El niño que se alimentaba de pesadillas
El niño despertó de otra terrible pesadilla, recuerdos feos del pasado que quería borrar se repetían todas las noches en sus sueños y lo torturaban sin cesar.
Al niño le aterra irse a dormir, así que un día fue a ver a una bruja y le suplicó: “Por favor llévese mis recuerdos feos para que no vuelva a tener pesadillas y yo haré lo que me pida”.Pasaron los años y el niño se hizo adulto.
Ya no tenía pesadillas, pero por algún motivo no era feliz.
Una noche, hubo una luna de sangre y la bruja por fin volvió a aparecer para llevarse lo que él había prometido a cambio de su deseo y él gritó lleno de rencor “Todos mis recuerdos feos desaparecieron, porque no puedo ser feliz?” La bruja se llevó su alma tal como habían acordado y le dijo esto:
“Recuerdos dañinos y dolorosos, recuerdos de profundas pesares, recuerdos de lastimar a otros y de ser lastimado, recuerdos de ser abandonado, sólo quienes tienen esos recuerdos enraizados en el corazón se vuelven más fuertes, fervorosos y emocionalmente flexibles y sólo ellos pueden alcanzar la felicidad. Así que no olvides nada de eso, recuérdalo todo y supéralo.
Si no lo superas… siempre serás un niño cuya alma nunca crece.”
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Esta noche leí un libro de poemas y pensé en tí:
“Soy una roca.
Adelante, abrázame.
No me moveré, porque soy una roca.
Adelante, golpéame.
Soy una roca sólida.
Adelante, déjame en la oscuridad.
Soy una roca que brillará sola.
No me romperé, ni me haré cenizas, ni me desharé al ir contra la senda de la naturaleza.
Sobrevivo.
Soy un diamante.”
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The eyes, chico. They never lie.
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Coin locker nº 10. I was abandoned here.
When you became useless, you’ll become a dead body too
You only get one shot, it’s how we work.
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Nobutada: Please forgive; too many mind.
Algren: "Too many mind?"
Nobutada: Hai, mind the sword, mind the people watch, mind enemy... too many mind. No mind.
Algren: No mind.
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Winter, 1877. What does it mean to be Samurai? To devote yourself utterly to a set of moral principles. To seek a stillness of your mind. And to master the way of the sword.
Spring, 1877. This marks the longest I've stayed in one place since I left the farm at 17. There is so much here I will never understand. I've never been a church going man, and what I've seen on the field of battle has led me to question God's purpose. But there is indeed something spiritual in this place. And though it may forever be obscure to me, I cannot but be aware of its power. I do know that it is here that I've known my first untroubled sleep in many years.They are an intriguing people. From the moment they wake, they devote themselves to the perfection of whatever they pursue. I have never seen such discipline.
May 25th, 1877. This will be the last entry in this journal. I have tried to give a true accounting of what I have seen, what I have done. I do not presume to understand the course of my life. I know I am grateful to have partaken of this, even if for a moment.
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“How can we live like that when we’ re alive?
I want to dance now. I want to be happy now.”
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Imagine you were born in a poor family, in a poor city, in a poor country, and by the time you were 28 years old, you have so much money you can’t even count it. What do you do? You make your dreams come true.
Problem is, nobody can control the dreams they have.
Especially if you were Pablo Escobar. Especially if you grew up in Colombia. There's a reason magical realism was born in Colombia. It's a country where dreams and reality are conflated... where, in their heads, people fly as high as Icarus. But even magical realism has it’s limits.
And when you get too close to the sun... your dreams may melt away.
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The human whose name is written in this note shall die.
This note will not take effect unless the writer has the person’s face in mind when writing his or her name. Therefore, people sharing the same name will not be affected.
If the cause of death is written within 40 seconds, it will happen.
If the cause of death is not specified, the person will simply die of a heart attack.
After writing the cause of death, details of the death should be written in the next 6 minutes and 40 seconds.
“This world is rotten, and those who are making it rot deserve to die. Someone has to do it, so why not me? Even if it means sacrificing my own mind and soul, it's worth it. Because the world... can't go on like this. I wonder... what if someone else had picked up this notebook? Is there anyone out there other than me who'd be willing to eliminate the vermin from the world? If I don't do it, then who will? That's just it: there's no one. But I can do it. In fact, I'm the only one who can. I'll do it. Using the Death Note, I'll change the world.”
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“This person died because of me, because he loved me. I still... remember so clearly. Three years for others can be the healing time for a wound, for me, the past three years were when the memories repeated themselves everyday.
Can you wait for me? Until my scars heal a bit.
You said I can only make one call. In this world, a call that could only be made once... That is you.”
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It’s been 1,165 days since I’ve been trapped in this glass bottle. During the first year, if someone would have helped me to wake up, I’d decided to grant him his wish no matter what it was. The next year, I had decided to grant a wish to anyone who would help kill me and put and end to my suffering, no matter what it was. And today, three years later, if I am to ever wake, I’ve decided to kill those who imprisoned me here and anyone who helped them.
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“This place is, because of the worries of the dead left behind, where those who couldn’t pass to the other world are left to roam here. Perhaps your father may also roam this place. Do you see it? The land you are standing right now, water, wind, sun. All these things your father risked his life for and left for you as a present. The fact that in order to save you, your father gave his life must hunt you with every breath you take. It must be as painful as death.
Left alone in the world… Why I must live and for what I must live. Living will become more and more agonizing. Still, you must live. Even if it’s a life with no meaning, no reason, it’s the life your father died for. Each day, and another day, you must leave. That is what the living person must do. It’s their duty.
I also lived like that. The spirits… if the living person don’t let them go, then they have to roam around. Hance at these place, send your father away.”
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