Turbinio

Pink Chrysanthemum

You stood up as the procession took the central aisle. There were several acolytes in white robes, one of whom was swinging an incense burner that was spraying scented smoke at the faithful. Another carried a book and a third a tall crucifix, the frightening figure on it covered in red paint whose hues flickered on the priest's gold and blush vestment.

You remember being startled by the bad taste. The mixture of barbaric ostentation and the Spanish tones sung were quite different from what your subconscious considered appropriate in a church.

Still, as the mass went on, things seemed more normal. There was the reading of very familiar Bible passages and then the vaguely unpleasant tedium of the sermon, in which the inevitable announcements of ''peace'', ''goodwill'' and ''love'' occurred to you, tranquil as the white lilies floating in a lake of words.

You stood up, now that you had the vague thought of lakes, and prepared for a bath.

Dried blood was not a simple thing to get rid of, but that didn't bother you. You soaked a few times, played with some little fish, until finally you were clean, light, the way you came into the world. Your clean clothes were laid out on the shore of the lake. You were waist-deep in the water, bathing, splashing and meditating; until a noise made you hide under the water immediately, without even thinking to find out what it was.

With only your eyes out of the water, you felt a pang of tension in your chest when you saw Cadichon become agitated. Horses were the only animals that bothered Cadichon; usually all horses come accompanied by a human rider and that was what worried you.

Taking courage, you took the cloth you would use to dry yourself and covered your torso with it, hiding behind Cadichon while holding her by the bridle and nostrils so she wouldn't snort or neigh.

You were about to back away discreetly when suddenly the mysterious presence was revealed. But not by Cadichon who, held by the nostrils, was quiet and still as a mouse. It was a horse - a gray-brown mustang, its mane black as tar, no rider.

The horse rolled the gravel with its hoof and greeted Cadichon with a neigh. Cadichon brayed aggressively and shook her head roughly, so that the echo resounded through the water and a second figure emerged from the bushes.

The gentleman in pink clothes shook the leaves with his arrival, presenting, for a moment, all his splendor and a pleasant sight.

''Hot Pants!'' You exclaimed warmly, stepping out from behind Cadichon.

''(Y/N).'' She politely and calmly greeted. ''I'm glad to see you're alright.''

''I say the same. But you scared me! How can you be so silent?''

She smiled slightly, but soon became serious again, looking at you from head to toe with curiosity.

''Bad time?'' She questioned, stopping her eyes at your shins with dry leaves and clumps of dirt stuck to them. ''I'm sorry.''

''Oh, this? Don't worry.'' You made a nonchalant gesture with your hands and picked up your clothes. ''It's not like you're the first to see my legs.''

Hot Pants looked around as you dressed behind your mule. In fact, you didn't wear many clothes, so it wasn't too difficult a task.

It was then that her eyes settled on the carved rocks that stood serene on the shores of the lake, the weathered stones in the middle of the woods were a testament to well-deserved peace. You were aware of the serenity - but felt it was not for you.

Your blood still throbbed in your temples and your knuckles, as well as some of the wrinkles and scars on your skin, were still reddened. Before you could realize it, Hot Pants was walking around the lake shore towards the small sink.