EVANESCENT

- ONE -

 * this is my story, which I translated it into English. If there are any mistakes, please forgive me. I hope you all will like it.

    I walk my bony fingers on the smooth surface of the tattoo, over the dark ink printed above of the left wrist. I feel like I'm sick of melancholy, is a feeling that overwhelms me. My eyes are heavy, as if all my tears gathered in corners, ready to flow in streams on my vapid face. I scratch the skin with my nails because I have the impression that in this way I could snatch the tattoo that I got on the first day when I was born. For years and years, I saw it elongating itself, growing with me, becoming a part of me.

                                                                 

     Obsessing me.

     In the intense light of beam which is signaling intermittently to me the fact that the projector is loaded, I crop up my eyes to the bird what is stretching on my arm - it has the body of a dove, but the head is of a bald eagle with the eyesight almost percussive. I breathe slowly as in a sourdine and I rub the reddened skin, where I made a slight wound.

         The tattoo signifies the freedom and our innocence, of us, the women, symbolized by the dove's frail body, but the New Union took care to always remind us how dangerous this freedom is. The head of the bald eagle urges us to be strong, to be prepared to face any problems at any time. We're armed with doctrines, to be some predators when it's required. The bald eagle also means the limitation of freedom.

     We're free in a cage.

     When suddenly I feel the fingers of my mother dragging on my shoulder like an eagle who has the claws bent, I wince and I cover the tattoo with my shirt sleeve, as a sign of shyness. I focus my eyes in the dark, barely distinguishing the high and narrow silhouette of my mother. She pat my shoulder and I see her forefinger appearing into the light beam. Her finger slips into my sleeve. The rhythm of my breaths is precipitating. She tries to roll up my sleeve, but she fails, so she gets angry and lift it above my elbow.

     I feel her breathing in my ear, on my cheek.

 "Don't be ashamed of what you are, " she say accusatory and her voice becomes to have metallic shades.

    I am horrified, I am turning imperceptible away from her and I conceal a scowl, even if I'm aware that she can't see it in the dark. I rolled the other sleeve and I turn on the projector. The beam turns off at the same time with my breath. My lungs hurt and I scold myself with the burning pain which I feel in the chest. Only when the holographic projector rises in the feverish air, I allow me to breath again. I twist my head and look at my mother. She has a stigmatized face. She's staring at me, with full dark eyes, as if they are the merging of the shadows and then she takes her eyes off me and watching the hologram, which shows to her more interest.

     I stick my feet in the carpet. I bustle on the chair and  I rub my palms, then I wipe them on my pants.

     The light is ample, is radiating at the beginning, it dazzles me and it makes my eyes weep, but I get used to it little by little. I feel in me growing a frantic joy because I've never used a holographic projector before. I could play with the holographic buttons, pricking the air, but I don't want to spoil anything. I was trained only to open and close it, and the rest of the functions I've read them on the box in which it came.