Ice

Today, as every morning, you ask me the same question: who are you? Who am I? I would like to laugh in your face: with that gaunt face, lazy eyes and crooked lips. You, with your dirty clothes of the last night, shuffling and blurred vision, you ask me who I am. I should be the one who asks. What would you answer me? Would you recognize yourself? I know that sometimes you even do not remember your name.

But you do not know who I am, you are not interested in remembering me. You are not interested in looking back, in reliving failed dreams, the shed tears, the heartbreaking shouts, and the forgotten loneliness. You prefer to drown yourself in a clinking glass with tow ices, to pretend that you have fun with boisterous laughs and to sleep soundly in the nights, on the floor or in the bed, in a house that it is not your home. Because you have lost everything. You have lost me.

Don’t you care? No, you do not care because you do not know me. You do not know that I am able to tie a rope around your neck or to aim the gun to your head. I have the courage that you do not. For that reason, you have forgotten me.

I, with the well-dressed tie, with the perfect shirt, with a sincere smile, I look at you every morning and reproach you what you have become. Because in some place under your skin, I am still important to you. After all the wasted nights, the clarity comes, the oasis in the desert, the chair in which you rest your feet in order to not drown yourself, the deflected bullet that does not reach its destination. And there, there we are, facing each other, trying to recognize us, wondering in what we have become.

Because you always wanted to be me and I never bore to be you. For this reason, you have forgotten me; for this reason, I never give up.

Who are you?, you will wonder every day facing the mirror. And you will never find the answer. Because both, you and I, are lost in the time. Just look at yourself, look at me. Who is who? Look at us: we are pathetic.

It does not matter the answers. You will remember me just an instance every morning. Then, when the night comes back, I will be just a drop more in your melted ices.

Inspired in the poem Contra Jaime Gil de Biedma, by Jaime Gil de Biedma.

The beginning of the end

He heard the voices from the members of his family, begging for his fight, begging that he had to resist a little more, but he felt tired in order to prolong that flame in his deep inside that kept him alive. The last thing that he knew before falling into the death’s arms was that his mother took his hands, leaving something there.

He opened his eyes, discovering a sky full of dark clouds, without stars, without moon; he felt that his lungs burned, like if he had not been able to have oxygen for a long time. He breathed with clenched fists, noticing that something was being thrust into his skin. He opened his hands and watched that golden coin that his mother gave him.

He sat up, realizing that he was not alone. There were more people sat in the sand, close to the shore of what it looked like a lake. What happened? He knew that he was dead. He knew it. So, what was that place?

«He’s coming».

People started to gather on the shore. He tried to stare beyond people, realizing the presence of a small boat in which rose above an old man. People cried for his return, they pushed between them in order to reach that boat. He did not understand that behavior. He did not understand why that old man looked at them, scrutinizing for those who were suitable for the next voyage. He averted his gaze when he listened to the screams of a man who was being hit by that old man.

«You, the boy who is over there».

Suddenly, he felt that hundreds of eyes were looking at him. Little by little, he looked at people again, understanding that he was the target of all that looks full of mistrust, hatred. He looked at that man that made a hand gesture, indicating him to get closer. His mind shouted him that he did not accomplish the order, but his body started to move without its own volition, obeying the imposed order.

He felt the cold water when he entered into the lake. He felt shivers in all his body just by finding himself looking at that man, in a short distance. He could see each bone of his skeleton that his broken clothes showed. He could see his white hair caused by aging, the wrinkles in his gaunt face that looked like a skull. His entire body trembled because of fear.

«Do you have the money for your travel to the Underworld?»

Something started to burn in his hand. He opened it, watching the coin that his mother had given him. He heard a laugh that made him to shrink. He closed his eyes, maybe waiting for some kind of blow. However, nothing happened. He opened his eyes, finding the bony hand of that human being.

«We expect a long journey».

The next thing that he knew was that he was travelling with Caronte, that was how he called himself, rowing in that boat on the Styx lake to arrive to the Underworld. Then, what could it happen to him?

They loved each other, know it.

He already knew it.

He knew that life was not a bed of roses. There was no light without darkness. Nor day without night. He knew that life had any colour. There was no white without black. It did not exist the good or the evil. He knew that nothing lasted forever. There was no life without death. Nor perfect solutions. He knew that there were no smiles without tears. Nor happiness without suffering. Nor freedom without sacrifice.

Yes, he knew it. He learned it in people’s reproachful gazes. In his loved ones’ rejections. In the surrounding loneliness. He learned it in the questions without no answers. In the lonely rooms. In the devastated bed. He learned it in the blood. In the deserted streets. In the latent fear. He learned it in the immensity. In the nothingness. In the emptiness.

But he also knew another thing.

He knew that there was no word out of tone without any faltering whisper. There was no scar painted on his body without a delicate kiss that erased it. None storm that lasted forever. He knew that there was no shed blood without caress that gathered it. There was no hurtful shouts without comforting silence. Nor darkness so dense that hid the sparkle of his eyes. He knew that there was no teared skin without a protective hug. There was no place where to fall without a hand to hold him. Nor fear without something to lose.

He knew it. He learnt it in the giggles. In his body’s trembling. In the look’s warmth. He learnt it in the blunder of the first time. In the acknowledgement of the tenth. In the contained breaths. He learnt it in the shadows. In the more remote secret places. In the unknown future. He learnt it in the whispers in his ear. In the tangled sheets around their bodies. In the infinite nights. He learnt it in broad daylight. In the indifference. In a new world in his arms. He learnt it in the kisses that stopped the time. In the colours of the air. In the lip of someone else between his teeth.

He learnt that the world is not understanding. Life is not fair. However, he learnt to live by his side. He learnt to say I love you without thinking about what they will say. He had not to face anybody. He just had to love him.

Never More

The sky was dark grey. From time to time, some deafening noises could be heard, followed by a sudden blinding light provoked by the lightnings. Heavy rain battered against his body, so his clothes weighted more, making his purpose of fleeing more difficult. The path was bordered by trees, whose branches were naked, whose roots came from the floor and invaded it. His heartbeats echoed in his ears. He could even feel his pulse.

«You promised».

His feet were numb and he fell on the floor. A moan let out his lips. He could not help starting to cry, mixing his tears with the rain. He could feel how the rain soaked his clothes, how mud stuck to his body, how the wet soil penetrated into his nostrils. He felt his throat burning due to the lack of air. He put his hand on his chest, feeling the pounding of his heart out of control due to hear that voice again. He wanted to get up while he looked around, trying to focus beyond the rain, trying to look for the person who had talked.

The sound of something metallic being dragged on the ground sending shivers down his spine. He felt cold. And he knew that it was not because of the rain. Little by little, he turned back. At the beginning, he did not see anything until, after a lightning, he could distinguish a figure in the distance that was dressed with a black tunic and his face was hidden.

It was in that moment when he heard a caw. He looked ahead again, looking that raven that was just in front of him, looking at him with its black eyes. He was paralyzed and his throat was dry. For some moments, he felt like if those black eyes had hypnotized him, until the sound of that metal being dragged could be heard closer. The raven cawed again and then, flew, leaving him all alone while the sound of death could be heard over the sound of the rain.

«Why do you flee?»

The fear invaded his soul, so he stood up and started to run. He did not want to look back, he did not want to see what that thing, that followed him, was. He ran looking ahead, realizing that a fine mist started to appear, obscuring the horizon. He stopped and put his hands over his head, falling on the floor again, in front of the lake’s edge that put an end to the path. He could see how the water was dark grey.

For a moment, he retained his breathing, waiting to hear that sound, waiting to feel the same cold freezing his body. However, he just listened to the sound of the rain. He closed his eyes, crying in silence. What happened? What did that monster mean?

He opened his eyes, being aware of his own reflection in the lake. He moved closer, seeing his dry hair that was on his forehead, his gaunt face, the blood’s trail on his cheek, more blood in his mouth… Blood? He opened his eyes, his body started to tremble. He put his trembling fingers in the surface of water, to the exact point where his face was and, he realized that his hands were stained with blood. He gasped when he saw both hands stained of the scarlet liquid. His eyes looked around, looking for an answer, but he only saw darkness in that stormy day.

«Remember».

His entire body trembled. The tears fell from his cheeks while his heart beat faster. He tried to shout, but no sound left his mouth. He tried to run, but his legs did not respond. A lightning lighted up the place and, some images about a lifeless body, stained of blood, came to his mind. He saw something metallic stuck in that body, he could even smell the blood and the stench of death.

No!

He started to feel short of breath when he looked at the lake again, while his eyes focused on his reflection. A reflection that gave an image that he did not know: since when had he had those marks that looked like scratches under his eyes? Since when were his eyes so dark that looked like black? Since when did he smile, licking his lips for savouring the blood?

He shouted. He let that the heartbreaking pain that he felt deep inside escaped through his throat. He let that the pain and the confusion took the control over him. He did not understand. Was it real? He listened to the raven’s caw again. He could see in the reflection how there was a cycle of ravens flying over his head. Then, he knew it. He knew that the only monster was him.

«Finally you realised».

He turned back, watching the figure with the black hood just in front of him. He could not see the face, but he could see indeed that his hands were pale and that, in one of his hands, took a rusted axe. As he could, he stepped back, trying to escape from that laugh so familiar, getting into the lake.

«You cannot run away from me».

And, that was the moment when something grabbed him, he slipped on his back in the lake and he was dragged inside the lake. He tried to escape, but he couldn’t. He could only see how the surface of the water was farer, how darkness devoured him deep inside and his lungs burned due to oxygen deficiency. He felt arms around him and, the last thing that he saw was that black hood, which mixed itself to the darkness that surrounded him.

«Remember that you said that we’ll always be together».

And he remembered. He remembered being cuddled by those same arms many times. He remembered happiness and laughs. He remembered his broken heart as well. He remembered an axe. He remembered seeing the body of the only person that he loved lying on the floor.

«I’ve come to take you with me».

He felt that his conscious abandoned him while the air escaped from his lungs turning into bubbles. Would he be able to be free from the torment that he felt deep inside when death used its scythe?

«Never more».

 

«Merodeadoras noctámbulas»: only Luis García Montero’s quote is saved

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