"Those dreams drained me. I was too tired to read or chat, so I just walked around. I could walk for hours through the countryside. One day, when I was walking to the next village, I found a door. It was close to the village's cemetery. It was just a door in the middle of the countryside. When I asked about it, I was told that it was not a door but a tunnel. It was part of a network of tunnels which were used as an armory during the war. They were closed in the 50s after an explosion claimed several victims. The tunnels must still belong to the army, but they have been neglected for decades. I liked that door along side of the cemetery. I started finishing my daily walks there. One day I noticed another door from the other side of the cemetery. It was in the hills, so I had to climb there. Once I faced the new door, I was shocked to find mattresses, sofas, and twisted metal bars scattered everywhere around it. That door was relatively accessible from the road so the neighbors used it as an illegal dump. I was angry at such a profanation. A strange word in my vocabulary, profanation. It was a Pedraza's word. I couldn't help it but I was still thinking about my Philadelphian monster, Medusa, and the suicides. My concerns leaked into my dreams because I couldn't face them. I could only face that junk. But then, in front of that trash, the pieces began to fit together. What if the junk was waiting for me. What if someone collected it for years and arranged it that way. Inviting me in."

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so does the stone by Ángela Sánchez de Vera is licensed under a Creative Commons Reconocimiento-NoComercial-CompartirIgual 3.0 Unported License.