LILIBETH

Chapter 2

Could he be lying on the couch on the couch lying on the couch right now? Yes, could I have told my sister to go with Elsa to her birthday? Yes, would you have forgiven me. My daughter? And here I am, sitting at the table with more parents in a full pastry shop of balloons, boys, girls, gifts, noise and yes, with a paper crown over his head. Because party has Disney theme, I'm the blue prince without a pink princess. I excuse myself in front of the other parents by telling them that I go out for a while to smoke, when it's obviously a lie because I haven't smoked in my life, but I need to clear myself. I leave the celebration room of the great pastry shop and sit in the candle, watching people pass by. The temperature is very nice and warm, it is being a hot April this Year. A woman gives the bottle to her baby at the table on my left. Cars pass in front of the candle, removing bits of paper in the air. Beyond there's a park where the youth of the village usually go with their skateboarding, they stay for talks, they buy shots at the kiosk, etc. Derville is a quiet town, it always has been. Ordinary people with jobs currents with ordinary lives. Except the Wilsons, of course.

 I'm happy with my life, I have the job I've always wanted, a great daughter, I was happy with my wife and although we both went our separate ways we continue having a good relationship, I have good friends... 

"Hello" a soft and cheerful feminine voice pulls me out of my thoughts and I turn the Head. Lilith Wilson smiles sweetly on my right. He always has a slight smile on the lips, whatever you do. Her blonde is somewhat darker than her mother, it's more honey color, but for the rest it's identical. While the other girls in their age they wear tight clothes and showing the more skin the better as if by teaching plus society will accept you, she wears a steamy dress up to her knees color military green that highlights his eyes and the paleness of his thin body, with hair picked up in a low bun and his bangs open surrounding her face still as a child. I think that an angel would be like that.

 "Hello Lilith" smiles at him. Of course no other student would have greeted me with so much joy if she found me on the street, only Lilith did. 

"Looking for dragons to fight with?" you ask me funny by pointing my head. I had completely forgotten that I was wearing the paper crown of the Birthday.

 "Something like that, I've already hunted some and they're inside eating cake" I'll take off my crown. She sits next to me while she laughs. Any 17-year-old would get shame that they saw him with a teacher outside of school hours, but as Lilith he's always in his world, he doesn't care.

 "Is your daughter at the party? " asks me looking at the pink balloons surrounding the entrance of the pastry shop with phrases of "happy meets Sarah! 

"Yes" I laugh a little and look at the brown-skinned notebook on his lap. He always takes that notebook to high school and a lot of times I've crossed it on the street. with him under his arm. Curiosity has overcome me 

"¡hey, what's in that notebook that you always go with him?" 

"It's my imagination notebook" puts it on the table and opens it with parsimony turning the pages slowly so you can see what's there. They're his drawings, but very random, a cat inside a moon, a burning Christmas tree, a lake with nenufares and a female hand coming out of the waters... But everything perfectly drawn, in every detail and shadows.

"Imagination notebook? Funny name"  

"I always wear it, you never know when your imagination tries to talk to you. I carry the notebook to draw whatever you want to tell me"

It's already there again, a phrase that leaves you thinking all day, imagination Speaks? How can he talk to you? Let fate speak to you, okay. But.... 

"You were wrong, didn't you? You mean that inspiration speaks to you" I say by raising Eyebrows.

 "No" he laughs a little

 "inspiration is what arises after a conversation with the Imagination"

He stays past the pages of the notebook to see the drawings, but I don't lend attention to these, my eyes scrutinized Lilith's face. She doesn't realize it but my mind right now it's more scratched than a barcode. 

"And..." carraspeo a little "what good are the talks with your imagination?" From there do you take out your drawings or....?

 "I want to be a writer like my father, and for that I have to boost my imagination" smile at me "so I only pay attention to what the world tells me and I place it in the sheets and then invent a story from the drawing" Seat slowly. I pay attention to the last drawings he shows me, they are quite tetric; bony bodies hanging from windows, a leaf painted whole of black except for a white face with horns, a huge snake eating a Person... 

"These drawings are quite horrifying" I put my hand on a sheet, that of the snake, so it doesn't keep happening. 

"I think my imagination is trying to tell me something through my dreams" frown. 

"Do you dream those things?

 "Yes" he looks away from the notebook, "I've been dreaming of things that never I've dreamed" nightmares that scare me" I can't imagine what it's going to be like to have such nightmares for two weeks, basically because I never remember what I dream.

 "Maybe it could be stress," I say, shrugging me.

"Maybe he" murmurs and closes the notebook with a sigh. The grimace of his face disappears and smiles again with his slight smile always "I must go, it has been a pleasure to talk to you" Every time he tells me about you. hundreds of years strike my fragile self-esteem. 

"Equally" smile and put the crown back on "I'm going back to the "party" before let my dragon eat more cake than it should" Lilith laughs and says goodbye. He crosses the street and hugs his notebook in the chest. Will my imagination speak to me a lot? I've been thinking about that all day yesterday and the tomorrow. I'm in my office with a blank folio in front of me and a pencil in my hand, giving me little bumps with this one on my chin. But how do I connect with my imagination? Wi-Fi key? I sigh resignedly and put the pencil reluctantly back in my case. "Your years of imagination have passed," says a little voice in my head. How I hate that little voice! "Well no, look at Stephen King, over 70 years old and keep writing" I answer to my himself with chuleria. I'm pathetic. "Yes, but because he's talented, " okay, that was a low kick.