
s a cabbage.

  Without counting that I was covered of brufoli from head to toe, inclusive a big white and violet pimple, sprouted a night to betrayal and definite to make beautiful show of itself on good part of my poor cheek.

  My mother looked at him/it and punctually bursted to cry.

  You knew, he/she knew all, but it didn't dare to ask for fear of the answer.

  To eliminate had tried him/it all, understood a benediction to our temple, without however to get some result.

  They passed the weeks and the brufolo as me, he fattened up.

  The pediatrician of the consultorio said not to mind us, that you/he/she was the growth, even some precocious, but the growth and then there had been always the stress of the transfer, a new house, a new Country, new friends, a new school.

  For him it was so that my body manifested its depth existential uneasiness.

  They gave out in short the guilt to all that to me.

  And I thought that I would have done her forever frank, that had made her to integrate me, what time, thanks to the merendines, I was also some more Italian me.

  Of the friends I had made and I was well, damnedly well.

  My life was the school, the chocolate and the Biscossi now, I didn't think about my old house anymore.

  I didn't understand because my family didn't make something to integrate and because my mother persisted him to also bring the sari in December, rather than to put on a beautiful pair of jeans, certainly more comforts and heats.

  I had almost thought about making to also enter my smaller little sister the turn, but then, remembering that it is not able to keep the mouth shut, I had desisted for preserving my secret dark.

  I wanted to be