Dementia

There was nothing left during the intervention, the attack had gone through so well that they had cleaned throughly with incredible precision.

It was not common for them, what they had asked them to do was out of their jurisdiction and clearly their boss had been forced into this by the powers that be, far beyond him and everyone else in the department.

The door creaked.

Uneasiness was all around them, the investigation was not going through as planned, they had little to put on record and with anxious hands the typewriter flew, then stopped, a pair of letters, going back and forth, nothing could come out of his mind to fully put the report into motion.

What was he going to tell the chain of command, that his team had lost half the men to an unrecognizable form which they could not hurt with their weapons, he would be considered a mad man if that was the case; if he was to consider writing so far fetched he needed solid evidence but there was nothing to put on the pedestal for him not to take the blame, a horrendous splash of memories flashed through his eyes, blasts coming out from guns all around him, handguns were ineffective, shotguns only seemed to enrage it and the Thompsons did nothing, not a dent, could not and would not force it back and everything happened in split seconds.

Then they arrived, he had never seen them before but he was certainly glad they had reached them, one of them fired at the thing and it squirmed and bellowed hard, one of the "arms" dropped furiously on the agents and he was gone, forever, no, he was not dead per say, he simply was not there anymore as if he had been sucked out of this reality; they continued their assault on the thing, two of them protected the fourth member, he looked old and weary but his eyes flashed with incredible strength.

Then it happened, I was aloof.

In a strange tongue he mumbled, nothing I had ever heard before could be compared to whatever is it that he said, let alone none of them had ever produced such a response, the ceiling and ground cracked open, wood and plaster coming undone as if they were nothing, some bricks became dust and finally that, whatever it was, had released one final scream that pierced my ears, blood coming out of the left one, I instinctively covered my eyes for I assumed it would explode.

It didn't, everything was in order again, the remaining agents and me looked around in confusion, the four men were gone just as they had arrived, nothing made sense but I knew I had no seen things, I was right, I knew something had happened... I remember now.

"Guard, guard!" The man screamed, it took a while for the eventual screaming to receive an answer, a set of eyes came from the small opening on the metal door. "Guard, I know what happened, I know it, yes, it was that thing that made this to me, please, I need to see the Doctor"

The eyes moved to the left and there was a nod, the door opened up with effort and after the cacophony it produced had stopped the man looked in horror at two guards coming at him with a third man holding a small syringe with his right hand, ready to jab it at him as soon as the guards had restrained him.

"No, no, please don't, I know the truth, I know what happened, I need to speak with the Captain!"

"Calm down Frederick, everything will be alright, it is just another nightmare" The man pronounced as the guards held down the man in dementia. "Remember, you have been here for too long, you still think it happened yesterday but it has been quite some time, a decade at least, remember the other Doctor, Frederick?"

"Please, I need to speak with the Captain" The man with the syringe sighed as he approached the man, he delivered a jab at him and slowly released the liquid inside for him to calm down.

"There Frederick, now remain calm and remember that you are here until we can get you back into this reality"

The man smiled, the door creaked.

This is a test.

This is a test.

Apparently the keys don't skip anymore for whatever reason.

This typewriter was made somewhere in Yugoslavia.

Does the red ribbon work. Apparently so, it does work.

There is a mental block right now, funny, you get near this thing and all of a sudden inspiration goes away.

---

This is a story. No, esta es una historia pero no tu típica historia, cuento, mito o leyenda. Esto no es una prueba tampoco, las alarmas de emergencia o el código de emergencia no ha sonado en la radio ni en la televisión, sion, sion, que late en tu corazón, pero si debes poner much a atención por que si no pierdes el avión. Esta es la historia de una canción que se fue volando rápido sin mucha intención por medio de la puerta del ojo de tu meditación, no perdida, encontrada, desvaneciéndose en tus dedos, en tu piel, en tu alma, sin mas camino que el de un valle donde la esperanza de los 300 corazones que cuidas como el ultimo regalo de Dios, vigilar y castigar sin discreción, de valle en valle y de trecho en trecho, de pueblo en pueblo y trinchera a trinchera, con fusil en mano y unn ramo de rosas en el otro, listo para la t area mas difícil de todas, la de fungir como juez y condicionador moral de todo lo que te rodea, un peso mucho may or qu e el de atlas en sus h ombros, siendo poco h ablar del universo y apenas siendo comprendido por el logos y la psyche en nu eve elevaciones, perdidas en tu interior y en los interiores donde te desdoblas, subiendo por la escalera perdida de las tribus, la de los hermanos. Del altar donde se entregoola primera ofensa a la humanidad; atención damas y caballeros que se perdió el tren, si lo encuentran se lo quedan y si lo regresan no se les dará nada mas que las gracias y solo si lo entrega en once a punto de las doce si no se les rebanara la mandarina en g ajos, atención, atención, que el circo va a empezar y la pera que da vueltas corre a todo vapor, ring around the rosie, pocket full of posies, ashes, ashes, todos nos partimos en dos.