It is curious that, although I’ve tried really hard, I haven’t managed to remember anything. Since the very moment I opened my eyes (if I have them at all) in this ominous darkness that engulfs me I have been trying to remember anything, but nothing has come to my frail mind.
Here everything looked eternal and immutable, nothing seemed to change, nothing seemed to matter; that was what I used to think before the light appeared. A small beam of pale, bright light appeared in the distance right before my eyes and it did it in a way that I wouldn’t be able to tell if it had turned on suddenly or if it had been there all the time, because its brightness was so faint that it didn’t I managed to illuminate nothing in the black abyss that surrounded me.
That light called me and seduced me with its weak radiance, it begged me and implored me to reach it; but deep inside I knew I could not do it, that if I were to reached it, everything would end forever. I still had something to do.
I wanted to talk, write or draw my memories; I wanted someone to tell that story that I can’t remember; I just wanted to scream in the wind that I’m already dead. I wanted to recover that voice that had been stolen from me and to be able to narrate my life in order to invoke my lost memories.
Oh! But that precious light began to flicker almost imperceptibly, announcing its irrefutable briefness. I knew I should reach it and surrender to eternal oblivion, but I couldn’t do it.
Perhaps I was not the only lost soul in the oppressive darkness, perhaps hundreds of nameless dead were advancing around me seduced by the purity of the light that, little by little, was disappearing. If only one of them stopped to listen to the silenced screams of my being, I could advance and surrender to the peace that the light promised. But, if there really was someone else there, they were as mute and silent as I was, maybe even invisible, or perhaps the loneliness was my only companion.
The light was fading at such a speed that I was terrified while I struggled to remember anything that would help me to strengthen my conviction to stay or, even better, to push me to the volatile light. I didn’t realize until it was too late that that simple light had lit the flame of hope in the depths of my being, I didn’t realize until that very moment that the hope I was clinging to was brittle and that it was vanishing at the same time that the light was being consumed by darkness.
A greater panic than any other being –dead– or alive has ever experienced seized me and, in a futile and desperate attempt, I departed to the light that was almost imperceptible.
I did not reach it. The light went out before my eyes in the same way it appeared, leaving me with the feeling of not knowing if it had ever been there. I stayed in the darkness again in that damn hell, maybe for all eternity.
When I opened my eyes (if I had any) I found myself in the deepest darkness. I could not remember who or what I was, or where I was, and that black and unchanging abyss that surrounded me didn’t offer much help.
Everything seemed eternally identical until I noticed the presence of a pale and distant light that seduced me with its subtle shine. It was calling me and I wanted to reach it with all my heart, but for some reason I knew that the light meant the end of everything to me. How could I give myself to it without even knowing who I was?