Greetings, my dear ones, trying to honor the invitation of our beloved @maiasun84, I leave you, without further ado, my story.
— Shut up!
Wilhelmina was surprised by the sound of her own scream. As if it had come from somewhere foreign to her. The voices were so close, so real, they had been there day and night for so long, and at times she forgot she had a voice too.
The injections didn't help, they only hurt. She feared them as much as she feared the voices.
Those.
Some days they were just a bearable murmur, a litany of discontented and bitter beings; but others... Ah, how they knew how to hurt, how they accused and exposed fears and shortcomings, sins, mistakes. All of her was a mistake.
She was grateful for the scream that disconnected her for a moment from its tyranny, but she knew they would return, they always returned.
— Shshsh, here they come, they're not happy with the scolding, shshsh no, no, no, no, no.
Then it came.
The trill.
Softly and without asking permission, it invaded her room, her mind, making the beasts retreat.
She ran to the bars. In the overgrown branches of the jacaranda tree, he sang freely and carefree. Wilhelmina answered him with a timid note. The bird hopped a few times, came closer, and returned another note, short as a question.
She sang, she continued singing because she needed to inform him of everything; he seemed to understand. He trilled his consolations, or sang his triumphs, she joined in.
Intuiting the harmonic codes of creation, she understood and was understood; every morning and every evening, without fail, light spilled from the branches into her sickroom.
The voices had gone, she only just realized. Between that silence and the music, Wilhelmina blossomed. Her hair appeared combed and tied back, her smile serving as a frame, now, for eyes that shone with intelligence and faith. The doctors, satisfied with the progress, replaced the injections with pills that they took to the bathroom sink. She didn't need them, didn't want the false rest they provided. She preferred to be wide awake to receive her friend later.
Today the general ward was quieter; most of the patients had gone out into the garden, listened to her hubbub, and followed her. The group ran in the sun, seemingly chasing their own shadows back and forth. Suddenly, a shout of triumph, laughter, collective joy.
She was already connecting with others. A few days ago, she had been very sincere in her congratulations to nurse Tania when she announced the pregnancy she had been longing for. It felt good to enjoy the goodness of others; it was an extra way to be happy. Further away, the group celebrated with childlike joy. She smiled.
They were closer now; the one with the bushy eyebrows and calloused hands smiled ugly and showed off his achievement.
Her bird.
His little black eyes stared at her in terror, attempting an impossible flight.
She stretched out her arm, wanting to scream.
The smile, eyebrows, and hands contracted simultaneously, and her fragile neck snapped.
Wilhelmina fell to her knees, clutching her head in her hands, her eyes wide, lost, her mouth open, still aborting the saving scream.
Everyone passed by her without noticing her, entering the living room, celebrating the event. The garden was empty, but she was not alone.
Suddenly, like a devastating tsunami, the voices returned, more brutal than ever, louder, flooding her vengefully, pointing at her, drowning her.
— Shut uuuuup!
The nurses rushed to her, syringe in hand.
I hugged them.
This post is AI-free. The image belongs to me, and the banners were created with Canva.
Saludos, mis queridos, intentando honrar la convocatoria de nuestra querida @maiasun84 les dejo, sin más preámbulos, mi cuento.
— ¡Ya, cállate!
A Wilhelmina la sorprendió el sonido de su propio grito. Como si hubiera salido de un lugar ajeno a ella. Es que las voces se escuchaban tan cercanas, reales, estaban ahí día y noche desde hacía demasiado tiempo, y a ratos olvidaba que ella también tenía una voz.
Las inyecciones no ayudaban, solo dolían. Les temía tanto como a las voces.
Esas.
Algunos días solo eran un murmullo soportable, letanía de seres inconformes y amargados; pero otros... Ah, como sabían lastimar, como acusaban y desnudaban temores y carencias, pecados, errores. Toda ella era un error.
Agradeció al grito que la desconectó por un momento de su tiranía, pero sabía que iban a regresar, siempre regresaban.
— Shshsh, ahí vienen, no están contentas con el regaño, shshsh no, no, no, no, no.
Entonces llegó.
El trino.
Suave y sin pedir permiso invadiendo su cuarto, su mente, haciendo retroceder a las fieras.
Corrió a los barrotes. En las descuidadas ramas de la jacaranda él cantaba libre y despreocupado.
Wilhelmina le contestó con una nota tímida, el ave dio unos saltos, acercándose y le devolvió otra nota, corta como una interrogante.
Ella cantaba, siguió cantando porque necesitaba ponerlo al tanto de todo, él parecía entender. Gorjeaba sus consuelos, o trinaba sus triunfos, ella le hacía coro.
Intuyendo los códigos armónicos de la creación comprendía y era comprendida; cada mañana y cada tarde, sin falta, desde las ramas se derramaba luz sobre su cuarto de enferma.
Las voces se habían marchado, recién se daba cuenta. Entre ese silencio y la música Wilhelmina florecía.
Su cabello apareció peinado y recogido, la sonrisa servía de marco, ahora, a unos ojos en los que brillaban la inteligencia y la fe.
Los médicos satisfechos con el progreso sustituyeron las inyecciones por pastillas que iban a dar al lavabo. No las necesitaba, no quería el falso descanso que proporcionaban. Prefería estar bien despierta para recibir más tarde a su amigo.
Hoy el salón general estaba más tranquilo, la mayoría de los pacientes había salido al jardín, escuchaba su algarabía y la siguió. El grupo corría al sol, persiguiendo al parecer sus propias sombras de un lado a otro. De pronto un grito de triunfo, risas, alegría colectiva.
Ella ya conseguía conectar con otros. Unos días atrás había sido muy sincera en sus felicitaciones a la enfermera Tania cuando anunció el embarazo que llevaba tanto deseando. Se sentía bien disfrutar el bien de los demás, era una manera extra de ser feliz. Más allá el grupo celebraba con gozo infantil.
Sonrió.
Ya estaban más cerca, el de las cejas pobladas y las manos callosas sonreía feo y mostraba la conquista.
Su ave.
Los ojillos negros la miraron aterrados, intentando un vuelo imposible.
Extendió el brazo, quiso gritar.
Sonrisa, cejas y manos se contrajeron a un tiempo y el frágil cuello se quebró.
Wilhelmina cayó de rodillas agarrando su cabeza con las manos, los ojos desorbitados, perdidos, la boca abierta abortando aún el grito salvador.
Todos pasaban por su lado sin notarla, fueron entrando al salón celebrando la ocurrencia, el jardín quedó vacío pero ella no estaba sola.
De golpe, como un tsunami devastador las voces regresaban, más bestiales que nunca, más altas, la innundaban vengativas, la señalaban, la ahogaban.
— ¡Ya, callenseeeee!
Los enfermeros corrieron a ella, jeringa en mano.
Los abrazo.
La redacción de este post está libre de IA. La imagen me pertenece y los banners se crearon en Canva
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Ayyyyyy, pero que cuento tan triste 😭😭😭.
Precioso y bien escrito, pero inmensamente triste.
Perdoooooón 😬🫠🥰
Vaya cuento que te gastaste , y después dices que no escribes.
🥹🤍 Gracias, corazón mío.
Me ha temblado el alma mientras leía. Ese cuento es como un puñetazo.
Gracias por pasar, por leerme, por compartir esta aventura conmigo
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