ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
I was born in Casale Monferrato in province of Alessandria Italy on 03 July 1973 and had lived since 1997 in Mortara (province of Pavia). Since I was a child, I started to gain medals in school sport events and others in painting competitions in a higher education. In 1989 I had started to study Accountancy in the College San Carlo of Borgo San Martino where I discovered other two talents: being a football manager and a poet. As a football manager I helped my teams to win trophies in several football tournaments. I discovered also I could write poetry when I was studying French Symbolists, who gave me a first poetic structure. Afterwards my Italian writing evolved and began to have its own style. Since 1991 I had entered a lot of Italian poetry competitions where I had been recognised with trophies, medals and publications. In 1996 I had published my first collection of Italian poems with proverbs and literacy critics titled “Saranno state le onde del mare d’inverno” (Translation “It will be the waves of the sea in winter”) Edizioni Nuove Proposte U.A.O.C. in Naples. In 1997 I transferred for work in York where I began to write English poems. I attended several writers groups and my writing improved enormously. I entered English poetry competition in England, Switzerland, Italy, Australia and Germany and many poems had been published in Anthologies and magazines in these Countries and in Brazil too. In 2000 I started to write English short stories, which had been published in magazines. In the forthcoming future I am going to publish the following books: my second collection of Italian poetry and maxims with reviews with English translations, my first collection of English poems with reviews and my first collection of short stories. [November 2003]
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (4) Angel, A Collection Of Verse (Poetry) A collection of verse. Angel. I was in a internet cafe where we were reading poetry and there were candles everywhere that gave me a great inspiration to write this poem. This poem has been published... [131 words] Autunno, A Collection Of Verse (Poetry) Italian poetry with English translation: Luglio/July, July is the month of the author. It is very dear to Paolo Debernardi Autunno/Autumn, Autumn is a season where everything died Primavera/Spring, T... [924 words] Delta Centauri (Short Stories) The alien abduction of a man who will see life different from this experience. [1,593 words] The Waiting (Short Stories) The tragic love of a guy who is waiting for his lover but everything turned tragically. [704 words]
They Always Come Back Paolo Debernardi
"It was real", Maggie thundered in the silent kitchen.
Brian puzzled, "What do you mean?"
"I saw your dad one year ago", her voice shivered in harmony with her body.
"You know that it’s impossible!" Brian shouted.
"I know… I know very well. He died five years ago, but it was him." Maggie replied.
"Nonsense!" Brian exclaimed.
"He came to see me. His gesturing hands, smile, voice. I know it was your dad", Maggie replied.
"I miss him"; her voice broke as her tears fell, "…very much."
"I know mum. I’m sorry"; Brian apologised giving her a handkerchief.
"Don’t worry Brian. It’s not your fault. Maybe it’s better I tell you what happened." Maggie reassured him.
She was shivering more and more, but the more she spoke about it the more there was a sense of relief.
I was reading a book about ten o’clock when… somebody knocked on the door.
I thought, "Who could it be at this time?" I opened the door and the first thing I saw was a thick fog. It was very strange, a thick fog on a summer night. Then a figure appeared out of the fog.
It was an old man. I couldn’t describe him very well, because he had a hooded jacket. He was carrying an umbrella.
"Good evening, madam. I am sorry to disturb you. I am a friend of your husband", the stranger smiled.
"Good evening, Sir. Can I help you?" I replied.
"My name is Mr Peter Anderson. Your husband knew me very well. We worked together in the same company"; Peter spoke moving his hands.
"Very strange, my husband never spoke about you. He never kept any secrets from
me. Maybe he forgot to tell me about you", I replied.
I liked Peter, even though I had never met him before.
"Can I come in?" Peter asked.
"Yes, of course, come in" , I gestured.
"Thank you." We started to speak about my husband, the time of our happiness, you and the past.
I was very surprised at his interest in my husband and at his gesturing hands.
Despite the lights in the house I couldn’t see his face.
The clock struck midnight.
I couldn’t believe the time had gone by so quickly.
Peter apologised "I am sorry, but it’s too late. I have to go. It was a pleasure to meet you. Bye-bye"
"Thank you very much for coming. You remind me of all the best memories of my husband. Bye Peter", my voice was joyful.
I closed the door. His dry umbrella was near my door.
Quickly, I opened the door. "Sorry, Peter, you forgot your umbrella!" I shouted.
I was shocked. The fog had vanished and millions of stars were shining in the sky.
"Never mind, tomorrow I’ll phone the company and I’ll make an arrangement to give him back his umbrella", I thought.
Closing the door, I switched off the lights going to bed.
The following morning, I phoned the company.
I was shocked to find out that no Peter Anderson had ever worked over there and his umbrella had vanished like the fog the night before.
I started to believe it was he. It was my husband.
"You see Brian, it was your dad. They always come back, they always come back!"
These final words echoed in their minds and it seems they become stronger and stronger on foggy days whispering in the house: "They always come back, they always come back!"
READER'S REVIEWS (2) DISCLAIMER: STORYMANIA DOES NOT PROVIDE AND IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR REVIEWS. ALL REVIEWS ARE PROVIDED BY NON-ASSOCIATED VISITORS, REGARDLESS OF THE WAY THEY CALL THEMSELVES.
"I like your work, but it's a little awkward as in this lien: "Yes, of course, come in" , I gestured. Gesture implies hand movements, do you mean I said instead of I gestured? Gesture is kind of used in English to imply dramatic movements or simple ones. ButI like the idea. Good luck. " -- Shelley, Fullerton, Ca, USA.
"i have to say that this story of yours was written in very basic english. there was no depth in what you wrote, and the sentences you constructed were similar to that of children's books. Not that my opinion may count for something in your eyes, but i sincerely have to say that your plot was kinda boring and i dont know why, but your story title reminds me of a short story called "sometimes they come back" by stephen king." -- Rich, usa.
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