KICKNSCREAM

Plus le cour a ca

2008-10-13T19:04:00.000-07:00

seduced

2008-10-09T09:00:00.001-07:00

My hands still holding the hempen rope, my forehead dripping with sweat, my breathing going faster every time and my heart, what heart? The blood rushes to every corner of my body and I’m possessed.

I walk away, I walk in shame with guilt in my soul and bitterness on my lips. Forgiveness is all I long for. Forgive me father for I have sinned, I saw the beauty, the charm within the seven sisters who guide outcasts´ way and now, now I’m an
Outcast myself. Forgive me father for I have seen through the mist of the night a seductive silhouette and I have followed that voice that men often call revenge; I have seen the Vengeance Goddess, and fallen under her spell.

Yesterday I was…

2008-09-29T18:18:00.000-07:00

I was a child who longed to fly when he saw his kite dance up in the sky. I was as willful and lonely as the moon when it wanes. I was a butterfly that was chained to a thousand and one dreams of freedom. I spent my days and night trying to tame the wind, unsuccessful and naïve I broke down to tears.

I was flower whose destiny was but bitter, tired and withered I decided to go back to all that I didn’t miss but everyone said its my place. At home I was a star with no shine who lied in a sky of mediocrity, like that, with my soul all tied down I made mamma really proud.

And here I sit as I wait and dream, to go back some day, to go back and walk with my outcast dreams and burry the guilt in my backyard. To go back and reach for my broken wings and fly away to escape from this that claims to be my happiness.

The mermaid and the angel of the moon.

2008-09-23T16:06:00.001-07:00

Trapped in the ocean and still in love Amber swims to the surface, she’s already late so that trip seems eternal, the sun shines over the ocean and she can almost grab that liquid light that runs thru her fingers. Her hair tickles her back as she goes up, it is all so warm in the surface, she’s not used to it, but that doesn’t mean she dislikes it. Its like the warmth of her body, Qaphsielle’s body.

Qaphsielle, she must be there already, waiting for her. What if, what if she’s mad? Well, its not like Amber has ever been late… in fact she have waited for her several times. Oh well, its not like anyone is keeping a score. But I’d say about 6 times.

Amber rises from the water and takes a deep breath that tastes like salt and wind, she runs her finger through her hair because she has seen Qaphsielle’s hair is always so perfect, and she smells like Heaven, literally. One hour and a half later Amber gets a little impatient, not to mention a nice tan ´cause you know, she has been baking under the sun. She is so mad, not to mention itchy. She cant stand the heat another second and there’s nothing in there she can eat. She thinks it would have been a better idea to come along with the rest of the girls and tease some drunken sailors.

She sees something behind two clouds and wonders if it really it Qaphsielle or just another seagull, Qaphsielle waves and lands gracefully, kneels to kiss Amber hello, that kiss makes Amber forget about the heat, the long waiting, and all of the things that seemed to bother her no longer do so. Soon it gets colder, the sun hides but the moon doesn’t shine, because it’s Qaphsielle’s week off. They sleep in the shore, in a bed of sand and Amber wakes up alone, Qaphsielle has to leave early, the moon will soon be waxing crescent and it’s a long journey to get home.

mermaid and lover

2008-07-02T17:19:00.000-07:00

Anything but ordinary please

2008-06-26T15:18:00.001-07:00

All of us are average in at least ten ways from sunrise to sunset, but a lot of us have a hard time admitting it. We are dominated by the same impulses and victims of similar circumstances, so we are very, very much alike. However, it doesn’t matter how alike we come to be, each soul is a universe full of thoughts that are webbed to form unique fingerprint-like patterns. The thoughts are basically the same but the combination of thoughts each person chooses is, as I said, unique.

Ideas come and go and none of the is younger that the others, every existential doubt you’ve had has most certainly tortured at least ten thousand other souls and every doubt you’ve had about your religion, if you have one, has travelled through the mind of more that one man.

We are all hungry, thirsty, sleepy beings with all the ingredients to love, envy, desire, hate, dream, yearn, hurt, be indifferent; whatever seems like the better choice. We are all different and that is what makes us alike.

COOMING SOON

2008-04-01T19:47:00.000-07:00

DAILY EPIFANIE

by Serial 0530

whAt haPpEnd? caUSe gIrL, yOu Are dRivInG mE nUTs

2007-08-11T10:23:00.000-07:00

What happened with the bye bye notes?
What happened with the "I miss you so"?
What's the deal with the bunch of tears?
What's the deal with that kind of fear?

Girl, you are driving me nuts!
Girl, swear I miss you so
I ain't doing anything wrong
I haven't stop giving you love!
Tell me, have you stopped????

Words that hurt

2007-08-10T10:40:00.003-07:00

Being a third world country girl I see it every day; kids getting beat up for not doing their chores or just for talking back; and even if I cannot see it, I know that a great percentage of kids are being assaulted sexually every day in ther homes and schools and, dare i say, even churches. Kids have become defenseless targets of abuse because theyre not allowed to complain; and even when they are brave enough to speak up, adults refuse to believe them. Mothers refuse to think theyre husbands are doing something wrong; they either think theyre entitled to do that kind of abse (because children are jus something else you own like a piece of land or some cattle( or they blame it on the kid assuring that 3 year olds and 7 year olds can seduce a grown man. Therefore, they should bare with the guilt.

But physical and sexual damage are not as important as the psycological damage that is caused in almost every guatemalan infant; low self esteem and a lack of both information and safety are, in my oppinion, the main causes of the perpetuation of such behavior. Words lead to actions, the bruises may go, the STD you get from your rapist may be cured by a physician but the psycologycal damage remains, words stay with you always.

My half sister has an abusive mother, she hits her in every way you can imagine; nails, kicking her, the whole package and my sister says she has learned to deal with it; she goes numb and doesnt feel a thing but she remebers everything she says and that hurts even more that everything else she may do.

Just remeber; sticks and stones may break our bones, but words may break our hearts.

Another lonely night

2007-08-08T18:01:00.000-07:00

What 5 year old isn´t afraid of dark, but our Blly here must be amongst the few children who are truly entitled to fear the shades that haunt his somber room. He goes to bed alone like any new millenium kid; waits for mom and dad but they won´t be here tonight either. He offers the nanny every bribe he thinks of in order to stay in the living room or take his mickey mouse lamp with him to dreamland. Nanny Scott says no, like she always does, what would your parents think of me if I let you do that she says. Billy enters the room that is a playground during the day and a prison whilst the sunlight hides behind those big mountains and starts to shiver; nanny Scott leans over the door just to make sure he doesn´t sneak out again and she reads while she feels Billy´s small fists pounding on the door. Once he´s asleep I´ll tuck him in and everything will be just fine she thinks to herself.

Billy cries his soul out and not an ounce of mercy manages to escape that woman´s leaden heart. But Billy´s tears are followed by silence like any other night; like when a shipwrecked person grows tired of trying and sinks right after his hopes. The branch that knocks on his window becomes a hand, the teddy bear he´s hugging grows some awfully long nails and sharp fangs so he has to let go of his dear Broden. The Jack in the box jumps aout and screams things he wouldn´t dare to repeat at a dinner party and the toy soldiers march towards him as if they were about to do something wicked.

What 5 year old would stand such torture for over a year? He got tired of Dr. Schulman, his psychiatrist because he refused to believe in his stories, mom and dad were never around to comfort him and Nanny Scott was no relief either, she stole his clothes, his toys and threatened Billy all the time. Tomorrow morning Billy won´t wake up with misterious looking bruises or with scratches all over his wrists, because tomorrow morning Billy won´t wake up.

Let us fly

2007-08-01T16:51:00.000-07:00

I know, I know; you have always been told that we the young ones will come with all our might to save this hopeless world... some day. This have been said since a long time, and, nobody asks teenagers and children from a certain generation if they want to save the world or if theyre up to the callenge. So, once they realize they are clueless and aging they pass the torch to the next generation.

Youth is not the future of your nation, whatever your nation is. Youth is the present and you don´t le us be. You say we bring new ideas and new ways of solving problems you have caused but refuse to listen, you have been so busy trying to turn us into someone since we are little you don´t realize hat we already have an identity.

If you want us to save your world so badly, give us a chance to try new things, give us a good example. Don´t expect isolated events like a lecture about not using drugs, having sex, polluting, being violent could change a thing if we are surrounded by an environment designed by you that tells us to do all those things.

Don´t treat me like an invesment or an asset that needs to be constantly improved so you can brag about what a great job you did bringing me up, but like a person whose basic needs have to be met in order to concentrate in other things that will help me improve the way you want me too. Don´t tell me all I have to do is study as if I had no emoitions, no problems, no social needs, no thoughts, no opinions of my own. Don´t treat me as if my value as a person relies on my grades or the music I chose to listen or the way I decorate my body. Would you please, let me be.

wHaT If?

2007-06-28T11:49:00.000-07:00

I asked this girl to come over my place, and now that I'm looking at her I'm starting to think.....

what if?........... what if I had a knife?
what if I could......... stab her right into her heart?
what if I do?...... what if I do want her dead?

I don't Know I guess I'm just the guy of What if..........?

Ok now

2007-06-26T12:19:00.001-07:00

Im taking a break for a week or two, doesn´t mean I´m dead even though a lot of you wish... so I´ll leave ya´ll in the chubby hads of Winter´s Sunset for the moment! But hey enjoy what´s already here, go nuts!

nOw iT's yOur BloOd....FroM My StilL BeAtinG HeaRt

2007-06-25T22:13:00.000-07:00

LikE ThiSs Is hOw I FeEl NaKed.. witH A LittLe SomEthIng I WrOte When....

Guess you haven't realized that I'm Bleeding
for one great reason I guess I'm Bleeding
I'm bleeding till death so I can give you my heart
cause I've realized that you're dying with me
so for you I have ripped it out
so you can live your life with it
I'm going to die anyways, I guess I have realized
but like this... I guess I'm dying happier!

This is like, for real... no story this time! (feel so naked by the way) but just in case you were wondering, Where did ghost of her come from?

2007-06-25T08:16:00.000-07:00

January 28: The ghost that haunts my relationship

Have you ever felt like there was something weird going on and thought it was merely your imagination and your neurosis or paranoia or both of them making a conspiracy against your sanity and that area of your life affected by such thoughts. Well I felt like that when my boyfriend told me stuff, you know some random stuff like what If I died, would you still love me? or the fact that it took him so little time to ask me to be his girlfriend, it took him like a week in our relationship to say I love you and of course me being the queen of cold, affection haters I freaked out; I swear to god, sponge bob, pinoccio or whoever you dare to believe in that I literaly fell off my seat when I heard him say that. It’s a good thing we were on the phone.

Its also the sick way he misses me when I leave for over 4 days, he cries ´cause im not there (or at least he used to) and when I went away for Christmas he became frentical, he said he thought he was gonna lose me. Theres also the second kind of comments such as you look sexy in leather , you should try wearing combat boots and such, and last but not least the I love you more than anything in the world, you mean everything to me and how could we leave behind the I wanna spend the rest of my life with you and the constant marriage proposals… even though that was a little disturbing I came to think it was a lot sweet, up until that night when he talked to me about his first girlfriend, Nancy; other than me she is the only person to whom he has ever said I love you, she really ment a lot to him and I really respect that; but then it just got creepy.

He had always told me that he liked me since the moment he laid eyes on me; but that night he confessed why: I reminded him of Nancy; he kept on telling me to dress in such a way because that’s the way she used to dress; and about the timing and the haunting feeling that he will lose me is both because I remind him of her and because she died in an accident two years ago, he loved and lost her and that’s why he is with me, that’s why he is like that with me, or so I think.

And I feel like every time he says I love you hes talking to her memory, if not in a concious manner then in a more subconcious one; and every time we have sex I feel like hes thinking about her, bottom line I feel like every hug, every kiss, every sigh and every look is for her.

You wanna know what the worse part is, im already in love with him, and im not sure if what I think is real or just my imagination; if he really loves me the way he claims to do so or if he loves me for being me at all… If I confront him he´ll think I´ve gone nuts and he´ll think im crazy, if I confront him and im not right its very likely that my realationship will end. But if I don’t do anything about it and I am right, then time will only make things more and more painful. It all makes me hesitate, when he tells me things like I love it when you wear boy shorts, or when i do some kind of misdemeanor I cant help but wonder, does that remind him or her?

If there was something causing trouble in our relationship, I could tell him not to cheat on me, I could tell him not to mess with me; not to patronize me, not to be so controling, not to neglect me; because if you really love that other person you are willing to work on the things that get in the way to a healthy relationship; but how could I possibly tell him to stop looking for her in me, I don’t feel like I have the moral authority to ask him to let go of her memory, how could I possibly demand him to love me for who I am; if he loves me for all the wrong reasons…

No time

2007-06-24T09:47:00.000-07:00

I have been writing for two straight days, its 3 a.m. and I can’t really feel my fingers anymore; but I can hear the sound of my thoughts becoming words in my grandfather’s 1964 Smith Corona. The noise of this old thing doesn’t allow me to hear very well the shy echo of my neighbors protest songs that sneaks into my so called home because I forgot to close the bathroom window. My cat grew tired of begging for food and decided it was best to fall asleep because he knows that when I start writing, it’s all hopeless. Its just that, see, I work for The Daily Mirror and I can let myself get behind on all the work I have to deliver. I have a great job, and an amazing property; but that phrase that just haunts you in a big city is true; you cant have all three (home, job and relationship)

My computer bailed on me yesterday, so I’m stuck here in my poorly lightened basement, water leaks and rats are keeping me company. I wish I wasn’t so neurotic, I can’t concentrate with the slightest attempt of a noise, like water leaks and rats for instance. By now I should have the worlds biggest headache, considering; I don’t really know if it’s the excess of caffeine, the lack of sleep or my current state of mind but I tell you I don’t feel a thing. I haven’t really felt anything for several hours, I should probably lie down… I should but I can’t.

Someone’s at the door right about now, even though I’m down here I can hear the steps, soft steps; no heals, must be a man. The so-far stranger rings the bell and since I’m not willing to stand up I just wait, listening. Sarah, open up! Mark, my assistant says with his sparkly young voice; and just when he gets my interest saying he brought food, just when I’m ready to leave my uncomfortable seat he opens the door. God, what is that smell, he mutters. Judge me not, I scream from the basement, try having my work and keeping a house clean at the same time. Where are you? He asks over and over. I try to tell him I’m downstairs I try to tell him to come here but he doesn’t seem to listen and I hear him open he heavy door of my studio, and then, a cry of horror. I hear he makes a phone call; I should probably go up now. However, I don’t.

No time for nonsense right now. I hear a bunch of people talking loudly in my living room. I swear I can hear he mud in all of their shoes rubbing into my recently cleaned carpets… they are talking, and I am listening but I cant really hear a word they say, until someone says that there’s light in the basement and they decide to come down. A police officer stares at me, calls his partner moving his arm and they both stand before me in shock. It seems you have never seen a person work, I say, well, its probably the bags under my eyes or the fa… a man approaches me and takes out the paper I’m using right now, I pull it back and he runs away.

All I can hear from my basement now is: there’s a typing machine, and its working all by itself! –Do you think she might… no –But, but, the light was on, and I swear I could feel… Well, but I’m not really worried, I couldn’t really be dead; after all I have no time for such a thing!

Things I shouldnt do!

2007-06-23T20:11:00.000-07:00

How You Life Your Life

You seem to be straight forward, but you keep a lot inside.
You are always tactful and diplomatic. You let people down gently.
Your friends tend to be a as quirky as you are - which is saying a lot!
You have one big dream in your life, and you never lose sight of it.

How Do You Live Your Life?

Truffles

2007-06-23T09:16:00.000-07:00

What is a nightmare? An unpleasant dream? Just that? Well, not quite.

Mares of the night whinnying wildly, galloping a dark and damp forest with trees whose branches are damn thoughts that are home to our fears, our deepest fears and most painful memories. Spirits that travel from here to there in the graveyard of our hopes, the one that is guarded by our withered illusions, they’re all ridding mares; black mares that strain into our dreams. Iced puffings, so cold they could burn come with heavy fear and deceiving torture. With their eyes full of fire they bring misfortune and sorrow to our dreams, and they never grow tired of galloping through the fog of the human mind; turning every flower into a biter cry and every caress into loneliness as they pass by.

Mary Ellen has been having this nightmares lately, she has grown used to them by now. She is far too young to be having those dream about death, but then again she is bound to that hospital bed and its only logical to think about death in such a place.

Every dream is so much like the last one, only with a different feeling, every dream seems so real she has to pinch herself in order to make sure she’s dreaming, and then she wakes up; whether she cries bitterly or laughs that’s up to her current mood, but lately we have had more laughter than tears. Tonight she has decided to stay up late writing in her journal and eating the usual truffles her husband kindly brings to her every week. Those truffles mean to her more than you could imagine; see her husband doesn’t come that often, he only comes once a week and spends no more that fifteen minutes next to her, he’s a really busy man, but he makes the time. She spends hours putting on her make up, fixing her hair. She invests several hours for those magical fifteen minutes he stands next o her bed. Because, when he’s not around its as if… she wasn’t really alive. You know what I mean? Everything is just better when she knows he’s there.

She fell asleep around nine, and started to have those dreams once again. Dreams about death and pain but this time it was all so… different. Interesting, she thought at first. She was walking between gravestones in he local cemetery, she had never been there in dreams. This time things didn’t look so dark, it was a warm morning and not her usual stormy night. Well, I guess everything’s possible she thought to herself as she approached to a group of people, all of them mourning her death. She saw her friends and relatives, all of them wearing black and saying the usual things one says at a wake. She was too young, she didn’t deserve this, yeah, yeah, yeah… heard It all before. See, no one talks bad things about the recently dead; it may seem that when you die you instantly become a better person.

After the wake, the burial. Elegant she thought; she stood next to Greg the whole time, he was weeping and she felt so guilty… for she knew that even thought this was only a dream, she would definitely go first, it was her fault and her fault alone he was this sad right now. He went to the bathroom several times, so she decided to follow him in his twentieth visit. His cell phone vibrated like crazy. Honey? Yes dear, yes Ill be there don’t worry. Honey I cant really go right now, she’s being buried for God sakes!... Of course I care about you… no , no, no dear of course I love you but you cant come… but it would be shameless to… Hello? Hello? She sands there with teary eyes as he dials and thinks its time to wake up, but this time she doesn’t. Greg talks to that woman, his mistress, or probably a man who knows, he talks to him or her one more time and she just cant stand it. She decides to go back to the hospital, but when she gets there someone else is using her bed, looking at her clouds through the window. She goes home after that, she hasn’t been home in a while. But home doesn’t seem like home anymore… strange. Her clothes and belongings are in boxes as if she had died long ago; in there a woman cries in her bed, in her side of the bed. She doesn’t seem very pleased. Mary Ellen go close enough to hear what she was muttering. Even when she’s dead she gets more attention than I do, that bitch… She didn’t want to hear it anymore, so she left. She went into her darkroom but it seemed more like a library now. She tries to wake up, once again but all of the pinching in the world is useless now.

She sees a box… a box full of boxes of truffles; next to it a bottle with a skull and two bones forming an X, its not “pirate concentrate” so I guess we all know what that means, he has been poisoning her. For how long? It doesn’t seem so important right now. All of the times he visited her it was only to kill her a little bit, literally. Well, at leas now she knows, she knows she´s no going to wake up this time.

AnD tHeRe hE wAs!

2007-06-22T14:18:00.000-07:00

I've been walking alone in the dark for quite long, thinking about love and how she dumped me, and I got that weird feeling I could not explain, minutes later as the feeling increases I found out what it was, that weird thing I was feeling is the sense of being watched, I kept on walking and for some unthoughtfull reason I started to like that feeling, it is like in high school when this bunch of girls stare at you like you are a super model or some sort of a rock star, anyways that feeling did not stop increasing until I got home.

time went by, and I was sitting alone, watching TV, eating popcorn in the living room, you know the things you usually do on Fridays when late, late that night the doorbell rang, I opened the door and there was this guy all dressed up in black, from where I stand I could not see his face, but he was as tall as I am, kind of. He offered me chips and drugs, of course I refused, I'm not a junky, closed the door, turned left and there he was, in my home I could not believe it, totally freaked me out.

With a needle in his hand he tried to convinced me to take that drug, I ran into my house, closed the door with three different kinds of locks, and when I thought I was safe, he touch my back, went into the living room, also closed the door when I realized that it was not going to stop him, went into my bedroom looking for anything to cause him pain but I couldn't find a thing, turn right and there he was, trying to grab me from behind, desperately I ran into the kitchen grabbed a knife and I stabbed him right into his heart, but nothing, nothing happened and after perhaps ten minutes of running away I thought he was gone.

I calm my nerve, went to the living room and still with the knife in my hand something warm started to run through my arm, lots of blood were leaking from where the still beating heart, I thought was not placed, so I did hurt him, I thought, but that warm feeling did not stopped, but this time it was on my chest, my whole shirt was wet on blood and where my heart was supposed to be I had nothing but the feeling of something missing, fall to the ground and the last thing I heard was.... I'll be waiting!

I woke up, hell of a nightmare, I thought, went into the kitchen and waiting there he was...

I CLoS3D ThEm AnD sAw IT

2007-06-22T10:25:00.000-07:00

I closed me eyes and saw this beautiful light, I opened them and I was blind, all I could tell you is that I was into this well done box where I fitted perfectly, seconds went by and I started to lose my precious air that i have not appreciated in me whole life like in this moment, hopelessly I started to push away those four walls, well at least I tried, something in me realized that death was not that bad, so I closed my eyes and saw this beautiful light.

Im winter's sunset and this was a shorty

one for you guys to start to know my work!

COMING SOON

2007-06-16T08:00:00.001-07:00

Nightmare, from a poem i wrote back in the day (nah, Im not that old)

Have you ever woken up from a bad dream and thanked the Heavens because thats all it was, a dream. Well, what if you only think youre dreaming, having a nightmare and yet you dont seem to find a way to wake up... Ive said too much now

A Night Away

2007-06-16T07:59:00.001-07:00

I had just signed my divorce papers, I wasn’t really happy because to me divorce mean failure, but to my cousin Angel divorce meant liberation. So, I joined him to an old fashion bar I never even knew existed in the outsides of our boring town. It was more like a historic strip club really; well I wasn’t really paying attention, all I cared about was getting drunk and so I did. I heard the piano man play the Can Can over and over, and when I saw the stage it was filled with a dozen girls dressed as if they were in the wild wild west we read about in books and the eventual magazine

When the bar closed, we went to a nearby motel that claimed to be an inn called the pink kiss, the bartender did not allow us o drive in suck a state. I don’t remember much about the boy who lead us to our room or who paid the bill, if someone did. All I can remember is that our room was surrounded in pink satin and lace, it was as if we were inside the lingerie drawer of one of those strippers back in the club; not that I noticed what they were wearing, I just imagined. Wooden floor and old furniture were the finishing touches to that vintage look. I also remember me and Angel were reluctant about sleeping in the same bed so I moved to the couch, the pink couch that was next to a large window which provided me a more than perfect view of the moon.

When I began to fall asleep I was instantly awaken by the unceasing sound of a bell like thing, when I opened my eyes I could see but a silhouette, a beautiful one I might add. There was a lovely girl with a tambourine dancing next to me. I shook Angel so he would wake up, and he did complaining and calling me all sorts of names. Turn off the radio, he said, and go back to sleep. I told him there’s no radio, and you wont go back to sleep so soon when you see this. He stood up and I pulled him next o the window; he was as shocked as I was.

The girl danced and twirled, it was mesmerizing, she blew us a few kisses and seconds later the wind blew our window open. She seemed to make the cheap pink curtains dance to her tune trough the wind. She winked her eye at us and called us both with her finger, then she turned around as if to say I’m walking away you fools, come and get me.

I was so impressed I couldn’t move for a few seconds and when I was about to walk I turned to Angel only to see him frozen in fear, all pale. I asked what’s wrong and he only pointed at the window; when I turned the girl was still looking at me, hasting me with her eyes. Wait a minute I begged, she smiled. I asked Angel one more time what was wrong and since he didn’t answer and I was drunk enough no to care about anything but her charm I started walking and he grabbed my arm. I stared at him as if to say don’t waste my time and that’s when he finally spoke. We are in the second floor, he said. I remained unaware of the true meaning of such words, he could notice this and explained himself there is no way that girls feet can be touching the ground he said finally. When I heard this I was not brave enough to turn around immediately, but when I did it was only to see her age fifty years on a second, then the old lady I had before me gave me an angry look that gave me a chill trough the spine, I could not move my legs to run away for they were as heavy as lead.

She gave a horrible cry that no one seemed to notice, no one in the whole motel turned on a light or yelled back at her. We were the only ones who heard it, I know this now; for we were the only living souls in that God forgotten place. I took my car keys and we both drove. As drunk as we were; we drove home.

Months later, we returned to that place. I did not want to but Angel seemed to have left his watch in the motel room. You will never find it I said over and over but he wouldn’t listen. Who knows he said I might still have some luck left after all. Clearly he didn’t remember what happened that night, or thought it was all a dream. Who knows, it was our unspoken agreement not to talk about it ever again.

When we arrived at the place there was nothing but dust and sun; no pub, no inn. We both looked at each other with surprise when we found nothing but plants and a coyote wandering around. We were both walking that empty land when Angel kicked something that was covered in dust and some weeds. It was his Rolex, probably we were there after all.

Quick call

2007-06-16T07:58:00.001-07:00

It’s a rainy Guatemalan midnight in the midst of June, nothing unusual about that. You think about all the things you have done today, all of them worthless or meaningless or important to everyone but you; you got into the medical profession to help others and realize just now it’s nothing more than a business like any other. Costumers, profits and hidden amateur mistakes that can literally cost a life. What is life? Its nothing but a twisted little thing that makes things come and go as they please, its nothing but a chain of random events that can both benefit and hurt; its like a crooked balance or a blind judge trying to make his best. Are we all meant to suffer like this? You bet, life wouldn’t be life otherwise. You take another sip of courage from your bottle of Zacapa Centenario and pick up the phone.

She is the only one that brings you comfort this days; she understands you like no one else has, like no one else will. No wonder her name means wisdom, Sophia. Just saying her name makes you quiver, just to picture her eyes makes you smile. You remember the very first time you both met. You were in 10^th grade and she was this new kid at your school. You approached her thinking the poor thing must be real scared. You talked to her while she held her backpack with both hands; you didn’t pay much attention to her at the time; she was an average Jane to you. looked sweet and innocent. Moths later you found out she was neither; she was more than average, you guys could understand each other without words, so all of your deep conversations were as silent as a sigh, and yet a thousand words couldn’t have described everything you told her, everything she told you. What is the point in trying to tame the rebel, the liquid, the human language when souls can whisper thoughts to each other ideas in their purest shape, raw emotions, until they find out they’re in love. She wasn’t very innocent either, she was very coy that is the difference.

She let you be yourself, your true self. She is he only person besides you that knows so much about you; she even knows you more that you do you must admit. Bu there are times when you think you really get her, you have explained her how she feels a million times. You live in different cities now, but not a week goes by without talking to heart least twice.

You start dialing her number and instantly hang up, because you remember, you remember the last time you saw her was to complain, to selfishly punish her for being in love, for getting married. Did you really think she was going to put up with all your crap? She died in that car crash last week, just face it. But you forget, over and over and when you pick up the phone to say you’re sorry it all comes to you. probably you don’t wanna believe it, you don’t want to admit the fact that you will never see her again; you just want her to know how sorry you are.

You think about this far too much and then its all just confusing; like when you repeat a word over and over until it suddenly loses its meaning and becomes no more than a group of sounds that don’t say anything to you, not anymore. You bravely dial her number once again with the hopes of hearing her voice, even if it is to tell you to leave a message, after all you only want to hear her.

Please, do love me back

2007-06-16T07:56:00.001-07:00

What is the price one has to pay, I wonder, to own a lovers heart. Well I don’t exactly know but this I tell you, that price is much too high. Like many women, Rosalynn knew this, and quickly decided to act. She did not know this her whole life, perhaps she did but she chose not to believe. Like the little child who is told no to play with matches but keeps on doing it anyways, until he burns his eyelashes off that is. She had just found out Victor was cheating on her with some waitress from a downtown diner. She imagined her, blonde, young and slutty. The thought of Victor with another woman killed her, it just did. Someone else kissing his lips, feeling his hands, touching his body; it all just made her sick. She tried not to think about it, about her young looks or the way he talks to her or even the way they met. However, the harder she tried to get those thoughts away from her head, the more they haunted her.

She cooked dinner just like she would any other night, nothing particular about this day, she thought to herself. She prepared supper and waited her husband’s arrival like she usually did. When he returned from work two hours later than he was supposed to she did not say a thing, when he refused to eat her cooking she did not say a thing. Well, this must be a special night he said with irony, you haven’t yelled at me like you do every day. After sating this he went into the bedroom and quickly fell asleep. As soon as Rosy heard the snoring she went in the room; gently tied his wrists and ankles o the poles from the bed, took a knife from the kitchen and started to run the sharp edge of the knife trough Victor’s naked chest, he woke up of course and with a horrified face asked “what are you doing crazy woman, let go of me at once! “ But rosy just smiled and sang to herself a song the band had played at their wedding.

Victor was mad at first but then he got scared, he said “whatever I have done I didn’t mean I, whatever I have said wasn’t true but please my sweet Rosy, let go of me “.“You are not the man I fell in love with “, she said without looking a him as she made superficial scratches in his left arm. “Of course I am “ he replied, “I am Victor Scrhoeder… your Victor “. “ that’s not what I meant she said, and you are no mine either; you are hers. Is she better than me Victor? Would she cook for you every night? Would she stand you? “he was speechless, “I didn’t think so “ Rosy said.

She soon grew tired of his excuses, his complaints and his lies so she placed a rolled gray sock of his in his mouth; and since he wouldn’t stop whining and screaming she knocked him in the head with a lamp. “now its my turn to do the talking dearest” she said calmly. “I have put up with your bad moods, I have waited you, I have pleasured you and his is how you pay me. I have forgiven you time and time again for being rude to me, breaking my heart with your hostility and your lack of concern and I have done this all because I thought; he doesn’t love me like I’d like to but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love me with all his heart; he is stubborn and sharp around the edges but he can also be sweet I used to think. And now I found out that the only thing I thought you weren’t capable of doing, the only thing I wouldn’t forgive you for; that was the thing you chose to do for God knows how long behind my back. I waited for you more than I should have when you were indecisive about our love, I let you disrespect me and leave for those few hours we could be together because you always had something better to do. Be it your friends, your work or some dinner I refused to go to, you always seemed to have an excuse no to be with me.

At firs it was all so easy, we never fought, never argued. After our eventual fights had started there’s was nothing that could stop them and hey began to be less and less eventual until they showed up at our every breakfast and dinner; the only time a day we got to see each other. We never had great sex; I must admit that. It was scarce and even painful sometimes. but I did every thin you requested me, no matter how diminishing it was because I knew I couldn’t afford to lose you”

After making superficial wounds in all his body, she begins to sink that knife deep into his chest. Its all so dark in there, she wants to find the heart that doesn’t love her anymore and rip it off, so she se puts her hand in there and feels a thing that hums more that in beats and tries to pluck it like bad weed several times until she succeeds . holding a heart that still beats she goes to the kitchen and puts it in a jar. She sat in her rocking hair holding it close to her. Pum, pum, pum the heart pounded with more and more pressure to her chest each time. It was like a hug almost. She didn’t complain, didn’t try to push it away, no even when the pressure fromt he thing she loved and hated the most started to suffocate her, for she was feeling something she hadn’t in many years; passion.

Yes, her Victor was giving her passion so she let him. She let him beat close to her as if they were dancing again, they hadn’t dance in years she thought. What is the price one has to pay, I bet you wonder, to own a lovers heart. Well I know now and this I tell you, that price is much too high. She rocks in that chair now to the beat of his will, she sits with one pump living still, the one that ended her life. So what is exactly the price one has to pay? Well. You have to give up your own.

Suicide

2007-06-16T07:55:00.000-07:00

A strange woman is staring at Martha, looking down at her, with her eyes wide open she says more than she could with a thousand words; she hates Martha, that stranger hates her with all her heart. However, Martha doesn’t mind, she doesn’t really know her and yet she know so many things about her, enough to pity her. She know that woman has lost herself, she has become a mannequin designed to please others; from her hair to her sense of humor. She wakes up every morning trying to be a perfect housewife. But, at the end of the day everything she does seems to have no reward; her kids treat her like a maid and her husband like a whore. You know, the regular stuff.

After her family leaves she stops wearing her smile, leaves the maid all alone in the house while she spends 6 hours a day in the gym, gets some botox in the corner of her eyes or in her forehead or even some collagen in her lips because one cannot afford to age, not in her world . Martha laughs at her, she laughs at the troubled woman who thinks she’s so perfect, who longs to be perfect. It makes her so mad to see the woman laugh like she doesn’t care, like she’s telling her: “You think you are better than me because you know my secrets, but know this as well; my secrets are your secrets, that’s why you know them, and the pity you feel for me is nothing but the pity you feel for yourself”

Martha steps away from her bedroom mirror, she’s expecting company, her guests will be here any minute now. She peeks out the window to see if Georges car is parked outside, but he’s not here yet. She puts on her long black dress, her pearls, her stockings, her stilettos and stands in front of her mirror one more time, but she doesn’t have the courage to look at that woman before her. “I hate you” she says, and walks away without even glancing at the reflection. But even though Martha wasn’t looking at the woman in the mirror, that woman was still staring at her.

She went into the bathroom, arranged her hair without looking into her own eyes that were now staring at her from the mirror above the sink . She bent to wash off the peach cleansing masque she had put on a few minutes earlier, but her reflection would not bend; she just stood there with a deviled smile in her face. Her hands came out of the mirror as if she were reaching the surface from beneath the water. She grabbed Martha’s neck, and drowned her in no more than three liters of water, then she crept out the mirror, her skin was all rotten and damp, like a corps decomposed under water.

She left a slimy track that was quickly absorbed by the wood floor leaving no sign what so ever of her presence; she went trough the door while it was still closed and walked down the hallway as she vanished away, just like her footprints had just minutes ago.

Her guest arrived at last, only to find a wall of police cars around the gates to her house; they all made questions with a morbid curiosity disguised as concern, they all wanted to know what had happened at the Caldwell’s home. But, the police offices did not know what to answer, its no like they were allowed to, but you know how people likes gossip, specially when you can be messenger to important figures like the majors wife and such.

All of her catty friends were there, watching that shameful last moment of hers. The police never found the killer, of course, but that is because they saw Martha as only the victim. They found nothing but her epithelials, her hair, her fingerprints… anyway. They considered anything but what actually went on that night. Up to this day no one knows what happened, after spending several months trying to catch a “ghost killer”… literally, they gave up and no one could ever imagine that, in a very twisted way, she killed her own self.

Hide´n sick

2007-06-16T07:46:00.000-07:00

It’s a night like any other for our friend Ben at the gas station; he was remembering those high school days when he was captain of the football team, and now; well now he’s just a college dropout with a beer gut and a job at the local gas´n go. He chose the night shift ´cause its quieter, its just him and his thoughts, and the eventual costumer that is. Yes it was a dull night like any other, until she appeared. She had come out of the dark highway, she look frightened and cold under the pouring rain, she was shivering. Her clothes were all torn and she had a desperate look in her eyes. She kept on knocking the glass door until he yelled its open, you can come in. Ben tried to give her something to dry herself but the girl seemed to be sensing something he couldn’t.

What is your name? was the first thing he asked, doesn’t matter she said. she ran towards the back of the store and stood there shaking. He’s coming after me she kept on whispering, he wants to kill me. Ben decided it was best to close the store and after a few minutes in total darkness the girl started to speak. She had told him how this older man had been stalking her and when she called the police, well he was not very pleased and took her into the woods to hunt her down. He had told her to run, you know, leverage. But he had a gun. She couldn’t have been over 14, whenever he looked into those desperate green eyes he felt like a hero again.

I had been a while since he felt like that, it was like being popular again. Yes, it was like being elected homecoming king or like winning a game. He left the girl in the back of the store and began to wander; he thought of the 1^st page in tomorrow’s paper “Benjamin Walker saves desperate teen from a certain death” he imagined his face on the news, and thousands of phone calls from his friends and family asking, How did it happen?

He was thinking about all this things when the girl rushed towards him and pulled him to the back of the store. Is there any way we could get out of here? She asked frantically, he told her to calm down and explain what was going on; so she told him in a broken voice he’s here now. Just as she finished saying this, the sound of the door glass breaking and a deeper sound of the rain walked in the store. Standing near the counter, a man was breathing heavily. Ben could no see his face because it was all so dark, but he felt his anger and heard his voice. I’m going to get you he said as he walked, you have nowhere to go.

He looked in every corner humming a song to calm himself down, his left eye was jumping and the veins in his neck were standing out. Yes, he was angry. The girl was still next to Ben, shivering and pale in the back of the store. The man kicked the back door and let himself in, he made a left turn and there she was. He stopped humming and smiled at the sight of his target all alone in a corner crying and damp. “bitch” he said quietly, he aimed a gun at her heart and approached just a bit, his shirt was a little open and when he came close to the girl she hissed at the sight of a cross around his neck. But Ben did not notice his, he was to busy smashing a bottle of beer in the back of his head. Ben saw the mans blood as it poured from his head and he foam or the beer still in the floor. He could not believe such a thing was for real.

It was in that moment when the girl started to laugh, her eyes turned crimson and she knelt next to his head to drink the blood, she moaned, she sipped, her chin was dripping with red alcohol. Ben couldn’t move for he was frozen in fear. He tried to walk away very slowly but she noticed; and her demonic eyes turned to him. The girl put her hand in the man’s chest to stand up, the sound of burning flesh joined he breathing of two people an the beating of a lonely heart, she removed her hand with horror and pain only o see it marked with a cross. The man in the floor opened his eyes but he could not see her, and said his last words. Your kind will pay, he whispered as he lifted his head from the floor. He closed his eyes and his head fell, some blood came out of his mouth and she started to drink it.

“Benjamin Walkers remains found in the road” just as Ben had predicted, his name was all over the newspapers, and his face was all over the news; his friends called his house every minute asking every question you can imagine; yes it all turned out the way he wanted to; well sort of. You cant have everything in this life! It’s a shame he didn’t get to see it.

Kiss of Death

2007-06-15T22:19:00.001-07:00

Gladys, Gladys. You should kill the man while he’s still asleep; smother him; no, no, no… far too much effort and you just did your nails. You could use a gun thought, but its too loud, you would make such a mess; not to mention the neighbors would be startled. A knife! Gladys are you crazy? If you think a gun is messy then a knife isn’t the best choice either. But you’ve got to do something about it. How annoying the sound of his breathing. The air coming in and out of his worn out lungs making the noise an asthmatic old dog would do, every damn time the air rushes through his mouth, into his chest and back out. He’s not even snoring, he’s just breathing and that bothers you so. Its like the scream of a banshee piercing your ears . No, its more like a cow flying around on a tornado making sure the whole neighborhood listens to her every howling as if anyone could do anything for her. Yes, go ahead, try to cover you ears with your pillow; that wont change a thing.

Why isn’t David dead? You have fed him with greasy for food over 20 years; you have let him smoke, outside the house of course; not to mention you have seen him get drunk with his friends every Saturday night since before you guys got married. His friends were always before you, you are aware of that, and somehow you let it all pass. Why is it Gladys? Could it be perhaps, because it started with small things. He disappointed you time after time doing a million little disturbing things. You couldn’t leave him over that of course; after all the man loved you like no one else could, in his own way he did, he does. Whenever you wanted out of that relationship he would just suck you back in by being sweet, by making you fell guilty, by making you feel special; only while he was hunting for your love that is, but then the passion would start to die and… anyways, after a while the small things started to grow. Perhaps you did not notice because it was all so slow. Its like the mildew in the corners of your bathroom tiles; slow but certain. Its like the weed that starts in your back yard and winds up your taking over your whole god damn lawn. So, when you finally notice its too late, and such situations tend to demand desperate measures.

You fantasize about killing him, you used to fantasize about seeing him die but since his heart, lungs and liver were stubborn enough to resist your very own slow-but-certain attack in the shape of loving warm meals and such. You have given up on that thought now and realized his like an ox in more than one way; not only impotent when it comes to pleasing you, but also strong and if you don’t take the matter into you own hands he will outlive you. You couldn’t leave him just because you were not satisfied sexually, what kind of slut does that. Ah his damn breathing! It’s like the howling and barking of the neighbors Pomeranian in the middle of the night that just didn’t let you sleep; and we all know where the little rat is buried now. This whole thing has blown out of proportion, like a neglected rash that turns into an ulcer. He has to go, otherwise he will keep on destroying you like some sort of cancer.

Since David hasn’t decided to shush his loud torso you will do it for him, in a gentle way of course; its not like you are one of those repressed housewives accumulating anger, you want to kill him because he has wronged you in so many ways and you are just so tired of being with him the mere sight of him makes you want to vomit,but we couldn´t say after all this years you have only kept on living for the moment you let your blow dryer accidentally fall into the bath tub and see him shake and scream and do nothing about it. Well it’s all accurate you are resentful; but you wouldn’t “explode” you have taste. You wouldn’t chop him or beat him senseless only to open him up, see what his heart look like and rip it off. You want something clean and fast; why would you want to make a mess of your own after cleaning up after his for the last two decades, well, but that’s just the way you are.

Don’t think too loud Gladys, don’t get that guilty grin upon your face, he’ll notice it. He’ll notice your heart is beating faster thanks to the adrenaline rush the thought of kissing his lips and feel nothing but a cold piece of worn flesh brings to your body, because if he finds out now you want to end his life, jus now when you are willing to fulfill your desire; well, the whole thing will be ruined. He will run, he will hide. The thought of it amuses you because even if he hides in the most secret place in the face of this earth, or under the sea or up on a cloud you could still hear that sound, the hideous sound of his asthmatic breathing. In spite of the humor you are able to find in this particular problem, the thought of wasting your energy hunting him like a bitch doesn’t give you much pleasure. Nevertheless, you are more than willing to make the sacrifice, for the sake of your nerves.

Why do you want to kill him? He didn’t do anything… that’s the problem! He didn’t do anything. Never bought you flowers, not once; did absolutely nothing for your birthday and made you mourn each valentines day. He loves you, yeah you know. But it isn’t love a woman needs let me tell you, its attention. A woman needs attention more than she needs monogamy and faithfulness from a man; well, at least he was no cheater, you are certain of that.

It makes you angry, all of those years you wasted on him because you thought that when he hurt you enough you would have the self respect to walk out of his life, if only he could have done something big you wouldn’t be here now, putting on the choice of lipstick of a frustrated and tired woman; poison. After you put it on, you instantly start to kiss him, he wakes up and thinks he’s kissing you back but he’s actually making you uncomfortable, like any other time. You kiss him until you make sure he has as much poison in his system as you do, you turn around and just wait, wait for that damn breathing to end. You are hearing his life fade right in this moment; you are feeling yours leave as well, but that is all right. After all, what else could be more important than to do the thing you wanted the most in your life, to put an end to a chain on passive misery; its an accomplishment Gladys, you’ve moved on. But aren’t you the tiniest bit sorry you’re dead? No, you aren’t; because you died with the satisfaction of dying doing the thing you longed for the most. You were a brave woman Gladys, you definitely were.

Its no that you meant to hurt him either, is just you had to free yourself, even if that meant you would get hurt as well. But that is all right; in this life everything is forgotten, everything goes away and when you notice it’s almost always too late. You chained your life to his much too early in your life, since he day he me you he knew you were the one; the first few months were like heaven, you never argued, never fought. But after the first break up things just weren’t the same; it hurt you to be with him but it hurt you more to be without. Is if because of that you never walked away, because you love him so; you don’t hate him, no way. The thing is, what you feel for him is so strong, that even when you’re mad you have strong feelings for him, and not particularly good ones. But that is all right now after all, death goes on…

Ghost of her

2007-06-15T22:18:00.001-07:00

She’s almost perfect… you can tell she is just by the way she dances. Every time you talk to her, you notice that lovely accent of hers and don’t get me started on the way she walks, it’s like some sort of mesmerizing spell. She’s wearing a black skirt, she looks so sexy in it. I know, I know you might be thinking it’s one of those things that barely covers a girls ass but no, its not revealing at all it’s just sexy. And what about that pair of combat boots; she’s driving you crazy in that leather jacket, her fingers all tangled up in her long strawberry blond waves. There’s just something about her, the look upon her face perhaps, no that’s not it, it could be her perfume; or is it… her smile. That’s it! Her smile. But you’ve got to admit there’s something awfully wrong about her eyes.

You try to play it cool but you know you’re nervous. Your palms are sweaty and your heart beats thick and quick. You get that feeling o butterflies in your stomach whenever she laughs closing her eyes, and then, after a little while she opens them slowly and stares at you as if she were saying “Go on Harry, what are you waiting for, kiss me” What are you waiting for Harry? She’s ready for you to take what you want. But then again she’s too sweet, you couldn’t. She puts her head in you lap as she gazes at the sky. She talks about the universe with a certain je ne sais quoi that makes you think she either built it or owns it. The words slip, even pour from her mouth as she talks about light and time and sound; you love the way her lips move as she speaks, you lean in an attempt to feel her warm breath and you catch the smell of her lip gloss instead. You love to imagine the air getting into her lungs as mere wind that’s shaped when it brushes against her teeth and tongue until it becomes poetry… a song even. You don’t even know what she’s saying anymore but you know you love it.

Your meditation is interrupted by her silence; you look down and see her staring at you with her big hazel eyes. You try to remember her last words, what was she talking about? Never mind, you nod in agreement and smile. Took you long enough, you say to yourself, but she goes on and on and you enjoy every word. She sits in your lap , kisses you softly and stands up, stretching her hand so you do too. You hold her as you both walk with no direction in the middle of the night, you get a chance to smell her hair and feel her waist. You feel like you already know her, you feel like you waited your whole life for this moment, you love her.

You just met her a few days ago but you are certain of that, what else could it be, its love. As you kiss her neck you feel the need to say it, “Oh Nancy, I love you”. She instantly pushes you away and says : Nancy? Who is Nancy? It is in that moment when you realize how much she resembles her. The way she dances, her accent, she has her accent. She dresses almost like her, or at least you have imagined she does because she is actually wearing some jeans with black stilettos, a light yellow blouse and a black sweater. No combat boots, no skirt. Her hair is similar though and her voice, her voice is almost Nancy’s voice; but her smile, her smile is just the same! As if she had stolen it from her grave.

She’s just like Nancy but she’s not Nancy, and now she’s mad. She’s walking away Harry, do something! You apologize and take her back to your place. You sit there in silence and she asks about Nancy, so you lie. You tell her you don’t know where that came from; she lies too, pretending to believe what you just said. You are both trying too hard to make this whole thing work. One lie just leads to another, you know that , don’t you? Well, apparently you don’t.

By the look on her face she’s either bored or tired. Nancy wouldn’t be bored you think to yourself as you ask her if she wants something to drink or a snack. Well, she says to be honest I’m starving. So you make her a sandwich, just like Nancy liked them. She did not like it though; she made a face and said she wasn’t really that hungry. Now, Nancy wouldn’t have done that. She loved your BLT sandwiches, and when she didn’t like something she at least had the decency to be upfront about it. This girl sitting on your couch had become a stranger in the blink of an eye. How dare she stain her memory like that.

You are mad, no, a spoiled child that’s not pleased is mad; you are furious. So you take that BLT and shove it up her throat. You can tell she likes it, she’s enjoying every flavor so much she’s even moaning in pleasure… no wait, that’s just a smothered scream! Shame, you take a fork and, you know, help her swallow.

Remember you thought there was something wrong about her eyes? Well, not anymore; she’s perfect now, wearing Nancy’s last expression upon her face. You could take your shovel and burry her in your back yard, but that is such a cliché; so you chop her into manageable pieces … another cliché, and place her under your bed; you should get a bigger bed Harry, the girls are starting to feel a little cramped up. Well, you’ll take care of that when you return from the cemetery, after all it is Sunday and you just must give Nancy her flowers.

The room

2007-06-15T22:11:00.000-07:00

He’s sitting on her side of the bed, just wondering, because there’s nothing left for him to want, dream or even be. It’s as if she owned his every emotion, It’s as if she had taken his heart when she left him and now he only feels a machine, a pump that beats to keep him alive but that is no more than a thing.

It was awful to be in that room, knowing that he was the pray of distant memories that lied inside those four walls, knowing that even though she was there, she was no longer there for him. At first, he was sad, and she would not comfort him, he asked her to hold him but she did not answer, she didn’t even move. He touched her hand but it was cold, her indifference turned his sadness into anger and despair; he felt so alone and she didn’t care; only she knew how to be so close and yet so distant. Her eyes were open but she would not look at him, at this point, he felt nothing, not even pain.

It is a very fearful thing not to feel anything, for it may seem that you have lost yourself, you become a living dead who cannot enjoy life nor rest in peace until there comes a point when you long for a sensation, any sensation, even if it is an unpleasant one, and since physical pain is the easiest way to make your body feel something ,its commonly the first resource of a desperate man.

He sat in the corner of the bed, his fists were so tight the palms of his hands bled from the pressure of his fingernails and it seemed to him that he was alive again; at first, he cried tears of joy, then he realized he had opened the door to his bitterness and shame; so he kept on crying and he kept on bleeding; he bit his lips till he couldn’t feel them and punished himself for hours to feel better, and finally he fell on the floor because he couldn’t take it anymore.

Minutes went by, he was almost an hour away from that pitiful scene , when, after a moment of silent meditation he turned only to see her sitting still on a corner next to a nearly consumed candle that lightened only her face and her left hand. He approached her and poured red wine into a pair of empty glasses, he drank and since she didn’t seem to notice her drink, he poured some wine into her mouth, but it just spilled. He was very disappointed by that, he thought a toast would make everything right again like it usually did, but not this time, it wasn’t enough.

The sight of her disgusted him now and he told her so. Her lips were once crimson, like blood, like passion and now they were pale, her warm hands had turned into ice, her immaculate almond shaped nails were beginning to turn purple; just a dim line but enough to be noticed, enough to disturb him. Her cheeks lost their color and her eyes lost their glare, she was not the same.

She was still sitting in the corner, her black hair was the perfect contrast to her pale skin, even the sadness became her, making her green eyes deeper; making her look like a painting, like a sculpture like a work of art signed proudly by God. Her pouty lips were a little open, as if she were expecting her loved one to kiss her agony away. Even in that state she was beautiful, so beautiful one could have sworn she was still alive.

And so the madman and the dead woman kept on sharing a room, they kept on sharing their doom; how ironic it was to know that they were better off a few hours ago when they were fighting. At this point, he would have given anything, anything to get her back. He carefully fixed the scarf she had placed around her neck when she was getting ready to go out, it matched her red dress and was the perfect complement to her shoes, but it was torn and so it had to come off. It was torn because he had pulled it so hard… against her. Without the scarf one could see how that mark it left in her neck matched her scarlet jewelry, it was probably to make up for the absence of color in her lips…

He put on her shoe and rolled down his sleeves to cover the bruises and the scars made by her fragile hands and nails, but then he rolled them back up because those scars and those bruises were his last memory of her. He just wanted to hear her say his name. Oh! how he missed the sound of her voice, her silence was his punishment, knowing her last words were “stop it, you’re hurting me” was his hell.

She could not see him now, he was aware of that, but that didn’t stop him to feel a hint of pleasure in her eyes. She was enjoying his misery because she had suffered first, it was his turn now; and he did so, every time he thought of the look in her eyes while he was strangling her; it was a look of love, disappointment and confusion. She didn’t fight back until the very end when her instincts came out as if she didn’t believe he could be hurting her until it was too late. She was imputing blame with her eyes now, with her dead but beautiful eyes,

He drank too much wine that night, probably because he drank for two; he knelt next to her, put his head in her lap and his hand in her hand; she still smelled like her, he thought, and then he cried himself asleep.

A sweet voice woke him up, the feeling of thin, nimble fingers playing with his curls like she used to. “I forgive you” she said with her soft voice “everything will be all right, don’t worry”. Alas! How reassuring, she was no longer distant, no longer indifferent; no longer mad… she was her again.

She stood up and stretched her hand so he would do too and they walked out that door leaving two bodies, to prisons behind, they were free to love now, free to feel, free at last.