Sunday, January 5, 2014

The Letter: Tale of the Young Narrator Deisy Toussaint

SANTO DOMINGO, Dominican Republic -. Upon opening the letter, read it all. The reminder that many of you saved, has the date of my death. Actually suffered a stoppage symptoms of sudden death, now I know it was an attack of catalepsy.

During my wake I heard every word you said about me, I know who they wept for me and who feigned sadness. I felt like my mother I tore the soul trying to accept the terrible blow, I could not open my eyes, but most felt in my coffin the weight of his body, wanted to hold her, to tell her he loved her and he was not dead, but that damn disease was stronger than me.

My body did not obey, I saw myself dead and the time was weighing like a millstone, my mind reminded me of the past and the present as I stood in the mirror where my wake and burial in my life reflected.

The ink of my words in this pale paper is smeared with tears falling as I write. Naked sadness reflected in my pupils. I've recorded in memory humiliating treatment that gave my body employees when preparing the funeral.

If I had done an autopsy would have realized that my heart was beating, although routine incisions that make the same bodies would have killed me. They sealed my eyes, my mouth, my ears, I reluctantly shaved without any delicacy , I even cut to chin level and then covered with putty faults.

A forensic beautician makeup on me as he mechanically easy jokes about my Negroid features and the color of my skin. I searched a coffin luxury as the son of Don Cabral, however did not notice that they left me little coffin and when I introduced had to smite my elbows and knees to finish to fit. Employees were joking oblivious to my pain.

I prayed to God to take me out of that state, had never attended a Mass with the usual excuses: work, studies, family ... this time

I heard the whole mass, worse, my own Mass,. Knew after that last act of lying in state, would be done my own funeral! many tears I shed from within, from the depths of my soul, I felt like a child, sensitive, innocent and helpless.

I want to live!, I want to live!, Voiceless screaming, but no one listened to my silence. The bells of the church and announced my departure ... and buried my body. Clearly heard the rip blade and more, the creepy noise it made when it hit the ground the box each time throwing from above.

There I was, alone, seven feet underground and apprehension that produced me think I was surrounded by corpses.

Sensed the most atrocious and lonely of all deaths. I knew that I had been buried alive and will now take another dimension time. However felt the flow of my blood and my body heat. I was coming to.

Slowly moving my cramped legs, bruised and lacerated by torture. My mouth and my eyes and tried to loosen them selladlos desperately. With nails, scratching my eyes and my fists pounded the roof of the coffin, grunting and pounding uselessly. No one could hear me.

After some indefinable time , I thought I felt noises upstairs. After a while I began to listen more clearly, until I heard a terrible blow. Shovel was one of the gravediggers who crashed into my coffin wood . thing he hoisted and opened the box ruthlessly exploiting the solitude of the night, God would know what intentions.

As the lid is opened , excitedly grabbed the hand of one of them, which peg or a cry and fell unconscious, the other ran away and disappeared in a moment. I crawled to the exit as I could and as I started to recover calls roam ...

All this time I've been in hiding, thinking how to reach you.

Time passed and not find a way to introduce at home to explain that he was not dead but my mother would have a heart attack and the rest of the family out antela terrified vision of a "dead" who returns from the grave.

I hope that after receiving the letter accepting my return taking it as the accident was, without apprehensions. Although deep down I know that now you all look at me with suspicion.


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