Whatever evil may fall upon you, it must be respected. Only once it is respected can it be warded away by Cornicello. The symbol of The Horns sacred to the Old European Moongoddess alone can protect the bearer from ill fate and danger, Malocchio. For generations, fathers have passed the emblem down to their sons, should they have daughters, they are kept by the mothers in the imponderable place where mothers keep things, and passed on to their daughters sons.
Air rushed passed Nina’s face as her body ran against the way of the wind, yet she struggled to catch her breath. Satin cloths and basil leaf chains hanging from herb stalls flung up in flurry as she raced through the crowded streets of the marketplace. At five second intervals she glanced behind, eyes darting in and out of colors and people. She reached the fresh fruit stall where she had worked two years earlier, and slipped into saftey between its frames, its canopay roof cloaking her identity. Breathing heavily, she peered into the opening and glanced from left to right. There was no sign of them.
She had become very good at this, existing without being noticed, escaping without a trace, vanishing into thin air, so much so that she was slightly scared to admit to herself that she enjoyed the rush of it all. Clutching the tiny golden charm on the end of her necklace, Nina silently thanked Cornicello for keeping her safe. She tugged at the blonde wig that was now heavy on her head, stripped off her white cotton shirt and ditched both behind the boxes of uva and uncut anguira.
She started the walk to the edge of the market, where the court walls stop and the drop to the edge of the Sarema cliffs began. Reaching into her pocket she pulled out a handful of fresh rosy cherries. At seven years old she had rationalized that pick pocketing was only a problem if you got caught. More often than not the sellers could afford to loose the small handful of fruit that would otherwise be left for the pigeons at the end of the day, and she could keep her reputation of being a good Catholic girl. She the sucked the juice out of the last one and threw the pip on the ground, hitting something metal. There it was. Her bike, right where she had left it three days earlier.
© elenaxtina.com, 2015 in Lei e Taormina
Hey Guys – I’ve given myself a new project to work on, hopefully I can grow the original idea to see what happens. For my own protection I can’t post anymore content from Skies Over a Shanty Town but I hope you guys enjoyed where that went. Perhaps one day there will be possibility to read more!
Also I am off to Sicilia soon so I’m kinda fantasizing about it. I haven’t been back for the longest time and I wish I was on the plane now. Whenever I travel stories just happen in my head so hopefully this is gonna help, especially this thread, to take form and grow with new ideas. One thing I love about writing is that it’s possibilities are endless, the best fiction is stuff that doesn’t happen in everyday life, or every day life communicated in a way that no one has thought of before. It’s magical, and means you can be inspired by almost anything.