How many times has my story been written? How many times hasn't the author torn my pages on a whim, only to start it all over again from scratch, without giving at least a chance for anything to be recycled? New possibilities and endings scattered around the floor of his office, finally finding their final destination perfectly mixed amid a multitude of other waste and leachate. Burning up those pages would have been more decent of him. Smoldering on the flames, those pages would light up the night and be as dignified as fireworks honoring Saint John. The heat fed by them, bringing life back to the freezing people around the fire. The sacrificial pyre inflamed just as each word that was lost and wasted therein. The smoke would reach the sky as divine offering, the driving engine of each verb―action and reaction―causing the most acrobatic twists and turns in the ascending thread of left-over material from that semi-existence. Knowing when to lose did not come as easy to her as before. She had lost too much so far. She could not stomach losing anymore. She would give up as much as needed. Was it really necessary to lose everything so many times and keep moving forward? If it were true that wisdom would come from it all, wisdom was already late. Too much time had gone by, decades waiting, and she had learned too little, actually. Yes, she felt ignorant of everything, even those things she had made up herself those times she allowed herself to exercise her own creations. Such presumption, doing something that is reserved to the gods! It came from within, from her very core, lighten up and warmed up by that pyre. Atoms and molecules creating an original universe. A completely new universe. Like those universes that fit in a tiny glass vile and parade around secured to the leash of a cat during the 120 minutes a movie lasts... And on whose existence and preservation all lives on Earth depend. Yet, she wished he would have had the decency of burning those pages. |  Patrícia Siciliano was born in Rio de Janeiro in November 1972. She became interested in the literary world at a very tender age. She never stopped reading once she learned how. She loved listening to her father's bedtime stories and wished she could make up stories herself.
She majored in Biology, works as a teacher, is a mother by choice, and a wife as consequence of love. She breathes, therefore she writes―she has never known life without writing. She created a blog in 2009 with the intention to gather her writing and in 2011 it placed 3rd in the Literary Category of the Top Blog Awards in Brazil.
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