Happy evening friends of Hive. It is my pleasure to greet you and to wish you from the bottom of my heart that you are well. This is the first time I write in this beautiful community dedicated to fiction stories. I must admit that I feel a little nervous, nevertheless, here I leave you a fictional story that I wrote with a lot of emotion and I hope you enjoy reading it.
I miss that time when I considered you a friend; I could say anything without you judging me. I was simply me, with the transparency of water, the innocence of a child and the illusion of a teenager. Little did I imagine that talking to you helped me to feel freedom, my full and absolute freedom I hung around my neck, as if it were a scarf. I was adorned as I listened to your precise, coherent and reassuring words. I was proud of the freedom you gave me and I began to feel an excessive naivety for the way you treated me, but little by little it all faded away.
My desire to keep the scarf of freedom was so great that I clung to it with an enormous strength, I did not want to take it off at any time, I just wanted to keep it forever. I wanted to keep it tied to my body, no matter if it matched my outfit. Even if I did not look good in some occasions and events, I did not stop wearing it, in my eyes I looked perfect with any dress, however, the eyes of the cardinal points with much objectivity told me that I did not look good in every occasion. My ears preferred to ignore that comment that disturbed me.
The possibility of mildew or moth affecting my scarf, I devised strategies so that nothing would happen to it over time. I strove to take care of it like a precious treasure, I took it to the dry cleaners and requested that they wash it with balsams and not with ordinary water, I asked that they dry it with great tenderness and that the air to which it was subjected be one hundred percent pure. I spared no expense, I could not do it, I had in my hands the most valuable thing I had found up to that moment. My happiness was indescribable, my thoughts could fly, I could see the best scenery and I walked upright feeling that the wind was blowing in my favor.
I cared for it so much that I became obsessed to the point of sleeping and bathing with it attached to any part of my body. I simply could not do without it. I no longer took it to the dry cleaners, I washed it myself, I couldn't stop touching it. It was my oxygen, my strength, my world, the engine that kept me alive. So excessive was my dependence that I even dived into the sea to swim with it.
The sea realized my vulnerability and asked me to come to my senses, the sand, moved by my illusion of keeping it all my life, moaned and with its thousand particles wished vehemently that balance would come to my life, however, I could not be without my scarf. Until the dreaded day came, yes, that day that from time to time peeked out to warn me of its imminent arrival but that I ignored as often as I could.
It was already there, the day my scarf came to life and turned into a viper that wanted to hang me. It squeezed my neck so tightly that it almost succeeded in rendering me lifeless. It did it many times, but I didn't want to get rid of it. The mountains, horrified by what they often saw, stretched out their hands and snatched her away from me. They threw her into the nearest volcano and calcined her.
My weeping was so opulent and bitter that I asked the mountains to give me the corpse of what was once my freedom. So they did, they gave me the ashes and here I keep them in a glass box. Sometimes I look at it and cry so much that nothing can console me, other times I hate those remains and blame myself for not having had the gallantry to destroy it myself.
