Holly Mountain: the bittersweet, delirious monologue of a dying man who, in front of his wife, recalls memories, makes revelations, mixes lies and truths, fears, mocks himself, envies, gets excited, provokes, and reflects.
“…it’s dawn, look, I woke up at the best time, there’s this beautiful, discreet sun, that’s how the sun is at dawn, discreet, gentle, that’s why it gives off this wonderful light, like people, the sun is also timid, it comes out timidly with a maybe, with a huge maybe in its head, full of questions, it wonders, should I not go out? am I making a mistake? Then, when it sees that it is accepted with joy and welcomed, it begins to gain confidence and becomes more and more lively, slowly filling with arrogance until noon, around four o’clock, he reaches the peak of his vulgarity, rubbing our noses in his power, showing us who’s boss, exhausting every ounce of our patience, and when he sees that we are now indignant and ready to walk out, it gets scared and starts to back off, becomes discreet again, fills with kindness, and slowly retreats, waiting for the next time it will strike again. Isn’t that how we are too? Don’t we do the same thing?”.
New Writer Award – Klepsydra Magazine / Enastron 2018 Award.
Kelefthos, 2017, 140p.
