Morte Em Veneza

"Imagem e espelho! Os seus olhos abraçaram a nobre silhueta adiante, na borda do mar azul, e, num arroubo de encantamento, teve a percepção de que este relance o compenetrava da própria essência do belo, da forma como pensamento divino, da perfeição única e pura que habita o espírito e ali erigia, para adoração, uma imagem, um símbolo claro e gracioso. Era esse o seu êxtase. E o artista no declínio da vida acolheu-o sem hesitar, avidamente mesmo. O seu espírito abriu-se como que em trabalho de parto, toda a sua formação e cultura efervesceram, sofreram mutação, a sua memória fez aflorar pensamentos primitivos, transmitidos como lendas à sua juventude e até então nunca avivados por chama própria."

By Thomas Mann

The Standards of Life

The motel room was dark and creepy, yet a bit cosy. Only a few left rays of sun stir through the window, making it look almost haunted.
The room was completely naked of all decorative artefacts, just a single bed, with long black cetin sheets touching the ground with dark red pillows, the bedside tables and a TV set to go along with the naked walls painted white, with ink damaged from the age, and a simple dark red blind, letting almost any light in.
She walked in, completely absorbed in her thoughts, wondering what was she doing there. He followed her.
“Is it Ok?” – he asked.
“Yeah…I guess it’s Ok.” – she answered.
She was still lost in her thoughts, looking at the room while he was looking at her, admiring her beautiful silhouette, she was still very attractive for a woman in her late 30’s and mother of 3 children.
She felt him observing her, her long dark black hair falling into her back, her ass, everything…she felt wanted, desirable, it sparkled a long lost feeling inside her, something that she hasn’t felt in a long time. She felt sexy, she felt alive.