I found myself standing on the edge of the ledge on a fifteenth floor, forty-three meters above the ground.
At my feet 18 de Julio, the main avenue of Montevideo; people, routines, problems and solutions.
They all moved in a pre-established pattern that I neither knew nor controlled.
They, regardless of how tied they were to their circumstances, were walking around as if they were not aware of their context or it did not weigh on them.
I'm not going to lie to you, when observing so many variables at the same time they all seemed insignificant. None of them seemed striking to me, there was not one that by itself stood out or incentivized my interest.
In my mind the possibility arose that perhaps I was seeing everything from a too general point of view, that is, from my corneas they were nothing more than simple pixels moving in meticulously random directions.
I made the decision to move even closer to the ledge - in a clumsy attempt - to detail any particular individual or situation.
As I crawled along the ground, an explosion sounded dryly, with no echo.
- A gunshot!!! - I thought aloud, as the ground crumbled.
I was no longer on solid ground.
I remember feeling an intense tingling, an abdominal tingling that I could easily have mistaken for vertigo.
The funny thing is that the closer I was to the ground, to the blow, the farther I was from my body.
The flesh was approaching the pavement, when I breakfasted that I was no longer in it.
I was dematerialized energy, ready to incarnate wherever I wanted.
I had achieved the approach I desired. I think.
Inexplicably I transported myself directly into the barrel of that .38. The initial engine of my impulse, the peculiar variable.
I was trapped inside a huge, cold tunnel with a slight light at the end.
The context managed to make me believe I was in the Christian version of death; a tunnel, a light, vestiges of glory and failures resting on my icy skin.
And again, in an adrenaline rush, I was propelled forward and spat out at an uncontrollable speed.
I was heading straight for a guy's temple.
Still prevails in me, the clumsy reflex it hit. Where -I guess unintentionally- it was in front of my trajectory.
We stared at each other's eyes (although in my case it was a symbolic lead cover).
I remember his gesticulation, I remember the lines of expression he wore almost tattooed, I remember his dark circles under his eyes. How many years, problems and joys had I saved him?
I still remember -unfortunately- how I used to get into his skin with my armor. I remember getting into his skull, making my way through the moist and warm tissues that made up his temple.
Forgive the crudeness but my sensory memory decided to associate it with something similar to sex.
Just at the moment I took his life, my whole essence was transported to him.
I saw everything from his perspective, I could appreciate in first person his eye movements.
I watched passively as I transitioned from looking straight ahead into the canyon, to then slowly but fluidly losing my balance and ending up looking up at the sky in an almost orchestrated camera movement.
In that span of seconds between losing visual awareness, everything turning red and losing motor functions, I could feel how time was completely under my control.
At this point I don't know how to explain it without sounding stupid, but I went backwards for a few seconds.
I felt a tug whose strength I still don't know but with incredible determination it took me and the needles one pigeonhole into the past.
I saw myself again, but this time I was not in the canyon, not on the ledge.
I was on two legs, breathing, functional.
Standing in the middle of 18 de Julio, backed by a red light.
I had my gaze lost, until I felt his:
- Dale, tell me again. Suck dick - Said the one who was holding the gun.
I fixed my eyes on him.
- What did I tell you? - I asked in bewilderment, but what an illusion. Only I was aware of that context, the rest saw me as an individual following their pre-established pattern. Just another ant.
To the eyes of others, I had only my life on a scale.
Scales that depended only on how long it took him to caress the cold metal of the trigger.
I already knew the pattern.
I assumed that my dialectical attempts would be futile.
It's strange, but when I was in the past it was as if I was in two completely different times and neither is the one I was used to. Neither will be the present.
Our actions happened to be divided in turns and it was more than clear to me that if I did nothing; his next move would leave me in check.
But I still had a rebel pawn located on the other side of the board, ready to advance and thus become the knight of resistance.
What I am going to tell you next, up to this moment, continues to surprise me.
It was one of those moments where I felt to overcome any human limitation, I felt to be the best possible version within that microclimate.
I rolled to the ground dodging his bullet, just at the moment he decided to throw it.
Then a body unexpectedly fell from the sky and stained the whole cast with blood. It had fallen right next to me, leaving me in the middle of the situation.
His clothes were familiar to me, but I wasted no time tying up the loose ends. I already knew everything that had happened, was happening and was going to happen.
The eyes of others were dazzled with morbid curiosity. The more ambitious in the audience took out their cell phones to capture the next viral video. The more perverted ones were rubbing against the walls; ecstatic.
They all seemed to have hung up staring at the sun for a few minutes and that body was the dark spot where they would later stick their blinking corneas, mesmerized by the light distortion of being dazzled.
I felt my legs go numb with nerves and I took that as a signal to run.
And I ran..
I ran like I had never run before in my life, bah, in both my lives.
Now I felt aware of both.
But far from understanding the situation even more, it filled me with doubts.
Was it Juan or Nicolas?
Was he 22 or 68?
Was I still delirious on the balcony or had I really inherited a life with just the right amount of bad decisions for there to be a bullet with my name on it out there?
Sorry, I stand corrected.
The bullet was no longer for me.
The next thing I remember is that I was tired, very tired.
I took the instinctive path that would take me home, but I was still confused because I no longer lived 43 meters off the ground.
I had no trouble getting in, although I still had no conception of that place as my own.
The house was pretty messy, I couldn't see the floor as it was composed of garbage; everything was riddled with fleas added to the smell of ammonia and cat urine were drilling my nostrils.
For what I still retain, I went to bed on a Wednesday night at 11:50 p.m., overwhelmed by the feeling that I was going to get little sleep.
I rested the back of my neck on the pillow and controlled my breathing with the goal of reaching sleep a little faster.
I inhaled.
- One, two, three, four, five, six - I counted internally, holding my breath.
- One, two, three, four.... - I fell asleep exhaling.
It was enough a myclonic spasm for the sensation of a fall to spit me with the force of contempt on this floor, a floor I had never seen before and I think I had seen a lot of things at this height.
And so, that's how I got here.
