Liothan's path as a surreal metaphor for addiction. Carlos del Puente Stories
domingo, mayo 11, 2025Liothan's path as a surreal metaphor for addiction.
Liothan walked through the dusty terrain, his boots cried rhythmically against the gravel under him. He had been walking hours, his eyes scanned the horizon for any sign of civilization. The sun attacked him, throwing a relentless shine that painted the world in marked contrasts of light and shadow. The only constant partner on his trip was to always rumble from a distant road, a line of life that seemed to extend forever without approaching. His thoughts were scattered, such as the containers that danced through the road, but a question remained housed in his mind: "Why?"
His trip had begun as a search for comfort, a retirement of a life that had become too loud, too chaotic. The endless extension of the Liothan path had called him with his promise of silence and loneliness. However, the more he ventured along his way, the more he realized that the tranquility he was looking for was a mere illusion. The whispers of doubt and repentance became stronger with each step, resonating through the sterile landscape as a choir of lost souls. The way itself was a volatile creature, its asphalt surface cracked and changed as if it were alive, a testimony of agitation within its own mind.
The sky was an endless blue canvas, occasionally perforated by the marked white lines of unattainable aircraft. The occasional buzz of a distant engine was the only reminder that it was not really alone in this desolate extension. However, while walking, he began to notice something peculiar. The shadows emitted by poor vegetation and irregular rocks became longer and more distorted, stretching like the arms of the invisible giants that reached it. It was as if the land on which he walked was trying to swallow everything, to take him to a realm of darkness that reflected the tumultuous thoughts that entered and and left his head.
His breath worn and his legs felt as lead. Despite the oppressive heat, a chill ran through its spine as it saw something in its peripheral vision. A figure, high and grim, kept the rhythm of it, coinciding with its steps as if it were part of its own reflection. He remained right beyond the edge of his vision, a silent sentinel who refused to leave his side. The line between reality and illusion became thinner with every moment that happened, and could no longer say if his mind was playing tricks or if there was something sinister that stalked beyond his reach as an intruder.
The figure changed with each step it took as if it were made of shadows lives. It had no face, only the suggestion of characteristics that danced on the verge of recognition. This was not just a mere hallucination; It was something else, a manifestation of his deepest fears and his darker secrets. It was the incarnation of his addiction, which he hoped to overcome in this endless path. The creature was volatile, whispering sweets in its ear, tempting it to give up, to let it consume it.
Liothan's heart accelerated while trying to overcome the shadow, his boots now hit the pavement in a frantic rhythm. The whispers became stronger, more insistent, until the sound of the road and the wind were drowning. The presence of the creature was palpable, a cold hug that seemed to leak in its own bones. I knew I had to face it, to face darkness within itself if you ever wanted to be free. Invoking a force that he did not know he had, Liothan turned to face his persecutor. The shadow was quia, looking at her with a silent intensity that seemed to suck the air inside her lungs. He could feel his power within his alveoli, a seductive force that promised to relieve pain of his body. But he also knew that yielding would mean to get lost completely.
Breathing deeply, he approached the shadow, his eyes looked in a vacuum any sign of their own reflection. "What do you want?" She demanded, her voice trembling with fear and determination. The creature inclined his head, the smallest indication of a smile that touches his face without characteristics.
"I only know you," he whispered back, his voice is a chilling echo. "I just want to meet you."
The confrontation was imminent. The shadow creature was not any adversary. It was part of it, a fragment of her soul that had been deeply buried. This was the moment when he had to decide whether to hug the darkness or the struggle for light. His hand reached his pocket, feeling the cold metal of a small flask that he had taken with him since the beginning of his trip. It was a symbol of his struggle, a crutch in which he had trusted for comfort. With a fierce resolution, he took it out and threw it into the desert, observing while shattered against a rock, the content spilled in the sand as tears of repentance.
The shadow shuddered, and for a brief moment, Liothan felt a ray of hope. But the creature was relentless, its tendrils approached it, wrapping their ankles as the vines of a malevolent plant. She stumbled, her knees scraping against the relentless asphalt, but refused to fall. This was her battle, and she would not let the shadow win. With a roar that seemed to start from his soul, he freed himself from the shadow grip, feeling a sudden wave of power. The creature retreated, and for a moment, he saw a flash of something similar to fear in his eyes. It was a brief victory, but it was enough to reinforce its resolution.
The fight was far from finishing, and the way ahead remained as treacherous and uncertain as always. But while Liothan continued his trip, he knew he had taken the first step to conquer the monster inside. Every step it took was a declaration of war against darkness that had plagued it for so long. And although the shadow stalked out of sight, it was ready to face it in front, to claim the light that was legitimately yours.
The sun began to fall under the horizon, throwing a warm brightness through the landscape. The shadows became more time, but Liothan felt a new force inside her. The whispers of temptation became weaker with each step that took the creature. While marching, the horizon made signs with the promise of something else, a future free of the shackles of his past.
The trip was long, and the battles ahead would be fierce, but it was no longer alone. The echoes of their own determination filled the air, a testimony of their will to survive and overcome. The whispers of the doubt had been replaced by a challenge song, a mantra that became stronger with each breath that took: "There is no more. Without further ado."
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