Cursed chocolate, Page 2

Italian, to all the effects, I liked this new world, I liked as the chocolate it made me feel and that my family also went to that country, dopotutto had brought here me us them.

  I had not been able to choose nothing although that pits my life.

  Did I also have the right of it stuffed what I preferred, no?

  Mine didn't know indeed as to behave him and her, my mother always looked me with desperate eyes, I was the living image of his/her personnel failure: hyperactive, I had stopped obeying, to make the assignments, openly manifested my disappointment and I didn't want to know void of it of our Country.

  When you/they have threatened with re-sending me to house, with the grandparents, I have shouted so so much to make them desist from the intention.

  Was not I hurting anything of and did I have everything under control, for which motive you/they would have had to send me street? Why did I want to live my way? Does it seem you enough?

  And then who would have wanted to return in a Country in which the cows are sacred, together to a myriad of other animals, is the diet poor, and the chocolate is not even found to pay him/it?

  Here I had the friends, there were the video games, this was my life.

  The white week, to the first of March, you/he/she has been a manna for everybody: my family was happy to be able to throw some the breath and me I cannot wait to be able to be alone some to unpack me, night and day without someone who checked me.

  Unfortunately however I had ended, almost immediately, the escorts, hidden with so much care in the suitcase, and my companions had handled to ransack the only tobacconist, in the paesino where we were, that something decent sold.

  I have started to be badly, day after day, I had sleep and the body perpetually crossed by shivers.

  I didn't ski, so much I was not able, and I was to the cafe of the hotel the whole day to swallow ciobar hoping to feel better me.

  The Biscossi was revealed a true friend, he/she contacted the friends, it looked for chocolate, and before the teachers stopped him/it you/he/she had almost succeeded in getting a passage to the near supermercato.ma nothing, there was not enough chocolate for everybody.

  To the times life turns this way.

  The Thursday I have sbracato: I cold, I had the shivers and I didn't succeed in throwing above me from the bed.

  I sincerely thought that I would be dead: no more chocolate, no more sea, no more mother.

  I/you/they have returned asunder to house on Sundays and with an only certainty: I was to wheel of merendine.

  With the nth printed brufolo in forehead and the perennial air of a washed rag, my family has taken me of strength and brought by a dietician.

  He has looked me at an instant in face and you/he/she has understood everything.

  I have had to confess, I didn't have other choice, and I have told for thread and for sign the events of the last months: the school, the merendines, the friends, the dependence.

  Obviously The care was the renouncement to all the types of sweets, my glicemia it was out control, it didn't allow me to be sat for more than five minutes and everything that sugar to amusement in my blood it galloped as in a rodeo.

  I had prayed for a gradual decrease in the consumptions, with a tot of tablets a day to climb, but my father has been inflexible therapy of bump: closed in the house, for a week, nothing games and no tv, to consume twice only salty things a day.

  You/they have fed me for seven days of toasted peanuts and french fries.

  At the end I/you/they have returned to school there but nobody turned anymore me the word: fottuto I was stamped, that that had fallen there with all the shoes and you/he/she had remained there.

  I was what you/they would have become, and this terrorized them.

  Only the Biscossi friend had remained me, even if we saw us of hidden, since his didn't want that you/he/she frequented me and after my ugly history you/he/she had also looked for him to decrease with the consumptions.

  They have been strange months up to June.

  Above all I threw to live, trying to study for recovering the lost time and to recover the trust of mother and dad.

  I spent alone the greatest part of the time.

  The world that I desired had thrown out me to kicks, that which I belonged for birth it didn't suit me.

  I was a child of anybody.

  Besides I lived in a state of perennial temptation: along the journey from house in school I had to eat two packets of french fries not to stop me to the grocery store of the angle that always had in showcase the last novelties in fact of candies.

  I tried to do me he/she forces and to go over, I thought about the kick, to the sport, sometimes even to my sea, but alone God knows how much hard was.

  Then, to the first of June something happened that sent retired all of my intentions of change: the Biscossi had come to know that the first week end of July there would have been in Milan the international fair of the chocolate, with free entry and tastings.

  It became our fixed nail: we did plain on plain, knowing that mine neither his would have allowed to accompany us, and elaborating as complex strategies more and more not to be open.

  That Saturday morning I will never forget him/it: I dressed me with calm, I chose my plush of preferred paperino, the shoes of Batman that I had received in prize a sixth week of sobriety and backpack in shoulder I went me to the point of agreed upon meeting.

  We had paid with our savings the brother of the Biscossi, the most unpleasant fifteen-year-old that I/you had ever known, because it accompanied us in subway up to the fair of Rho.

  Our parents knew that we would have been to the museum of the science and the technique with the school for one Saturday of close examination to the museum.

  Still today, that a lot of time has passed, I don't have words to describe as I have felt just crossed the entry.

  I am certain that if a country of the toys has ever existed, beh had to exactly be this way: chocolate anywhere of every form and manner and merendine, all the merendines of the world and even more to disposition.

  Don't burn us we immediately decided before making a turn ispettivo, therefore we would have chosen with calm thing to taste.

  We finally saw him/it, there, on a shelf, in his/her violet wrapper: the white Mulka, what was not found in Milan, but that we knew how to exist since the Pascuzzi, one classmate of ours, had tasted him during a trip to France with the family.

  Pure cocoa, almost to the ninety percent, made even more savory from a quantity of milk in dust in almost equal quantity.

  It was our sognatissimo Eden, the reason for which we had come risking so much.

  We took four tablets of it to head and we found a calm angle to be able to taste him/it without being disturbed.

  The solo perfume had made me forget the weeks of peanuts and french fries and it repaid me for all the biscuits not eaten in that months of abstinence.

  We have departed with some quadratinos, it was heavy stuff and we knew him/it, then the grams and finally, before midday we had already ended all and eight the tablets.

  We felt there hungry, we felt there strong, we felt there insane.

  We started to scorrazzare for the whole fair, tasting to the right chocolate and to it misses - we threw him/it above to handfuls from the exhibitors - we plunged there in the barrel of the candied apples, we inserted even there in the house of Hansel and Gretel, exposed for the fair by a Turkish producer of spun sugar, succeeding in detaching even a beam of bread of sugar from the ceiling without anybody if it realized of it.

  To the sixth cup of chocolate the Biscossi roused the stand of trasferelli of the Perugioni: we went out from there eccitatissimi with printed in forehead "Nothing is as sweet as a kiss ".

  Then the head started to turn, I didn't even succeed in remaining straight, I leaned on me to the stand of the Scaffarelli and therefore the dark. I don't remember anything from that moment in then.

  It found again us the safety, seeds fainted in a fountain that erupt
ed flux to the peperoncino, a few times later.

  I don't have idea of that that we have done.

  The Biscossi whined in an angle for the ache of belly, the chocolate that punctually ended him in mouth sputtering and complaining himself/herself/itself about as the last of the femminucces that doesn't succeed in climbing on the rope during the time of physical education.

  It was a hard hit to see my best friend under those conditions, feeling accented by the humming to the ears that it didn't abandon me and from a migraine that it hardly allowed me to hold the open eyes..

  "We have pecked at others of it two" it has bofonchiato one of the watches to the walkie talkie talking to the direction.

  "You/they should forbid her to his/her/their children this kind of fairs. I am tired to pick up little one overdone in every angle" the other confirmed with baritone voice.

  "Ah! Be perfectly right! Certainly that the young people to ruin so.there are not once anymore the values of! Do I wonder me, their families where my goodness I am???!!" and with that gigantic hand, me ripescava from the fountain putting to sit me on the floor.

  I will never forget the look of my father when it came to take me that day: I had denied all of this that he represented and I was ended in the troubles.

  You/he/she would not have been easy to get his/her pardon.

  The abstinence is an ugly beast, you/he/she has been hard.

  You/they have changed me school and of the Biscossi I don't have news from the on tragic Saturdays.

  It has almost taken one year before they entrusted him to make me go out alone again.

  I am now well, I/you/they have returned to my usual life.

  Here in vacation, to house of the grandparents, it seems me that the things are all right some, but I cannot say to be goes out of it, at least up to that, to succeed in putting to sleep me, must count the Happy Piggy.

  The author

  Antoinette Usardi was born and alive to Milan, where it deals him with events and culture. It manages with success a newspaper devoted to the city of Milan and his/her events (www.milanomagazine.wordpress.com).

  With 0111edizioni you/he/she has published the grotesque noir "to Die to laugh."

  Read the preview (italian)

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