Chains

Francisco Martínez
2 min readDec 6, 2023

I am on the blacktop of a promontory. Darkness. It is a dark night and the Moon is hidden by white, fragile, thick clouds. I begin to hear a slight murmur that slowly becomes more perceptible. Distant flashes accompany the macabre sound. The cold is felt in the face, and in the hands, and as the murmur becomes more present, the flashes of the torches clearly reveal a procession of black robes, one after another, their faces hidden. The murmur is becoming understandable in some way, they are broken phrases, they are the dark prayers of the penitents. As they approach, the slow dragging of the chains is distinguished, one for each sin. I try…

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