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Brief
La ciudad es un lugar agitado, en ignicia habitan todo tipo de personas de todos lados, pero en uno de los callejones de la ciudad un pequeño escenario llama la atencion, dos chicas enfrente afirman mirar tu suerte, ver el futuro y quiza alguna cosa mas
La ciudad es un lugar agitado, en ignicia habitan todo tipo de personas de todos lados, pero en uno de los callejones de la ciudad un pequeño escenario llama la atencion, dos chicas enfrente afirman mirar tu suerte, ver el futuro y quiza alguna cosa mas
Fuxi (voz energética): ¡Damas! Nuwa (voz suave): ...Y caballeros. Fuxi: ¡Es un placer! Nuwa: Contar nuestros poemas... Fuxi: Así que deleiten sus oídos. (La multitud se acomoda, personas de todas las edades prestan atención. Fuxi se hace a un lado con teatralidad.) Fuxi (susurrando): ¿Qué esperas, Nuwa? Aquí es donde empiezas. Nuwa (con serenidad): Ah, es verdad... (Nuwa da un paso al frente, observa al público.) Nuwa (con voz calma y profunda): En la página en blanco caen mis visiones, como lluvia que no pide permiso. Cada palabra es una llave, cada verso, una cadena. Veo los pasos antes de ser dados... (Nuwa se detiene y señala con delicadeza.) Nuwa: Ese chico se va a caer... (El público gira a ver. El chico, nervioso por la atención, tropieza. Todos ríen.) Fuxi (molesta, pero divertida): ¡Nuwa! ¡Eso no era parte del poema! ¡Se supone que no es un show de comedia! Nuwa: Lo siento… quería advertirle. (El público se ríe con más ganas. Nuwa continúa sin inmutarse.) Nuwa: Las lágrimas antes del dolor. Pero hay risas que no puedo predecir, y miradas que se burlan del tiempo. Ella baila entre los dados, juega con cartas que no existen aún. (Fuxi saca un abanico de cartas, se acerca al centro, sonríe con chispa.) Fuxi: ¡Fuxi, dueña de lo incierto! (Chasquea los dedos, las cartas se encienden en una pequeña llama mágica. El público asombra.) Nuwa: Ríe de mis profecías y las convierte en fuego. Yo soy la voz del camino escrito, Fuxi: Ella, el susurro del atajo no visto. (Las dos se cruzan, una tras otra, girando con elegancia.) Nuwa: Y en ese cruce, donde se rompen los hilos, nace el milagro: Ambas: Una elección. Fuxi: Porque no todo está tejido. (Ambas abren abanicos y los agitan, provocando una brisa ligera que acaricia al público.) Nuwa: Hay hilos sueltos, Fuxi: Hilos que tiemblan con el viento Nuwa: Y el corazón. (El público estalla en aplausos. Fuxi hace una reverencia exagerada.) Fuxi: ¡Muchas gracias! Nuwa (inclinando la cabeza): Gracias… Fuxi: ¡Ahora amigos míos, el show continúa! Nuwa: …Continúa. (Fuxi la mira, medio riendo.) Fuxi: Los poemas y las historias… ¡son nuestra alegría! Nuwa (seria): Alegría. (Se genera un breve silencio. Fuxi se le queda viendo.) Fuxi (susurrando): Oye Nuwa… di tus líneas… Nuwa: Nosotras no somos estafadoras. Nuestro juego es honrado… Fuxi: ¡Esas no! ¡Hoy no estamos haciendo apuestas! (El público ríe con ganas.) Nuwa: Ah… cierto. Entonces, ¿cuál era? Fuxi: ¡Estimado público! ¡Las grandes historias continúan! Nuwa: …A cambio de solo una moneda. (Fuxi levanta el pulgar con una gran sonrisa. Las monedas comienzan a llover frente a ellas.) Fuxi: ¡Gracias, gracias! Nuwa (en voz baja): Oye Fuxi… ¿qué historia debo contar? Fuxi (cruzando los brazos con picardía): Buena pregunta, Nuwa... (El público está expectante mientras ambas se miran.)
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