After jumping through the window and falling onto the old bed, the broken plaster figure that was there fell to the ground and was completely broken. I quickly picked up the pieces and threw them at Pepe’s brothers, who had turned into hens when they jumped into the small chapel. The hens cackled in pain from the force of the stones. I ran to the exit and grabbed hold of a curtain hanging from the side of the stairs, ripping it from the wall.
I knew the scream was coming from one of the four doors in front of me, so I instinctively approached the iron railing and looked down, trying to find another way to get out of where I was. What my eyes found was that on the next level down was the dining room, perfectly lit by an antique chandelier. There was a very long table with baskets of freshly baked bread and several cups filled with hot chocolate. It also had 12 chairs where 12 young people were sitting.
I ran without stopping until I got to the room where we were staying in and my sister began to laugh at me because I still had foam on my head and without allowing me to say a word, she grabbed me by the arm and led me back to the water stack where while using a washbowl she began to pour lots of water down my head, saying; “This is because you fear water and by doing this maybe you will learn how to bathe yourself.”
I continued to daydream about the adventures that I could experience when exploring the surroundings of the river, when the bus stopped abruptly pushing me forward while my head hit the back of the seat in front of me. My sister laughed at me and then said, “Good thing you woke up with a blow that happens to you because you are vomiting every time we travel.” Then she began to walk towards the exit of the bus, carrying my niece in her arms and I was walking behind her, because we had reached where we needed to get off.
I have been asked several times, If what I write, are real stories or fiction? And in response to the question “I just smiled.” Then I let them define whether it is a yes or a no, if they want to believe what they are reading so immediately I ask: What do you feel as you read? Is it a real emotion or a product of your imagination? By reacting this way, I do not intend to be rude or pretentious about my stories, the truth is that if I give a concrete answer, “They would not believe it is possible to see how reality can become fantasy and they would doubt how fantasy can exceed the limits allowed by the truth, to become real facts through my lifetime”.
When I see you, I can’t never tell if I’m awake or asleep. There is a chill running through my body, and I get goosebumps as I see your reflection in the mirror. Although you are not physically by my side, you are the twinkle in my eyes that as photographs they reflect your face in my pupils. Since you came into my life…You became the twinkle in my eyes.
It is difficult for me to talk about my life, it is not as easy as some of my friends might think. They think that since I like to write it is simple for me to express the events that surround my life. However, that is not the case, for the first time I am going to write about the girl I’ve called “the girl in my eyes”. Who became my fourth daughter as she moved into our home after my divorce.