Alessandro La Martina
Bio
Passionate about books and numbers, I write stories and code, constantly in search of a bridge between these two worlds.
I love fantasy and science fiction just as much as classics. I love stories, and I love telling them.
Stories (8)
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Fallen Tree
The bookstore had appeared more spacious for the first fifteen minutes. Jasper was busy trying to unlock the door and began to feel frustrated by the lack of help from his companion. But frustration wasn't in his nature, he muttered. It was one of Them, not well-received in his mind. It was this that made him sound calm when he turned to the old man.
By Alessandro La Martina2 years ago in Chapters
When I Decided to Become a Writer
At times, I envision the short life of the writer who inhabits my mind as that of a superhero, a fool in tights chasing a dream. And, like any self-respecting masked buffoon, he also has a captivating origin story. I have often found myself recounting it because I believe it explains how words began to matter in my life.
By Alessandro La Martina2 years ago in Writers
Fantasy Metal
Silence. The only thing I could hear was a dull, muffled background noise. Maybe they were voices, shouts, cries, tears. It didn't matter. It simply didn't matter. I couldn't distinguish anything else except the silence. I'm not an idiot, mind you. I knew it wasn't possible to find it in the place I was in. Yet, there it was, that silence that muffled everything. It took importance away from everything except what was in front of me. That small image I had at my feet, that scene that captured every part of my being, like a black hole that kidnapped emotions, sensations, and swallowed them. What I had in front of me was the reason I was there, the reason why all the people around me were there. Maybe that's what made it so unnatural. Another thing in my life that could never have happened in my mind, one of those things that my brain, even though it processed all the possibilities every time, hadn't even noticed.
By Alessandro La Martina2 years ago in Fiction
A Prologue
He entered the pub and found what he was looking for. Noise, the clamor of dozens of drunken people trying to forget their bad day at work or their argument with their spouse. Some guys were at the bar, chests puffed out and backs straight, hoping to order a good cider. They were already anticipating the morning after, when they would boast about it to their friends. A quiet music played from one corner of the pub, its volume excessively high to drown out everything else. There was no place more chaotic in the entire universe. Perfect.
By Alessandro La Martina2 years ago in Fiction
Symphony
He waited for almost an hour, sitting on the large steps outside the theater before the girl joined him. The violin was now hidden in a case of a soft shade of purple, which she clutched protectively between her arms as she moved hesitantly, one uncertain step at a time. Clearly, the long dress she wore, also purple, was making it difficult for her, and the high heels didn't help either. It took her quite some time to reach him even after she had noticed him.
By Alessandro La Martina2 years ago in Fiction
'long long long' is too long
The silence was one of the things Benjamin cherished most about his village. In most other inhabited places, people contributed to creating a deafening and cacophonous atmosphere, undoubtedly useful for raising spirits or slipping unnoticed through market stalls but not for appreciating those little sounds that Benjamin loved more than anything else. If you had come across a phrase like, "Antiquarian Benjamin Hayes finds the strength to wake up in the morning only because he knows he can enjoy some small noises," back then, it might have been almost entirely true, if not entirely false.
By Alessandro La Martina2 years ago in Fiction
