No longer is there hidden magic behind the moon; its eternal glow no longer accompanies my steps. Now I drive by day, and as soon as dusk approaches, it locks me in, and I feel deprived of freedom.
I wrap myself under the blankets of my fears, frustrations, and sadness, hoping that in them, somehow, I will find the strength and the way out.
I look at the clock again; it reads 7:39 PM. Only five minutes have passed, but my mind has wandered through the last ten months—ten months in this prison, locked up, condemned to be part of a corrupt, insensitive, arrogant, and ignorant society.
Still Deprived of My Freedom
I look around, and there is my cellmate. Forty weeks have passed, and I still remember when I first saw him entering this dungeon, dressed elegantly, with well-polished shoes and a neatly tied tie.
I try not to get distracted by the sea of incoherencies coming out of his mouth—”God this, God that”—he even talks about the “holy” book, referring to it as a tale to dominate weak minds and enslave them (I must admit I agree on this last point). But just when I’m ready to trust him and his rhetoric, the church bells ring. “It’s twelve noon; I must go to mass!” he exclaims, and before the last chime fades, this man—in whom I thought I could trust—is already sitting in the front row, attending the ritual, flaunting his impressive figure, parading his elegant suit, living on appearances, feeding his ego.
This is the most precise description I can give of him, and that is how he presented himself: as someone who deceives with his knowledge, lies to his reason, and contradicts his actions just to be accepted by a society that thrives on filth. We have become scavengers.
I still try to escape reality and lock myself in my cell—it remains the safest place. I hide, put on my disguises and mask, trying to conceal the sadness and pain. Damn alcohol! It erases my memory. I wish I could live drunk every day to feel, for an instant, that loneliness no longer haunts me.
No More Alcohol!
Exclaims that voice in my mind. Only the pain remains, drying my heart and burning my soul. Damn them! I curse them for turning me into one of them, for blinding me, for putting blindfolds over my eyes, for making me what I always hated.
Damn filth has stolen the best of me and left me only with its false and petty reality.
