Page 116 - Contrast2015

Jimmy Calderon

There I was. I wasn’t alone, but I felt as if I was. I could
bet that I have been here before, in a dream perhaps, but I
cannot tell with assurance. For me, now, I cannot discern
dreams from reality; they are as a reflection of one another in
a mirror. My mind is fragmented; my memories are shattered
glass. The pieces of memories fly around, like butterflies in a
flowery field; like the leaves of fall taken by the wind. The
hands tried to catch them once, and twice, and many times,
but they kept flying away. They wanted to escape reality, or
dreams. They never came back, and for a moment I was
happy they didn’t. I was happy in my oblivion, but the desire
for more, a desire of remembrance, was still warm in the
deepest part of my abyss of darkness; that black hole in place
of my heart.

The crystal box has been broken, and it cannot be fixed.
The hands could not pull me, or push me side to side. They
could not take me to their world. Their voices, the hands, they
told me if I followed them through the light, I will return. I let
my hand be taken once, ever-so lightly, by one of the hands. I
feel like floating up and away. But I let go. Soon, the cold,
porcelain hand of a cheerful doll, a little doll girl, was holding
my hand. Her hand brought me down once and for all. The
doll, oh how to describe the doll. Her face, her cheeks, those
pale and ghostly cheeks, whiter and colder than snow,
resembling the figure of past agonies. Her eyes, the empty
hollows in her face, those dark chambers that reflected sorrow
and agony, pain and suffering, martyr, they looked at me with
a grimace so powerful, oh so powerful, I couldn’t help but to
follow. We crossed the door, and we were happy.

For once, or rather, at last, in this other world, I was
happy. I am happy. I do not feel the pains I felt before. My
past life is less than a breeze to me now. The memories I so

| 114