Foggy Lines in the Cityscape

.
he giant monster of steel and steam
screamed his desperation to leave out it place, far away. The smoke was white, very white and drew some puzzles in the back of the station. Since very early in the evening passengers were squeezed between the platform and the long line of wagons; it was a beautiful train, long and with armchairs upholstered in emerald green silk. She was not where she was supposed to be. She did not want to be here.
<> Your Excellency,  can you tell us where you were yesterday afternoon? Where and for how long, please? Please?
Lord Konrad stared at the mirror in front of him, with its smooth edges nonetheless a very good job, almost like the dress she loved to wear, simple and predictable, as an informal farmer style, inconvenient for these complex environments of town. There is nothing beyond the mirror except the discrete effect of their own sadness and pain. Because there is pain in the shame of knowing alone with oneself, without the warm caress that a woman in a pure state knows how to deliver.
<> Please, say what you know! Do not make us wait any longer! Do not you understand that His Excellency should collaborate?!
Many drops of light as mysterious stars in distant skies came to him, face to face. It was a paradise of tiny flowers in her hands, and hidden breasts like a warm home. A home between the hills around an anonymous castle so far away of here. “I am not who I am… or was she who finally has been and I did not see it. I’m just a trace in the history, in time… And she is gone…” These are thoughts born in a chair, face to face with destiny.
<> I did not see… or must say that I saw it, but it was only like the poorest remembrance of the beautiful woman who had been.
I did not kill her! I swear! She had taken in her hands the will to change their fate. Why? I do not know or do not want to know anyway. For Love? Cowardice? No, no no! 
ha! ha! ha! ha! [An hysterical laughter hinted their misery] SHE only wanted to run a heavy punishment, to ME, to this man sitting in that gray station. SHE wanted to carve his own memory with pain in my soul. And SHE did, I know deeply that SHE did to ME.
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This week, we’re featuring a new collaboration between photographer Naama Sarid, whose work we’ve featured in the past. Naama has been kind enough to share her work with some of our other contributors, and they have been writing and creating based on her wonderful photography. This piece is inspired by Exposure № 071: Portrait of an Hysterical Murder. See Naama Sarid’s other Snake-Oil Cure contrubutions here.

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Conrado Sarid-Maleta’ is a Cuban photographer and painter. He left his home country six years ago, and has not returned. Most recently, he has lived and worked in Europe, and is now in Tel Aviv, Israel. He learned photography with the help of a great Cuban artist, later continuing alone and working very hard to increase day by day what he knew. Mainly, his works use the visual experience as a means to connect with ideas rather than with techniques or methodological processes. He prefers to be a storyteller rather than a perfectionist. His other contributions to Snake-Oil Cure can be found here.

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  1. Dr. Hurley’s Digest: Vol. II, Week 2 « Dr. Hurley's Snake-Oil Cure

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