Ma. Paz

Paroxysm

Paroxismo

And the night falls with its hues of shadows and darkness, with a smell of dead and zombies, stench that only hides the spooky…

I feel dead, buried in this bed that is my tomb, inside a ditch that in the sunshine I call a room, surrounded by what was mine throughout the day because now that nighttime possesses it all, nothing is mine any longer: not even the will that has not left just to keep me company, and not to leave me here in so much loneliness.

Two periscopes are my eyes, which stand out on this sheet that hides me well from what is out there. One eye set on the door that grants access to and exit of the room, and the other on the wardrobe door, attentive, alert to any signal of these two doorways, which are the ones that keep the devil that governs darkness and devours my dreams before they are born. And I close my eyes and hold them still, and I make them shout not to come out, to go away, I do not want him here! I do not want to know what he wants of me! “Guardian Angel, my sweet company, do not abandon me, either during the day or at night, not at night, for I would die.”

Miss CometI am, and with my magic wand there is light and this room is mine again, and I recover the power to open and close doors, and make fun of my cowardice, which is terrified by daylight, and I now do promise myself to be brave. I open my eyes and they are filled with Chivigon’s huge and perverse siluette, which trapped on the wall, has turned against me, and laughs at me just to tell me that the world and its darkness are still stepping on me. And I turn and see my sister, who is breathing with the peace of the innocent who is not aware of the danger that threatens her out of her dream just a couple of meters from mine, her bed seems so distant, I call her with the periscopes and beg her to be supportive, to wake up, to talk to me, not to be mean.

“Mom, listen to your daughter who is in danger, come so she finds your arms and can sleep fearless, since it is at night when mean people appear”, but my mouth won’t speak up, it is my soul that is chained to this bed. And as every time sun hides its face, the house goes to sleep, and my sorrow is the only one in sorrow, the devil only wants me to torment me with this vigil that weakens my consciousness and has me at the brink of being swallowed by its black mouth.

Dear Diary,

Today, mom read the results of my EEG, there is no paroxysmal phenomenon of brain malfunction. She hugs me, she kisses me, and she whispers “promise me today you will sleep like a little angel”. Uncle Alberto’s shadow, who passes by at the time, winks at me, and with a fingertip touching his lips asks me to keep our dark secret.

Ma. Paz

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diana.perez@demac.org.mx

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