Zombi Ferox - A sick italian tale of living dead among dying women
By Piero Galli
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Zombi Ferox - A sick italian tale of living dead among dying women - Piero Galli
Piero Galli
Zombi Ferox
A sick italian tale of living dead among dying women
Originally published as
ZOMBI FEROX
Translated from the Italian by
Claudia Foletti
English Edition
Sara Dalena, Simone Agnetti
First English E-book Edition Italy, march 2020
Print English Edition Italy, march 2020
Centro Culturale 999
www.serviziculturali.it
UUID: 25f19e36-080a-4352-aaef-aee9868adb75
This ebook was created with StreetLib Write
http://write.streetlib.com
Table of contents
INTRODUCTION
AN ITALIAN SONG
NIGHT AT THE ALLIGATOR CLUB
EROS AND THANATOS
LIVING DEAD
DOOR-TO-DOOR VIOLENCE
ZOMBI FEROX: TWO MORE EXAMPLES
SOIL SPECIMENS
HUMAN ZOMBIEFICATION PROCESS
UNTHINKABLE CONSEQUENCES
To you
INTRODUCTION
I started writing this first (and perhaps last) novel
of mine in order not to confine in my unreliable memory the plot for a film that had been crossing my mind for some time.
Many people and many occurrences have since influenced my very first idea (perhaps first thought in 2001), changing, even drastically, the whole story. Several practical problems, especially related to technology, caused me to give up, at least temporarily, on the realisation of my amateur film (the trailer of which, by Michele Tinti, who's also to be credited for the title, won the 2001 edition of the Festival Intercomunale Cinema Amatoriale, Brescia, Italy) and to move everything on paper, or better, on a PC monitor. Between these lines a lot of my cinematic production can be seen, also a lot of my passion for cinematic productions and, of course, a lot of me. I tried writing with spontaneity and levity everything the inspiration of the moment brought me. I worked in the same way I shoot my amateur films, focusing on the content rather than on the form. I sincerely hope I achieved something acceptable for everybody and, above all, something entertaining. I wish for my reader not to get bored, not to waste their time and to enjoy this book as it is, without too many expectations.
Piero Galli
AN ITALIAN SONG
Her thin T-shirt
so tight, to the point that I was imagining everything
and her childlike vibe,
I never told her it drove me crazy.
And clear summer nights, the sea, the games, the fairies
and the fear and desire to be naked,
a kiss on salty lips, a bonfire, a few chuckles
and making love down by the lighthouse.
I really love you, I swear I love you, I love you, I love you truly...
And she
she looked at me with suspicion,
then she smiled and held onto me so tightly.
And I
I never understood anything
but I see now and I can’t get it out of my mind
that she was...
A little big love
just a little big love
nothing more than this, nothing more
I miss her to death
I miss her little big love
now that I know what to say
now that I know what to do
now that I want a little big love.
That strange walk of hers
that I’d have recognized anywhere.
She used to tell me you're a hopeless case
but I never believed it.
And long breathless races towards fallen stars
and hands ever more eager for forbidden things
and the songs we shouted off-key to the sky up there.
Whoever reaches that wall first
I'm not sure if I really love you,
I’m not, I'm not sure...
And she
stopped talking all of a sudden
but I could clearly see the pain on her face.
And I
I don’t know for how long she cried
And only now am I realizing
that she, she was...
a little big love
just a little big love
nothing more than this, nothing more
I miss her to death
I miss her little big love
now that I know what to say
now that I know what to do
now that I want a little big love.
[1] This little big love, famous Italian melodic song by Claudio Baglioni, 1972.
NIGHT AT THE ALLIGATOR CLUB
I will be the one to tell you this story, for in my life I have conducted thousands of lab exams without ever being shocked by finding the most monstrous viruses in the most unbelievable places. And yet, in this case, I was shocked indeed, in the silence of my night shift, inside the walls of the laboratory, bent over a weird soil specimen. Well, I should probably begin telling you how everything unfolded.
Antonio Grigi, Tony for his friends, was getting ready for his usual night out, usual for a small-town guy of his age, lacking energy to invest, ideas to put into practice and money to waste in clever activities. He planned on taking his father’s car, which was much more spacious than his, so to pick up a willing girl in his favourite cheap disco club and, with her consent, drive her to a suitably secluded place, somewhere to hook up unbothered and protected
, perfectly safe from any risk of getting any illness. For this very reason, in the afternoon he had driven for twenty kilometres just to buy a condom box from a loyal friend of his, who in turn had gotten it from a cousin, in a supermarket in the nearby town. What can I say? Tony was