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Medo do Escuro

O menino entrou no quarto. Deitou-se. Que monstros haveria debaixo da cama? Melhor nem espreitar. Apagaram a luz. O medo aumentou. Agora os monstros podiam sair, andar livres por todo o quarto. Como seriam esses monstros? Fechou os olhos. Ouviu o som de um interruptor. Será que acenderam a luz? Só havia uma maneira de descobrir. Mas agora os monstros estavam tão vivos na cabeça do menino que ele temeu abrir os olhos. Ouviu de novo o som do interruptor. Ganhou coragem para abrir os olhos. A mesma escuridão onde os monstros dançavam. Se calhar apagaram a luz outra vez. Será que foram os monstros? O medo cresceu. Gemeu. Pensou levantar-se e acender ele a luz. Mas uma voz parou-o, “Está tudo bem,” ouviu-se do outro lado da porta, “eu estou aqui.” O menino escondeu-se debaixo do cobertor sem entender porque é que gostava de ouvir aquela voz apesar de ela fazer os bichos crescerem e ficarem mais assustadores. “E não acendas a luz senão eles acordam e ficam muito zangados”.
Na manhã seguinte, com os olhos em papas, o menino aproximou-se da mesa e estendeu o cartão de eleitor. Recebeu o boletim, entrou na cabine deixando a cortina semiaberta para se sentir mais seguro. A fotografia do seu protector destacava-se entre as caras dos monstros com quem tinha dormido. Não demorou mais do que 2 segundos a marcar a cruz.

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