- ENGLISH - After a few minutes a group of women took my pale sister home and at that time I burst into a rage, I swelled with anger and with the mask of the devil as face I retraced over my steps toward the direction from whence we came, snorting and drooling hysterical, imparting more energy than necessary for each step, as if the air collude against me, becoming more
thick, preventing me from walking at a normal speed, and I do not care about the over-exertion and my anger gave me the impetus to go as through something solid.
The street where it had happened was that of an old house where I lived in my childhood a few years, in the center of a small city, but to retrace my steps, almost magically environment was rapidly changing , the building blocks soon became smaller, old and ragged, the atmosphere was then suburban, and soon after became a totally rural area and the street on a rocky path leading to the pens or very old houses in remote small towns.
I impetuously walked toward the house of the owner of the dog, I was not sure what I would do upon arriving, I could not think about it, I could not think at all, the rage that drove me was blind.
As I approached the vicinity of the house I saw from afar the police, apparently had gone on ahead to investigate and were walking out the door at the right moment I peeked the house and apparently went without doing anything else. I was getting more angry. Unconsciously I looked around the fastest way to access the site and my hysterical state pushed me to tear apart with my bare hands the worn planks of the door leading to the backyard of the property, rotted by humidity and years. In my state it was as if it were cork. I pulled with the force that gives the knowledge that were all that stood between my feelings and the evil that lurked within, no longer perceived as a normal way because it was not just a murderer dog and a his wicked owner, now what I intuitively grasped was a tremendous malignancy that soaked all the place, and its focus was on the inside.
I still had not taken a few steps into the courtyard, which looked like old cattle abandoned years ago, when a male voice called from outside the rickety gate. He was a member of a police patrol who had remained to keep order, knowing that I was headed there with ill intentions and warned me that they understood my condition, but could not afford to raid a house or commit any other possible crime.
Surprising both, the owner, the woman, stuck his head out of the house over a low wall of a small courtyard adjacent and loudly told the police that nothing happened that I was a family friend and had no problem because I was there and that my intention was only parley. As if waiting for the slightest excuse, the police returned from whence they came.
The site was huge and full of weeds. In the background on one side, was the low wall behind which had appeared the owner, who now led a group of children to a pool that was in that area, representing the typical scene of a duck mother with her little ducks behind.
Everything had a macabre halo but it was hard to define why. At that moment I doubted if the woman owned the house was really the friend of my sister, owner of the dog murderer. Somehow I knew it was the same person, but physically no longer seemed, except emanate the same negativity.
thick, preventing me from walking at a normal speed, and I do not care about the over-exertion and my anger gave me the impetus to go as through something solid.
The street where it had happened was that of an old house where I lived in my childhood a few years, in the center of a small city, but to retrace my steps, almost magically environment was rapidly changing , the building blocks soon became smaller, old and ragged, the atmosphere was then suburban, and soon after became a totally rural area and the street on a rocky path leading to the pens or very old houses in remote small towns.
I impetuously walked toward the house of the owner of the dog, I was not sure what I would do upon arriving, I could not think about it, I could not think at all, the rage that drove me was blind.
As I approached the vicinity of the house I saw from afar the police, apparently had gone on ahead to investigate and were walking out the door at the right moment I peeked the house and apparently went without doing anything else. I was getting more angry. Unconsciously I looked around the fastest way to access the site and my hysterical state pushed me to tear apart with my bare hands the worn planks of the door leading to the backyard of the property, rotted by humidity and years. In my state it was as if it were cork. I pulled with the force that gives the knowledge that were all that stood between my feelings and the evil that lurked within, no longer perceived as a normal way because it was not just a murderer dog and a his wicked owner, now what I intuitively grasped was a tremendous malignancy that soaked all the place, and its focus was on the inside.
I still had not taken a few steps into the courtyard, which looked like old cattle abandoned years ago, when a male voice called from outside the rickety gate. He was a member of a police patrol who had remained to keep order, knowing that I was headed there with ill intentions and warned me that they understood my condition, but could not afford to raid a house or commit any other possible crime.
Surprising both, the owner, the woman, stuck his head out of the house over a low wall of a small courtyard adjacent and loudly told the police that nothing happened that I was a family friend and had no problem because I was there and that my intention was only parley. As if waiting for the slightest excuse, the police returned from whence they came.
The site was huge and full of weeds. In the background on one side, was the low wall behind which had appeared the owner, who now led a group of children to a pool that was in that area, representing the typical scene of a duck mother with her little ducks behind.
Everything had a macabre halo but it was hard to define why. At that moment I doubted if the woman owned the house was really the friend of my sister, owner of the dog murderer. Somehow I knew it was the same person, but physically no longer seemed, except emanate the same negativity.
- SPANISH-
La calle donde todo había sucedido era la de una vieja casa en la que viví en mi niñez un par de años, en el centro de una pequeña ciudad, pero al retroceder sobre mis pasos, de una forma casi mágica, el entorno fue rápidamente cambiando, las manzanas de edificios pronto se hicieron más pequeñas, antiguas y desastradas, en seguida el ambiente era suburbial y poco después se convertía en un área totalmente rural y la calle en un camino pedregoso de los que conducen a corrales o viejas casas muy apartadas en los pueblos pequeños.
Yo andaba impetuosamente hacia la casa de la dueña del perro, no tenía clara mi reacción al llegar, no podía pensar en eso, no podía pensar, la rabia que me empujaba era ciega.
Al acercarme a las inmediaciones de la casa vi desde lejos a la policía, por lo visto se habían adelantado para investigar y estaban saliendo por la puerta en el justo instante en que yo atisbaba la casa y aparentemente se iban sin hacer nada más. Cada vez estaba mas iracundo. De forma inconsciente busqué con la vista la forma mas rápida para acceder al recinto y mi histérico estado me empujó a arrancar a pedazos con mis propias manos los ajados tablones de la puerta que daba acceso al patio trasero de la finca, podridos por la humedad y los años. En mi estado me resultaron como si de corcho se tratase. Los desgajé con una fuerza solo dada por saber que eran lo único que se interponía entre mis sentimientos y el mal que se ocultaba dentro, pues ya no lo percibía de una forma normal, ya no se trataba únicamente de un perro asesino y una dueña malvada, ahora lo que captaba intuitivamente era una tremenda malignidad que empapaba todo aquel lugar, y su foco se encontraba en el interior.
Aún no había dado unos pasos por el solar, que tenía aspecto de viejo para ganado abandonado hace años, cuando una voz masculina me llamó desde fuera del portalón desvencijado. Se trataba de un miembro de una patrulla de policía que se habían quedado a guardar el orden sabiendo que yo me dirigía hacia allí con intenciones aviesas y me advertían que comprendían mi estado y situación, pero que no podrían permitirme allanar una morada ni cometer ningún otro posible delito. Sorprendiéndonos a ambos, asomó la cabeza la dueña de la casa por sobre un murete de un pequeño patio contiguo y a gritos les dijo a los policías que no pasa nada, que yo era amigo de la familia y no había problema porque yo estuviera allí y que mi intención era únicamente parlamentar. Como si esperaran la mas mínima excusa, los policías se volvieron por donde habían venido.
El solar era enorme y estaba lleno de malas hierbas. Al fondo, en un lateral, estaba el murete tras el cual había hecho su aparición la dueña, que ahora dirigía a un grupo de niños hacia unas piscinas que había en esa área, representando la típica escena de una pata con sus crías.
Todo tenía un halo macabro aunque resultaba difícil definir el porqué. En ese momento llegué a dudar si aquella mujer dueña de la casa era realmente la amiga de mi hermana, dueña del perro asesino. De alguna forma sabía que era la misma persona, pero físicamente ya no se parecían, excepto en emanar la misma negatividad.
Yo andaba impetuosamente hacia la casa de la dueña del perro, no tenía clara mi reacción al llegar, no podía pensar en eso, no podía pensar, la rabia que me empujaba era ciega.
Al acercarme a las inmediaciones de la casa vi desde lejos a la policía, por lo visto se habían adelantado para investigar y estaban saliendo por la puerta en el justo instante en que yo atisbaba la casa y aparentemente se iban sin hacer nada más. Cada vez estaba mas iracundo. De forma inconsciente busqué con la vista la forma mas rápida para acceder al recinto y mi histérico estado me empujó a arrancar a pedazos con mis propias manos los ajados tablones de la puerta que daba acceso al patio trasero de la finca, podridos por la humedad y los años. En mi estado me resultaron como si de corcho se tratase. Los desgajé con una fuerza solo dada por saber que eran lo único que se interponía entre mis sentimientos y el mal que se ocultaba dentro, pues ya no lo percibía de una forma normal, ya no se trataba únicamente de un perro asesino y una dueña malvada, ahora lo que captaba intuitivamente era una tremenda malignidad que empapaba todo aquel lugar, y su foco se encontraba en el interior.
Aún no había dado unos pasos por el solar, que tenía aspecto de viejo para ganado abandonado hace años, cuando una voz masculina me llamó desde fuera del portalón desvencijado. Se trataba de un miembro de una patrulla de policía que se habían quedado a guardar el orden sabiendo que yo me dirigía hacia allí con intenciones aviesas y me advertían que comprendían mi estado y situación, pero que no podrían permitirme allanar una morada ni cometer ningún otro posible delito. Sorprendiéndonos a ambos, asomó la cabeza la dueña de la casa por sobre un murete de un pequeño patio contiguo y a gritos les dijo a los policías que no pasa nada, que yo era amigo de la familia y no había problema porque yo estuviera allí y que mi intención era únicamente parlamentar. Como si esperaran la mas mínima excusa, los policías se volvieron por donde habían venido.
El solar era enorme y estaba lleno de malas hierbas. Al fondo, en un lateral, estaba el murete tras el cual había hecho su aparición la dueña, que ahora dirigía a un grupo de niños hacia unas piscinas que había en esa área, representando la típica escena de una pata con sus crías.
Todo tenía un halo macabro aunque resultaba difícil definir el porqué. En ese momento llegué a dudar si aquella mujer dueña de la casa era realmente la amiga de mi hermana, dueña del perro asesino. De alguna forma sabía que era la misma persona, pero físicamente ya no se parecían, excepto en emanar la misma negatividad.
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