Mute.

       

       -So, Prudence, ¿you were mute for two years?

       -Yes.

       -¿Could you tell us about it?

       -Of course. At the age of sixteen I became mute overnight, and did not say a word again for more than two years. The reasons, I have kept deep within myself, which does not mean that it is a secret far from it, because if I have to speak, I speak. It is a story that I have already told more than once, to friends, acquaintances, fellow musicians, relatives, people and more people, even nefarious and despicable people, because mine is a story that does not discriminate, since it is one that is for the people, for the race, if you will. Since it crosses us all, especially the miserable.

       I have always had a predisposition for art. So much so that my artistic journey had started when I was just a little girl, three or four years old. Playing with my cousin in the backyard of my house. Games with some complexity. We didn't play anything, no. We interpreted. We became other people, we were actors. It was not enough just to chase each other like monkeys. No, the game was… a special occasion, what words are to a book, the content of the matter. Playing was the only and most important thing. Without it, life lost meaning. There was nothing else that I liked more. ¿You know how it is that I recognize when something really likes me and has importance? When I savor it more than food. And that is something that cannot be said lightly. ¡Everyone likes to eat! Oh… but play, ¿who needs food when they can play? And not all children understood its importance. I couldn't play with other children like I played with him. There are people who do not know how to play, or are deprived of it. They are the ones I hate the most. But hey, as I was saying ... We played. And we were good at our work. Over time the complexity of the game expanded. If at the beginning it was about playing our heroes and heroines of the moment, then that fell short of us, and we began to create our own stories, and our own characters, their personalities, their family trees, their houses, their neighbors, their cities. and, later, their universe. We were doing really important work. We had created life and we were gods. Us kids. And then we played to be them, with everything and timeline. If a character died, we had to give him a funeral. And if one was born, we had to give him the baptism.

       This is how we play until, more or less, around the age of fourteen. ¿Big enough to keep playing in our backyard, right? ¿But what could we do, if that was the only thing we liked? Imagine how devastating it was when we stopped doing it. How lost we were. Helpless. Orphans of the game.

       I remember this conversation I had with him once, with my cousin. One of the last ones I had with him in fact. He had been much more resilient than I was in leaving the game. He used to ask me, already being a grown child: "Can't we play even one more time, one last time?"

       And I used to said: “No. We can't do it again” and I felt empty and meaningless. It was terrifying.

       Then, without realizing it, I became a teenager, and I had stopped doing everything that I liked. Stopped drawing, stopped inventing and stopped playing. There was no longer a place for characters or stories. I was a sad girl in a school where the boys in my class all sat together secretly to watch the latest hot porn movie and, who knows, maybe even masturbate each other. And a place where the girls asked me: “Why are you trembling?”

       Of course I didn't finish school. I left it half way. This is where I start to answer your question.

After a creative suicide. From the genocide of magic. Life stopped having meaning. I no longer went to school, my parents did not know it, and on top of that it kept me from doing the only important thing, playing.

       Then, during a long and difficult night, I let the silence intoxicate me. And out of the uniform mass of darkness in my room, first bright eyes, then a smiling face, Satan appeared to me.

       And the devil, in human form and humble voice, said to me:

       -“I see that you are suffering from a slight creative block. Perhaps the word slight is not enough for you. But… to the questions of time, time. Meanwhile, I am here to help you, because I am a guy who cares about others. I come to heal you with my kindness the creative chicken pox that makes your conscience itch. And like any other rash, the more you scratch, the more you're going to hurt yourself.

I know my bad reputation precedes me, but that is a merely human invention, and the more you know me, the less it will take you to discover that I am nothing more than a mere scapegoat. I'm good, Prudence, and I've come to help you. The wickedness they have ascribed to me is meaningless, since I transcend it in every possible way. I am beyond your comprehension, and my name is so much more than just Lucifer which, at the very least, I have to give you that has nice phonetics.

       So… Prudence �"he said, sitting down next to me and stroking my forehead- ¿What's wrong with you?”

       Between muffled beats, I looked into his eyes and replied: “I want to be a singer.”

       Then, looking back at me, he stood up and, disfiguring as if I were seeing him through a magnifying glass, Satan said to me:

      -“Be careful what you wish for, because it could come true.”

       When I woke up the next morning, I realized that I was mute, and would be for two long years. The first time I spoke again, I did it singing.

Author's Note

Have a good time! And tell me what you like and what you don't like about what I wrote!
postscript: I'm not english speaker so tell me if I have grammar problems. Thank you!