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Margarita and the boy
2/3 of the boy who got shot in his dreams
Forgiveness is a seed
They lied the entire afternoon on the used-up bed, between the brown wooden walls, under shining dew. It felt, out of a fairy tale story, the damp cold outdoor weather contrasted to the warmness inside the room translating a feeling they so wanted to share. Like if the environment, the world itself communicated for them. Merged with the universe they kept on loving each other, soft caresses, so delicate they could feel the electricity on the tip of their fingers. Their voices couldn’t form words, but the sparkling glances could shout all the words in silence. Would they stay there forever? Because nothing was strong enough to set them apart, perhaps.
A secret kept back, kept so deep inside it was forgotten, and now will unwittingly stumble on their doorsteps.
Had the boy forgotten, Margarita’s home, he had built it for her long ago, but she never showed up to notice it.
The love scene was so evident no proof was needed to call the case.
In confusion and rage, powerless she crossed the doors of the bedroom, with it crossing the gate of despair. She who had shared so much with the boy, she knew every inch of his forest of dreams , every inch of his light haired brown skin. The treason in front of her eyes cut her insides, she tried to scream but no breath was left. Margarita with all her strength attempted to kick and punch, except her assault broke down in mid-air, along with her hearth. Still in the nymph’s arms, the boy paralyzed, could only stare with teary eyes, absolutely apologetic. No word was said in that scene, for their eyes spoke better. Margarita left the room, and the cabin her steps heavy, but still lighter than a cat.
Later that afternoon…
The boy was wondering around the forest, keeping up with quotidian errands, searching for water before night-time. He went back to the oasis pool he stumbled upon earlier that day. So many of his friends were there too, conversating, laughing , arguing. Margarita was there too, busy as usual, surrounded by so many, she had always seemed unreachable. But from far away their glances tangled, she frowned, so tense, as if all the anger in the world could be summed in one facial expression. Then her face relaxed, and she whispered from far away:
“I forgive you boy, go on boy, go on”.
Nothing more was added, nothing else was said, the boy kept on walking, trying to escape the beautiful forest, to escape everyone. Carrying the weight of stung love was heavier than the barrel of water he was taking back home.
The night fell, surrendered, Margarita slowly walked back to the cabin, no matter what happened earlier, no matter how hurt. Unusually, this time she got lost and discovered a new place in the forest she didn’t know existed. It was so damp and humid, the ground went from green grass and moss to deep sticky black mud, the trees were leafless, flowerless, and the hair was heavy. The boy was curled up, laying on his water bottle, almost asleep. So Margarita approached and kicked a clean hole in the barrel, thick glowing turquoise water spelt on the dark ground, illuminating where they were. The boy stood up on his feet tall, got close to Margarita and squeezed her so tight, she felt indeed a little awkward but grinned. He said:
-Margarita, thank you a million, for real.
- It’s late, why don’t we go back home.
- …plus, this place is hideous! she replied.
Holding hands and giggling carelessly they found their way back home. That night Margarita slept alone. Still knowing the boy was in other arms, she was happy. Something was planted in her mind, in her dreams in a yet unknown place of the forest.
A week later, from the lost broken barrel in the dark forest, a gleaming green leaf peaked out the broken dark hole for a first glimpse of sunlight.
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