BATXILERGOA NARRATION

Death After Death

May 2022, 6 a.m. in the morning. I hadn’t seen the door before. It wasn’t there last night. Cautiously, I turned the handle. I abruptly woke up from a hideous nightmare. The door suddenly seemed familiar. It rang a bell. I strained my brains in order to remember where the image of that cryptic door came from. After some thought, I came to the realisation that it was from my mother’s house in Paris. Originally, I was brought up in France, but the prospect of my professional life appeared to be far more promising in Ireland, so that’s why I was currently settled there.

It was 13th

Notwithstanding, I had recently gone through the mill after having been made redundant at work. I had an indifferent attitude towards life, I was utterly apathetic. Further, my mental instability reflected upon my physical appearance. I was gaunt, with slender limbs and with pale, deep-set eyes that contrasted sharply with my black-dyed hair. I had a fragile nature or, in other words, I was delicate-featured. Being an only child, I had grown used to leading a lonely life, which made me become such a lone wolf. Nonetheless, I felt an occasional void, given my lack of friends, family, partner and company in general. My mother was the only person I could resort to, my go-to person. We could spend hours and hours chattering on.

Amongst the reasons for my miserable state was my father’s death during the Covid-19 pandemic. I fought tooth and nail to travel to his residence in Mexico, but unfortunately, I didn’t manage to attend his funeral, and I still blamed myself for that.

In 2022, I was in my late thirties, but I was only a week shy of turning forty. That particular week was completely uneventful. However, my birthday turned out to be a turning point in my life. The trigger of it all was nothing but a call from my uncle. I must admit that I wasn’t expecting this call due to his absent-mindedness. But the reason for this call was obviously not my birthday. He was simply worried about my mother’s state, since she wouldn’t pick up his calls and she wouldn’t even respond when he knocked her door. I therefore tried to contact her, but there was no reply whatsoever. In a matter of hours, I found myself in Paris, as I hadn’t hesitated at the time of booking my flight. Nevertheless, I wasn’t aware of what was expecting me there.

I made for my mum’s apartment and took out the keys to the door that has appeared in my dreams. I deemed it prudent to phoned my uncle beforehand, just to let him know I was already there. He was swamped in work so he couldn’t pick up the phone. As I screeched the door open, I caught a putrid whiff that made me gag. I rushed to my mother’s bedroom. What I found was her dead corpse. Putrefaction had already set in. All my cherished and distant childhood memories vanished, and the only persistent thought I couldn’t get rid of was this last image of the woman who bore me decaying into a liquid state which soaked and stained the rotten wooden floor. I spent a whole week taking great pains to leave the room spick and span. I ended up drowning in my own tears.

Never Ending

Sometimes I truly believe I am cursed. Nothing seems to work out for me in the long run and I’m constantly beating myself up for every single little choice I’ve made. The word “mistake” haunts me in the late hours of the night and not until I open the last drawer of my nightstand and swallow the sleeping pill the doctor prescribed do my eyelids feel heavy and I am surrounded by darkness.

Once again, I’m dreaming. Lately, waking up confused by whatever dream my mind thought was real has become a habit. It makes me uneasy. I loathe the sensation of chaos. Of not being in control, or of losing it.

I’m facing an enormous wooden door. Its frame has been carefully painted pitch-black and were it not for the fact that I recall falling asleep and suddenly opening my eyes in this place, I’d wholeheartedly believe that crossing that door meant dying. It’s particularly frightening.

I haven’t seen the door before. It wasn’t there last night. Cautiously, I turn the handle. This new door can only mean one thing: a life I will never get to experience. In all likelihood, I made some kind of choice yesterday that I’m going to deeply regret tomorrow. It is, indeed, a never ending cycle.

Right before stepping into the room, I look back to the hall. Approximately, I’d say there are about a thousand different doors. A variety of all the lives I let go of at some point. The sad truth is that the decisions that I’m actually proud of are greatly outnumbered by the ones that should someone bring them up, I’ll hide and never come out.

When I peer beyond the door frame, I realize I’m above New York. All I see are skyscrapers that long to touch the sky full of stars. I smell chocolate, but the thought scarcely crosses my mind as I look towards the, at least, 3 by 5 meters window that takes the entirety of one of the luxurious suite’s walls. I am speechless. I cannot believe I’m in–

“Goddammit!”, someone cusses. My gaze travels the room until it lands on a ballerina. I know her personally. I see her every morning in the bathroom mirror above the sink.

She’s sitting at the foot of the bed, with her head between her hands. She lets out a cry.

The door across the room flies open and a suited man storms in.

“You’re supposed to be out there, right now!”, he looks like he’s losing it little by little as the conversation progresses. The girl doesn’t even look up and keeps shaking her head as though she wished to escape, disappear and be someone else for a few minutes.

It is me. I am the girl.

She’s holding a pair of pointed shoes, exactly like the ones I would use when I still did ballet. As the man said, she’s supposed to be out there, dancing somewhere as it was planned, but she’s not.

She keeps repeating that she can’t breathe properly. It looks like I can't get rid of my anxiety even when I’m a professional dancer.

I injured my knee yesterday, trying to land an almost impossible lift that I was told was dangerous to perform. I decided to go for it anyway. It didn’t work out, and as my partner ran to get help, the only thing I could think of while I yelped in pain was the possibility of not being able to dance anymore, and how when I went to bed, there would be an added door to my personal collection. Today, at exactly 3pm, I was informed that my knee would never fully recover.

Throughout the years, I have opened and closed dozens of doors, and the thing is that every time I fall asleep and dream, I encounter a brand new door that keeps me awake at night.

I have been a writer, a musician, a mother, an olympics medalist… and the list goes on.

The universe seems to have fun these days.

The Door To Past

There was a time where Mark used to smile, he used to be happy, full of energy and prepared to accept any challenge that life gave him. That was before the accident…

Nowadays, four years later, Mark seems a completely different person. He is always sad, he spends most of his day in his bed, he almost doesn’t eat and he doesn’t want to speak with anyone. His parents are worried about him and they try to speak with him but he refuses.

Mark is angry with himself, he thanks for the help his parents are providing him but they don’t understand it. They don’t realize that he is the reason why his brother is dead, he feels guilty and he regrets every decision he made that day. If only he had listened to his little brother saying it was a bad idea or if he hadn’t taken that shortcut and followed the road his brother would still be alive.

Every night he cries until he falls asleep and dreams about his brother breathing again. However, when he wakes up the nightmare starts again. Nevertheless, this day he has opened his eyes and he has seen a strange door in front of his bed. He hasn’t seen that door before, it wasn’t there last night. He is scared even so he decides to open it.

Cautiously, he turns the handle and he starts to feel a weird sensation while crossing it. After doing it Mark realizes he is still in his room. Suddenly, he hears a yawn behind him, he turns and sees himself sleeping in his bed. He is shocked because he doesn’t understand anything, he moves his eyes to the side table and notices the calendar is four years delayed. He takes in that he is in the past, what’s more, he perceives that he is on the exact day his brother died.

He starts to feel full of life again because he has taken into account that he is going to be able to save his brother. He can’t lose any time he has one hour before his brother and its past version suffer the horrible accident.

He leaves his house and starts running to the spot the crash took place, he plans to stop the car right before the traffic accident occurs. Since he is thrilled by the idea of saving his brother's life, Mark doesn’t see the hole he is about to step in so he falls inside of it. He screams in pain and finds out he has broken his ankle. Still, with the injury, he continues to run as fast as he can, he needs to save him, he isn't going to forgive himself if he lets his brother die a second time.

While he is deep in his thoughts, his old car passes by and all of his hopes break down, he hasn’t been fast enough, he has failed. His legs start to shake as he starts to collapse on the floor while he observes the car arriving at the site where everything took place. Nonetheless, something he didn’t remember happens, another car hits his old car and the fatal accident takes place. Mark closes his eyes and when he opens them, he finds himself in his bed again.

He sees the calendar is not delayed anymore, so he is in the present day again. He thinks everything has been a dream so he decides to wake up. Yet, when he touches the floor with his feets, he feels an incredible amount of pain and he becomes aware of his broken ankle. He understands that it hasn’t been a dream and he starts to feel extremely relieved because he notices that he wasn’t guilty of his brother's death.

A Reality Check

It was a regular school day. Well, a regular strike day at school. I didn’t expect everyone to go home to be honest, but that was it. The building felt ghostly as I patiently waited the hours to pass by. We wouldn’t do anything new anyway, so I went upstairs to the library. I liked the library, I felt safe in there and it was quiet. Suddenly, I noticed a little door on the side. I had never seen that door, but not that I cared anyway, I usually don’t pay attention and neither do I remember. Sometimes having free will can be a curse, because I turned the victim of my curiosity.

I stood up and turned the handle calmly. I was secretly nervous, but I kept it to myself even though no one was looking, because I used to say that fear only exists in one’s mind. Being controlled and conditioned by emotion felt weak and I had this kind of “fake it until you make it” mentality that helped me get over the feeling of fearfulness.

I finally opened it and it was just a regular attic. Spiderwebs and dust everywhere, abandoned old boxes and poor lighting. The only source of light were some dirty, dusty and definitely not crystal clear glass windows on the ceiling.

There wasn’t anything to be nervous about, but I was getting more and more paralized each time I took a step in that place, because each of them was separating me from the door even more and I couldn’t possibly know what was awaiting me there.

I walked through the long room until I reached a corner. I, terrified and shaky, turned that corner and saw another door, but that time it was bigger, like a regular door’s size. The whole situation I had involved myself in was the typical horror movie tension scene in which something terrible was about to happen, and I was starting to get anxious, but since I had already gone that far, why not open that door? What could possibly go wrong?

Step by step, I reached the target of my need to know, the force that was forcing me into trying new things and ignoring my anxiety.

Calmly (or so I was trying to be) I opened the door and… Surprise! It was locked. My curiosity rest. I couldn’t know what was behind the door and I got more calm. Now, my new aim was to turn around and walk away from that mysterious door. My steps were slow, weak and very unsure, I was pretty certain that even the spiders could tell that.

As I was heading to the exit, I was getting intrusive thoughts about what could happen to me while I was almost paralyzed and frightened: the roof falling off, the floor falling and carrying me with it, ghosts haunting me, me having an anxiety attack because of all those harmful thoughts or even me being kidnapped. I knew it didn’t make sense, but I couldn’t help but replay all those horrible things in my mind. As soon as I reached the door, I jumped outside of the attic as if my life depended on it. I closed the door behind me and I sat where all my books were and pretended that everything was normal. I finally felt safe and I reflected on what I had done. Why did I have to put myself in such situation, when I know very well how I end up feeling?

Looking back to then, I guess it’s refreshing to check that we’re alive sometimes and we’re not living solely by a routine. Fear, although bad, helps us to feel something different than the normal. I personally enjoy the challenge of doing something spontaneous for once, just to confirm that I’m real.