They say that a traveler, has no soul ... Because he leaves a bit of it in every place he visits and loves. They say that a traveler is a friend of death. But I had never traveled anywhere.

I was suddenly awakened by the rattle and sudden horn of the train, I still had that dream that I was in front of that house, looking inwards without seeing more than a vague reflection of a shadow I guess mine in the dirty glasses, I still had the smell of the wet leaves that were on the ceiling impregnated in my nose, as if I had really been there a few seconds ago, as if it really belonged there.

I was dreaming huddled in a corner of the wagon with my head leaning against the window, my bangs bothered me because I had done it a day before the trip and I was hating my red hair, I was wearing a light gray old sweater with a front pocket of those in which you put your hands you raise your hood and you look like a famous rapper but then you noticed all the coffee stains and the illusion just die, ripped blue jeans that never washed and that strangled my legs as in revenge, Some "Nike" imitation who had traveled more than me and my best attitude for a situation like the one that was happening.

I made the effort to remember myself but I knew that it really wasn't a dream, it was like the repetition of the same dream always, a deja vu that didn't leave me alone, I was certain that there was more but I couldn't remember; I closed my eyes and I had instants of a quiet life that I had, of the good girl that I once was, that I wanted to be again but that was just another thing in my eternal list of "Things I Couldn't Do".

My wagon wasn't exactly a great place, it was simple: A giant window, two long and comfortable seats attached to each wall and a small door. We had arrived at the station and began to get ready to leave when the door of my car was hit by someone, they found me! I thought, but to my surprise It was just a frightened man, he had the uniform of those who carry the luggage of the train, it looked neat, he had black hair night with a modern cut, he had the hair made a mess but you could still see the gel to keep the hair perfect, he was paler than anyone that I ever knew and strangely he had an air of being of less age than he looked, his eyes were green, green Slytherin I immediately thought realizing how strange my mind could be in moments of extreme tension, it was not the time to be a Harry Potter fan and then I noticed in his eyes exorbitant in his expression of terror and blood, threads of scarlet blood ran through his clothes and made a puddle on the floor that made me imagine the worst.

Without thinking twice I left the wagon frightened , I trembled and I feared that my legs would maybe fail me, I found a small door in front of me, it was the other wagon and I could see the shadows of people that were inside, relaxed, for them nothing happened ; the corridor stretched to the left and to the right that this was the direction where the carpet was full of blood, and I could see where the poor man was coming from, I crossed on the opposite way and walked the empty corridor to my eyes but still with the look down, I entered in another different wagon. I was panicking, had they discovered me? Were they behind me again? I had to keep my profile low until I could get off the train and use the crowd as a camouflage, there was only one detail; I couldn't leave the injured boy there in the middle of the bloody car and fleeing.

I immediately returned looking for my wagon and suddenly the train stopped, the hallway lengthened and the walls melted becoming people, I couldn't give credit to my eyes, my stability became a mockery, I tried to walk but I felt that I was on cotton flakes that played with me, I looked around and could not distinguish the landscape that was passing by at full speed. Only green and fuzzy spots were visible but before I could focus in what was happening something hard hit me in the head and I fell on my back, before losing consciousness I could only get to see a blurry white shadow approaching, footsteps and distant grunts.

I woke up on a cot in a generic room, and the first thing I thought was the tranquility that was there until I noticed the giant crucifix that was on the wall in front of me, with Jesus Christ looking at me so severely that for a second I thought it was real , a bedside table that I imagine should have been indestructible to hold a bible of titanic size that was on it, I started to look at it and immediately noticed that it was not common, had folds and gold thread, and was written differently as if a person had dedicated himself with a pen in each parchment.

The nun was in the door and she spoke with that typical voice of people who know everything, who have traveled the world and have so much humility in their hearts that their warm words quell any storm. It reminded me of all the time I traveled, and of course the crazy thing of the train, I couldn't help but feel distrustful after all I still didn't know where I was, I turned and looked at her confused.

I couldn't help smiling, and I told her everything. The visions, the nostalgia, the dreams, the eternal trips and of course I asked him where I was.

-Those questions can only be answered by yourself, but first let's go down to eat you're all skinny, I feel that you can't even walk or you are going to have a disease. There was a scream coming from below and immediately the nun turned around and shouted with an energy that I did not think she had- NOW I'M GOING!

She went down first and tell me to hurry up and I finally noticed the inside of the house, it was a modernized nuns' shelter to the point that the room I had just left looked like the deposit, the dumpster. Tall wooden columns were raised to the vaulted ceiling, a corridor lengthened ending in a balcony overlooking the entrance of the house with a curved staircase that in turn ended in an arch of two and a half meters high that led to a kitchen. There was a small table in each corner with its respective vase where the most colorful gerberas and some innocent daisies lay quietly waiting to wither with the patience that only a flower could have.

The kitchen was huge, I still don't know where it ended to give way to the living room, the whole house had televisions LEDs of my size, but what I loved most were the 4 large ovens and a magnificent 12-burner gas stove, all the dishes were ceramic except the glasses that were made of glass, there was even a small wine cooler and I put the eye on one bottle of Oporto. And that's when I started to suspect, what kind of nuns were these? I looked closer and nothing made sense, the only thing that seemed ordinary were the chairs, sturdy wooden chairs that matched my room, nine sturdy wooden chairs on the dining table I shuddered at the mere realization of the quantity, of seeing the table.

Outside it was drizzling the view was beautiful it was cloudy and the backyard was an immense green carpet with flashes of color that extended in front of me and sometimes I saw some other cat entering the house, I reluctantly ate the soup that made some of the nuns made me with love, because I still didn't differentiate them, a cat climbed into my lap and wanted to be more than a thief of my caresses ... Thief of my food, when having a chicken prey between his teeth he jumped and fled leaving a disaster behind, luckily I had already taken everything that could have been on the plate and a folded paper denoted his presence with the wet foots of the cat as a signature. I looked around and I knew that the person who brought me the plate and the one who had served it were different.

I looked around again, confused, I went to the balcony and in the courtyard there were several nuns quietly drinking coffee. I opened door to door, room by room looking for anything that gave me clues of my phone or a mirror. I don't remember having a phone even when I was young and with the hormones to the surface, but the worst thing is that I don't remember ever having seen myself in front of a mirror and in that house even by mistake there wasn't a slight reflection, I started entered in panic without reason and I thought:

I went back to the kitchen looking for my dish that I hadn't washed, I had left it forgotten because I walked self-absorbed in my universe in my world being stirred by a simple note that had no emitter.

When I woke up everything looked bigger, my hands had become small and I was tiny, the house looked like a wooden cathedral, a vault that had as treasure my soul. When I looked at my hands I could see that they were smooth, tender and pink, I had baby hands, as a child. And for some reason I was alone there or that was what I believed, I could go out and get away from the walls that contained me, I went through the city and talked to different people.

I stayed for a while watching the sign outside the tent and how primitive was all the publicity, but I had to stop admiring that because from the corner of my eye I noticed that a group of nuns very similar to those of the house and I see that they were walking quickly, I entered the house without hesitation and now, today I still regret it.

The house of mirrors was a rudimentary tent that consisted of dark corridors made with pieces of black cloth, the first corridor was long and started to my right at the end I could see a mirror and I thought I would have the courage of get stand in front of him and observe me but the fear overcame me and I turned to the left towards another corridor and right there in the corridor I found some 9 mirrors on each side. My worst nightmare came true, I was not the one who I thought.

In front of a mirror that deformed me I could see an old lady who watched me through the glass, sad eyes full of death and betrayal, wrinkles like openings that let see her soul and that sank so much that they seemed made with clay.

Gray skin, and old clothes ... The grandmothers tell us that the demons live inside us, that we bring them to the world when we are born, that we are all cursed until someone baptize us. I was never in a train, I never was helped by some nuns, they never baptized me, I was born damaged. I was just in front of a hospital mirror where I was overcoming by schizophrenia and malnutrition. I guess you will read my life before this another day, I just ask that my photograph become famous as "Malnutrition in the hospital" and that it has nothing to do with my real story.

I died on June 6, 1966 at 6:00 pm after being photographed in a hospital minutes after having episodes in the bathroom when I saw myself in a mirror.