"El mundo es curioso; en cada esquina hay situaciones que evitamos ver y en estas ocurren momentos únicos que marcan un antes y un después, y por eso en las profundidades de una calle cualquiera, un evento más allá que cualquiera marcaba algo que no era de esa era..."
Conforme pasaba el semestre de la escuela, Melisa era una niña bastante inquieta; ocultaba su alegría porque no tenía con quien compartirla. Su escuela, donde más tiempo pasaba, era el lugar donde de ella más se burlaban. Más allá de hacerle compañía, los niños con ella se metían. Era algo triste, algo que todos pasamos, pero con el pasar de los años, Melisa, más frío daba cada paso. Odiaba a todos; cada mirada que en ella se posaba y que siempre la criticaba. Odiaba a los profesores que eran ciegos con lo que no notaban y, aún más, odiaba a sus padres por no estar allí y, aunque le dijeran que sí, ni un beso tenía antes de dormir.
"The world is curious; in every corner there are situations that we avoid seeing and in these unique moments occur that mark a before and after, and that is why in the depths of any street, an event beyond any other marked something that was not of that era..."
As the semester of school passed, Melisa was a rather restless girl; she hid her joy because she had no one to share it with. Her school, where she spent the most time, was the place where she was most mocked. Beyond keeping her company, the children messed with her. It was something sad, something that we all go through, but as the years went by, Melisa became colder with each step. She hated everyone; every look that was cast on her and that always criticized her. She hated the teachers who were blind to what they did not notice and, even more, she hated her parents for not being there and, even if they told her they were, she did not even have a kiss before going to sleep.
Pero cierto día de invierno, mientras almorzaba sin esmero, un pequeño niño se acercó y le dio un cuaderno. Nunca lo había visto, y si lo describía, dirían muchos que no había existido, pues sus ojos morados como la uva parecían estar al borde de la locura. Al darle la libreta, desapareció, pero ella logró ver una risa en su expresión, y de cuero era esa libreta, aunque notoriamente algo vieja; las letras doradas en ella la invitaban a revisarla. "La libreta de los deseos" es lo que decía en su portada, y al abrirla, un mensaje que le haría congelar la sangre…
"Escribe tus deseos, sean malos, oscuros o buenos, y tendrás cada uno de estos, y no pierdas la libreta o tú también lo harás con ella"…
Algo de esto resonó en su interior, pues había deseos que venían de su corazón. Intrigada se encontraba, pero de esto no podía saber nada. La revisó una y otra vez sin parar, buscando respuestas; era claro el proceso, aunque perderse... No era algo que quisiese, pero ella quería deshacerse de quienes la molestaban sin parar, quienes abusaban de ella y la hacían llorar. Tal vez no sería algo malo comparado con lo que vivía cada año y esto era una señal de que la luz por fin podía hallar. ¿Sería mala si lo hacía? No, si solo era una lección por día…
But one winter day, while she was having a careless lunch, a little boy came up to her and gave her a notebook. She had never seen him before, and if she described him, many would say he never existed, for his grape-purple eyes seemed to be on the verge of madness. When she gave him the notebook, he disappeared, but she managed to see a smile on his face, and it was leather, though noticeably old; the gold letters on it invited her to look through it. "The notebook of wishes" was what it said on its cover, and when she opened it, a message that would make her blood run cold…
"Write down your wishes, be they bad, dark or good, and you will have each one of them, and don't lose the notebook or you will lose it too"…
Something of this resonated within her, for there were wishes that came from her heart. She was intrigued, but she could know nothing of this. She looked through it again and again without stopping, looking for answers; The process was clear, but getting lost... It wasn't something she wanted, but she wanted to get rid of those who bothered her non-stop, who abused her and made her cry. Maybe it wouldn't be a bad thing compared to what she lived through every year and this was a sign that she could finally find the light. Would it be bad if she did? No, if it was only one lesson a day...
No había terminado de guardar sus cosas para ir a su salón cuando unos cuantos aparecieron sin razón: "Molestemos a la rara", tirándole un vaso con lo que parecía agua. Jaloneada y golpeada, se resignaba a ser tratada, y mientras se limpiaba luego en el baño, recordó lo de hacía rato. Buscó la libreta entre lágrimas, pues era algo que deseaba. "¡No los quiero ver más!", repetía mientras escribía sin parar cada nombre, cada idea, cada imagen de cómo eran, pero algo cambió en ella cuando la cerró y hizo una mueca. Tal vez algo más allá pasaba, algo de lo que no se percataba, pero daría inicio a un sinfín de episodios extraños, junto con una nueva Melisa que nacía tras cada trazo.
El primero en sufrir fue John, aquel que siempre la golpeaba; parece que su mascota se escapó y, al salir a buscarla, un auto apareció. Parece que no volverá al colegio, pues sus padres dicen que es algo serio. Igualmente, los que siempre le tiraban cosas, parece ser que algo los atormentó por horas; mientras más cosas Melisa escribía, más personas ya no volverían, pues, aunque suene macabro, muchos fueron los que la molestaron por años, aunque no todo era malo, pues sus padres estaban más empáticos, amorosos y presentes en todo lo que a Melisa concierne. Esto, claro, escrito en la libreta que curiosamente ya no la hacía sentir inquieta, pues le estaba cumpliendo cosas que la hacían estar en paz, aunque no notara con claridad que sus ojos estaban cada vez más oscuros y esperaba momentos oportunos para de otra víctima poderse vengar.
She hadn't finished packing her things to go to her classroom when a few of them appeared for no reason: "Let's bother the weirdo," throwing a glass with what looked like water at her. Pulled and beaten, she resigned herself to being treated, and while she cleaned herself in the bathroom, she remembered what happened a while ago. She looked for the notebook in tears, because it was something she wanted. "I don't want to see them anymore!" she repeated while she wrote non-stop each name, each idea, each image of what they were like, but something changed in her when she closed it and made a face. Maybe something else was going on, something she didn't notice, but it would start an endless number of strange episodes, along with a new Melisa that was born after each stroke.
The first to suffer was John, the one who always hit her; it seems that her pet escaped and, when she went out to look for it, a car appeared. It seems that she won't return to school, because her parents say that it's something serious. Likewise, those who always threw things at her, it seems that something tormented them for hours; the more things Melisa wrote, the more people would not return, because, although it sounds macabre, there were many who bothered her for years, although not everything was bad, because her parents were more empathetic, loving and present in everything that concerned Melisa. This, of course, written in the notebook that curiously no longer made her feel restless, because she was fulfilling things that made her feel at peace, although she did not clearly notice that her eyes were getting darker and she was waiting for opportune moments to take revenge on another victim.
La portada de esa libreta cada vez se hacía más oscura; pasaba de ese color cuero a un tono más rojizo. Había pensamientos enfermizos cada que Melinda escribía en ella, como el de aquella maestra que una vez la golpeó por no hacer un deber que otro compañero le hizo perder, pero que la misma apareció tiempo después colgada en un salón, con una fea expresión como si hubiera visto algo, los ojos abiertos y claros, y su boca como si gritara, y nadie supo nada mientras un rumor en la escuela se creaba.
Sus padres la atesoraban; aunque parecían dependientes, no la querían con tanta gente, solamente para ellos. Sentían aferrados celos por estar con su hija y ni siquiera distinguían si era malo o si era bueno. La mañana esperada llegó, donde ella se miró al espejo; escuchaba un triste eco de lo que era su corazón, asustado y con temor, pues ya ella no era la misma. Se veía muerta en vida, no como aquella libreta que, alimentada hasta más de esta, lucía cada vez más nueva. "No quiero escribir más; esto se está saliendo de control". Gritó a viva voz mientras se veía al espejo, pero ese no era su reflejo. Aquel que le respondió : "Nada está fuera de control, este fue tu destino, tú misma escribiste el hilo que te llevó a tu perdición, pero hoy se acabó la última hoja gastada y como el texto redactaba: conmigo te pierdes hoy".
The cover of that notebook was getting darker and darker; it went from that leather color to a more reddish tone. There were sick thoughts every time Melinda wrote in it, like that of that teacher who once hit her for not doing a homework assignment that another classmate made her miss, but who appeared some time later hanging in a classroom, with an ugly expression as if she had seen something, her eyes open and clear, and her mouth as if she were screaming, and no one knew anything while a rumor in the school was created.
Her parents treasured her; although they seemed dependent, they did not want her with so many people, only for themselves. They felt a strong jealousy for being with their daughter and they did not even distinguish if it was bad or if it was good. The expected morning arrived, where she looked at herself in the mirror; she heard a sad echo of what her heart was, scared and afraid, because she was no longer the same. She saw herself dead in life, not like that notebook that, fed with more than this, looked newer and newer. "I don't want to write anymore; this is getting out of control." She screamed out loud as she looked at herself in the mirror, but that was not her reflection. The one that answered her: "Nothing is out of control, this was your destiny, you yourself wrote the thread that led you to your doom, but today the last worn-out page ran out and as the text wrote: with me you are lost today."
En su escuela nadie la extrañó; sus padres por todos lados buscaron y, al estar desesperados por no tenerla consigo, pusieron fin a su destino, acabando con su vida. Y mientras tanto, ella todo esto veía: tomaba la mano de aquel niño, que la encontró de nuevo y consigo la llevaría como castigo por no usar bien la libreta y caer en la vil treta de lo que es la venganza, encontrando sin esperanzas el destino que la aguardaba……
At her school no one missed her; her parents searched everywhere and, desperate for not having her with them, put an end to her destiny, ending her life. And meanwhile, she saw all this: she held the hand of that boy, who found her again and would take her with him as punishment for not using the notebook well and falling into the vile trick of revenge, finding without hope the destiny that awaited her...
Muchas gracias por leer este post
Thank you very much for reading this post
