“Are you ready to tell us your side of the story?”

“Yes, do you want to hear it in Spanish or English?”

“It doesn’t matter, everything is being recorded; our experts will translate and interpret everything you have to say”

“Very well then, I will opt for Spanish, since it tends to be more of a mystical language”

“You can begin when you’re ready”

I looked at all of them. All six of them gathered in that warehouse. I could tell that we were somewhere in the country because the air smelled different. There was probably a diary close by. I saw the faces of each one of them; all told stories of broken families, all drove cars that were not paid for. Some of them took Prozac, others hit the bottle every night. The ones with wives would beat them regularly. The rest would beat their girlfriends. At least half of them, the more macho types, were closet homosexuals. All were disintegrating. The only thing that gave them the little meaning they had was their jobs. I felt like shedding tears for them, but I tried to control my self the best I could. I took a deep breath as I thought “Lord Jesus Christ” and then exhaled as with the internal words “have mercy of them” I proceeded in Spanish…

-Ha llegado el tiempo de resucitar. Han estado muertos la mayor parte de sus vidas, consumiendo las mentiras que deforman sus mentes. Son conejillos de indias en el laboratorio de Satanás –los rostros de los que entendían español trataron de mostrar indiferencia pero era imposible esconder su espanto- Estoy hablando de ustedes que dicen tener la verdad. Los que mencionan el nombre de Jesús como si se tratará de otro anuncio publicitario. Es triste, están muertos y no lo saben. Las mayorías duermen hipnotizados por los medios electrónicos, se han envenenado con su propia ponzoña, Dios tenga piedad de todos ustedes. Hay algunos que están concientes de su desdicha, saben que tienen una vida de zombis sin poder despertar de este coma del espíritu, viven las muertes de sus existencias. Odian y temen con todas sus fuerzas. Se odian a ustedes mismos, a sus prójimos, a Dios. Su orgullo los lleva a los rincones más tenebrosos de la conciencia. Prefieren el suicidio que el camino de la humildad. Ustedes quieren cambiar el mundo. Mejor pongan sus fuerzas en cambiarse a si mismos. Sería mejor para todos. Ustedes son los arquitectos de sus desgracias. Nadie más. Es todo lo que tengo que decir.

“When you wake up –he said as he approached me with the needle in his hand- you will not remember anything”

“You can try to erase my memory with drugs, but this will do nothing to my spirit, and remember, is better to see, remember and thinks with the eye of the spirit. Before you stuck that needle in my arm, I want to tell you this: You would have been a good doctor. Go back to the vocation of healing people before you lose the gift”

“Stop! Don’t medicate him, he’s a Citizen -said an older man that walked towards us form the shadows- why didn’t you tell us you are citizen?”

“No one asked” I answered

“We’ll let you go, and I am not going to tell you to keep quiet about what happened here, since nobody will believe you anyway”

“It’s okay; I guess I’ll write a fiction novel”