Narrativa impresionista. Lecturas. Ejercicios, improvisaciones de impresionismo.

 There was for some years, during the Middle Ages, in Europe, a maleficent epidemic of rabies, of animal origin, which spread the fury of thirst both in villages, cities, along roads, throughout the expanse of forests. The inhabitants, terrified, began to see in every shadow a possible carrier of the disease, and paranoia took over hearts. The peasants, dressed in the rags of their poverty, locked themselves in their houses, while the once bustling villages turned into echoes of despair. The moon, which used to illuminate the paths, was now a silent witness of the spreading fear, because, with each night, tales of horrifying transformations arose. The insatiable thirst, a symbol of the delirium that accompanied the infected, spread like a shadow, threatening to erase the line between the being and the monster. In the marketplace, once filled with laughter and trade, only whispers of dread lingered, as if the air itself had thickened with the weight of impending doom. The elders gathered in the dim light of the tavern, their faces pale and drawn, sharing tales of those who had succumbed to the plague. With each passing day, the crops withered, and even the river seemed to murmur in anguish. Desperate minds turned to ancient superstitions, rituals long abandoned, seeking a glimmer of hope in the darkness that enveloped them, striving to reclaim the light of their forgotten humanity. As the chill of despair deepened, a figure cloaked in tattered robes appeared at the edges of the village, a whisper of salvation or further peril. The air crackled with anticipation as the villagers regarded the newcomer with a mix of suspicion and longing. "I have seen the darkness and the light," the figure proclaimed, their voice a haunting melody that drew the frightened hearts closer. With trembling hands, they produced a vial filled with a shimmering liquid, promising a cure but shrouded in uncertainty. Hope flickered briefly, yet dread lingered, as the choice weighed heavily against the backdrop of their agitation. In that moment, the crowd held its breath, caught between the allure of salvation and the fear of deception. Perhaps this elixir was a balm for their suffering or a siren's call to their doom. The elders exchanged wary glances, their wisdom battling with desperation. Was this stranger a healer or a harbinger of more despair? As whispers swirled around the gathering, a child stepped forward, drawing gasps from the crowd. With wide eyes, untainted by fear, they reached for the vial, embodying a courage that had long been buried under the weight of despair. The village held its breath, waiting. The figure paused, their gaze softening as they looked down at the child, a flicker of recognition passing like a fleeting shadow. "Courage," they murmured, "Is both a gift and a burden." The villagers felt the tension shift, hearts yearning for the innocence that the child represented. With trembling resolve, the child grasped the vial, lifting it high as if to pierce the veil of dread that enveloped them. "Let us choose hope," the child declared, their voice ringing clear and true, igniting a spark in the collective heart of the crowd. Slowly, others began to step forward, emboldened by the purity of that single act. A ripple of energy coursed through the crowd, igniting long-buried hopes. One by one, the villagers stepped forward, their voices blending into a chorus of resolve. "We will not cower in fear," they proclaimed. "We will seize this chance." The figure nodded, understanding their unspoken bond. As the moonlight bathed them in silver, the weight of the vial fell less heavily in the child’s hand. With a deep breath, the child uncorked the vial, a brilliant light spilling forth, illuminating faces that once wore masks of despair. In that moment, the darkness began to retreat, trembling before their unity. As the light danced around them, revealing the once-hidden beauty of their surroundings, the villagers felt an awakening. Laughter, long silenced, began to rise in joyous notes, mingling with the light as it breathed life into their weary spirits. The figure smiled, seeing hope blossom where fear had taken root. "Remember," they urged, "courage is a choice—and together, you possess the strength to forge a new path." With a renewed sense of purpose, the villagers gathered around the light, ready to face the shadows that still loomed, united in their determination to reclaim their lives and heal their land. Yet, as the first rays of dawn broke through the remnants of the night, a lingering doubt clung to the air. Shadows still lingered at the edges of their hearts, whispering of lurking dangers. The village elder, wise and aged, stepped forward, his voice steady yet soft. "Let us not forget the lessons of the past," he cautioned, "for the road to recovery is fraught with trials." The villagers nodded, feeling the weight of his words. They resolved to stand vigilant, embracing their hope while preparing for the many challenges ahead, ready to nurture the fragile light they had ignited. They began to forge a plan, uniting their skills and strengths, determined to confront whatever darkness might still threaten their home. Women gathered herbs from the surrounding woods, men reinforced the borders of the village, and children filled the air with laughter, their innocence a shield against despair. In the heart of the village, they planted seeds, not just in the soil but in their hearts—a promise to nurture life together. Each sunrise became a testament to their resilience, a reminder that hope, once sparked, could ignite a fire powerful enough to burn away the shadows that had haunted them for too long. As the weeks passed, the village transformed, each day unfolding a tale of renewal. The crops flourished under the careful hands of the villagers, laughter woven into the fabric of their daily lives. Yet whispers of the past still coursed through the air, a reminder of what they had overcome. One evening, as the sun dipped low, casting golden hues over the horizon, the figure returned, standing at the edge of the village. "You have done well," they said, their voice resonating like a gentle breeze. "But remember, the journey of healing is endless. Always cherish your unity."

By Carlos del Puente