A Hero Dies Without Allies

It is cold in the sewers; the walls are damp and I hear the drops bursting on the floor. I walk leaning against the wall until I reach a vault where all the tunnels come together as a maze.

Going down the stairs I hear the echo of voices coming from the bottom of the vault, the stair is short and with my fingers I grab the ledges on the wall. I discover a candlelit corridor, their flames flicker with my footsteps and die out behind me. I watch a group of young men in white suits armed with swords, listen to their leader who has gathered them around the campfire. I try to see his face, but it fades with the sound of his voice.

“Hey you!” The leader said upon seeing me behind the group, the others turn with faces hidden by darkness.

I turn around ignoring the insults he throws at me, but one more word brings me closer and hits him. For an instant the group does not believe what they have seen, they raise their weapons and chase me.

I flee through the tunnel with all the strength I have, the exit is impossible to find in this underground labyrinth and soon my legs stop responding, I need to take a breath.

The noises drift away and think I lost them, but I recognize one lurking in the dark, I watch the shine on the sword disappear in his own shadow.

“I’m behind him!”

I approach, grasp the dagger and stab him in the neck, back, and belly. I fall to the ground, his body lying next to me and I push him into the sewer flow.

I grab the sword and slide into the dark ready to face my enemies; then I feel a blow to the neck and a stream of blood escapes from me. I try to stop the bleeding and my sight fills up with every blow I get.

The eagle waves on the pole of the Main Square with green, white and red, in a night that glows with flames.

“Take cover!” Shouted the soldier when there was an explosion.

The platoon opens fire on a building, armored cars shoot from their turrets, soldiers force their way in the crossfire towards the entrance and the tanks are ready to fire. The captain asks for air support to fight the interior forces.

We are losing the battle, soldiers die and others retreat, the armored cars explode one by one. I hear a scream in the Main Square, and I see a woman covering her daughter from the shooting. I rush to them skipping debris and dodging bullets, I reach them when a missile buzzes and explodes on us. The noises disappear, the flag catches fire and the pole falls. At that moment you see a slow reality, enough to keep that moment and take it with you.

A dying man would have the image of his family; I see the remains of the girl and her mother.

“A lost nation …”

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Please leave your comments if you like to contribute to improve the translation of this story. I’ll be very greatful.

Publicado por

Carlos Reeves

Soy como cualquier otro que le gusta leer y escribir, no estudié literatura y tampoco sé de grandes autores. La razón por la que comencé a escribir es porque desde niño tomaba esos cuadernos Scribe de hoja blancas y dibujaba todo el día. Esos personajes y escenarios empezaron a tener una narrativa, entonces tuve que escribir sus historias y saber dónde terminarían. Tengo problemas para concentrarme, si un colibrí vuela por mi ventana me la puedo pasar observando cómo se alimenta de las flores, incluso si se va, pareciera que me lleva con él a un mundo imaginario. Soy perfeccionista, escribir es un trabajo duro. Poseo una rivalidad contra las palabras y los renglones que conspiran en mi contra, paso horas editando y leyendo para aplacar su rebeldía. Antes me limitaba ocultarlos después de escribirlos, temía que lo leyeran y vieran semejante lío. Pero todo cambió cuando descubrí que hay personas que pasaron por las mismas rebeliones. Keanu Reeves, Steve Jobs y Scott Fitzgerald. Soy un soñador, no un escritor.

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