Michelle's confession
By
Alessandro Ghebreigziabiher
Here, I am.
Soon, you’ll have to go, Michelle, very soon, you must be honest, now.
Okay, I'm a potential killer, but I luckily survived the death penalty, and maybe, for a pinch of typically feminine stubbornness.
Well done, I said it, I'm happy, now.
But that's not enough, isn’t it?
I have to say it all, I have to do it, I need to remember and confess everything.
I wanted to kill you, I admit, I tried many times to do it and I was just a whisker from getting you out of my life.
You look at me with that absent face, with your head elsewhere, your heart on the other side, and every single cell of your body on its own business, as if being there, at that precise moment was not the priority.
How much you made me suffer, you have no idea, you do not have it.
How many disappointments I have had to endure, because of you, and your absolute inability to obtain true results, those that make the family happy, that make you worthy of public praise in the parental updates.
I’ve almost killed you, seriously.
I wanted to do it, believe me.
I could not, and you survived, because then... then it was too late.
But do we want to talk about your best ally?
That's right, I'm referring to you, ever smiling girl.
What are you laughing at?
What are you laughing at, with everything that happens in the world?
Yes, I already know what you're going to do with me now, it's the same thing you've always done: it’s precisely what happens in the world that needs me, I know the lesson.
This doesn’t stop me to repeatedly try strangling you, when I watched those cheerful eyes and the perpetually enlarged smile.
I hated you, because I envied you and envied you because I hated myself, unable to have your strength to play down everything and everyone.
Maybe I had that gift, I told myself, and I felt guilty.
That's why, like many, I saw no other solution than erasing you from the world, from mine, I mean.
I wanted to make you suffer and a lot, before.
I wanted to see you lose and admit that it’s not possible to live like this.
I was sure that immediately I would feel better and everything would be easier.
I didn’t make it, I tried it many times, and you won every one of them.
But I wanted to kill you, really.
Finally there is you, incomparable companion of the other two.
You are the one I wanted to murder more than any other.
I felt offended by you, as if your relaxed and serene face produced an automatic slap on mine, weighed down by every single daily event, from the burning word to the indifferent gesture.
I wanted to poison you with my most unbearable sorrows and my least tolerable anguish.
I wanted to pollute your expression and make it as similar as possible to the one that oppressed my chest, from within.
Yet, even with you, despite having tried everything, I didn’t succeed.
You saved yourself, like the others.
And I did with you all, loving parts of me.
I see you all now, in the mirror.
The ability to dream and defend with nails and teeth even the smallest dream, as if it were one of my many children.
The desire to play and, above all, the strenuous will to do it, always and in any case.
And finally, the desire for lightness, as a natural condition for wisely living the time we have left.
I wanted to kill you and, again, fortunately you are still alive, in me.
Done, I confessed.
It's time to go on stage.
The theatre awaits.
Open the curtain...