Uma ode ao Saldanha

Tive um exercício no qual eu tinha que colocar dois ídolos falecidos (um da música e outro da literatura) conversando. Fiquei satisfeito com o que eu fiz, mas depois reli e vi que ficou a coisa mais aluno da FACOM da minha vida. Logo, dei dois títulos.

The importance of being dead

(aka - A Saldanha's Tale)

“We’re dead, aren’t we?” a voice says.

“No. We’re immortals.”

“Hum.”

The two men are atop a mountain, its peak so high up that almost touches the stars. But it doesn’t need to. There are already two stars perched over its lushy, green meadow.

“Why are you sitting in a throne?” one of them asks.

“Because I’m the Queen.”

“I like your style. Had we lived in the same time, we’d have been best friends.”

“Agreed. Maybe best lovers.”

The one who’s standing smiles, and then starts to wander around.

“I was imprisoned for being gay, you know?” he says.

“And I killed myself for being crazy.”

“Suicide?”

“No. Unprotected sex in the 80s.”

“Almost the same thing.”

There is a thick mist hovering all around, but the egos of these two men are so big and adamant that not even the white fog seems massive enough to cloud their presence.

“How do you think the world down there is doing without us?” the one on the throne asks.

“There are people who can match up to us, I guess.”

They both laugh, tilting their heads back, blowing wisps of cold smoke along with the loud sound of their sceptical laughers.

“We were unique, and there’s no chance that someone as witty and talented as us has been born since we departed.”

“You forgot to add humble to this list.”

“Yes, my dear. And humble.”

They fall silent for a minute, and the one standing up walks to the edge of the mountain. He tries to gaze at the world below his feet, but it seems to be too far, too bland, too uninteresting.

“You know what?” he says, giving up on trying to see some life in the world he once lived in. “I bet we could write a great love song. Not as good as the things you wrote, but I think we should give it a go.”

“Gotta a title yet?”

“Yes. Immortals in a dead world.”

The man sitting in the throne caresses his moustache, contemplative.

“Immortals in a dead world. Written by F. Mercury and O. Wilde. Yeah, something good could come out of it. But don’t count on MTV to promote it. A friend from Seattle told me they just play shit nowadays.”