And there she is. The reason for this altar. Decorating it just like Jesus in his cross. Her eyes open, looking down on me in an empty stare. Her body naked, clean, and pure, posing in front of a glowing, golden ring hanging from the ceiling. It is decorated with prayers, written in an ancient, secret, almost demonic, language. She is motionless, voiceless, lifeless.


   She was playing a part in the latest short film from a famed, young director. Her part was that of a shy, frightened girl in an abusive relationship, who wanted to end it before he ended her. In the script was written that she'd die by his hand. A passional crime comitted while she slept. Her life ended by a knife, still sticking out of the back of her lifeless body when it was found by her, now terrified, roommate.
   She had had a few other acting roles before this one, but this was the one that could launch her career. Sadly it would never come to be.
   When the time came to film the "discovery of the body" scene, the cast wasn't so sure about the story ending with the death of the protagonist. They felt it was too extreme for the message they were trying to share. They talked to the director, trying to change the death of the girl into nothing more than a violent fight between the couple. After much thought, the director agrees to change the script.
   But no one can change the script of fate.
   Once the script was re-written, ready to be filmed, the whole cast was called in to do so, but something was amiss. The lead actress hadn't come. Her answering machine had over 78 unheard messages. Her inbox full of unread e-mails titled Where are you?!.

  
   No one would know anything about her again. No one but me.

A bench. A lonely bench I found in the park, isolated from the rest of the scenery. Shy, hidden from the rest of the world. Out of sight.
Perfect.
   It is wet from the heavy rain pouring down on us both, and, still, I sit on it. I take out of my pocket a little poetry book. It's pages barely staying together. I open it right on my favorite poem. I read it over and over again, even though I already know it by memory.
   I read and read, staying always fixated on the same page, on the same poem, always on the same bench under a never ending, heavy rain.


   A playful dog found its way into my hideout. It has no collar, no leash, no bonds to anyone or anything. It sniffs my hand. It looks up at me. It barks. It leaves.
   He didn't find anything worthy of its attention. Just an old man sitting on a bench, with some wet paper in his hand, blank and unreadable. Lifeless.

   Everything lifeless.

I wouldn't mind waking up early every morning just to see how beautiful you are when the first rays on sunlight gently reflect on your skin, creating the most marvelous lighting the human eye can ever witness, and shining it right into my heart.

Hoy que es día de los muertos
quisiera recordar a mis amigos,
a aquellos que están perdidos,
que nos dejaron de improvisto.

Alex con sus gritos
a cualquiera impresionaba,
mas poseía un alma noble
y seguro lo demostraba.

La muerte siendo injusta,
traicionera y juguetona
le hizo perder el equilibrio
para no jugar más sola.

Daniela guapa era.
Coqueta y encantadora.
A los hombres enloquecía
en cuestión de pocas horas.

La muerte, por celosa,
le echó una maldición.
Ahora les encanta
desde el mismísimo panteón.

Al pequeño, alegre Ivan
el futbol volvía loco.
El Barça su pasión
y un partido dentro de poco.

La muerte en su equipo
carecía de un defensor,
y pensó en el joven Ivan
para su equipo ganador.

Aunque hoy se encuentren lejos
los llevamos en el corazón,
mas no dejan de ser calaveras,
calaveras del montón.

She came back
once again.
On her knees
she begs.
"I was a fool.
I did wrong.
Please take me back.
I love you."
Stop wasting your
time on me.
Go to your husband.
Go to your kid.
I have no use
for you anymore.
Crawl back in shame
to the hole you came from.