Excerpts

Excerpt from Secret Memories by Carlos Rubio

 

secret_memories_125 I close my eyes and picture you at the banks of a river. You are clad in an immaculate white robe that reaches to the ground. You move in slow motion. Yes, you are watching an Egyptian funeral barge-filled with presents-go down the river for the last time. You follow it until it disappears beyond a bend. You raise your hand, but I cannot tell whether you are saying a last good-bye or covering your face from the rays of the setting sun.
By the size of the barge we know a child occupies it.
As you turn around the robe falls to the ground, revealing your naked body. Bathed by the last rays of the sun it acquires a bronze-like quality, or perhaps a more accurate description would be to say that it looks as if it had been bathed in dark honey.
The focal point, even brighter now, is the red above your left breast. You walk to the edge of the water, followed by your attendants. They stop, holding the cloth of white linen. You walk into the water, slowly, without looking back. When the water reaches your chest, you turn around. Your eyes are bright embers in the center of black and white whorls painted on your face.
You raise your arms.
The heart begins to drip into the river; the redness stains the water until it completely becomes blood.
The sun is disappearing behind the horizon.
You start to walk back to the shore. Your attendants await you; they wrap the fine, white linen around you. As it absorbs the moisture from your body, it also turns red.
You are carried away through a white door.

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