by Christian Velilla
(This story contains attempted suicide.)
I find myself in that icy corner of my room, with my body lost in inaudible sobs and tears that I only feel running down my cheeks, but they are nothing more than vivid flashes of my imagination; like little diamonds that no one can ever claim.
Seconds pass that become intertwined into hours and then weeks. I am in such an exhausting spiral, and I would just like to open my eyes and culminate in the constant stares of everyone who passes by me. I remember, as if it were a bad movie, that first moment of horror that I experienced on my first day in high school…
The “Seniors”, as the future graduates called themselves, were a group of students whose poor grades and behavioral problems had led them to repeat that last year of school. They had decided to give lessons to the new ones, who were classified as “fresh meat.”
That first day I didn’t know what would happen. In the midst of the breeze and the light rain I felt as if the Cosmos itself were playing with its time clocks. A few minutes passed that felt like millennia, and the scrutiny of those gazes thirsty for suffering made my blood run cold. I tried to speed up my steps, but sciatica reminded me with its constant pangs that even though I wanted it with all my being, I should slow down my strides and be, as usual, the laughingstock of the school. Some heavy footsteps approached me and with terror in my eyes I admired a boy almost two meters tall who, mockingly, said to his companions:
-Who is this turtle boy here? -.
To which his colleagues responded chorally:
– It looks like a statue with a bad face! A gargoyle! -.
After weeks of experiencing situations like those on my first fateful day, I decided to accept the regime of horror of my hateful classmates and a part of my chest began to feel as if it were turning into solid rock. It was one with the feeling of numbness, there were millions of sculpting butterflies that sculpted an ode to the lack of movement, to a relaxing silence, to a feeling of peace and absence of life; and for small periods the pain produced by my spine ceased and made me feel anxious to suffer more, to die slowly, for something that would lead me to become a little more like that gargoyle that I knew I really was. I felt a connection between poison and cure that intoxicated and excited me at the same time.
The days flew by like leaves in autumn, and each time I felt a longing growing by leaps and bounds to suffer the regime of terror imposed by my classmates; and I imagined what it would be like to leave aside those heavy human bones, so fragile and breakable. I spent long days visualizing each one of them shattering like crystals falling from above while the skin that covers them turns into the firmest rock; The misery experienced could be the least of the sacrifices to obtain the joy of being a little more gargoyle.
Along with that longing, a month passed, and I met a girl at lunch, whose appearance transported me to a gothic movie: black eyeliner, with thick lines on each eyelid, crimson lips, an ebony dress with a leafy train and military boots at knee height. Our eyes met accidentally, and I approached thinking that I could have a normal conversation for the first time at school. What a big mistake! Seeing me for only a moment, and with a soprano voice, so angelic and at the same time so poisonous, she said full of contempt:
-Gargoyle boy, your appearance reminds me of the Hunchback of Notre Dame.
With a melodious laugh like a siren, she continued uttering such destructive taunts… I felt like that great weight in my heart was eating away at me and crying very hard, I crawled to my locker and took out the painkillers that the doctor had prescribed for me and without thinking about it twice I swallowed almost 30 of them. At first the dissolving pills made my stomach turn and my arms felt like foreign bodies precariously tied to my body. My chest felt heavy, and my legs began to contract so painfully, as they performed a meaningless dance that mercilessly stabbed and prickled at my skin.
After what seemed like an eternity, darkness came, and my body ended up collapsing on the icy floor of the school hallway.
For moments I felt as if I were floating in nothingness, as if I were nothingness. At times a series of mirrors covered what seemed to be the walls of a strange sea in which I felt submerged, living as less than a human statue… too weak to be free. But I… I wanted to scream but no sound came out of my worn throat.
From one moment to the next I felt a shudder that shook each of my bones and I woke up in an extremely white room, with blinding lights and the murmur of a group of doctors who had performed a scrub and had requested a consultation with psychiatry. I didn’t know what to do other than pretend that I wasn’t feeling any emotional pain and that I had accidentally swallowed the pills. The psychiatrist talked to me and helped me question everything that had happened. In a blunt tone he made me stay under observation for about 3 days and recommended that I read a little and contact my relatives. For this reason, I took my cell phone from the nightstand and with nervous fingers I dialed one of the few numbers I remembered by heart: my father’s.
I must admit, the movement of my finger with the screen felt exhausting, currents of stinging sensations traveling through each of the nerves in my calloused fingers. I ended up dialing all 10 digits in almost 3 minutes. My father answered after the third ring and with his raspy and deep voice he shouted to me from the depths of his lungs:
– Where the hell are you? Did you forget the way back to your house? -.
A few minutes passed while I told him what had happened. Occasionally I paused for moments to breathe and resumed after my voice was cut off as a result of suffering. In the end I told him that I had to wait 3 days and then I wanted to return home. My father, a little wary, decided to give in and promised to pick me up.
After 3 days my dad sent a taxi for me and as usual the disappointment served to decorate his multiple broken promises. On the way home, I felt how little by little my gargoyle body returned to its most primitive form. I couldn’t help but fall into bitter tears as I tried to stifle my pitiful sobs while repeatedly banging my head against the taxi window.
As soon as I got home, I could only feel the agony of loneliness, so I ran desperately in search of my mother, I ran with the longing for her refuge and the memories of the moments shared. Then, with trembling hands, I hugged the portrait of her with every fiber of my being, and I hoped that at least for a moment she could answer my pleas and return the hug that I so desperately needed. Millions of tears, warm as diamonds of fire, were shed, and I bitterly asked the universe for my mother to come and give me one of her comforting hugs that now only constituted a memory along with her perfume of aleli and lavender. ..
After a few minutes, when I managed to calm down precariously, I dragged my tired feet and moved with leaden feet to the room where my father was watching channels completely dazed, not paying me even a hint of attention. When he finally noticed my presence, he raised his stern face and without giving me a chance to speak to him, with a contemptuous and authoritarian voice he only muttered:
– You’re grounded!
I went crestfallen to my room on the second floor. Every step on the steps was an ordeal and I couldn’t visualize my mother again… indigo eyes, snowy skin, pronounced cheekbones, blood-red hair and an electrifying smile that made me regain my energy. But that comforting vision that greeted me began to deform, her fiery hair began to fade, her smile withered, and finally her sweet hands turned into bony claws that sent a cold current through my spine.
Once I reached the last step to my room, that mirage disappeared. And with it the joy of having remembered my mother, and the horror of that fearsome vision presented to me. For a moment I wanted to listen to his faint and melodious voice to feel comforted while I could trust her with even my most sordid secrets. The distance from the top step and the door to my room felt like the path between a desert and its oasis, each step made the soles of my feet burn and my vision became increasingly blurry. I was crying uncontrollably, and I hadn’t realized that. Finally, once I reached the door to my room and opened it, I heard its usual squeak. I looked at my rigid and icy bed, without realizing it, tears flooded my entire field of vision and my body collapsed on the mattress that seemed like a blanket of rigid snow and the darkness embraced me with its merciless claws.
Suddenly I woke up gasping and only felt the metallic taste of my mouth mixed with a sensation of pressure crushing my chest. My throat burned and I wanted to tear the curtains of my room with a pitiful cry, but my worn-out vocal cords wouldn’t let me. I thought for a second that everything I felt led me to feel close to being a gargoyle and the realization of that made me remember that what most made me be a gargoyle were my wings to take flight and forget for at least a moment the whole suffering.
One by one, my long fingers began to deform. The bones crunched and feathers grew from my nails. The sound of my flesh tearing could not be described. There was a lot of blood, but the black feathers began to cover my arms and I felt like I was finally reaching the sublime point of being and feeling like a complete gargoyle.
After observing my black plumage covering my new wings, I felt how they began to burn. That fire transformed into bubbling lava, I wanted to scream but my throat was still closed. A while passed and the lava turned into rock, and despite its solidity my new gargoyle wings felt light. I tried to get my body used to them, and as if I were trapped by an inexplicable force, I got up and counting my steps I reached my window. I looked at the first floor with a smile on my face, for a moment all my suffering seemed to fade away and I knew what I had to do, and I spread my rock wings and took flight.
The school bell penetrated the windows of the school bus, interrupting the vivid dream I just had. I’m stunned. Apparently, I’ve dreamed that I was dreaming a couple of times and I realize that it’s just the first day of high school. It’s all been a dream that felt so real I can barely find the words. I walked down the hallway and couldn’t help but catch a glimpse of a poster for a school play called Seniors, which was about anti-bullying. Maybe a couple of sighs later, a shiver went down my spine, I knew in the same way that the dreams were going to return and without wanting to see anything else that would remind me of my vivid dreams, I looked for the stairs closest to the roof. I walked for a couple of minutes and when I saw the entire school from above, I was finally able to know what that sensation was in my chest that turned my shell called body into a future gargoyle. I experienced my beautiful transformation and as the wings were forged that went from blood to feathers, from feathers to lava and lava to rock I just screamed with all my might. I smiled with great joy and, spreading my wings, I launched myself into the void.
Now I understand everything, I finally find myself in that cold corner of my room with my body lost in inaudible sobs and tears that I only feel running down my cheeks, but they are nothing more than vivid flashes of my imagination; like little diamonds that no one can ever claim.
Seconds pass that intertwine into hours and then weeks, I am in such an exhausting spiral, and I would just like to open my eyes and culminate in the constant glances of everyone who passes by me. I remember, as if it were a bad movie, that first moment of horror that I experienced on my first day in high school. It’s no longer a dream, it’s my life, I’m a gargoyle! and now I just must hold on to that stretcher and machines that keep me alive. Now I only long for my wings and my lament, the lament of a gargoyle that merges with the sounds of the wind and the screams of the other unfortunate people.
Category: Featured, Short Story