"MARBELLA" by Erin Horgan
©2003 by Erin Horgan email@example.com
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Written in Australia. I welcome all comments. Post a review and/or e-mail me at firstname.lastname@example.org. This Prologue gives a hint of what will happen later in the story.
It is with great unhappiness that I admit to myself that I can never go to Italy. In my childhood, it had never been quite number one on my list of countries to visit, but still it saddens me that I cannot ever go that romantic land.
However, it was only recently when I found out that Italy could never be mine. I was reading a novel, partially set in Italy, but one word immediately had me throwing the library book across the room, where the pages crumpled as they hit the wall and ricocheted onto the carpet. I ran, then, from my own little hobby room, ran out of the house and collapsed at a tree. I trembled like an earthquake, and I certainly felt the shocks strike every nerve in my body, jolting me like lightning bolts, electrocuting my mind, my heart and my soul.
Marble. I hate to write this word, for marble was the very essence of my fear. I used to think it was a thing of beauty. Marble was a rose - beautiful, achingly so, but it could hurt you terribly, more than you could ever imagine it could.
I never ended up picking up the thrown-aside novel again. Adriana Trigiani's Big Cherry Holler will never be complete in my world. The mention of the word "marble" in it has now prevented me from ever going to Italy.
But while I will never complete reading that story, I will, however, do my best to complete my story. I know what the public is like, for my mother has told me. The public adore reading about other people's hardships and pain. The Germans said it best when they labelled the term with Schadenfreude - taking pleasure from other people's pain.
I considered titling this account Schadenfreude, but I knew I couldn't. The English-speaking world has been tainted with a reluctance to touch foreign languages, German in particular. So I thought long and hard, before finally deciding on something simplistic to title my tale - Marbella.
Don't be confused, though. This particular Marbella was not a place in Spain that the Irish tourists loved. This Marbella was a true house of horrors to my fragile sanity.