Twenty years have passed. Twenty years since I took my last breath of freedom. Twenty years ago, I committed a terrible act and had to be put behind bars. That day plays over and over in my head like it happened yesterday, and twenty years have passed.
I regret it. How many days and nights have I spent begging God to forgive me? Maybe that man will hear me and forgive me too. That unfortunate man who found himself at the most inopportune moment in front of me and fell dead. I have been asking for forgiveness for twenty years without a breath of peace or freedom.
I was young, too young to listen to the adults when they warned me not to mess up. One night, I had a craving with my company, and we ordered dope, hard mushrooms. This vegetable seemed harmless, and we didn’t think about the consequences, just the fun.
Everything started funny. We were laughing and having a good time, and we liked it. Then the hallucinations began, voices appeared, phobias, things that weren’t there. The music was playing loudly. We didn’t realize how loud it was. In our confused ears, they sounded like the voices of angels and demons we could not control.
One guy from the group hid under the table. He was afraid of some invisible man who was chasing him. He called him dad. We tried to convince him that no one wished him harm until our hallucination caught up with his, and we began to search for the invisible man like maniacs.
And then there was a knock on the door.
<<It’s him.>> he yelled paranoidly, cowering under the table in fear. Panicked, we tried to decide our next move inside our madness. The bell rang again persistently.
Despair enveloped me like a demon. I wanted to protect my frightened friend. I assured him that I would not let anyone touch him. Confused, I grabbed a bat, opened the door, and saw him, a man I didn’t recognize.
<<What do you want?>> I asked with an angry voice and threatening eyes.
<<The music.>> he said pissed off. <<Keep it down.>>
<<That’s him.>> my friend shouted from under the table. <<Don’t let him.>>
Furiously, without warning, I started hitting him with the club I had hidden. I hit him until he fell and continued to strike him all over his body.
<<You will never hurt my friend again.>> I yelled before I stopped hitting him. He was already dead.
From a youthful whim, I wanted to try mushrooms. And from this frivolity of adolescence, I killed an innocent man. My neighbor, while under their influence, I could not recognize.
Twenty years have passed, and this scene still works in my mind as if it were yesterday as if the mushrooms never left my system. Today may be the first time in a long time that I breathe freely, but I will never gain the freedom of my conscience. I will never be truly free.
Created by Diana Chemeris
Story in Greek, link below:
https://fairytalesmaybereal.blogspot.com/2016/01/blog-post_8.html
Diana Chem 