Sometimes I am asked: Where do I get the ideas for my writing?
I draw inspiration from everyday ideas, books, films, podcasts, and dreams. I will tell you about one, as an example.
I dreamed of a beach; the port bordered it. My husband and I were strolling along it when suddenly we saw weaponry being unloaded from a launch and carried to a van. Then… they noticed our presence, and we had to jump into the water. We swam to the shore, managed to touch solid ground, and in that instant, we began to run, soaked and screaming at the top of our lungs:
”— POLICE! POLICE!”
Everyone heard us, yet they were civilians; they paid us no heed whatsoever. I repeated incessantly to Sergio:
”— Run as if your life depends on it.”
To which he replied:
”— It does depend on it.”
He took my hand to help me run; the difference in our physical aptitudes was notable. For although I had good training from the gym, yoga, and running on asphalt, he is a mountain runner; therefore, his speed, reflexes, and skill are incomparable to mine. We entered a bridge similar to the one in the Harry Potter films—carved white wood with a vaulted roof, the sides closed but with windows decorated with elegant filigree from another era.
A man in a Municipal Guard uniform, circa the 1950s, with a baton in hand, turned to say to us: ”— Do you need help?”
”— I appreciate it, but you are not the police.”
”— Rest assured, young lady, that I am very important for safeguarding the traffic!”
I continued running; it felt as if my lungs were going to burst out of my mouth, and as I did, my husband pulled me along. We reached the end of the bridge, saw a pipe on a facade, and decided to climb up it. There was an open window through which we could enter an apartment. There was a little blonde girl of six, drawing with crayons on a blank sheet—a beautiful, childish drawing.
”— Where is your mother? We need to make a phone call.”
”— My mother isn’t here, but I know where she keeps a gun.”
I couldn’t hide my astonishment; my eyes went wide as saucers. I looked at my husband and said:
”— We must hide that gun; she could get hurt.”
We took it and did so, but outside the home. Before leaving, I approached to give that little one a kiss on the forehead, closing the door behind me.
The door opened onto a landing, where light entered through a hallway window on the left—the glass was translucent but not transparent.
Opposite was another door of thick wood with a carved porthole viewer—the kind where, if they look from inside, you know perfectly well you are being watched. On either side, beautiful green pothos fell from the pots flanking the entrance. The door opened; for an instant, we felt a ray of hope, which lasted very little. An elderly woman with white hair and pale skin emerged, dressed entirely in black, her hands in lace gloves, holding a missal and a rosary, her face partially covered by a small black lace veil. She didn’t bother to look at us in the least, busying herself with locking the door with a key that hung from a Saint Christopher keychain.
”— Madam, open up, please! We are being chased; we need to call the police.”
”— I am late for Mass, and God does not wait,” she said in an airy tone.
With rage, I responded: ”— Pray to God and keep the hammer plying!”
We ran downstairs; the steps were made of wrought iron with wooden handrails. We managed to get out of that building at last, yet they were still chasing us, hot on our heels. No doorway was open until, unexpectedly, we came across an open room on the ground floor of a building and entered, shouting once again…
”— Police! Police!”
To our surprise, the entire room was filled with police officers; it was an award ceremony. We told them what had happened. Among all those people, there was a face that seemed familiar to me; he remained distant, watching.
Then I began to breathe heavily; I sat down to catch my breath.
”— I was so afraid; no one would help me. I wanted to stop them, and no one would protect me. They saw us and kept on walking, ignoring us!”
The Chief Commissioner placed his hand on my shoulder, looking me in the eyes as he said…
”— We are always here, even if you don’t see us. And of course, we also feel fear.”
He gave orders to several units to head toward the port, executing the search order.
The alarm clock rang to pull me out of that adventure. I smiled and thought…
”— From this, I shall create a story.”