Part six: GOLDEN SKY

My words have rested six days from the internet. Did the power go out to the one writing this story? That's really not credible. And if by light I mean inspiration and not from the light in her house, would that sound more believable to you?

What if I told you that both statements are true?

But why did the power go out?

Is the editor a bad payer, or is she like Luz's father in being stingy?

Maybe, but that's not what I want you to understand.

What has happened is not a coincidence, but an effect of Luz, our protagonist, discovering that she is a specter in this game.

And you know, the typical scenes of horror or suspense movies where there are haunted houses; always the specters inside the house are bothering the guests by turning on and off the lights.

Of course, in this case it's been almost a week; the power went out for two days, but the inspiration came to the writer's attempt to write it drop by drop, literally.

However, who arranged these rules of haunted houses, specters and the fear that this causes in the guests; all this was created by the same one who has made the trap, both for life in a supernatural version and in the version that you call real; a trap from which no one is exempt, not even the author of the trap himself.

I could not throw the stone without hiding the hand because, in truth, I do not know who imposed the rules in the head of humans either.

The important thing here is the effect that the light off caused in the editor because Light is officially a game piece; made entirely of algorithms and all that involves computer science and systems (forgive my ignorance, but Lucifer does not have the patience to let me read any book on the subject).

During the two days without light, the editor and the protagonist girl have been in that phase I call "Intimacy of souls". This is because, on the one hand, the protagonist is already part of the system, she is already made of algorithms, and the editor has not been able to deny how much she resembles the protagonist in terms of her selfishness, anxiety and repressed gluttony that she knows will explode one day... explode those two days without light.

Two days in which Luz has felt the depressing light of the angel girl merge with the blue haze. From this mixture appeared seeds identical to those that sprouted when the students, now supernatural beings, stepped on the shadows of the foot-shaped footprints.

The difference is that these same white seeds grouped together to form a larger footprint; which, after these two days without electric light, have already matured enough to fulfill their function within the game: to devour the ice floor of the wagon.

What I can tell Luz is that those seeds are the leftovers of the editor's overeating, the shadows of her fingerprints when pressing them on the palms of her hands, to be more exact, on the lines of her hand; with the purpose of unburdening her old frustrations that our protagonist feels as new.

This sensation is perhaps because these seeds are, something like all the final points that the writer has tried to put on each of the things that have affected her; without achieving the desired success for much more than a month.

Maybe, while Luz tries to pick up all the white seeds she can from this floor so that they don't incinerate it anymore; I can tell you, I will have to trust that Luz won't trip or something like that, about these white dots or seeds:

We will have to go back to the early days when we cats were able to observe how the world had changed because of, above all, unicorns.

They were undoubtedly aware of their fault and that is why; after certain events that can not be disclosed lightly, the unicorns were not going to condemn the cats to be alone enduring the changes of nature that every day transformed its forms, both in relief and in flora and times (not that it decided that there would be day, evening and night).

On one of those days of mutations, the sky was no longer so yellow and dripping with honey; but now in the sky lay strange bifurcations, some thicker than others, of a more sober yellow color than before. Altogether it seemed as if in the sky were drawn a succession of replicas of the fins of the same giant goldfish, covering the whole sky from end to end.

And the face of the fish?

In those moments there was no such thing as a face; for us, a face was what faced Mother Nature, that is, our legs. Before, communication was only between us and nature, so why would we need faces, or worse, masks and poses?

Don't think that I didn't mention the absence of faces because I felt like it; no, it was because the lord of evil thought that not enough time had passed for us to imagine what the cats' physique was really like.

Our body is as you see it now, slender and with athletic bearing; but our heads were inside nature, which I refer to as pure energy and not as flora and fauna.

Thanks to the unicorns they finished throwing away our pretty faces. When we got here we realized that we always had our perfect little butts out of our beautiful world and until now we don't know why.

But that's a cat thing, so don't mind me.

Why does the sky just draw a thousand infinite times the same fins of the goldfish?

Well, I know now that that tail belonged to a giant goldfish that was the one that turned a fisherman boy into the well-known and fearsome giant that lives in a castle beyond the clouds.

At that moment I could only admire the gloomy golden color of the forks and the space between them, where there are forks as thin as threads. Between these was a yellow mass that I could not claim to be honey because it never dripped so that my tongue could detect the particular characteristic of its nature.

As for the relief, it has come to look like brown jelly, but on the day in question the earth looked as it does today: solid and generally rocky. At the time I thought that was a good sign... to err is human, but if humans have inherited curiosity from our cat species... to err is also cat-like.

Let's not talk about flora and fauna because the first one was limited to some lanky trunks; the second one is only composed by cats or that was what I knew until that moment and nobody has been able to refute me with arguments derived from a scientific basis.

Yes, I am going to leave my personal appreciations aside, but I would like to appeal to your more intuitive side for what I will tell you next (something tells me that it is necessary to understand almost the whole story):

That day was especially lonely for me, as I wandered around trying to figure out where more of my kind might be found.

As evening fell... this expression was not created because man possesses a great talent for syntax (I wish I could say the same about myself, but that is unique to humans), but because the evening was made because the sky was coming down on me and all the beings around me at that moment and I did not realize it.

The thin bifurcations became so thin that they became almost invisible; but they could not escape my attentive observation and I saw how they extended to all corners, surrounding the sky and the earth from end to end.

To me it was end to end because everything around me was being enveloped in a ghostly frame, to call it that, and I don't think that just because of a cat or a group of cats is reason enough for the sky to go to so much trouble to surround the world with a kind of spider's web.

In a matter of seconds, the yellow mass that covered the sky began to move in a circular motion and it didn't take me long to notice that it was coming down.

At that moment all I could think was: Is the sky punishing us for not having controlled our curiosity and not having measured the consequences?

For having been so selfish, for a personal satisfaction we blinded ourselves?

Anyway, the world seemed to be coming to an end and I wanted to have one last interaction with someone of my own kind? Wouldn't you want a friend for the end of the world?

The yellow mass could descend and leave the thick bifurcations behind; but the thin bifurcations followed in its footsteps towards land.

So much so that in a few seconds I observed the thin bifurcations cross the yellow mass; they intertwine in such a way that they delineate squares that make some of this yellow mass protrude. As a whole, the sky is covered with something like an almost infinite fishing net.

I already imagined that when the thin bifurcations would exert enough pressure, the yellow squares would burst and give way to, perhaps, a cascade of fire to die incinerated.

What is this story's mania with fire?

But hey, as some people are asking around: What do I want these little ducks for?

It is obvious that I ran through the scenery almost deserted for my taste. It was always the same every minute of my run, lanky logs and more brown dirt and; although water had already been invented, there wasn't even a hungry animal's version of slime.

I never felt more alone than in those moments, or rather, I was never more aware of my loneliness and it was not because I wanted to. I felt like a fish trying to travel and look for other directions; but it seems that fins are useless. The fact that the tail consists of two fins glued together is a very suffocating image, all together, it is as if we were holding something that at the same time holds us back... as the bifurcations hold back the yellow mass... it moves forward but it is not free, it will always be controlled by these bifurcations so thin that you can hardly see them... but they feel like a presentiment: so small for a pragmatic vision and intense for the subjective vision.

And if I repeat BUT so many times and so many other connectors it is because I know of no others that can hold my thoughts together the way they have always protected my EGO.

Could other methods of protection affect my stability?

And what has that stability led me to?

To the same old safe and boring place, without any new learning. Instead of seeking it for myself I wanted to steal it from others who were not of the same species.

Does the goal of being a hero justify the means?

The dream of being a hero, the heaven of my EGO, led me to walk in my own golden yellow world.

All these thoughts were unleashed in my head when I got tired of running and fell to the ground.

MY BODY IS UNDER A GOLDEN AND LONELY SKY.

MY SOUL IS UNDER THE CERTAINTY THAT I REFLECTED WITHOUT LEARNING.

How do I know?

Because, as I ran, I realized that physically I was not ready to be an action hero.

Because, as thoughts crowded against the walls of my head (head is not the same as face), I realized I didn't have a single memory of an intimate chat between cat friends. No, I only remember my dream of being important, of being a sunshine; but I don't remember what my friends' dreams were.

BEFORE BEING A SPY I HAD TO LEARN TO BE A CAT.

And now I'm narrating rather than doing dialogue, which is supposed to be the commercial thing to do nowadays; that's the devil's own fault.

So the devil wants you to know my opinion?

And to think that whenever I can, sometimes I even force it, I make the plot talk about me because I can't stop talking about me and the prose gives me that voice... I just think about me, and I'm supposed to be the cat?

I already understood why the devil has made it possible for me to be part of his ranks thanks to this little job; even though I haven't learned to narrate well so far.

I AM THE SELFISH ONE

I AM THE REAL DEMON.