Welcome! 
Here finally arrived in our blog!
As you've probably already read the description, this blog is dedicated to a group of students within an innovative and unique school project. We are three guys from Vicenza and attended all the high school and three GB Quadri. We anticipate that even if we know this project will fail, but we are sure will be fun, challenging and different from the usual boring and Italian lessons. We do not promise to reach levels comparable to remotely famous writers but will be curious to see what comes out! You
you are free to comment on the products of our imagination with your opinions, whether positive or negative as long as they are constructive and motivated. Here you can read our or our processed, divided into various "chapters" (post) to be published on a weekly basis (in principle). We have set ourselves the goal to get to write more than "novels" (there will be little as long as those to which you are accustomed to reading), which may belong to different literary styles (novels of adventure, mystery, thriller, fantasy and so on. ..). Alternatively we can follow a single strand business development, a unique story, read from several points of view. This will be completed by the end of May and published along with the novels of our classmates. You are perfectly free
to expose your advice.
Good reading to you all "web surfers"! .............................................. .................................................. .......
Rebel
"... I could see from the center of Monte Berico Vicenza ..." _Panorama From Monte Berico_
It was a cool evening in May, I was lying on soft grass of the courtyard of the house. I could see from the top of Mount Berico Vicenza center all lit up, what a show! You could clearly distinguish Piazza Castello, the Corso Palladio usually crowded with young people who go out with friends and friends to have fun. It also differed in the distance some village nearby.
She was already the smell of summer approaching, my thoughts took me to the pool to cackle and laugh with friends. But the thing I was pounding her. Her honey-colored wavy hair, his green eyes, deep and intense, her slender body and marble. A sweet and affectionate smile, every laugh that showed his nice dimples, to say nothing of her olive complexion. So a girl does not like the dozens every day made me constantly the court, she was different. It was not nagging and chicken, if not pulled and attracted my attention for a fleeting glance. The point was that she liked him for was, not for how I looked. She was simple, spontaneous, always smiling, he lived his life without taking into account the opinion of others and appreciating people for what they are and not how they want to appear. An yes, I mentioned that there was called Camilla, and was in my class, 2AST, technical course, the painting, high school in those two years I had done damage.
Immersed as I was in my thoughts, I noticed that the phone had vibrated a few times to signal the arrival of a message. I looked idly hoping the screen does not was the usual hen punctually at nine in the evening I wrote those hateful "Hello, cm va" or "Hello, is cm? Ke ECR I? ". Fortunately I was wrong. It was not the usual one, that time the number did not seem to be saved in the phonebook. Slowly, almost in tune with my opposition to read the sms, the words appeared clear and delineated:
"Riky Hello, I must ask you tomorrow ... x bother you? ".
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question of apnea 
It was a cold December day, namely Saturday, December 20, the last day before the holidays, so much coveted. Now I was in high school boards in the first four months and I got used to the Friday of studying these damn notes of strategic geography. We had the meanest teacher, and especially bastard asshole of the school. Pasquale Trogu. But the Friday before was different. Trogu follows a very specific queries a day, one day said, one day questions, said one day, and so was all the time. The previous lesson he asked, so it was assumed that the votes were to say today to the questions and went on to explain, especially before the holidays, so as to give us homework. Fattostà that I had not opened the book and so I was not totally prepared.
Carolina argued heatedly with Laura, my neighbor's desk during the busy time change. There were those who nervously studying, in my view unnecessarily, the notes of the professor, who was laughing, joking, there were those who, like Kristian, shouting the worst things. 'Leo, trust me! What today is the shit and wonders, trust me! It does not have the brain of a normal person, is a student killing machine! Enjoys the frightened faces of the respondents! ' I said, even screamed as the casino, sure to be in reason.
'But it is impossible Kri! It would be pointless. Today, if questioned, would leave us with nothing to do during the holidays, and it is inconceivable for a sadist like him! Believe me. And then might ask, do not interrogate MUST! I do not know what it's talking! Yesterday I went out and figured if I start to study after a query '.
'If I were you, go over, so as not to take 3'. In fact, he was right, better at least know what you speak.
'Um, you're right actually. OK, throw me your notes, please? '. He pulled out his notes from the folder and then move. As I read to reluctantly unnecessary details unknown populations of the Arabian desert region, I heard the uproar that raged in the classroom and tried not to notice. The bell was rung about five minutes now and everything starts to sit, order desks in pairs, in rows aligned with the tile floor, put on the bench atlas block to the clipboard, pen, black and red. Just wanted Trogu, and each time, with great reluctance on the part of the class, it was so. When everything was in place was silent tomb.
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Never trust the church house
CHAPTER 1
was the year 1994, the year in which the priests drank again, and old amavan gossiping. The phone was still not at hand at all, but to compensate for that lack, to date irreplaceable, there was a team of old ladies that worked the best relays pre-war as "the Godfather of the country." All this only Langoria in Riviera Berica because few feet away, camps and campers, a few meters here, the 'urban cluster "that for some bureaucratic loophole was also a city, già siamo a Vicenza. Per chi non del posto è, può anche comodamente farsi un’idea del paesello immaginandosi una strada lunga, case intorno, la ciclabile e la chiesa, che non è UNA chiesa ma è LA chiesa. Da far contorno al paesello una media di 101 vecchi su 100 abitanti, insomma, si poteva sentire odor di vecchio ancora alla rotonda della tangenziale.
Detto ciò è facile immaginare la monotonia di tal posto. Prendiamo un Vecchio a caso, alle 7 sette si va a prendere il pane, sempre il solito filone, torna a casa, colazione, partita a briscola al bar della chiesa, accompagnato da una o due ombrette e qualche divina imprecazione. Torna a casa, discute con la moglie, a mezzogiorno in punto, e guai che sia late lunch. After lunch, nap, for when the children become grandparents, "casino", and then indulges in the afternoon, we bike or walk the hills, with good and bad weather. Here, re-read. Have you re-read? Well, now focused on the whole and consider that at least fifty Vecchiotti and grandmothers in his career, is mocked in this monotony. Weekly events are the market on Thursday, Sunday mass and the film club on Monday evening, because the dinner, after 7 o'clock not to be done.
It was a wet and cold Sunday in November, leaden day classic, bare trees and a weak chirping here and there, maybe the lure of a little lost. All country was crammed into the church, one of the few places where you could stand without a coat. The development continued without any major hitches, but still had not arrived at the time, mostly at the Last Supper. Yeah, you should know that this moment was always the most eagerly awaited on Sunday. No, not for religious reasons, but because the spectacle of a tipsy priest is a must. Be assured, dear readers, and readers who Don Lino, aka Don Perignon, had a nice habit for wine. So, every Sunday, never missed an opportunity to fill the cup and then drain well in a gulp. Given that Sunday was on an empty stomach and a cup, is not un'ombretta! But this is another
history. Now this was a normal, down to Langoria. The fact that shocked the quiet and monotony of the country was really unusual and unique, as well as blasphemous.
was just a fall Sunday in the church and all are waiting to be over and then take refuge at home. As you can imagine all, apart from the gossip that they had to say about the priest, were very sleepy and inattentive to what was happening inside the church. All but the old Hector, who before the death of his poor wife, God rest his soul, had become more observant of the good Don Perignon. The development had taken place smoothly, with some indecision on what to say due to the mouth of the mixed Don a thirst for a bit 'too strong. After the final rite el'offertorio all went whispering to each other of bad weather, part of the "de ciacole" to be made at the bar and so on. The usual speeches short. The priest, as always, stopped outside the church to chat with one or another of the latest news, waiting for everyone to come out. Finally came out everyone, including Hector, who was always the last and if they could enter our Father and changing everything else. Perugino, the seminarians of the parish was lighting a candle, as usual on Sunday. Strangely, the basket with the cheapest of the church was on the altar. Perignon that was in the opposite end of the church saw it immediately.
"Sa el ghe FAO trash? A Voria understanding won him who the hell puts the gà! dime but you, those guys will be my way of doing things el ah! Pfff, saints, dasime pasiensa the space within that statute, "
" What's beyond the trash? I want to know who the hell has supported over there! But tell you, these people will mica way of doing things ah! Pfff, saints, grant me the patience I break everything else! ".
