Fábio Moon and Gabriel Bá's blog

Where they come from



There she is, from time to time. Always smiling, sweet, she's such a cute girl, carrying under her arm her little folder. This one little folder, always the same, with a picture of her albino cat on the cover, never has the same stuff inside. Every time I open the little folder and flip through, I find new images. Some look familiar, still they are new. Who never found something strange familiar just as a reflex?

Moment of reflection: Do I change around her? Does the world change and I just follow? Or is it all just my fantasy?

"Did I take long?", she asks.

I tell her she didn't with my head, and she smiles even more. I smile back. I bet you would smile too. She then open her little folder and tear one sheet off.

"Here", she says, stretching her arm and offering me the tore sheet of paper. "Here's another idea."

I glance quickly through the page, the images drawn in it, the words written. Everything makes sense and soon enough I know how I should continue my story.

"Where did this one came from?" I ask, my eyes still locked in the sheep of paper.

"He's a security guard in a museum", she starts. "He stays all day long protecting paintings, looking at them and making sure the people do just that as well. When he gets home, he dreams with paintings."

She raises her index finger to her lips and makes a cute face.

"He's a heavy sleep, never noticed I went there."

She smiles, I lose myself in her smile, and she leaves certain that I don't really remember what was the question I have just made.

But the idea she brought me is still in my head and I go back to the story I have to tell.