Leonardo tenía una vida sin luz, sin ruido. Ya había superado el medio cupón y ahora pensaba que lo simple era mejor: una silla, su comida, una ventana que coqueteaba con el horizonte y un recuerdo que pesaba toneladas.
Afuera, la gente lo buscaba como si fuera el dueño de todas las respuestas; adentro, él apenas soportaba una sola pregunta.
Decían que era sabio. Que en su mirada había consuelo. Que bastaba con escucharlo respirar para encontrar calma. Leonardo no entendía cómo algo roto podía servir de guía. Pensaba que los demás lo veían como una versión sagrada. Un error de interpretación.
Porque su verdad no la mostraba.
En la sombra de su habitación, el pasado no era recuerdo: era presencia. La enfermedad de ella no se había ido; seguía rasguñando las paredes. Su nombre ya no se pronunciaba, pero aún se escuchaba. Leonardo cargaba la certeza de haber fallado, de no haberse percatado a tiempo. Esa culpa afilada era lo único que no lo dejaba solo.
En las noches, sentía que algo se acomodaba en la habitación. No era una figura clara, ni emitía sonido. Eso, lo observaba, pero no tenía ojos. Leonardo no se movía. No le importaba que aquello se quedara.
Con el tiempo, esa presencia comenzó a filtrarse en el día. Sentía que era evaluado. Ese algo conocía cada rincón de su culpa.
Un día, Leonardo quitó el velo del único espejo. Quiso reencontrarse con su reflejo, ese que había evitado por años. Pero esta vez, la imagen no era la suya. Había en sus ojos una profundidad ajena.
Y el bombillo se encendió.
No era él a quien buscaban los demás. No era su respiración, ni su aparente sabiduría. Era eso lo que se había instalado en su interior, alimentado por el dolor y la culpa. Aquello que se filtraba en cada palabra que no decía, en cada gesto que evitaba.
Él no era el guía.
Era el contenedor.
Y lo que los demás percibían como paz… era, en realidad, la quietud de algo que observaba desde dentro, paciente, esperando su momento.
Leonardo retrocedió, entendiendo su lugar.
No era quien hablaba.
Era el observado.
Era the one on display.
Hasta aquí mis cinco minutos.
© 2021-2026 Germán Andrade G. Todos los derechos reservados.
El contenido original fue escrito para:
3 May 2026, Freewriters Community Daily Writing Prompt Day 3092: The one on display por 
Todas las imágenes fueron editadas en CANVA.
*Es mi responsabilidad compartir con ustedes que, como hispanohablante, he tenido que recurrir al traductor Yandex Translate para llevar mi contenido original en español al idioma inglés. También hago constar que he utilizado la herramienta de revisión gramatical Grammarly.
Desde mi laptop, 3 de mayo de 2026.
English
THE CONTAINER
Leonardo lived a life without light, without noise. Having already passed the fifty-year mark, he had come to believe that simplicity was best: a chair, his food, a window that flirted with the horizon, and a memory that weighed tons.
Outside, people sought him out as if he held the keys to every answer; inside, he could barely withstand a single question.
They said he was wise. That his gaze offered comfort. That merely hearing him breathe was enough to find peace. Leonardo didn’t understand how something broken could serve as a guide. He thought the others saw him as some sacred version of himself. A mistake in interpretation.
Because he never showed his truth.
In the shadows of his room, the past wasn’t a memory: it was a presence. Her illness hadn't left; it continued to claw at the walls. Her name was no longer spoken, yet it was still heard. Leonardo carried the certainty of having failed, of not noticing in time. That sharpened guilt was the only thing that kept him from being truly alone.
At night, he felt something settling in the room. It wasn't a clear figure, nor did it make a sound. It watched him, though it had no eyes. Leonardo didn't move. He didn't care if it stayed.
Over time, that presence began to seep into the daylight. He felt he was being evaluated. That "thing" knew every corner of his guilt.
One day, Leonardo removed the veil from the only mirror. He wanted to face his reflection again, the one he had avoided for years. But this time, the image wasn't his own. There was a foreign depth in his eyes.
And the light bulb flickered on.
It wasn't him the others were seeking. It wasn't his breathing, nor his apparent wisdom. It was that thing which had installed itself inside him, fed by pain and guilt. That thing which leaked through every word he left unsaid, every gesture he avoided.
He wasn't the guide.
He was the vessel.
And what others perceived as peace… was, in reality, the stillness of something watching from within, patient, waiting for its moment.
Leonardo stepped back, understanding his place.
He wasn't the one speaking.
He was the observed one.
He was the one on display.
That’s it for my five minutes.
© 2021-2026 Germán Andrade G. All rights reserved.
The original content was written for:
3 May 2026, Freewriters Community Daily Writing Prompt Day 3092: The one on display by
All images were edited using CANVA.
From my laptop, May 3, 2026.
It is my responsibility to share with you that, as a Spanish speaker, I have had to resort to the translator Yandex Translate to translate my original Spanish content into English. I also state that I have used the grammar-checking tool Grammarly.