Emigraine - Chapter One
Words and Photography by Michele Maria Serrapica
The not original origins of a romantic dreamer and how he naively planned his soul's premature passing
Phonzo's dream hasn't always been to become a scrivener.
Before joining the high schoolers, he thought his destiny would've been fulfilled in the evil science field as a mad inventor or a corpses doctor. Then, he went high enough to opt for an unclear and unstable career path which is freelance scribing. Path that he tried to make as foggy as it could go, avoiding it in the beginning while lying to himself about his true intentions. In fact, he studied How To Charm And Lie To People From A Stage for a year and Language And Stuff Related To Random Foreign Lands for an undefined number of Earth's orbits. He then decided it was about time to go back to the not-so-original plan.
He went from zero to part-time unpaid scribe in a matter of weeks, writing for two papers at the same time: a local weird gazette and a religious bulletin. He never saw coins of any currency queueing to fill his pockets, but he joined the Honourable Gild of News Scribes in the end. A good accomplishment for his social networks, but not enough for his supposedly creative hunger. News weren't exciting at all, he couldn't care less about delivering them. He had a lot going on in his head and he wanted to channel it through his writing, but even more through a very well pictured form of narration.
That's when he found and joined a high-priced training in the Fine Art of Scribing for the Big and Small Screen. He learned a lot, but not enough to find a profitable profession. Not that he truly looked for it anyway. Preventive complaints are an historical tradition from where he comes from.
His brain was giving him hard times because it was ready to take a new deranged decision. It was being pushed by many different reasons of course. Leaving his nest, leaving his hometown and leaving his motherland were strong enough on their own, however, moving to Londinium had its appeal and pros. The richest and most crowded settlement in the Ancient World, in which all of your dreams can come true, from runner to Hollywood director and stuff like that. Where you can be whatever you want to be and do whatever you want to do because there people know so much better, because Celts are wicked, mate! In there, he would have found more lessons to learn, more positions to occupy, more money to earn and, of course, a brand-new life framed in delicious freedom.
Although he was full of youth and hope, he believed he was cynical and sceptical enough, but, well, he was not. He had no clue about the far to be unveiled true face of the journey he was going to be committing to. He had no idea of the variety of flavours he would've smelt or the multitude of fragrances he would've eaten as well as the endless amount of working hours which would've shortened every day of his life. He did not know about the dirt and all the many different ways they, the Celts, have to hide it under the carpet. He trusted the wrong stereotypes, he read the wrong stories, he dreamt the wrong dreams. His Romantic soul lied to him about Londinium and he would've found it out way too late.
It was already after eight in the evening when he announced his not-so-original-but-actually-quite-foggy-and-dreamy plan.
