She is on the look. She is desperate.
I have not seen her going from pole to pole before. Blood is lurking out from the cracks of her heels. Following her shadow.
The oasis she has heard about can be not real. Mythical at its best. But, something screeches to me, every time she stops, “Write, the oasis will appear”.
How much more do I have to? There’s no end to it. The plot will break if I will just give it to her. The next storyline, I have is merciless. She will fade. I cannot just make her a fighter to fade.
I buried her face in her palms. Saw her body hiding in the beaten rag, unsoothed. I realized burring her face won’t soothe her. My Alma won’t ask for meekness. She is still on the look.
A thought shuddered my limbs. I pulled the chair back. I cannot do it. I couldn’t close my mouth. I cannot ask her. She won’t think of doing it.
Alma. Alma is a stranger. Alma is my new story.
I have been creating a trusting Alma for 6 months now. Among the hisses but trusting. Untouched by the world. Trusting it. So long I have been enjoying her trapped in a plastic bag. Trying to outlive my darkness.
I can sense my whole body watching. Waiting to hate me. My arms won’t move. Will has resigned. I have nothing to pull in the chair. “You cannot hate someone so much.” My hands just came joined.
I closed my eyes to resolve the conflict. The room went dark. My shoulders shrank in. I have no breasts. A bare chest. Knees tucked close to my ribcage. My head moved from left to right. Right to left. Gasping for air. There is none. It's a closet smaller than an infant.
My hands thumped every wall hoping it could break out. Again.Again. Again. I was suffocating. I was dying. The only one who could let me out is the one who closed me to die. I had lost the photo. It got unstuck from my ID card. A teacher asked me to ask him, to fix it.
I cried, “Papa! I won’t do it again. Let me go!”
My cries did not make any sense. I did nothing to die. That day my storyline was merciless. It had no sense. No reason.
I have put My Alma in the same closet. She is too trusting to understand that the storyline is merciless. It doesn’t make sense. She did nothing.
I won’t write ahead until you will survive.
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One last thing…
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