Cracked

My four heads carefully cracked at exactly the same spot, crossing the face but leaving the expression untouched. Here they are. In front of me. Exactly as I made them. But I can’t hold them. What is happening to me?

They were a small structure I sculpted in my study as a model for a big monument in my city public square. I hesitated a lot because I didn’t manage defeat well. But finally, I decided to go on and participate in a contest for the project.

Today I had to go to the city hall to show my idea: people resilient, I named it. Our town had endured a big natural disaster, but we survived, with scars, but still in one piece.

I knew there would be many projects by known foreign artists, and my humble model probably would pass unnoticed.

But what had happened?

Why are my beloved cracked heads so big and unreachable?

I only remember going home at night when everything was ready and opening the door. My wife came running towards me:

-Are you OK?

And then an excruciating pain in my head, as if it was going to crack like my sculptures. After that, darkness. Long deep darkness.

Now I’m alone. I feel so small in front of a world in black, and white where images of my life are dancing around at great speed until they stop at the enormous heads, my last work.

What’s next?

I’m going to wake?

Where is the light?

People say there is a light when you cross the line

I’m puzzled. But curiously, I’m not afraid anymore.

FFFC 195