A banality is her name
Not needed in this story
Or talking about the price of the necklace hanging by her neck
She lived in the upper flat
Too happy with her husband
The rings on their decrepit fingers marked three decades of marriage
The old Ben was a hard worker
Every day I felt his heavy shoes
In morning and in night with the coming and going to his job
She was haughty for her husband
She was able to talk for many hours
About the respect that her husband deserved
Surprisely one night I didn’t heard the heavy steps that I heard every day informing the docket that this man fulfilled
I only heard her cries, grievous cries sometimes, and in the absolute silence of the night I think I could feel her tears
Elapsed a few days
I felt his steps again
The smile on the pallid face of this woman showed her best
Those weeks were very rare
They had nocturnal talks
In whose this man invited her to a place never conceived
One night, I think
He managed to convince her
Because the talking ended with her assent
Then was forged a gloomy silence
Only disturbed by steps
The heavy shoes of the old Ben, but they soon ceased
Some mornings after that one
There was a group of people
Surrounding the bed of the marriage of the upper flat
I approached to the crowd
And disposed my ears to the news
The woman was found dead on her bedroom
Her body had some marks
Marks of a soft murder
But all the doors were closed from inside
They knew old Ben had dies
Around one month ago
After knowing it I always keep my mouth shut
I never told this story
Because my sanity is in the table
Some people see the true and false world like two different and separated things
But in the middle of the night
When I’m falling asleep
I still feeling the meet of the marriage on the upper flat.