public here a short story published in the magazine-writers of the forum, where every month we proposed a "literary exercise" with certain rules to follow. For the month of June was the basis of: 4000 characters - based on historical narrative describing an event really happened and respecting the environment, customs, customs of the time. in this context to engage the fictional part.
Here's what I have proposed:
The devil in the glass
from a diary found in a basement in Baltimore
October 12, 1889
It 'now time for me to get rid of a heavy burden that I carry on my conscience for the past many years. The demon that was prophesied 40 years ago I had the upper hand and the days to my life I think are going to end. I came to Baltimore in February 1848. The Great Famine of '46 and the crisis created by the industrial overproduction that hit all over Europe led many people to seek a way out of the American continent. I had just fought with other young Democrats a small revolt in Sicily, where he succeeded in forcing the surrender of the Bourbon troops, but where my brother died, leaving a huge void in my life. So I decided to embark towards the new continent to make a radical change to my life. The first months were very hard to Baltimore and the expectations it easy to find gainful employment were soon disappointed. I had to make do and I accepted any job I was offered, though sometimes it was not entirely lawful activity.
What I want to tell you to ease my conscience happened on October 3, 1849. It was election day in Baltimore and in that time the corruption and violence turned freely on the streets of the city. I had just turned 30 and with other people I had been hired to collect votes for a candidate of Italian origin. We had to identify the potential electors of the taverns near polling stations used to approach them and offer them a drink. Once stunned by massive doses of whiskey could force them to vote multiple times for our candidates in various seats in the city finished the tour we had to change their clothes and forcing them to return to vote again. If alcohol was not enough to make them harmless we were also allowed to use more violent means. This practice was quite widespread and was called "cooping."
That evening we drank a lot of us too, and God only knows what I'd give to be able to go back and erase that day from my life. If we were not drunk so maybe this would not have happened.
We were in the tavern "Gunner's Hall when a man in his forties, his face thin and gaunt, came in and ordered a whiskey. He was alone and had the appearance of a weak man. We decided that he would be our first voter. His mind was already clouded by alcohol and it was difficult to convince him to swallow with the rest of us glasses of whiskey. He spoke in a confused and his eyes were full of pain. Just convinced them to vote and then we took him with us in the other seats, where he voted several times for our candidate. When we returned to the "Gunner's Hall" That poor 'man is not held up almost to his feet. The took off his jacket and pants and cover it with other clothes to shoot the rounds of voting. It was then that the situation worsened. Skinny man, who seemed totally devoid of strength and energy, began screaming and hurled violently against us. A word without meaning, speaking of terrible suffering he had endured and demons in his mind that left him in peace. He seemed possessed by dark forces, and when I slammed in our face the backlash began. We started kicking and punching, without stopping even when building collapsed to the ground.
The last thing he said was a phrase that proved prophetic:
"Demon Alcohol is one of the most brutal and cruel. I see it. It has already taken possession of your body and will to kill him. "
leave it on the street in front of "Gunner's Hall."
The next day I learned that the man's name was Edgar Allan Poe died in hospital in a delirious state four days after terrible evening.
The "Demon Alcohol" I was held for all the years to follow and has slowly and cruelly weakened my mind and my body. May God have mercy on my soul for having contributed to the death of one of the greatest writers of our century.
Historical note: On October 3, 1849 Poe was found delirious on the streets of Baltimore, "in great difficulty, e. .. in need of immediate assistance", according to the man who found him, Joseph W. Walker. He was taken to Washington College Hospital where he died Sunday, October 7, 1849, five in the morning. Many hypotext were made on his death, but the actual cause remains a mystery today.
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