viernes, 18 de noviembre de 2016



Sandra Elena Dermark Bufí, to the whole Promethean tradition.
18th of November, MMXVI

I have been chained to a glacier for so long that my back has gotten used to the searing cold and the dazzling shine of the ice on this ever-wintry peak.
Decades have turned to centuries I have spent, tethered to this ruthless ground for high treason, yet I have not given up hope at all.
Fire is a two-edged weapon; it now shields mortalkind from winter and predators, they warm their food and their drinking water to stay in health... yet it can also kill; kill fungi, plants, animals, even these naked apes themselves.
These poor naked apes. My wit has both saved them and doomed them.
My wit is, like my gift of the Red Flower of the Gods, a two-edged weapon.
It is both my tragic flaw and the key to the freedom I soon will win.
For centuries of imprisonment, I have thought of a plan that will ensure me to carry my prison wherever I will go.
Wearing a ring made from a link of my chains and a pebble from this peak.
It's as simple as that sounds.
Yet there is always a hazard that impedes me.
Every dawn, at sunrise, like clockwork, Zeus's pet comes up to me, tears at my right side, pecks at my liver.
The largest gland in my system takes about twenty-four hours of convalescence to heal, and, right as it happens, that golden imperial eagle the size of a jumbo jet flies like a projectile to my right side.
Like clockwork.
Yet I have not given up hope that someday, sooner or later, my executioner shall be slain.
And then, my ring will be ready and my freedom regained.

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