1. It comes from the Latin -decisio, -decisionis, which means an option selected among others; more specifically, the prefix -de, indicates separation, -caedere, means to cut, to cut or to kill and the suffix -ión, that indicates action

The scar It has been deleted. You knew the cut was not deep enough, you knew it would disappear in just a week. You did it thinking that no one would see it, that the little line at the edge of the wrist would be replaced by fresh skin, but that would stay in the mind, thus, dotted and brown, like a thread that is tied to the finger. You did not bleed, it did not hurt either.

Now you descend the subway escalators that lock as if they held the weight of the city. You slow down. In the corridors the human mass hardened in the cement of his own gait, as if the walls and showcases grew inward and each of the walkers was a trench. It is not necessary to check the station or look for the signs above the heads, your way is recorded on the floor of the crowd. Small drops of salt water run down your neck.

You arrive at your station. The crowd stops in front of the rails looking again and again at the black tunnel that lets out sounds like a hungry throat. You wait too, and your gaze intersects with those long black knives spread by the flesh of the subway. Again you think of the dotted line and the knife. I'm going to do it , you think. But not now. You pretend to look for a route on the map, you go to the white canvas where they play the multicolored lines, cutting the city in clashes, you think that from a distance it looks like a human heart. Overflow at Pino Suarez, follow everything to Tacubaya , you repeat. From the tunnel you hear the groan of the air being pierced by the machine. Its strength removes your hair, wipes the sweat from your face and the back of your neck. There is something reassuring in that centrifugal sound, in the black pebbles shivering by the rails and in the movement of that electric herd that buzzes around you. You let the machine go and wait. The next few minutes you play cross the line under your feet, slowly, as if someone would stop you, but no one even notices. You could throw yourself in that moment. You wait.

Nobody screams. The cops run and a voice speaks through the loudspeakers. You freeze yourself at that point of the station, like the foundations of an unfinished construction. People gather around you, they murmur, observe, a lot of men remove the body, some curse, some cry. The next train arrives and people approach between mothers. The herd returns to circulate, legs and arms advance to the yellow line and approach in an endless cycle. There is no one left who remembers the man, neither his leap nor his death. Only half an hour lost. A delay in the work. A new anecdote. The loudspeaker announces that the problem has been removed from the tracks. The functions of the line have returned to normal.

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