Some girls, especially the most talented of the course, could not stand that someone like Daisy Magnoli, with a good but certainly not terrific scholastic profit, could overshadow them with that lightning bolt that cleared their ego a lot. Daisy thought it was normal. Jealousy was part of the game. And then she was used to being considered bulky.
Daisy Magnoli attended third year of high school. Despite the adolescence marked by the death of his father, it seemed the publicity of life.
Long and shiny hair, a smile that shone precious, blue eyes wide on the world, the expression of the face volubly shrewd or innocent depending on the whim of the moment. And then the beauty of a body made to be desired … all ingredients that created a particular charm from which no one was able to escape.
All good reasons to be hated.
She noticed that Milena Nassi and Susy Del Nero were the most envious. The two eighteen year olds, known as the blonde and the brunette of the fifth D, had their lips turned upwards pushed by an artificial smile, their cold eyes sparkling with perfidy that seemed to say: "Make yourself beautiful now, dear. Do it as long as it lasts …"
Daisy knew that participating in the flagship program of Channel 104was out of the reach of all the high school girls and wondered what bad things they were thinking about. At that moment he heard a phrase half-mouthed by Lorraine.
"I mean, are you kidding?" The girl growled at Milena and Susy.
"Won't you really think so?"
The two did not respond, but looked at Lorena with an arrogant look, as if to say that she was right in pulling her claws out to defend her friend, but they were right.
"No. I'm serious. What does it have to do … »
Daisy did not hear Lorena's sentence because of the sound of a backpack slammed on the counter. But the companion's lip did not escape her. Lorena's wet lips had moved nervously up and down opening a phrase that ruined the rest of the day.
'… what does the father have to do with it?'
In order not to bleed, the ego of the two girls had found a compromise: the belief that Daisy, the beautiful Daisy, the fragrant flower Daisy had been chosen because they love
strong stories on TV. And Daisy had a father who had hanged himself.
Soon, on the stage of Next Generation they would make the shadows of his past dance.
Secret file # 1
The editorial team received the registered documentation.
To interview the witness is (omitted)
THE REGISTRATION IS INTEGRAL
"Are we starting with the sermon?"
"What do you think?"
"All right. I was in a fucking abstinence, okay? I needed to dive me a dose. That's why I went down the coast. It's only a five-minute drive. "
«Alberto, holy Christ, you are under house arrest. Do you want to go back to jail? You know how much everyone spent on you. "
"I know I know. The community, the recovery, and all the rest. It is thanks to them if I did not die of an overdose. I still have a brain melted. I also have broken teeth, scars on my arms, the marks of the stab wounds behind the backs, my ass is deflowered. I'm a carrion, it's true. A lost soul. But I'm not a liar. "
"So that's true?"
«I never believed in Mazinger Zeta, or Slender Man or some shitty fucking superman. But that wasn't a normal one there. "
"Tell me again."
"But why are you recording this stuff? Then you give it to the police? "
«Alberto, we got you out of jail I don't know how many times. And you still don't trust me? Come on, tell me."
"Oh, fuck, again?"
" yes."
"Okay, okay. Back then: it was about three in the morning. In the Duomo district everything is dead at that hour. I was sitting on the church stairs, the snare to squeeze the arm and
the syringe to look for a decent vein. Before, at home, I had vomited, and with a lot of convulsions. I mean, I had to do it. Half an hour and I got the stuff. I didn't know where the fuck to inject it. The arms were swollen and bright, full of holes, all red, blue and green hematomas. The crescent was missing and I was like the flag of Azerbaijan. The legs were worse off than the rest. In the end I took off a shoe to skewer the sole of my foot. With heroin circulating I was good . Then I see that white van. It came down quietly. You know, the ones with the body behind that the bricklayers use. "
"I know. I knew Giovanni. "
«And who did not know Giovà? One day he gave me so many blows. I wanted to steal a lot of cement from the warehouse, just like that, just to sell it and make a few euros. He had his hands like two shovels. He said that he loved me and did not lead me to the sack, but to make me understand the value of things earned through sacrifice. He was an educator in his own way. "
«Don't ramble. Tell me what happened. "
«So, Giovanni take the road towards Porta Duomo, pass the traffic light that indicates the work in progress. The street is narrow, partly because it is closed between the buildings, partly because there is a pile of cobblestones huddled on the roadside. They were doing the sidewalk. Then comes that taxi in the wrong direction. He was going like crazy and … pum! A terrifying front. The taxi rolls over on its side and catches fire. The taxi driver leaves, I don't know how. His shirt is covered of blood. He takes a few steps, falls to his knees, and then down with his face to the ground. I didn't understand if he was dead or just unconscious. While the poor Giovanni was inside the van with his head protruding from the broken windows of the windshield. Blood dripped onto the hood and … man, are you okay? You're white as a rag. "
«No, it's all right. Giovanni did not deserve to die like this. Go ahead."
«Yes, poor Giovanni. But do you really give me thirty euros later? "
«They are not for you. But for your mother. That holy woman must go shopping. "
"Ok. Look, I'm not buying my stuff, don't worry. So: a moment later the taxi is enveloped in flames. A horrible scene. Inside was her. Trapped like a mouse. Then that guy came. "
"Can you describe it to me?"
"I don't know what he looked like. Smoke pulled towards me. I was blown away and couldn't get up. I thought I was going to be intoxicated. I was coughing and vomiting, partly because of the smoke and partly because the heroin was cut into a dog's cock. However I kept my eyes wide open, my head poisoned by drugs made me believe I was a brave hero who had to see his own death in the face. I just saw more. I peered at the guy in the smoke who approached the car. The car was a fireball. The guy's clothes flared up and he started to burn. I swear to God he was burning, but it was as if he didn't notice. The hair crackled, the skin of the nose melted sizzling on the ground like fried oil. In spite of everything, the man broke the window, opened the door from the inside and pulled it out. He held her in his arms, which were no longer arms but two black embers. He took her away from the stake and laid her on the ground. I laughed. It always happens when I overdose. If I really have to die I want to do it with a certain optimism. The last thing I remember was the girl: burned, her clothes all burned, her face disfigured, a half-pulpy thigh that showed a piece of femur. The muscles, the nerves, the tendons all outside … the rest of the skin around the leg was a patch of loose fat that spread like dog piss on the road. "
"You know who was the girl? "
"No. I never knew. It was unrecognizable and … but you're sick. "
"No, no … don't worry …"
"But you're really sick. Christ. Don't cry, come on. "
"It's nothing. We continue. Tell me about the man. What do you remember? "
«I