La reina del insomnio
La sonrisa inmóvil que había mantenido por minutos eternos había desaparecido, abatida por manchas de color carmesí y una escena vívida que su mente no dejaba de reproducir. Flores de charco adornaban su vestido blanco, y la tela desgarrada creaba el efecto de colas que se mecían con el viento y se arrastraban con lentitud por el suelo.
Tras de sí dejaba huellas rojas y cafés, pues la planta de sus pies estaban sucias, como todo su cuerpo, como sentía ahora su alma. Pero en realidad, ¿no había estado sucia ya? Al albergar tantos deseos oscuros, pensamientos obsesivos que no la dejaban vivir en paz. Sí, ya estaba sucia. Solo le faltaba concretar el acto para terminar de condenarse.
Subió la escalera peldaño por peldaño, y se obligó a sonreír de nuevo para alejar los pensamientos molestos que venían a su cabeza, sin embargo, sus ojos muertos no sonreían, y a pesar de que las lágrimas se estaban asomando tímidamente por ellos, habían perdido lo que los hacía parecer humanos.
Avanzó sin encender la luz, con cuidado en una oscuridad que parecía esconder monstruos, pero ya no tenía nada que temer. El monstruo al que había temido y odiado estaba muerto, y ahora ella misma era uno de ellos.
Se detuvo frente a una ventana que traía rayos de luz a la casa, para ese entonces su sonrisa estaba menguando, pero no su dolor. Se acostó en posición fetal en ese pedazo de suelo donde llegaba la luz, como si de ese modo pudiera apartar la oscuridad que provenía de adentro.
Temblando, colocó el cuchillo a un lado y se abrazó las rodillas, en tiempos donde la calma no podía alcanzarla, su madre la mecía y acurrucaba en sus brazos. Trató de evocar esa paz meciéndose de un lado a otro, y por un momento creyó lograrlo, pero no desaparecía. ¡No desaparecía esa imagen de su cabeza!
Ojos que la miraban fijamente, sorprendidos, que se llenaban de sangre, de los que la luz se fue escapando de a poco, hasta quedar vacíos. Labios abiertos y manchados que se marchitaron después de lanzar el último aliento. Un cuerpo frío e inerte que ya no iba a levantarse, despojado de su fuerza vital. Cada uno cosecha lo que siembra, ¿y ella, qué iba a cosechar después de eso?
Su venganza estaba consumada, por fin. Pero el odio la había cegado para no ver el precio que tenía que pagar una vez que cediera a sus impulsos, y ahora que recién empezaba a pagarlo, no sabía cómo iba a soportarlo sin perder la cordura. Si su canción de cuna iba a ser cada noche los estertores de su víctima, no tenía dudas de que ella se convertiría en la reina del insomnio.
The motionless smile she had maintained for eternal minutes was gone, brought down by crimson stains and a vivid scene that her mind kept replaying. Puddle flowers adorned her white dress, and the torn fabric created the effect of tails swaying in the wind and trailing slowly across the floor.
Behind him he left red and brown footprints, for the soles of his feet were dirty, as was his whole body, as his soul felt now. But really, hadn't she already been dirty? By harboring so many dark desires, obsessive thoughts that would not let her live in peace. Yes, she was already dirty. She only needed to perform the act to finish condemning herself.
He climbed the ladder rung by rung, and forced himself to smile again to drive away the nagging thoughts that were coming into his head, however, his dead eyes were not smiling, and although tears were peeking shyly through them, they had lost what made them look human.
She advanced without turning on the light, cautiously in a darkness that seemed to hide monsters, but she had nothing to fear anymore. The monster she had feared and hated was dead, and now she herself was one of them.
She stopped in front of a window that brought rays of light into the house, by then her smile was waning, but not her pain. She lay down in a fetal position on that piece of floor where the light reached, as if in that way she could push away the darkness coming from inside.
Trembling, she put the knife aside and hugged her knees, in times when calm could not reach her, her mother rocked her and cuddled her in her arms. She tried to evoke that peace by rocking back and forth, and for a moment she thought she succeeded, but it wouldn't go away. That image wouldn't go away from her head!
Eyes that stared at her, surprised, that filled with blood, from which the light escaped little by little, until they were empty. Open and stained lips that withered after the last breath she took. A cold and inert body that would no longer rise, stripped of its vital force. Each one reaps what he sows, and what was she going to reap after that?
Her revenge was consummated, at last. But hatred had blinded her from seeing the price she had to pay once she gave in to her impulses, and now that she was just beginning to pay it, she didn't know how she was going to bear it without losing her sanity. If her lullaby was to be every night the death throes of her victim, she had no doubt that she would become the queen of sleeplessness.