The raindrops wet the cobbled alley in the port that sheltered vessels abandoned to their fate, between gusts of hurricane wind to carry with them the sparse rays of light of more than one day that gave rise to the gleams of the full moon.

 Suddenly, a shadow of black coturno appears between the masts of the boats, climbing the roof of a medium-sized ship and without detracting from the importance due to the others by carrying a figure of a red anchor stamped on the hull, eaten away by the salt and the sun of each wave of the sea that hit the bow

 Standing next to the bulwark, that unidentified shadow first looked around to make sure that no one was watching.

 Since there were none, he craned his neck to see inside the ship, taking a precise jump then later, sliding off the roof like a snake to board the ship from starboard.

 He took a few steps, until he found a brown bundle that seemed to move.

 He kicked it, as if to make it stop moving.

 - are you hungry? - He asked in a dark voice - I brought you a sandwich, said the shadow to that bundle that was twisting without stopping

 - I brought you the special of the day - said the shadow to the bundle, which, for a moment, stopped moving.

 It is when, in that same infinite moment, the shadow takes out from the inner pocket of his coturn a kind of dark envelope, perhaps somewhat laminated.

 He unwraps the package and quickly takes a machine gun out of it.

 Unholyly, he fired at the bundle, the one that stopped twisting as the rotten wooden floor of that boat was covered with a lot of blood from that bundle on the floor, staining the shoes in the shade of the red color of the silent guilt that betrayed.

 The shadow dragged the body to the edge of the boat, throwing the body into the sea.

 She saw it sink, wrapping a paper and then bringing it to her mouth, enclosing the ritual with a sip from a bottle in her hand, which she also threw into the ocean.

 He cleared his throat before emerging from the bottom of the ship, running and climbing between the masts of the ships.

 As they crossed the alley, a strange vibration shook the air.

 The shadow, then, look back

 And with his precise reflexes, he intercepts a wooden stick that was going in his direction, it was actually heading for him.

 Would they have seen it?

 Would there be any witnesses who would have watched him from the central offices of the paramilitary army?

 - Or would it be a policeman hiding in a boat?

 He could not know for sure, even using ultraviolet lenses hiding his cloudy look to denounce his ethyl state

 Look around for the origin of that stick. However, he only manages to hear a few steps moving away.

 Look at the port again

 Listen to the noise of an engine running.

 He looks anxiously for the ship with the painted anchor.

 - is gone.

 With his heart pouring out of his mouth, he runs out of the harbor, without even looking back, jumping over the protective walls of the dike.

 - shit! - He exclaims when accidentally the coturn gets tangled in some nails in the wall.

 The coturno is removed, which had protected it until then.

 Look back.

 - Cleansed.

 But when he jumps to the other side, he falls into a pit, full of garbage and excrement.

 - shit!

 He gets up in pain, cleaning his clothes with a handkerchief that he takes out of his pocket.

 At that, a machine gun bullet falls from his pocket and he bends down to pick it up.

 As he crouches down, he notices that there were four shoes on the floor.

 - I'm fried! He thought, trembling, swallowing his saliva as if it were cotton.

 Would it turn around?

 Would he run away?

 It was late and nothing would solve the situation.

 He straightened his body, putting the shirt inside his pants, the hair in place, cleaning his clothes with the handkerchief and putting on his coturn.

 I turned around.

 - Goodnight! - He said, finding, to his surprise, a middle-aged man, pissing, with a bottle in his hand.

 - Familiar face ..., is it not a curious person wanting to take advantage of destroying the anonymity of a shadow with a thirst for revenge?

 Rather than hurry, he continued on his way, crossing the street, in the direction of the center of the city - to rid himself of all doubt and impulse, that resolute shadow marked his path with the red of guilt for a murder that was not really there. happened.

 - It has only happened in my imagination, in my desire to do it - wiping his dirty eyes of laganing with the tip of his black shirt, he placed the mourning, which he wore under the coturn.

 Taking a rolled paper from his pocket, he realized that the world was spinning and that the concrete reality was not tangible and even less palpable.

 Roll your eyes.

 - It makes me spin, he would say, crouched on the sidewalk of the alley whose lights were turned on and off, like death itself at the end of the tunnel of his macabre and meaningless life, that life of revenge in life and in dream, in delirium and in reality so far away as he approached her lost gaze.

 You couldn't walk.

 But he was able to take two more steps before hearing his sentence:

 - The police! - was what some girls leaning on the parapet of their windows with red lights commented,

 - Sure nas a scandal with the other side.

 - No, they are very honest! That's.

 (And they have learned to give away, taught by the circumstances of life.

 Should not. Better to assume a new identity, not because of being really blamed.

 But because I knew that a drug dealer like me, who had murdered a usurer who collected the sale of the day with a gun to his head, deserved an end like that, in addition, life had taught me to be instinctive, to survive.

 It was an animal.

 And the most obvious thing to do was look for a hiding place, even without guilt this time.

 I found a bowling alley with red lights, and a display case with naked girls right in front of that square.

 The bowling alley was all lit up, it attracted attention

 Like a groom waiting for the bride at the church door, I combed my hand, buttoned my dirty shirt with the run.

 He did not smell bad, despite the rubbish stuck in his coturn that gave him the smell of his destiny since he had fallen in the port: the endless road of madness.

November 13, 2020 00:20

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