A second form of death - Short story
A second form of death
They say that when a person dies without being his time, his soul wanders around known places or where people who should take him to his memories walk. That is what happened to Maritza, he never left, something remained, above all, in the last place he frequented most: the house of the family of the man he fell in love with and in his own house, that of his parents. It seems he was missing something to say or reveal about the world beyond.
There are people who claim to have seen her in that house, which was abandoned by its occupants once they knew the tragic circumstances of her death. The man and his family left Caracas inland, as if fleeing the ghost that settled in his house.
One day, he arrived at Vicenta's house, (Maritza's mother), a woman who said that a girl, totally soaked, appeared in her house, just out of the rain (without raining), telling her that she should look for her mother and Tell her that she came back and needed to be recognized, to help her. The woman in question was new in the neighborhood and, of course, did not know the story of Maritza, the girl who fell in love and died for the man from whom she bought the house where she lived.
-The girl wears a suit of pants and jacket in light pink- insisted the woman, before a perplexed and hopeful Vicenta, with her head spinning ...- Is it possible? -he said to himself - Does my daughter go out in that house? And the woman stressed -Well, madam I did not know her daughter, but I told the neighbor that I had seen a girl inside my house and did not know how she had entered, she was wet and dead of cold, shivering so much that just me I understood him (I don't know if that's why or because of the fear that caused me to feel that I wasn't alive), he told me to talk to his mother, that he needed her. The thing is that the neighbor told me that you had died a daughter and thought it could be her, that's why I came to see her, I am terrified to think that I share the house with a ghost.
Vicenta ran to look for the family album, showing her photos of Maritza and the woman was horrified: -It is her! - he shouted and hurried out, while Vicenta tried to stop her, asking: - What else did he tell you? - But, the woman fled in fear He picked up his things and left the house.
Some time later, he came to live with Vicenta and the family: Toribio, a brother who had been missing for many years and did not see Maritza grow up and did he find out that he had died at the time. He was struck by the news and the following Sunday he went to the cemetery. Seeing that the tomb was in poor condition, in his opinion, he decided to make repairs to the tombstone and that was his day. At night, while smoking in the dark, he saw a girl standing in front of him, right next to the bunk he shared with two of his nephews, said he saw her with the lighting that the cigar creates when inhaling and, according to, He said: -I have to talk to you- and he, terrified, shouted: -Vicentaaaaa! - watching how she quickly left the room. Again, Vicenta took out the album and, indeed, Toribio recognized it and said in disgust: - What a pity, it was she and I so cowardly I ran it! -What would the little girl want to tell me?
After that, every time he remembered the incident, while he was drunk, Toribio repeated: -What would the little girl want to tell me? - And he called her: -My daughter, now yes, come! I'm not afraid of you anymore! Tell me what you wanted to tell me!
But, she never went out again, it seemed that a second form of death enveloped her with her mantle and took her again.
14/08/2019
The images are from Pixabay CC0 Creative Commons
Heartbreak por Free-Photos
Dark por Pexels
For your kind reading, simply THANK YOU
Posted from my blog with SteemPress : https://zeleiracordero.000webhostapp.com/2019/08/a-second-form-of-death-short-story
A moving short story.
Resteemed
Yes, it's a sad thing. Death always brings sadness and even more, when oblivion invades the areas that pain stepped on.
Thanks for stopping by, dear @momzillanc.
Saludos Zeleira. Esas historias aunque parezcan irreales siempre hay quien diga que les pasó algo parecido.
Es verdad. Hay tantas historias al respecto que, de alguna forma, creemos en su posibilidad... Porque qué es la muerte sino la ausencia de amadas presencias a las que cuesta dejar ir definitivamente. Y, del otro lado, qué es... no lo sabemos y eso alimenta la imaginación.
Gracias por la visita, @antoniarhuiz.
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Thank you!