Luigi of Venice

Is there anything Venice hasn’t seen? A fallen city that has seen it all. Its eyes are shrouded in eternal degradation, eyes of the city that cannot be closed. How much Venice would long not to see the vastness of corpses, like pale rose petals lining its canals. How much it would desire to close its eyes when another sinner sells herself at her mother’s urging. Venice lives in filth. This city has a tradition. The daughters of Venice sell themselves as casually as tomatoes are traded in the city markets of other corners of Italy. The sons of the damned city murder their brothers as callously as chickens are killed for soup elsewhere. Venice bears cursed children who follow in the footsteps of their ancestors. Girls walk the paths of mothers who traced their routes in the footsteps of grandmothers. Boys wear the shoes of fathers, inherited from their grandfathers. There is no redemption, no reflection, nor improvement. And much of the world, fearing the plague of sin, avoids Venice and shuns its inhabitants, who are treated like lepers, living in exile in other cities.

Venice is the daughter of the fall, begotten by the father devil. Each year it is flooded by the holy waters of the sea salt, swollen with God's wrath. But neither the corrosive water nor its strong blows expressed in waves can turn the sinful Venetians' gaze to the face of God.

Venice once saw a wicked mother who each year tossed into its depths an infant, crying and hungry, conceived in debauchery. Venice accepted this gift and cared for it as best as it could, taking the little baby to the bottom with the gentle lull of its waves. More than one Venetian infant died alone, carried by an underwater lullaby into eternal sleep.

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