Deprived of Liberty

There’s no more magic hidden behind the moon. Its eternal brightness no longer accompanies my steps. Now I drive during the day, and as soon as dusk approaches, it locks me in and I feel deprived of liberty.

I wrap myself under the sheets of my fears, frustrations, and sadness, hoping somehow they’ll hold the strength and the exit.

I look at the clock again—7:39 PM. Only five minutes have passed, but my mind has traveled through the last ten months. Ten months in this prison; locked up, condemned to be part of corrupt, insensitive, arrogant, and ignorant society.

Still Deprived of My Liberty

I look around and there’s my cellmate. Forty weeks have passed and I still remember when I first saw him entering this dungeon, with his elegant suit, well-polished shoes, and properly tied tie.

I try not to get distracted by the sea of incoherencies pouring from his mouth—that God this, that God that—he even talks about the “sacred” book, refers to it as a tale to dominate weak minds and enslave (I must admit we agree on this last part). But when I’m ready to trust him and his rhetoric, the church bells sound. It’s noon, I must go to mass! he exclaims, and before the last toll finishes ringing, this man—in whom I thought I could trust—is sitting there in the first row, attending the ritual, showing his formidable figure, parading his elegant suit, living off appearances, feeding his ego.

This is the most precise description I could give of him, and that’s how he presented himself—as the person who deceives his knowledge, who lies to his reason and contradicts himself with his actions just to be accepted, accepted by a society that feeds on filth. We’ve become scavenger beings.

I still try to escape reality and lock myself in my cell—it’s still the safest place. I hide, put on my disguises and mask, try to hide the sadness and pain. Damn alcohol! It erases my memory. I wish I could live drunk every day to feel for an instant that solitude is no longer part of me.

There’s No More Alcohol!

Exclaims that voice in my mind. Only the pain remains, drying my heart and burning my soul. Damn them! Damn them! I curse them for turning me into one of them, for blinding me, for putting bandages on my eyes, for turning me into what I always hated.

Damn filth has stolen the best and only left me impregnated with its false and petty reality.