Escritos viejos.

Ordenando tras la mudanza, encontré algunas cosas que había escrito hace unos añitos. No son obras de arte, ni mucho menos, pero me gustó recordar esa época (que creo que no duró más de una semana) en que me puse a escribir cuentitos, así que los comparto acá. Hay un par que me quedaron inconclusos, y nunca retomé… Bueno, de hecho, me había olvidado de que existían… jeje. Van sin editar, por mucho que me gustaría cambiar la palabra “creature” en algún caso… parece que tenía una fijación con esa.

Y van por partes, porque ya me cansé de tipear por hoy. Así que posteo sólo los dos primeros.

• Cuento

Far away… immensity… eternity lies ahead of him. He won’t look back, not this time. But what about the mind? Will his mind follow him on his journey this time? Or will it betray him again and shoot memories and guilty thoughts on every pleasant occasion he might try to enjoy, until there are no more choices than going back to the life he was trying to get away from or going completely mad...
He had been running for twenty years now. Running... he would always run. He never used the train, no buses either. His escape seemed more real if he had to use his feet and get tired in the process.
Distance was important. Going from one small town to another... no touristic places ever, so that noone could ever recognize him.
He had a way with people, and the day of his arrival was not over before his new friends were buying him a beer. He would easily find a job since there was always something that needed to be done and that he was willing to do. And he saved every penny he could, knowing that he would need it for food and hotel rooms on his next runaway adventure. “Adventure”? well, actually... it was more like a survival experience... his whole life was no other thing. He never left a place just for fun.
Making new friends once every two months was nice, he had to admit, and his romances were intense. He had met a few wonderful women so far, no one that would make him think of staying, anyhow.
When did it start? ... had it been a sudden need for freedom, or had he thought it over for a thousand nights when he first ran? It was hard to tell... those times were blurry now, when he tried to think of them.
He could barely remember his first (and only) wife... but that was probably a mind’s self defense mechanism. Of course he couldn’t stay attached to every person he had met and cared for.
His left hand grabbed the old suitcase that was his only permanent companion, he left the pub, his glass full, his friends staring at him, he didn’t say goodbye, he felt his feet started moving and one minute later, he was running.. Running once again.
Rachel, that was her name. He kept on running, the cold wind hitting on his face and the moon staring at him, not giving him one chance to claim his innocence.
His independence and freedom were the only things he could remember seeking ever since he was a small child. He had never meant to hurt anyone.
His right hand went into his jacket’s pocket, and he walked for a while.. He didn’t like walking though, it was easier to think when the cold wind wasn’t striking your face all the time. Thinking... recalling...
Rach... why had he left her…? And then he thought of going back... Back where? He could go to places… not times. He tripped and fell down to the ground, wondering why he was feeling so scared. He was certain that there had been a time when he let guilt win over him and drive him back home. He couldn’t remember what had happened exactly, but he knew nothing good had come out of his returning. And he went back in time... to that one time he’d gone back, only two months after “running” for the first time.
He saw the gun, the man holding it, his late wife lying on the bed they’d shared until that day he’d decided he needed to get away. He ran... just like he had done that terrible day... He ran through a white corridor, he blinked and saw the dark street again. Turned around to see his house left behind, a nurse staring at him as the criminal walked through the door and through the woman herself. He ran blindly only to stop by the doors of a hospital. He opened his eyes, reached for the suitcase but all his hands could touch were the white sheets of his bed.
He heard the doctor say: “No progress... pattern of behaviour repeated year after year” And the nurse wrote those words under: November 6th, 2007, 20th anniversary of wife’s death.


• Sentimientos… (lo único en castellano y no-cuento)

Soledad inmortal
que te llevas el cariño
desde el todo de un alma eterna,
dejando solamente
aquel vacío de tu existencia
Impidiéndome otra vez
amar, soñar y volar con mis sueños
Descubriéndote completa,
tan fría, dura y sincera
Desplazando otros sentimientos
de cualquier alma que te padezca.
Si el sentimiento quiere anularte
y echarte a un lado, no te defiendas
Déjame amar, sentir algo más
que esta cruel tristeza
Tan alejada que el sol desde el cielo
aunque quisiera no podría acercarse
Y tan sufriente que el firmamento
Sueña enterarse qué hay en tus sueños…
… Y tú conmigo, ya somos una…
… Y no te quiero, no nos queremos.