"Poe’s Language for Everyday Routine" é uma 'short story' escrita pelo acadêmico Juliano Riechelmann Maciel, do 4º ano de Letras, para a atividade de produção escrita da disciplina de Língua Inglesa. Confira:
Poe’s Language for Everyday Routine
It was three o’clock in the morning when the phone rang. I got up very slowly, tired after a long day of work. I can say I crawled towards the phone – I was so sleepy that I could barely sense my senses… But in the end, I picked up the phone and as diligently as a sleep-taken man can be, I put my right ear to work.
There was a burst of ear-shattering sounds echoing on the call. It was the furious cry of some beast, if it was otherworldly or not I couldn’t realize at first. But as I let the phone fall from my hand, while sleep was scared away from my being, I realized it was the cry of a raven, an angry raven.
I gathered my strength and coerced my reason to pick up the phone. I didn’t even have to put it close to my ear again to listen to the cries of the angry bird. I was so puzzled that the only thing I remember after this event was hearing the warning of my clock. It was time to get up, but I was already up. The phone was still in my hand, but it was already mute. I had stayed still for three and a half hours, listening to a raven crying for some indefinite time.
But reason and hard routine put me back into my life. A few minutes later I was at my poor breakfast table eating some dry toasts and taking some sips of biter coffee. My tuxedo was old. My shoes, worn. The milkman opened the gate, as usual. I heard him putting the bottles in front of my kitchen’s door.
I went to the door and opened it. Perhaps I had to see another man to convince myself I was dreaming no more – the cries of the angry crow still haunted the shadows of my thoughts. Indeed, the milkman was there. I said good morning. The neutral tunes of a raven answered back. I stood still, a running pointer freezing time as the clock’s reason cracks. The old lady next door passed in front of my house, taking her morning walk. She saw my fright-pale work-pale face and muttered something, perhaps if I was all right. I don’t know, I couldn’t pick a word from her raven voice. Children passed behind her, singing their merry tunes on their way to school – singing something terrible with their voices of crows in choir. The world’s language was new for me. I couldn’t understand anything else. Anywhere I went in despair, every door I knocked in disrepair answered me with the voice of a raven.
I wandered through the streets, the cacophony of crow voices numbing my brain, tormenting my ears, taking over me. I wandered for days, and everywhere I went, everyone I turned to… It was all in vain, all I could hear was the never-changing tunes of the crows’ voices, sinister, macabre, angry, bitter, lamenting, malicious… The relentless voices were already echoing in my soul when I found myself at home again. I looked to the clock – it was three o’clock in the morning. I was standing still with the phone in my hands – just as it all had began. Suddenly I found myself in my pajamas again.
It was a dream. It was just a dream. I went back to my bed, feeling the wind of a nearby open window. I looked through it. It was my mistake.
There was a crow atop the driest branch of my garden oak. The bird’s eyes were silver under the moonshine.
“It was just a dream… I woke up from it!” I muttered.
“Nevermore” the raven said from above. Thousands of people poured through the door and windows of my bedroom, all of them speaking the raven tongue.
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