Ionut Irinel Andrei
Bio
We are machines made of flash and blood, interconnected by the wires of perception, designed by the gravity of time in order to believe in something we may never understand.
Stories (3/0)
Gioconda's voice
“Smile, Lisa… smile, my fragile creation”, Leonardo softly whispered to the painting, but Lisa doesn’t answer. Its eighteen years that Leonardo Da Vinci is trying to solve his enigma of which himself gave birth. Nobody doubts Leonardo’s genius, and yet nobody knows where he is, dead or gone. Some think that he is gone mad, some think that he fell in obsession with this last commission. Indeed, Leonardo is not only obsessed with this last paint, but absorbed like water in a sponge. He can hide from people around, he could escape in order to obtain peace of soul, and yet, he cannot escape from his mind, our prison. There is no night without the ancestral, obscure and darkness of his nightmares. Every nightmare is the same; he dreams the painting, his artwork, his Lisa, whispering to him its terrific poem:
By Ionut Irinel Andrei2 years ago in Horror
