Lucia

If you give one more step, your feet will burst. At least that’s how you feel. You have walked for days in this desert, not knowing where it will take you. You haven’t seen as much as an inch of a shadow in hours. You walk because there’s nothing else to do. It’s either walking or waiting for death and you won’t do that. You’re too stubborn for that, you won’t quit without giving a fight.

Memories of your son overwhelm you. When did your whole life become him? When were you left out of the equation? How is it that now that he’s gone, you’re still not present? You feel empty.

Stop Lucia, don’t think about it or you’ll fall apart. You’re not that woman who weeps on the sand. No. You didn’t disintegrate when he left you and your son behind and you won’t crumble now either. You didn’t collapse when you left your dream to become a doctor behind. Now is not the time for falling apart. (Not yet.)

No, Lucia, if you did it all for your son, now you’ll do it all for yourself. You keep walking, I know you’re thirsty, I know your skin is resembling the sand around you, I know the sun won’t stop and the heat drowns. I know you’re burned, bruised, blistered. But you will keep walking. You always do.

You see a building, far away. It looks like an ant from here. You’re pretty sure you’re hallucinating, so you walk towards it with no rush. There’s nothing else for you to do anyway.

Your busted blisters have been bleeding for days. They don’t hurt anymore, they’ve mixed with the sand to form some sort of shoe. You’re a nurse, you know you need to wash them, need to clean them. You know you need hydration, you need shade, you need rest, you need to take care of yourself for once, you need to love yourself, you need love, you need, you need, you need…

Who cares? By now your past life is what seems to be a hallucination.

You have nothing, you carry nothing. Only this wrecked clothes, stained and sweaty. Not even an ID. I don’t believe you, Lucia. You are not real.

Finally, you get there. You touch the wall of the building. One hell of a hallucination. You discover it’s a bar. A new bar. A bar that seems to have been inaugurated just yesterday. Great Lucia, now you can die in the shade.

You walk in, there’s nothing except for that ghastly silence. Four white walls. You’ve finally gone mad, Lucia. But wait, could that be? Seems to be your lucky day, there are hundreds of bottles waiting for you to quench your thirst and some alcohol to heal your wounds – emotional and physical.

You open the first bottle and spill it on your feet only to find out the bottle is full of sand. Shit! It can’t be! You open the next one: sand, the next one: sand, the next one: sand. No, no, no, no. This, right here, is the epitome of your life. You and your pointless attempts, congratulations Lucia.

The only thing you have ever loved is your son, Lucia, yet right now you would give his life for a sip of water. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.

You keep walking between the bottles, still not giving up. When you feel the floor is suddenly sticky. You look down, you’ve been walking in a puddle of blood. You feel nothing seeing you’re surrounded by blood and then you see it. A photo. A photo between all the blood. Not just any photo, a photo of your son and you embracing.

Ok, Lucia. This is a good time to fall apart.