Short Stories | Contos


“You could have been more subtle.” Christian was holding his wife’s journal in his hands. He handed it to her. “Why did you do this? Why leaving this wide open on my desk?”

            Lisa shrugged her shoulders.

            “Because you don’t listen to me.”

            “You’re saying that since the day we met.”

            “Well, I was hoping you would change in time.”

            Pressing both eyes with the thumb and middle finger, Christian pulled a bench and sat down by the washing machine.

            “What is it that you want to tell me?”

            “Please, don’t be sadistic. It’s all written. Don’t make me telling you.”

            “I think I’m entitled to an explanation, then.”

            “Don’t do this to me, Chris. This is already hard enough.”

            “At least tell what do you want from me.”

            “That’s up to you to decide, don’t you think?” The glass of orange juice slipped away from her hand and blasted on the floor. Christian fetched the paper roll to start cleaning. She was paralyzed, looking at him, by her feet. “I had to do it. I tried to warn you several times, Chris, but you wouldn’t listen. You just didn’t care.”

            “You know I bloody care, Lisa. There’s no one in the world I care as much.”

            “If only your words matched your actions!”

            Christian rose his head to face her eyes.

            “Did your words match your actions, Lisa?”

            “Of course they did! That is why I wanted you to read them.”

            “And you still can’t say them to me.”

            “Why are you insisting on that? Just make a decision! Stop torturing me like this.”

            “What do you think you’re doing to me, Lisa?”


            “Why did you want me to read it?”

            “I told you. It’s too hard for me, Chris!”

            “Why not writing a note, instead of exposing your journal, like that?”

            “A note? Why writing you a note if it’s all in there?”

            With all his energy, Christian ended cleaning the floor and started brooming the glass.

            “I don’t believe this,” he muttered.

            “I don’t believe this either,” Lisa replied.

            The broom flew across the kitchen towards the open window. Someone screamed outside but Christian didn’t listen. He was yelling to his wife:

            “I don’t rape souls! I don’t rape souls, Lisa!”

            She stared at him, before looking down to the unread journal in her hands. He bursted out of the house.


Por Nuno Neves

Autor, revisor de texto, ilustrador e compositor.

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