She never read of wolves and lambs. Never played with her friends prey and predator. But, she-almost for nothing-was that: fresh meat from a hungry herd.
Laura: small eight years old. Laura: if she would become a woman (today she is a lamb and a girl at the same time) she would be a brunette, with a body designed in the heavens. And … the eyes ?, two pebbles dreaming of beating.
She walks with pain, and limps, it seems he stumbled under the full moon. It was like this. The pack (its herd) has always smelled the perfume of newly grown wool, as the alpha male’s express order.
Him: dear grandfather, leader of all. He: first to howl under the moon, announcing thirst for easy prey. Him: that night the trail followed him in the gusts of wind. Tremble ran the weak, what frightened pupils !, But the stars abandoned it because the grass was lurking the strongest.
She held her between her claws, bit his ear and the caresses reached deeper into the brown skirt. How much of squeaks: she thought of his mother, he shouted at her; In his father,she called him; and in your dreams for dreaming. But the hungry continued, savored the ivory and took it in the air until it was filled with blood.
I saw her walk towards the school, towards the house, with red thread attached to her body. And he exclaimed his pain to everyone, and wandered with him. Did I hear it or … you? Nobody: the beast could devour it forever. So she fell silent. And she asked heaven if his flesh was enough to feed so much demon.
In the new moons, the lamb transits there, disheveled. Now, he talks about other predators: the joy in the bed of a certain wolf, who claims to be his brother; the pleasure of a thirsty man, who pretends to be his cousin; and the jealousy between both, which paralyze the lust in the clock of his room.
I hear the little girl being shot in the rain, as if to call for the happiness of the clouds. He talks silly the very tame one and says that the many insatiable ones have marked her with a condyloma. Already the four winds have seen it: the doctors dream of defending her so that she is no longer hostage to hospitals.
However, green robes and operating rooms do not forget it. And at all times they remind him of the sleepless nights, in his own way, when the ardor returns him to the body and the nurses welcome him between punctures of a syringe.
I look around: green grass grows. I look around: he still lives in a pack. I believe because it is to believe in life. Will she be (as well as me or … like you) know what life is?
Poor girl: she never read of herds and lambs. Never played with her friends prey and predator. But, he limps and cries, it seems … he stumbled upon wolves in the full moon.
Original text by a Second year student of Journalism at the University of Havana. Prize at the XII National Encounter of the Chronicle Miguel Ángel de la Torre