I find myself in some unknown, to me, place. I am in the midst of high trees and wild vegetation. A tiny river flows amid the trees. The splat of its waters covers the chirping of the birds flying among the trees and leaves. I begin to walk along the river’s left bank. I take slow and careful steps. I am afraid of stumbling in the green slime that has washed over the stones. Suddenly, somewhere between bushes, I spot a strange mass that does not look to me like a stone or rock. I approach it, bow down and discover it is the frozen carcass of a dog. Foam comes out of its mouth – meaning that it has lost its life due to poisoning. I caress its head, already teeming with flies, when a voice from some undetermined place is heard telling me: “you haven’t done your homework again!” I am trying to understand where, but more importantly who, the voice comes from, when… Looking again at the dog’s lifeless body I realize the dog is not a dog but my father, who has been dead for eleven years now. He stares at me with his glassy gaze, as if scolding me, like he used to do in all my years at school. At the very moment I am about to open my mouth and utter some excuse (without actually having any excuse whatsoever to offer), the dead father’s body begins to turn into dust and soil, becomes one with the drenched in humidity ground and disappears just as it had appeared in the first place. Along with it, the frozen carcass of the dog also vanishes, as does the entire landscape where I had found myself so unexpectedly. I open my eyes: I am in a boat with no wheel or helm, abandoned to the whims of a vast ocean. In a matter of seconds, a storm breaks and the waves carry me along, pushing me ever deeper, further from any kind of land. A voice is heard from somewhere unknown: “Wake up, time for school!” I awake yet do not awake. The entire world has changed and is no longer the one I once knew. My town is not my town, even though deep inside I know very well that actually it is indeed my town. I let myself become prey to the appetites of “that” which I do not know and which reveals itself to me in the slowest possible manner and tone. Images alternate. In seconds, the sun in the sky gives its place to the moon and vice versa. The town crumbles all at once and I, like my father previously, turn into dust and soil, yet… fly in the sky.

*First publication, DROSERA Comunicación onírica #6 (Surrealist Group of Madrid – in spanish language).

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