It was after midnight when guards put some people who insisted on staying on the street for their homes. The curfew should be obeyed. The amber lights dazzled pedestrians who passed through dirty and muddy alleys in an attempt to hide and stay a little longer on the street. Recognizing someone was impossible, even if they hit them head on. There were no punishments on this day, because the next morning the princess would be crowned and even if someone became a stone, the coronation would certainly be a great event.

The young princess of the shadows, always dreamed of the light, possibly after this special day, who knows she could see at least one color, even if it was from the streetlights. She was locked from one corner to the next, waiting to reach the age of being happy and maybe not turning into stone like the mother and father who were succumbed by the misfortune of the place. The city had a curse, nothing was born there, and nothing that was golden or yellow could be seen directly, just once in a long time the queen for milliseconds managed to touch a shiny petal, but it was swallowed up by the city and turned into stone, even though she was still alive under the rocks, in her hard heart there was only fear.

The hope of many was in the princess. If the mother achieved such a feat, the girl should break it once and for all. It wasn't that easy. The girl was inconsequential, common at her age, and some say she would not have the patience to wait. The girl lived at the window watching the stone labyrinths and quartz gardens that were outside the castle. The only green trees, their leaves swayed with the meekness of longing for their flowers, everything died with the sun, which always had its setting hindered by black clouds.

The night fell fierce in the silence, the poor beams of light gave little light to the alleys where some young men defied the shadows. In fact, it was they who fed the city, who needed to transform themselves into people in order to stay alive, futile people who clung to the tramps of the vagabonds. The city never slept, and the thin, rough wind that ran brought a strange and repetitive smell. There was no nostalgia, there were no memories, people got used to living as part of it.
At that moment the princess was lying, contemplating the image of a beautiful white flower painted on the ceiling in a kind of stained glass. It was a majestic sunflower, with its petals faded due to the forbidden color, but it was still a beautiful and majestic flower, like the huge daisy she saw in books. He got up and walked to the window along the silver road made by the reflection of the moon, and from there he looked down at the marble labyrinth at a young quartz gardener.

The boy was setting stone on stone, so that the next day white would mix green vines and give at least a multicolored appearance. He drew the planets on the ground with the large pebbles, Mars with pink quartz and Saturn with its glass rings. Everything for the princess to contemplate before sleep the beauty that existed beyond the dead statues and the lack of color. Before the sun went down, the gardener messed up everything he did, so that the other night he could create new things for the beauty of the window. And he spent the rest of his time looking at the little things, the leaves that he wanted to be autumn or the branches that he wanted to be less gray. But evidently in his heart there was a desire to see the color of the sun, or the power of the sun to give stones to the city. Whenever it was morning someone shouted that someone had been succumbed, this time it was the son of Dona Quitéria, a boy with no desire and few colors.

The princess always came to do the farewell ritual, touched the heart of stone and gave it a new function, be it a square ornament or perch for the pigeons. The gardener was there watching the princess who shed a tear, knowing that at the right time she would also be a small part of it. The gardener looked deeply into her fiery eyes and pointed so that she could see the sun that was beginning to set, in its clear tone, their eyes would ignite. "Don't want to see the color, just want to be," he stammered so she could read it on his lips, "but it was too late and the sky was already darkening completely." She smiled, the first time in a long time, the moon came full that day.

The city was running out of people and the people who heard the stories passed by far. Nobody knows for sure how it happened, it is only known that the splendor of colors was lost and few colors were possible to see, and whoever tried to retain the yellow would be succumbed by the place becoming part of it. But there was a prophecy, that everyone would return to what they were if the three suns met. People waited for years for the appearance of another sun or an eclipse and nothing, then they accepted the condition of abolishing colors, and the city would always consume one being in exchange for another.

The princess lying on the bed looked at the white sunflower, and imagined to herself that she had never seen a real flower in her life. The full moon reflected a different gradient in the stained glass and the white petals looked more like a meaningless rainbow. The noise of stones outside caught her attention, it was the insistent gardener who tried in vain to show her what was in the space. He raised his hand, she saw a yellow petal fly, she was startled for a moment widening her eyes and running back to the bed, wondering if it really happened.

The next morning three new parts of the city had appeared, and it was not statues, this time, it was a small wall, a bench, and a vase. The work of counting each one in each house, as there were not so many, was quick, Irineu's three children, even the stupidest, who despite being so stupid, had a good heart and knew that you cannot mess with yellow. The princess remembered the gardener. - It's his fault - she shouted to the town - I saw him holding color last night - find him and arrest him.

The green of the trees was sadder than before, its flowers, which were already dead, fell before even thinking about wind. The castle became sadder, and the stones on the ground had no shape. The labyrinth lost its grace and the planets were erased.

In the prison the princess went to speak to the gardener and to take satisfaction from the absence of forms. He was sitting crestfallen trying to understand the reasons why he got there. She looks at him, asks him to get up, and when that happens they both contemplate the yellowness of the boy's hands, and oddly enough, it had no effect on the young woman. Why are you like this? - She asked - Why wouldn't I be? - He said - We are either parts of concrete or we are part of petals. Today green will wear yellow. I found a way to break the curse - he said categorically - I found the suns that will meet, but you have to look and want to be the sun, want to be the color. He spoke in a desperate tone - Nonsense - she replied, releasing his hand - There are no such suns - she lowered her head a moment - There is our loneliness and our curse is to see the few colors and be the size of the place we are. We are part of it, we are that, I no longer believe in the sun.

It was already four in the afternoon when a thousand yellow flowers opened and pointed towards the splendid sunset, which, oddly enough, remained in its natural color. He scattered sunflowers around the city so she could see the world, but she was weeping in bed, staring at the flower with white petals. At that moment, she was still trapped by the casualties of fate, the flowers finally blossomed with a splendid yellow that lit up the entire city, clashing with the bright glow that came from the horizon, but a third sun was missing. He was in prison trying to get through the bars. "If only she would look at the window," he said sadly.
Everyone was already immobile succumbed to the accursed city that turned everyone into stone. - Go my love, look at the sunflower from the window.
Lying on her bed, she perceived a different aspect in the stained glass, the yellow overflowing on the white petals yellowing them, the princess's eyes seemed on fire, her hand shone yellow, she was the third sun. With each new flower that bloomed, the statues melted into dust and made people, people seated in the square, people perched on pigeons, people on the street, people of all kinds. The gardener managed to get out of his prison and compose himself a unique color, the usual color. The princess just had to look at the sunflowers, look in the window and contemplate the brightness and wish she were the color, see the flower she never saw. Time was passing by, the sun was dying and the sunflowers were crying, the more the light went down, the people turned the stone again, and the dust rose in the dead sculptures. The princess did not rise to be her own sun.

Before the gardener died, he managed to plant himself with his eyes on the window, he wanted to see his beloved one last time, he was no longer yellow, nor human, just the same. She in the room became a sad sculpture, attached to one of the columns that supported the room, and finally a fine powder that spread over each corner where the amber color was now lightening. Her fear made it common, diluted in her own rooms. He didn't see her at the window but remembered that he spread sunflowers around the city so that she could see the majestic flower, but she didn't see it, it had already become the city long before.
Silvestre Cantalice
Enviado por Silvestre Cantalice em 18/10/2020
Código do texto: T7089912
Classificação de conteúdo: seguro


Sobre o autor
Silvestre Cantalice
Soledade - Paraíba - Brasil
17 textos (1356 leituras)
(estatísticas atualizadas diariamente - última atualização em 22/10/20 00:42)
Silvestre Cantalice