“I remember the blood on the walls. The painting on the wall, it was her, the maiden with the black dress. It was her gaze, her black eyes that looked at me. The red was everywhere. I can’t forget it. I was laying on the floor, anxious and paranoid. And then, I saw hell on the tv screen.
I rise myself and go to the bathroom. I looked at the mirror and my face wasn’t there. It was the head of an animal, with two long horns. My hearth stopped. I couldn’t look at the mirror. I didn’t wanted to see my inner demon.
My thoughts were rising. Everything was a spiral in my mind. Then I saw a letter that said that sometimes I hallucinate. That my mind was gaining control of me. The tears dropped on the letter. I felt guilty without apparent reason. All I knew was that the letter didn’t lie. Someone special sent it to me on my last day of transformation.
With such innocence, anyone can tell you the truth. That these were my last days of mental freedom. I became colder with my loved ones in one way or another. Since that day, people who knew me didn’t looked at me at the eyes the same way. Yet, I can see my weakness in their eyes. As if I lost a game and the consolation price was isolation.”
