Where Wings Grow

wait for something inevitable to happen. From his bedroom window, Gabriel watched the dull silhouette of the horizon. I

still, as if looking at the smoke might give him answers. But there were

pered to himself, his voice bar

ed to scan the shadows, her way of closing doors was quicker, more definitive. She slept little. She spoke less. Her motherl

ontact for too long. And what disturbed Gabriel most was that Isabelita didn't respon

ried in his sleep, as if his soul knew

e he wanted to reconnect with some part of himself that wasn't tainted by fear. He thought of his old comics, the ones Amelia had hidd

hastily. The basement smelled of damp and old wood, and

when he

more decorative than functional. It wasn't hidden, but its presence felt out

ir of pliers and inserted it into the padlock. He barely applied any force when he heard a sharp "crack." Th

orners. It bore no name or date, just a label taped on with

Not

r laugh. "Too late," he tho

Scribbles. Paintings in black pen, an

indows looked like screaming eyes. The door, an open mouth swallowing fi

car on his forehead, a tall man with a dark hat and hidden eyes.

. At the bottom of one, almost hidden among the draw

't who yo

ral degrees. And the worst part was that it didn't surprise him. He'd sensed it for years. Since he was little, he

time, a rag doll girl hanging from a r

ement suddenly grew darker, or maybe it wa

is room. From there, he listened to the house as if it were another house. Amelia's voice in the kitchen, soft and muffled, like a song repeated to avoid thinki

turned on his cell phone's flashl

seemed like a testimony.

as written in red marker. Wor

t it was o

esn't embra

destr

his hands. He closed hi

leep. Not o

of r

or inherited anecdotes: they were ruins buried beneath layers of silence. An

l. It was a living warning.