The most despicable dungeon

by Ariadne Gallardo Figueroa 

«There are no spaces of our own without the complicity of the other»

The Messenger

The priestess of the temple of the Moon was meditating on what would have to happen or arrive by the path of deep water; when a man with a feathered headdress approached her with a smile:

  • I desire that Ometeotl vibrates in your dreams, lady. I see that you have completed your liberation task.
  • That’s right, Ocelotl is a guide for her, is good that the others thinking about him as a  raptor.
  • Has your rod pointed out something you didn’t expect?
  • I cannot see in the deep horizon, but some desperate person has certainly visited the lady Moon of my temple and his concern must be such that he was not impassive in her presence.
  • The moments come in the time that they are, and not in the ones we want.

Both are observed with reflective glances, the night gave way to dawn, life has been allowed to Painani, the young woman with the winged feet thanks to the skill of the woman who changed her destiny forever.

The priestess said: some desperate person has certainly visited the lady Moon of my temple and his concern must be such that he was not impassive in her presence.

Beyond the horizon, a group of the unfortunate struggle to stay alive until the next moon, hope lost and their future hung by the gallows.

They hear the squeal of a rat…

  • Damn animals are as hungry as we are, damn it!
  • Hey, what the fuck brought you here, who did you put iron in the throat?

The inmates look suspiciously at the group of newcomers who have just arrived, they realize that the gendarme cares little that space is reduced, they will be able to hang all of them or they will die in rotten attacked by the jaws of rats.

The man with a dark complexion and braided beard does not answer, he only looks at them with disgust and anger, the same way as the others do:

  • You must be the son of an al-Majus

Another of the men with defiant attitude snaps at him:

  • The same one who has had raped so many others, leave it alone, if you make a mess again, they’ll leave us without that shit they give us for food.

The robust man with the peculiar beard with a hoarse voice muttered to the group:

  • The ship where I was sailing was sold to the Christians, the Captain kicked me down when I told him that I preferred my freedom to kiss that ass for money.

Most of them broke into mocking laughter, amidst the most varied comments:

  • Brave freedom you have won al-Majus
  • Oh!, at least I threw more than three Christians to the edge of my sword, God does not have them in Glory, direct they will have gone to hell.
  • Shut up, here comes the gendarme’s son of a bitch and he’s not alone.

The jailer approached shouting:

  • More than one wretch today will be lucky, this man who accompanies me will take you to hell!

There was a tense silence and the scrutinizing look of an emissary of who knows who looked at them but not exactly as men for the gallows; He was pointing to those he saw stronger, while the jailer urged them to get up and file out of the dungeon.

Among them was the al-Majus who the night before through the crack of that filthy place had noticed the brightness of the Moon and had begged her that it all end or his gods release him or rescue him from the filth.

We will never know which hell is worse in desolation, but with the sea wind in our favour, everything could be different.

Photo by Roberto Nickson on

Por Ariadne Gallardo Figueroa

Escribir es una de las actividades creativas más fascinantes que existe, indagar lo caminos de diferentes versiones, encontrar motivos para acrecentar el cauce de un relato y motivar a la lectura, es agradable para todo el que escribe

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