The one living among words — a short character print
The first time I got sentenced I was 25 years old and I didn’t have any idea how much I would have miss living.
I didn’t endure that much during my short time on Earth. Anyhow I assumed there was to be something else around the corner I still didn’t have the chance to meet.
For this reason I decided to come back. Not as a living thing, that I wasn’t able to do, no. I came back as the thing you see now in front of you. A scrap of paper covered with letters.
You may say it is all about a person writing behind my back. A flesh and bones human, typing my own self out of the pages.
Well, if you think so, you’re wrong. You’re terribly wrong. The truth is: this was the only form I was able to think of when I decided not to embrace death.
So, I found myself lingering in the middle of stories already written. In the intercourse of thoughts in the mind of poets and running with the draws in childish short stories, among the ‘to do’ lists pinched on the fridge in the kitchen.
Once I found myself just between the lines of a death sentence. This man was condemned to die in two months. I was just between his name and his last day as a living being. There wasn’t his crime written there, just his road to death.
I escaped abroad and reached this appeal to save the very same man from his killers. I refreshed myself and kept on thinking about this dying man.
I’ve been tickled by this sparkling words made of pixels and electricity. Words appearing and vanishing with the blink of the eye. They make me jump and roll and slither from story to story letting me puzzled and amazed. Often I do not even comprehend where I’m about, still I find this so similar to running with my eyes shut that I keep on searching for this kind of adventure.
When I’m tired and want to rest a bit I seek the quietness and embracing silence of ancient languages words nobody speaks anymore.
Still, one of my favorites remain the Russian big bulk books where I can roam and dress and talk and think and dream for so long and with so deepness that I can forget my not living anymore condition and pretend to be Anna and Dimitri and Nicolai.
Finally I got back to the death penalty sentence, get a deep breath and run it to the very end, waiting for the day of death to come.
I thought that it would have been very sad for this man to die alone. As it had been for me.
To have my company would have been better than nothing.
And that is what I do now. I keep on living amongst the sad and pitiless words that bring humans to death.
Once happened that the death penalty I was in get torn and trashed away. The letter to save the man succeeded. And I wished I could have been amongst those words. But I couldn’t.
The best way that I’ve found is to be with them, in the deadly words written for them. And every now and then I get saved with them. And to be saved remains my everlasting hope.