Surfista Prateado - Parábola.
Stan Lee - Moebius - Que HQ sensacional.
A história conta quando o Galactus veio a terra com a intenção de devorar nosso planeta, porém de uma forma diferente; ele se declara um Deus, tornando a civilização seus adoradores, e com a idéia de façam o que quiserem pois é tudo na lei. Agora cabe ao aprisionado e solitário Surfista Prateado tentar salvar a terra do Devorador de Mundos, e também resgatar a humanidade da população.
A HQ tem um roteiro que eu achei fantástico, Stan Lee conseguiu colocar vários pontos nessa história, como contestamento religioso, fanatismo político, como a civilização se comportaria se realmente chegasse um falso Deus, e como falsos profetas se aproveitariam disso.
A arte de Moebius é espetacular, ele coloca os diálogos e os desenhos em sequência, em um quadro você vê um pedaço de rajada de poder e na sequência o restante do desenho com a visão de um personagem e a visão do outro personagem tudo se encaixando; e as cores ficaram excelentes e agradáveis, tudo muito bem colocado.
Os diálogos e todo o jeito filósofo e humano do surfista prateado tornam a reflexão dessa HQ sensacional.
#marvelcomics #stanlee #moebius #parabola #surfistaprateado #surfistaprateadoparábola #galactus #instahqs #comics #hq #leituras #equipesuperamigos #leiamaisquadrinhos #paninibooks #minhaestante #colecao #limeirahq #minhasleituras #minhashqs #hqs
Chrissy -Elle ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
All you heard before your life was enveloped in darkness was 2 simple words. The two words were spoken so loudly, so clear, but not quick enough for you to completely register them. You went to turn to the voice when something hard hit the back of your head, and everything came tumbling down. “WATCH OUT.”
You didn’t know how long you were out for. Voices echoed distantly in your mind. You could hear them, but you couldn’t necessarily understand it. The words were going in one ear and out the other, leaving you confused and froze. If felt like you needed to reach for the words, but your arms weren’t long enough. You needed to run towards the sound, when you couldn’t even stand. Your vision was darker than the soul of a thousand holes. You couldn’t see anything. You were trapped, mentally and physically. You were in a coma. A inescapable coma.
For days, Chris sat beside your bed. He held one of your permanently cold hands, rubbing his thumb gently over the knuckles. Your hands, legs; your limbs were stiffened by lack of movement, but were also flimsy and weak. You breathing was shallow, assisted by the tube that sat in your mouth and down your throat. If it wasn’t for the heart rate monitor beeping a slow but steady rhythm, anyone would have thought you were already dead.
Chris loved you. As much as he denied it for months on end, he loved you. He would attempt to spend every waking hour with you in one way or another, calling you if you don’t end up getting any visible contact with him. Chris was your ‘best friend’, there was no denying that. But what was held underneath the surface wasn’t ever explored. The sexual tension that would arrive when one was looking particularly well. The subtle touches in the group of friends. The constant need to be together. It was love.
A love now lost.
They didn’t know how long you were going to be in the coma for, they just knew to expect bad news. You were hit in the head extremely hard, making your brain swell and bleed to the point of slipping you into a coma. It was awful. •MORE IN COMMENTS•