Sogno Formidabile

[Journia]

Sogno Formidabile...
"Avete saputo dei pericoli di vecchi tempi? Il mio amore? Mon J'adore? Possedete tutta la concezione leggera dell'afflizione di cui i vecchi tempi hanno causato; e che generi di implicazioni sono risultato da loro?"
"I-I-" The woman stuttered. Her eyes, huge balls of white.
"No. Non avete loro la concezione minima. Perchè? Poiché non sono stati pubblicati mai. I tempi grandi, i tempi favoriti. Gli anni di tolleranza tecnologica. L'uomo era in un tuffo in discesa e sviluppantesi a spirale grazioso in oblivion, ma era ancora bello." The hand of the man rose from the woman's breast, to her throat in a carress. "I vecchi tempi erano ben migliori, che il carrello puritannical che guida le bestie di questa età. Stasera all'alba, l'età del puritan sarà estinta come una candela, cadente nel mare." The hand carressed the cheek. Then suddenly gripped her throat.
"Dorma per stasera, il mio amore, sveglisi in altro mondo..." The man said as he crushed the woman's larynx. She fell to the floor, gagging on her lack of oxygen. She tried to breath through her nose, but there wasn't any use. The two organs, the mouth and nose, passed air through the same thing. Larynx. The woman sank on the floor writhing in a mixture of pain and fear. The man left the room as the woman reached out for him as his body faded into the darkness.

Yes...italian....This is the beginning of the second of these mystery stories.

 

[Low_Roads]

I can't read Italian and therefore turned to Babelfish for assistance. Unfortunately, their response was a trifle tortured (doubtless a literal take on lyrical language). A more accurate version would be welcome. I'm hoping that the majority of this story will be presented in English, or that a translation will also be offered.

 

[Master Chief]

Oh, that hurt like the dickens Journia.

 

[Journia]

Is there something I should know about this night, Gianna?" The man in the hood asked as he entered the door. He was tall and slender, with a forward lean which didn't decrease once he entered the foyer. Before him stood a girl, no more than eighteen. She was dark brown with long black hair. An Indian, from Allahabad.
"No Signiori. I haven't anything to explain to you." She said as she pulled the cuff of her jeans over her sock. "But I have something to ask of you."

They were in the library, the girl sat on the sofa, with her feet propped over the edge of the couch. The man sat only inches away from them. In the darkness of the hood, his face was imperceptible.
"You wished to ask me of something my dear."
"Protection." She said quickly as she turned on her stomach. "I want protection from them."
"The best protection you could get is a pair of shoes my child." The man uttered as he drew one long yellowed phalange down her left sole. She cringed and giggled.
"Stop it! This matter is not for laughter! Bernardo Guardi is going to murder everyone in my family! If I am to survive, I must have protection!" She said urgently.
"Certainly. But there is a price to be paid my child."
"I can not work in a brothel!"
"You will not work in a brothel. You will work for a brother. He adores you and he will protect you."
"No...you don't mean..."

 

[Low_Roads]

Crafty use of language! Brothel/brother... this piece will possess a certain measure of poetry, I see! And our dear heroine had best be less careless about her footwear and her posing... otherwise she'll lapse out of Non-tk and into the Tickling Section before she knows what pounced on her!