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A Legend Is Lost

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A Legend Is Lost Roars of approval, hysterical cheering and an eruption of pleas for an encore filled the opera theatre instantaneously as Angelo Ben�s' ninth opera ended abruptly, but still left Italian aristocrats gasping for more entertainment of such an outstanding calibre. On returning home as the painful screaming of the front door ceased, Angelo was not greeted by Se�ora Ben�s: she had decided against hearing the usual, monotonous, negative reply. Instead she requested a serious talk. Angelo's mood remained the same; solemn and stiff, he shuffled cautiously towards his dominating partner. "How much did he give you this time dear?" The hesitation was prolonged for as long as possible. The reply was uncertain, "the same as he always pays me!" "Yes, but that wage is not as much as he pays Deano Cardinalli, and your pieces are far superior to his in terms of performance and attendance, your talent is being wasted, his profit is astronomical yet you do not demand a share, hence we are seated in a nearly derelict flat with murky tap-water," Angelo rose sharply from his seat and paced about the room, refreshing his face with the perspiration on his palms, he was searching for an answer to his wife's constant demands. ...read more.


The thought of royalty applauding Angelo infuriated Deano. He knew the importance of this opportunity. It was life changing. His hatred for Angelo multiplied out of control; this latest depressing blow was added to a chain of incidents that had potentially endangered Deano's living. Deano knew what was required. "Looking forward to tomorrow Angelo my dear!" "It's hard not to Se�orina, the anticipation is throbbing in my fingertips," came the droning reply from the dull marble bathroom. Se�orina Vericini's eyes were wandering, scanning the room for something in particular, and when she finally laid eyes upon it her heart raced uncontrollably, while the warm sweat trickled irritatingly down her forehead. Cautiously she approached it, scared, as if it would jump out and swallow her whole. Exasperated she clutched it tight and hugged it close to her sumptuous breast. Panic-stricken, she shuffled towards the front door just as Angelo's head shot out of the bathroom, catching a glimpse of the fleeing skirt of se�orina Vericini. Angelo chased but to no avail. He was not suspicious or troubled by this happening; he assumed she would return with perhaps an explanation. ...read more.


He cautiously scooped her tongue from the back of her throat. She lay stiff, motionless and bemused it seemed. She had died from the shock. Deano's eyes watered as his lip quivered. He was alien to such caring emotions, but it dawned on him the pain he had caused. He wanted to be forgiven; he searched for possible sanctity after committing these selfish offences. He rose slowly from the floor sniffling and shaking. He felt the warm quill that was dripping with the ink that Angelo had written his royal opera with. He brought it close to his face and inhaled the scent of perfection. With this quill a man could have changed the history of Venice, Italy or even the world. But now, his dead, mentally incomplete body would be cast into the earth with numerous peasants and insects. He would be forgotten, a distant memory of even those who knew him. This man may have been a legend in his own right, but now I have altered the future of the world Deano thought drying his tears. He placed the quill on Se�ora Ben�s' chest and edged toward the window of the putrid flat. As Veradi swung around the door accompanied by the police, Deano smiled courageously, and peered at the distraught gathering of people many floors below. ...read more.

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