Buenos días,
Antoñico.
Aquí un comienzo de algo que quiero contar en el blog.
Aquí un comienzo de algo que quiero contar en el blog.
Es una
experiencia personal, relatada de un modo particular, poco tocada de la
original, con el fin de conservar la fuerza, sentimiento y quién sabe, la
locura del momento.
Espero que te guste...o no, jejejej...
Confío en tu experiencia y capacidad para retocar lo que creas oportuno, y para ello te doy mi más entero consentimiento.
Vamos allá:
Imagina que te levantas una calurosa mañana.
Espero que te guste...o no, jejejej...
Confío en tu experiencia y capacidad para retocar lo que creas oportuno, y para ello te doy mi más entero consentimiento.
Vamos allá:
Imagina que te levantas una calurosa mañana.
Sobresaltado
por el chirriante ruido metálico de una puerta corredera, te vuelves hacia una
estrecha ventana y extrañado te preguntas ¿De verdad es ya de día?
Bueno, pues sí, eso parece, aunque es un aspecto poco esperanzador para una persona que se encuentra presa, alguien a quien su forma de vida, su familia, sus amigos, y su propia personalidad le han sido arrebatadas.
Bueno, pues sí, eso parece, aunque es un aspecto poco esperanzador para una persona que se encuentra presa, alguien a quien su forma de vida, su familia, sus amigos, y su propia personalidad le han sido arrebatadas.
A quien el
dolor del día a día le hace desear estar muerto, pero al que una fuerza, quien
sabe venida de dónde, le empuja a continuar, a sobrevivir, semana tras semana,
mes tras mes, años tras año....
Sí,
realmente hay poca esperanza para ella, para él, para nosotros y, nunca
descartes lo posible, para ti mismo.
Y qué más
da, te repites a ti mismo: Este día será igual que otro, y al final, llegará la
noche. Como todos los días... como todas las noches.
Por muy arriba que esté la posición del Gran Astro a estas horas de verano, poca luz verás entrar.
Por muy arriba que esté la posición del Gran Astro a estas horas de verano, poca luz verás entrar.
Buen aspecto
a tratar sería quizás, porque ¡cómo es posible que tan solo cuatro barrotes que
atraviesan el vano logren para el impulso de energía tan potente!
Interesante
la ciencia, como tema de debate pero en la realidad muy triste de vivir.
Aquella
puerta queda entreabierta, unos 10 o 15 centímetros, una distancia por la que
ningún ser humano adulto de complexión media sería capaz de atravesar, no es la
verdadera barrera a la hora de bloquear la salida.
Ese límite
empieza mucho más adentro de la persona, una fuerza anulada desde dentro,..
A continuación, voces envolventes anuncian
A continuación, voces envolventes anuncian
"Recuento.
Todo el mundo vestido, incorporado y con la luz encendida".
Casi por
instinto, todo el mundo obedece, dejándose llevar por un miedo que proviene
desde lo más profundo del ser.
"El
terror es buen servidor del mandador", solía decir mi abuelo, que no yo, y
una silueta de oficio va recorriendo el pasillo, al otro lado de la puerta va
desfilando el miedo, y pronto cierra.
Unos minutos
después, ya acicalado para la ocasión, las correderas anuncian la bajada. Las
puertas se abren por completo y el hueco nos deja paso.
Los mismos
oscuros pasillos, las mismas personas, la misma tristeza en sus rostros, vamos
descendiendo. Uno tras otro, escalón a escalón, agolpados unos encima de otros,
mochila al hombro y un vaso en la mano, para al final, ir completando una fila
de dos, que viene a parar al comedor.
El desayuno
ha llegado.
Han pasado 36 minutos de una mañana cualquiera, de un día cualquiera, en una prisión cualquiera.
Han pasado 36 minutos de una mañana cualquiera, de un día cualquiera, en una prisión cualquiera.
Perdida más
de media hora de mi vida.
En Murcia, a
27 de diciembre de 2014.
D. JOAQUÍN TORTILLOL MOLINA
D. JOAQUÍN TORTILLOL MOLINA
(JUSTIN)
Good
morning, Antoñico.
Here is a start of something I want to tell the blog.
It is a personal experience, related in a particular way, little touched in the original, in order to conserve power, feeling and who knows, the madness of the moment.
Hope you like it ... or not, jejejej ...
I trust your experience and ability to tweak what you think appropriate, and for that I give my full consent.
Here we go:
Imagine you wake up one hot morning.
Startled by the grating clank of a sliding door, you turn into a narrow window and missed ask yourself really is and day?
Well, yes, it seems, although it is a bit hopeful aspect for a person who is imprisoned, someone your lifestyle, your family, your friends, and your personality will have been taken away.
Who pain everyday makes you wish you were dead, but a force coming who knows where, pushes him to continue to survive, week after week, month after month, year after year ....
Yes, there really is little hope for her, for him, for us and never discards as possible for yourself.
And who cares, you repeat to yourself: This day is like another, and ultimately arrive at night. Like every day ... like every night.
By far above that is the position of Great Astro at this time of summer, come see low light.
Good thing to try would be perhaps because how is it that only four bars that cross the vain achieve to boost energy so powerful!
Interesting science for debate but the sad reality of living.
That door is ajar, about 10 or 15 inches, a distance by which any average-sized adult human would be able to cross, is not the real barrier to block the exit.
That limit begins much deeper person, a force canceled from within ..
Then surround voices announce
"Count. Everyone dressed, built and with the light on."
Almost by instinct, everyone obeys, carried away by a fear that comes from the depths of being.
"Terror is good servant of the foreman," my grandfather used to say, I do not, and a silhouette of job moves through the hallway on the other side of the door is parading fear, and soon closed.
A few minutes later, and groomed for the occasion, announce sliding downhill. Doors open completely and leaves us hollow step.
The same dark hallways, the same people, the same sadness on their faces, come down. One by one, step by step, crowding one upon another, backpack and a glass in hand, to the end, be completing a row two, stopping next to the dining room.
Breakfast has arrived.
It's been 36 minutes one morning, any day, in any prison.
Lost over half an hour of my life.
In Murcia, to December 27, 2014.
D. JOAQUIN MOLINA TORTILLOL
(JUSTIN)
Here is a start of something I want to tell the blog.
It is a personal experience, related in a particular way, little touched in the original, in order to conserve power, feeling and who knows, the madness of the moment.
Hope you like it ... or not, jejejej ...
I trust your experience and ability to tweak what you think appropriate, and for that I give my full consent.
Here we go:
Imagine you wake up one hot morning.
Startled by the grating clank of a sliding door, you turn into a narrow window and missed ask yourself really is and day?
Well, yes, it seems, although it is a bit hopeful aspect for a person who is imprisoned, someone your lifestyle, your family, your friends, and your personality will have been taken away.
Who pain everyday makes you wish you were dead, but a force coming who knows where, pushes him to continue to survive, week after week, month after month, year after year ....
Yes, there really is little hope for her, for him, for us and never discards as possible for yourself.
And who cares, you repeat to yourself: This day is like another, and ultimately arrive at night. Like every day ... like every night.
By far above that is the position of Great Astro at this time of summer, come see low light.
Good thing to try would be perhaps because how is it that only four bars that cross the vain achieve to boost energy so powerful!
Interesting science for debate but the sad reality of living.
That door is ajar, about 10 or 15 inches, a distance by which any average-sized adult human would be able to cross, is not the real barrier to block the exit.
That limit begins much deeper person, a force canceled from within ..
Then surround voices announce
"Count. Everyone dressed, built and with the light on."
Almost by instinct, everyone obeys, carried away by a fear that comes from the depths of being.
"Terror is good servant of the foreman," my grandfather used to say, I do not, and a silhouette of job moves through the hallway on the other side of the door is parading fear, and soon closed.
A few minutes later, and groomed for the occasion, announce sliding downhill. Doors open completely and leaves us hollow step.
The same dark hallways, the same people, the same sadness on their faces, come down. One by one, step by step, crowding one upon another, backpack and a glass in hand, to the end, be completing a row two, stopping next to the dining room.
Breakfast has arrived.
It's been 36 minutes one morning, any day, in any prison.
Lost over half an hour of my life.
In Murcia, to December 27, 2014.
D. JOAQUIN MOLINA TORTILLOL
(JUSTIN)
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