THE REVIEWER (short story)

Gionatan Scali
Nov 2 · 4 min read

The reviewer resigned exactly on the same day.

The day that my horse died.

Nobody were around the flesh.

They collapsed. If he was a rabbit probably he wouldn’t sounds nice as he was.

Meat is heavy said my father. Leaves aren’t.

I used to know a Reviewer.

He was just as good as a silent observer.

He wouldn’t tell you what he was thinking.

Only the papers were dressing his thoughts.

I used to know a friend. He was a reviewer. But it wasn’t talking that much. One day I wanted to be sure that he was my friend. I took him out.

Out for a coffee.

We were sitting on a table about to order something. But he was inexplicably silent. As always is. Lost in his inner. Attentive on something that would be a letter on a newspaper or perhaps a font could get him contemplates for endless minutes, hours on it. I was almost convinced that he was suffering of that syndrome called Asperger. That problem that caused social issues and problems with attention. I wasn’t sure about that. We were there. I mean. I think I was there with him. Not sure if he was in the same place as me. He was absent, pale and silent. Nobody couldn’t move his eyes out of his internal gaze. I decided to shake him up. I stood up, went to him, I grabbed his shoulders and I said “hey! You! Which coffee would you like?” I kept on shaking, and shaking and shaking, till the time he had some sort of reaction “A white cream came out of his mouth”.

“Single or double cream? “ I exclaimed ironically laughing at him.

He said something “ A black coffee would be alright before writing my new article”

“Ok ok! Finally “ I got his attention.

He added saying

“Lots of sugar please”

“Sugar is not good for you“ I repeated loudly when I was walking towards the coffee machine.

Went back with the coffees.

I sat down next to a big plant. He took the cup and went closer with his mouth. He puked the white cream again, and he spread it on top of the coffee, like a sort of garnish. On the garnish, I’ve seen a shape. It wasn’t the common heart shape, nor a swan. It was a horse.

I stared at his cup incredulous.

His pupils turned red. A sound of an airplane distracted me from the view point.

He didn’t said anything. Placed his cup on the table. And came back to his usual absent position.

“Have you got the intention to drink that coffee?”

No answer.

A woman next to our table was shouting on the phone, something familiar, something that probably I could’ve remember for the rest of my life. And she was, she was just a perfect stranger.

I knew her somehow. She was talking about something relate to an animal, and then an accident.

“I lost something in the hills “ she exclaimed.

She was very attractive. I would have loved to walk around with her trying to find what she lost in the hills.

“Do you mind if I speak to her?’ I said to my silent-friend.

“Go on” the reviewer said without even look at me.

I just wanted to give up the possibility of a friendship with this weird journalist or whatever you call it, the reviewer. He was writing articles, but I didn’t know any of the subjects that he was into. “It’s vomiting cream” I couldn’t stand that.

I went to the woman forgetting about him.

I grabbed her phone, not very gently, rushing into her saying “ I will help ya finding what you lost up there”. I said with my friendly-smile.

From the cafe you could have seen the hills. They weren’t that far.

“Ok” she said.

“Let’s go”.

She took my left hand. I didn’t have the time to even say goodbye to the reviewer.

She said.

“Please Run. RUN! If you want to help me “

“Ok Ok, I said” but “why?”

I knew where we were going. I knew those hills. Those hills were famous lovers places.

What did you lose on top of the hill?

I said to her breathless while we were running/

The sound of his laboured breathing resounded inside my lungs. The bully kids tried to stop my run, luckily avoiding their feet.

“Come on, Run. Run faster. “

It was a steep road. And it was also wet from a fresh rainfall.

The men in suits with pen in hand who police the men in silks with crop in hand — always from a safe distance. That’s what I felt about the whole situation.

A police car was monitoring our run thought we were suspects.

In my mind I was thinking she was a great runner. I couldn’t reach her speed. I struggled to be next to her. I took part of this long diversion from a local cafe into the unknown. She stopped at the beginning of a giant gate.

She lifted up her trousers and showed me her legs.

Her legs were a stipe leg-patterns on a domestic-horse.

She wasn’t a human.

“No! You are not what you seem to be” I exclaimed frightened.

She changed her voice and her face turned into a long snout of a horse.

“Come on. Ride me” she said.

And I said “ no I can’t” and I add “ I think I can’t help you in your mission, whatever it is”

“WHY?”

“Now you are here and you won’t leave this place anymore! ”

She said angry at me “It’s too late my dear” she giggled.

The Reviewer in the cafe started make work his pen.

Pen, Paper, and his thoughts down.

He wrote an article or something about an accident:

A chronicle about an Horse.

The article started with these words:

“Today, around mid afternoon on top of the hills in the west side gardens

in front of the gate of heaven a Dark Horse killed a young man…”

Most of the reviewers enjoy the films, even better when they can predict them.

On the same day a train was inexplicably delayed.


END.

Gionatan Scali

Written by

I’m a visionary writer and musician and I’m interested in short stories with surrealist twist. I do also like neuroscience, psychology and psychogeography.

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