Brenda had been going to the doctor for a year now. She had discovered she suffered anxiety and depression and they told her that she should be medicated and doing special exercises to be calm.
She went to yoga class, two hours every day. There, she tried hard to do the exercises correctly but the truth was that Brenda had never really exercised in her life, at least if you don't count walking the city looking for a job as a sport.
She had been jobless for a year and her health problems, or should we say mental issues, were to blame. Brenda had a crisis one day, punching herself, yelling, screaming and attempting to jump from a balcony. So she was fired.
Her parents, already disappointed that their daughter had not found a suitable husband, found her problems to be the last drop in their glasses. So they just sent her money and try to help her that way.
Besides yoga class, she had to attend a psychiatrist. This, she hated. The woman would only sit there and let her talk for a whole hour, an expensive hour. Brenda would have dropped out if her doctor wasn't like a falcon, watching her every move.
Sometimes, she would only tell the psychiatrist what she had dreamt. She found out that an hour could pass fairly faster if the woman had to decipher dreams, all of which had apparently the same theme: her suicidal thoughts.
Brenda had only thought of that option at that time. She had been cheated on, she was miserable at her job and meeting her friends proved to be a difficult task.
She had only three females friends from school. They would reunite at least once a month to chat about the new and exciting things they were going through. That was precisely what Brenda hated: as she was not banging anyone and her job as assistant archivist was not precisely movie material, she would always spend those meetings in silence or fake smiling and laughing at the precise moments.
It was not that Brenda had not had her share of fun. She had indeed: sleeping with men and going on interesting vacations. But they were anecdotes that one could only repeat once or twice, before they became annoying to others and hurtful to herself.
The psychiatrist once asked about sex. "What about it?", Brenda replied. She hadn't done it in a year and a half and the last time the man she had done it with had cheated. She had enjoyed, during college, the crazy sex nights. It didn't happen often but she had her fun. But when she liked someone for real, Brenda was always honest. But honesty was not a quality most men found appealing, or so it appeared.
Love was this mystical being for her, like a unicorn. Very few people actually see it and there's the strong possibility one would never see it in this lifetime.
Religion? Another fun question. Of course she wasn't religious. She just couldn't. Temples, of all denominations, made her nervous. It was this overwhelming aura that felt too much to carry on your own and the words were simply not helpful.
After her breakdown, Brenda hid herself in books. Adventure and science fiction, as they were her favorites. They told stories of worlds that didn't existed, that could not exist. And she liked that very much.
Brenda lived alone, only with a dog named Luna who was her only real friend and companion. Luna had licked her wounds of self hatred and would always sleep beside Brenda as she read a book. The dog, ironically, was a gift of a college flirt that she had never had anything with, besides smiling and having small silly talks.
What she liked best was that moment after you put your book down, pull the covers up and wonder about the world in the darkness of your room. She would imagine a life that would make her happy: writing her own stories and becoming famous, sharing her thoughts with people, having a beautiful house with Luna and a special male friend.
He would take her hand often, kiss her in the most unexpected moments and comfort her when she would fall into the pit of her mind.
Brenda would often go to sleep just like that. And then, the next day, she would realize the world is not made of fulfilled wishes but of an almost endless effort to be a bit more happy.
martes, 30 de septiembre de 2014
lunes, 29 de septiembre de 2014
Día D
Había alistado todo hasta el último detalle. El día anterior había pasado por el supermercado para preparar los ingredientes de su comida favorita: la lasagna de vegetales. Había salido un poco caro, al comprar solo productos de primera calidad, pero bien valía la pena.
Cuando Roberto llegó a su hogar ese día, empezó a planear todo como si se tratase del recibimiento de una reina o de un jefe de estado: tenía el menú listo con 3 platos suculentos y un vino excelente, tenía lista la nueva ropa que se había comprado antes de ir al supermercado y solo faltaba hacer el aseo general de su hogar.
La tarde del viernes, apenas llegó del trabajo, se dedicó a limpiar el polvo, barrer el piso, trapearlo, limpiar los baños y las ventanas, cambiar la ropa de cama, pulir con esmero cada utensilio de la cocina y sacudir los tapetes por el balcón.
También echó a lavar ropa y reorganizó un poco el lugar, para hacer de todo el momento algo placentero.
La hora de llegada de su novia al aeropuerto se la había aprendido de memoria: las 6 de la tarde. Era perfecto ya que pasarían 30 minutos desde su salida de los filtros de seguridad hasta que llegase a su apartamento. Había contratado un servicio especial para que la recogiera y así no pensara en irse a su casa ni nada por el estilo.
Hacía un año que no se veían ya que ella había tomado un curso de coreano y había encontrado una oportunidad laboral en Seúl que no podía rechazar. El contrato era por un año pero si les gustaba su desempeño le renovarían su estadía. Y Roberto estaba listo para ello: había ahorrado bastante para poder irse a vivir con ella. Siendo arquitecto, sabía que no habría problema en conseguir trabajo en ese país y con su buen nivel de inglés sobreviviría mientras estudiaba el idioma local.
Sí, Roberto estaba profundamente enamorado de su novia. La había conocido en la universidad y desde el primer momento la había adorado. Desde entonces habían pasado cuatro años y él seguía igual de enamorado que siempre.
Esta reunión se le había ocurrido desde el mismo día en que se había despedido de ella en el aeropuerto. Incluso les había comentado su plan a los padres de ella y ellos, felices, habían estado de acuerdo. Todavía más cuando él les había confesado que tenía en mente pedirle a su hija que se casara con él.
El anillo lo había comprado hacía un mes, cuando se había decidido a hacerlo. Le había costado varios meses de paga pero él ya no se fijaba en precios ni en lo que le costaba conseguir o comprar algo. Todo lo hacía por el amor que le tenía a su novia, a su futura mujer. No había nada que no hiciese por ella.
El día en que ella llegaba, Roberto se despertó temprano y salió a trotar una hora: todo este año se había esforzado en hacer ejercicio. Nunca le había disgustado su panza y amaba la comida pero ella había sugerido que entrara en un gimnasio con ella y él creía que eso le alegraría mucho, cuando lo viera y notara los varios kilos que había perdido.
Después de ejercitarse, Roberto limpió un poco más todo su apartamento. No se bañó sino hasta tarde para estar impecable cuando ella llegase. La lasaña estuvo lista pronto, así como un delicioso volcán de chocolate y una ensalada con nueces y frutas exóticas. Todo lo probó y certificó que fuera perfecto. Puso a enfriar en hielo el vino francés que había comprado, alistó la mesa con copas, platos, cubiertos y servilletas. El toque final eran dos velas que emanarían un delicioso olor dulce que sabía que a ella le gustaría: adoraba su perfume con olor a fresas.
Hacia las cinco de la tarde por fin se duchó, usando un jabón liquido del cual detestaba el olor pero como había sido un regalo de su novia, prefirió usarlo para complacerla. Se vistió con unos boxers que alguna vez ella le había regalado y con su ropa nueva que estaba simplemente impecable. Se afeitó con cuidado y se peinó lo mejor que pudo.
Y entonces esperó. Casi dos horas porque estuvo listo muy pronto y el avión ni siquiera había llegado cuando él se sentó a esperar.
Pasadas las siete de la noche, sonó el citófono en su apartamento: era ella. Hizo los últimos arreglos, más que todo salidos del nerviosismo, y entonces timbraron.
Cuando abrió su amor pareció crecer. La hizo entrar, preguntó porque no tenía su equipaje pero no esperó por la respuesta. La abrazó y la besó y le dijo lo feliz que estaba de verla. Tomó su abrigo y la hizo sentar a la mesa.
Pero ella no parecía igual de contenta. Él sirvió la ensalada y puso un plato en cada puesto. Le dijo que la amaba y que esperaba que fueran muchos años más juntos.
Ella respondió poniéndose de pie y pidiendo que la escuchara, que la dejara hablar. Parecía enojada aunque Roberto pensó que era por lo largo del viaje.
- Hice todo esto para ti.
- No quiero esto. Lo siento.
- Estás cansada? Mi cama tiene nuevas sabanas. Son de...
- Eso no importa. Me escuchas, por favor?
Él asintió y entonces ella se soltó diciendo que apenas había llegado a Seúl había conocido a un joven empresario y que desde entonces había estado con él, como su novia y que planeaba casarse con él apenas ganaran más dinero. Dijo que había vuelto para contarle a sus padres y para invitarlos a conocer Corea y a su novio.
Roberto no entendía. No podía hablar pero su cara lo decía todo.
Ella siguió: le dijo que ya no lo quería desde antes de irse pero que no había tenido el valor para dejarlo con el corazón roto. Se había dado cuenta que hubiera podido ser mejor si lo hubiera hecho pero que solo había aceptado que el servicio especial la trajera allí para hacerlo de una vez.
Por fin, Roberto dijo algo: Porqué?
Ella le respondió que había dejado de quererlo porque el parecía estar enamorado del amor y no de ella. Necesitaba alguien que se impusiera, que peleara con ella, no alguien que aceptara todo y se quedara callado. Necesitaba que su vida fuera entretenida, diferente y Roberto no era alguien que le brindase eso. Incluso dijo que el último año juntos había sido aburrido y que no había dicho nada porque sabía que lo dejaría pronto.
Y tan rápido como llegó se fue, sin decir nada más. Y allí quedó Roberto, destrozado y siendo menos de lo que había sido siempre, ya que tontamente le había dado todo de sí a alguien y no se había quedado con nada para sí mismo.
Cuando Roberto llegó a su hogar ese día, empezó a planear todo como si se tratase del recibimiento de una reina o de un jefe de estado: tenía el menú listo con 3 platos suculentos y un vino excelente, tenía lista la nueva ropa que se había comprado antes de ir al supermercado y solo faltaba hacer el aseo general de su hogar.
La tarde del viernes, apenas llegó del trabajo, se dedicó a limpiar el polvo, barrer el piso, trapearlo, limpiar los baños y las ventanas, cambiar la ropa de cama, pulir con esmero cada utensilio de la cocina y sacudir los tapetes por el balcón.
También echó a lavar ropa y reorganizó un poco el lugar, para hacer de todo el momento algo placentero.
La hora de llegada de su novia al aeropuerto se la había aprendido de memoria: las 6 de la tarde. Era perfecto ya que pasarían 30 minutos desde su salida de los filtros de seguridad hasta que llegase a su apartamento. Había contratado un servicio especial para que la recogiera y así no pensara en irse a su casa ni nada por el estilo.
Hacía un año que no se veían ya que ella había tomado un curso de coreano y había encontrado una oportunidad laboral en Seúl que no podía rechazar. El contrato era por un año pero si les gustaba su desempeño le renovarían su estadía. Y Roberto estaba listo para ello: había ahorrado bastante para poder irse a vivir con ella. Siendo arquitecto, sabía que no habría problema en conseguir trabajo en ese país y con su buen nivel de inglés sobreviviría mientras estudiaba el idioma local.
Sí, Roberto estaba profundamente enamorado de su novia. La había conocido en la universidad y desde el primer momento la había adorado. Desde entonces habían pasado cuatro años y él seguía igual de enamorado que siempre.
Esta reunión se le había ocurrido desde el mismo día en que se había despedido de ella en el aeropuerto. Incluso les había comentado su plan a los padres de ella y ellos, felices, habían estado de acuerdo. Todavía más cuando él les había confesado que tenía en mente pedirle a su hija que se casara con él.
El anillo lo había comprado hacía un mes, cuando se había decidido a hacerlo. Le había costado varios meses de paga pero él ya no se fijaba en precios ni en lo que le costaba conseguir o comprar algo. Todo lo hacía por el amor que le tenía a su novia, a su futura mujer. No había nada que no hiciese por ella.
El día en que ella llegaba, Roberto se despertó temprano y salió a trotar una hora: todo este año se había esforzado en hacer ejercicio. Nunca le había disgustado su panza y amaba la comida pero ella había sugerido que entrara en un gimnasio con ella y él creía que eso le alegraría mucho, cuando lo viera y notara los varios kilos que había perdido.
Después de ejercitarse, Roberto limpió un poco más todo su apartamento. No se bañó sino hasta tarde para estar impecable cuando ella llegase. La lasaña estuvo lista pronto, así como un delicioso volcán de chocolate y una ensalada con nueces y frutas exóticas. Todo lo probó y certificó que fuera perfecto. Puso a enfriar en hielo el vino francés que había comprado, alistó la mesa con copas, platos, cubiertos y servilletas. El toque final eran dos velas que emanarían un delicioso olor dulce que sabía que a ella le gustaría: adoraba su perfume con olor a fresas.
Hacia las cinco de la tarde por fin se duchó, usando un jabón liquido del cual detestaba el olor pero como había sido un regalo de su novia, prefirió usarlo para complacerla. Se vistió con unos boxers que alguna vez ella le había regalado y con su ropa nueva que estaba simplemente impecable. Se afeitó con cuidado y se peinó lo mejor que pudo.
Y entonces esperó. Casi dos horas porque estuvo listo muy pronto y el avión ni siquiera había llegado cuando él se sentó a esperar.
Pasadas las siete de la noche, sonó el citófono en su apartamento: era ella. Hizo los últimos arreglos, más que todo salidos del nerviosismo, y entonces timbraron.
Cuando abrió su amor pareció crecer. La hizo entrar, preguntó porque no tenía su equipaje pero no esperó por la respuesta. La abrazó y la besó y le dijo lo feliz que estaba de verla. Tomó su abrigo y la hizo sentar a la mesa.
Pero ella no parecía igual de contenta. Él sirvió la ensalada y puso un plato en cada puesto. Le dijo que la amaba y que esperaba que fueran muchos años más juntos.
Ella respondió poniéndose de pie y pidiendo que la escuchara, que la dejara hablar. Parecía enojada aunque Roberto pensó que era por lo largo del viaje.
- Hice todo esto para ti.
- No quiero esto. Lo siento.
- Estás cansada? Mi cama tiene nuevas sabanas. Son de...
- Eso no importa. Me escuchas, por favor?
Él asintió y entonces ella se soltó diciendo que apenas había llegado a Seúl había conocido a un joven empresario y que desde entonces había estado con él, como su novia y que planeaba casarse con él apenas ganaran más dinero. Dijo que había vuelto para contarle a sus padres y para invitarlos a conocer Corea y a su novio.
Roberto no entendía. No podía hablar pero su cara lo decía todo.
Ella siguió: le dijo que ya no lo quería desde antes de irse pero que no había tenido el valor para dejarlo con el corazón roto. Se había dado cuenta que hubiera podido ser mejor si lo hubiera hecho pero que solo había aceptado que el servicio especial la trajera allí para hacerlo de una vez.
Por fin, Roberto dijo algo: Porqué?
Ella le respondió que había dejado de quererlo porque el parecía estar enamorado del amor y no de ella. Necesitaba alguien que se impusiera, que peleara con ella, no alguien que aceptara todo y se quedara callado. Necesitaba que su vida fuera entretenida, diferente y Roberto no era alguien que le brindase eso. Incluso dijo que el último año juntos había sido aburrido y que no había dicho nada porque sabía que lo dejaría pronto.
Y tan rápido como llegó se fue, sin decir nada más. Y allí quedó Roberto, destrozado y siendo menos de lo que había sido siempre, ya que tontamente le había dado todo de sí a alguien y no se había quedado con nada para sí mismo.
domingo, 28 de septiembre de 2014
A Royal Lady
Lavinia had been in the Montgraneux palace for only two months. On her first week she married the duke and her mother assured her it was the best choice she could've had for a husband.
The duke of Halesworth was one of those bachelors that every girls wanted to marry: he was rich do to his business as a country man and as a politician, he had participated in battles abroad and, most important, he was an elegant, gracious man.
To Lavinia, looks weren't that important. From the moment she realized she had come to the world only to get married and be someone's something, she had decided not to mind too much about looks. She wanted someone who she can talk to at nights, share silly facts about life and live a peaceful life, with children as her mother intended.
She was presented to the duke in a party nothing to fancy, and the man liked her for her wit and tenderness. Within the next month, the wedding was arranged as well as her moving from her parents house.
Montgraneaux was majestic. It had a french name as the duke's grandparent had built it for his spouse, a french lady. The palace was a two story building, filled with beautiful objects from around the world. Lavinia specially liked the ballroom, which had plenty of mirrors and the nicest view towards the gardens.
The wedding, of course, was magnificent. Every single person that counted was there. Even an envoy from her majesty attended. Lavinia was so happy and proud to be marrying such a respectable person. She never thought she would enjoy marrying but that day she was all joy and fun and her mother even asked her if she felt fine. She answered: "Mama, I love my new life".
So from that day onward she lived on Montgraneaux.
However, things changed fast and not as she would have liked to. The duke was rarely at home, even to work, so she would only see him on weekends when they walked the gardens and shared quiet meals.
Lavinia didn't wanted too much of life so she was sad to see her low expectations were not being filled. The change became apparent from day one, or night one to be precise. She had never had sex but somehow she felt the duke just rushed the moment, which she didn't enjoy very much.
The young woman passed the time checking on the house, visiting new acquaintances and having her mother in for tea. Not much could be done.
Every time she had a chance to be with the duke, she reminded him of her ambition to have a house full of children. His response was always something like nodding or anything of the sorts. He didn't seemed interested in it.
She even tried seducing him at nights but that proved to be a failure too: he would leave to room arguing she was being "strange" or he would have some minutes of sex with her, as if just to please her.
Days and days alone, left her plenty of time to know every single corner of the house, which was pretty large. She would enjoy helping the gardeners, although it was not very lady like for him to be doing such chores. Anyway she did it, as she didn't care who would say what. She was a disgraced woman as far as she was concerned, so she didn't mind the opinion of others.
Winter changed things, again. The duke couldn't travel as much as he used to so he stayed in more but in his office. She would try to help him with things or take some tea for him but it didn't seem to do anything for the marriage.
One night, she discovered that the ballroom was closed, all doors locked with key. Curious, she went outside to look in, but found our all the curtains were down and nothing could be seeing. Only a dim light.
This happened at least once a week. Strangely, it coincided with multiple visits from statesmen, military officers and local authorities. They would always come right at lunch time and leave after dinner. This would annoy Lavinia every time, as she had to listen to endless stupid war stories or about shortages of wheat or some other kind of nourishment. She would always try to eat fast and argue she was exhausted to be excused.
Snow came in february and she would spend many hours making castles in it or playing by herself, She would remember her young years, when she was a lonely girl too. She wanted a child so bad, to take care of and to be with.
Exploring the palace had proven useful as, one day, she found at that one of the rooms in the second floor, mainly used by as a reading parlor, had a small compartment on one of the walls. When you opened it, you would enter a small space were an adult person could stand comfortably. Most curious, at the height of the eyes, there was a sliding plaque, in order to watch people below, in the ballroom.
She used it only once when the duke celebrated a Christmas party for every single noble man and lady in the region. Lots of people came and, at one point, Lavinia disappeared to watch everything from her private "booth": the view was amazing, felt like being a bird. She thought the person that made it should have being very suspicious of his guests.
One night, in which the duke had once again left the bed to sleep in some other room, Lavinia decided to go to the kitchen and have some warm milk. It had always helped her to sleep and she was having an awful time trying to sleep, as her thoughts of feeling alone, as well as her mother's insistence on the subject of children, were revolving on her mind.
She got her milk and was going back to bed when she came to one of the ballroom's doors. Strangely, she could see a under the door, as if fire had been lit inside. She had the urge to scream but realized this was the perfect time to use her secret "booth".
She silently climbed the stairs to the second floor and entered the reading parlor. She left the glass of milk on a table and opened her private space. When she lifted the sliding panel, her eyes had to close for a minute as the light was to bright.
Indeed, it was fire light, coming from the hearth on one side of the room. She couldn't see anything else except a table and... Clothing, on the ground. Her breathing accelerated when she understood it all: her husband suddenly got up from the floor, naked. He then laid on the edge of the table and that's when Lavinia saw it: one of the many military men that had come for supper penetrated her husband and he, the duke, seemed to enjoy it.
She close the panel and wanted to cry but didn't. She breathed heavily but calmed herself down, stood up and drank her milk. She was in that room for hours, gazing at the compartment from which she had seen it all.
No one never knew how or why but Lavinia suddenly became a leader in the region, touring towns and cities, helping those in need. She taken an interest in doing charity and people praised for that and for being an amazing hostess.
The height of it all was the birth of her daughter Anne. And it all happened due to her wit and strength, as she blackmailed her husband and let him do as he may as along as he kept his side of their agreement.
When he died, years later, in a skirmish in a colony far away, she received condolences from everyone. But she didn't mind. Her life expectations were fulfilled and more was yet to come.
The duke of Halesworth was one of those bachelors that every girls wanted to marry: he was rich do to his business as a country man and as a politician, he had participated in battles abroad and, most important, he was an elegant, gracious man.
To Lavinia, looks weren't that important. From the moment she realized she had come to the world only to get married and be someone's something, she had decided not to mind too much about looks. She wanted someone who she can talk to at nights, share silly facts about life and live a peaceful life, with children as her mother intended.
She was presented to the duke in a party nothing to fancy, and the man liked her for her wit and tenderness. Within the next month, the wedding was arranged as well as her moving from her parents house.
Montgraneaux was majestic. It had a french name as the duke's grandparent had built it for his spouse, a french lady. The palace was a two story building, filled with beautiful objects from around the world. Lavinia specially liked the ballroom, which had plenty of mirrors and the nicest view towards the gardens.
The wedding, of course, was magnificent. Every single person that counted was there. Even an envoy from her majesty attended. Lavinia was so happy and proud to be marrying such a respectable person. She never thought she would enjoy marrying but that day she was all joy and fun and her mother even asked her if she felt fine. She answered: "Mama, I love my new life".
So from that day onward she lived on Montgraneaux.
However, things changed fast and not as she would have liked to. The duke was rarely at home, even to work, so she would only see him on weekends when they walked the gardens and shared quiet meals.
Lavinia didn't wanted too much of life so she was sad to see her low expectations were not being filled. The change became apparent from day one, or night one to be precise. She had never had sex but somehow she felt the duke just rushed the moment, which she didn't enjoy very much.
The young woman passed the time checking on the house, visiting new acquaintances and having her mother in for tea. Not much could be done.
Every time she had a chance to be with the duke, she reminded him of her ambition to have a house full of children. His response was always something like nodding or anything of the sorts. He didn't seemed interested in it.
She even tried seducing him at nights but that proved to be a failure too: he would leave to room arguing she was being "strange" or he would have some minutes of sex with her, as if just to please her.
Days and days alone, left her plenty of time to know every single corner of the house, which was pretty large. She would enjoy helping the gardeners, although it was not very lady like for him to be doing such chores. Anyway she did it, as she didn't care who would say what. She was a disgraced woman as far as she was concerned, so she didn't mind the opinion of others.
Winter changed things, again. The duke couldn't travel as much as he used to so he stayed in more but in his office. She would try to help him with things or take some tea for him but it didn't seem to do anything for the marriage.
One night, she discovered that the ballroom was closed, all doors locked with key. Curious, she went outside to look in, but found our all the curtains were down and nothing could be seeing. Only a dim light.
This happened at least once a week. Strangely, it coincided with multiple visits from statesmen, military officers and local authorities. They would always come right at lunch time and leave after dinner. This would annoy Lavinia every time, as she had to listen to endless stupid war stories or about shortages of wheat or some other kind of nourishment. She would always try to eat fast and argue she was exhausted to be excused.
Snow came in february and she would spend many hours making castles in it or playing by herself, She would remember her young years, when she was a lonely girl too. She wanted a child so bad, to take care of and to be with.
Exploring the palace had proven useful as, one day, she found at that one of the rooms in the second floor, mainly used by as a reading parlor, had a small compartment on one of the walls. When you opened it, you would enter a small space were an adult person could stand comfortably. Most curious, at the height of the eyes, there was a sliding plaque, in order to watch people below, in the ballroom.
She used it only once when the duke celebrated a Christmas party for every single noble man and lady in the region. Lots of people came and, at one point, Lavinia disappeared to watch everything from her private "booth": the view was amazing, felt like being a bird. She thought the person that made it should have being very suspicious of his guests.
One night, in which the duke had once again left the bed to sleep in some other room, Lavinia decided to go to the kitchen and have some warm milk. It had always helped her to sleep and she was having an awful time trying to sleep, as her thoughts of feeling alone, as well as her mother's insistence on the subject of children, were revolving on her mind.
She got her milk and was going back to bed when she came to one of the ballroom's doors. Strangely, she could see a under the door, as if fire had been lit inside. She had the urge to scream but realized this was the perfect time to use her secret "booth".
She silently climbed the stairs to the second floor and entered the reading parlor. She left the glass of milk on a table and opened her private space. When she lifted the sliding panel, her eyes had to close for a minute as the light was to bright.
Indeed, it was fire light, coming from the hearth on one side of the room. She couldn't see anything else except a table and... Clothing, on the ground. Her breathing accelerated when she understood it all: her husband suddenly got up from the floor, naked. He then laid on the edge of the table and that's when Lavinia saw it: one of the many military men that had come for supper penetrated her husband and he, the duke, seemed to enjoy it.
She close the panel and wanted to cry but didn't. She breathed heavily but calmed herself down, stood up and drank her milk. She was in that room for hours, gazing at the compartment from which she had seen it all.
No one never knew how or why but Lavinia suddenly became a leader in the region, touring towns and cities, helping those in need. She taken an interest in doing charity and people praised for that and for being an amazing hostess.
The height of it all was the birth of her daughter Anne. And it all happened due to her wit and strength, as she blackmailed her husband and let him do as he may as along as he kept his side of their agreement.
When he died, years later, in a skirmish in a colony far away, she received condolences from everyone. But she didn't mind. Her life expectations were fulfilled and more was yet to come.
sábado, 27 de septiembre de 2014
Mount Athos
My name is John Tiberius Johnson. I was born in Exeter (England) and from a young age, I've loved to explore: I had a tree house built by my own hands, I had small canoe in which I explore calm rivers and their banks and I always had the company of Akakios, my labrador.
Thanks to my parents and my persistence, I went on to study anthropology and archaeology. I love ancient civilizations as well as contemporary ones, just watching how people have had different solutions for the same problem and even the same solutions, being separated by thousands of kilometers.
Working for the British Museum, a dream of mine that was fulfilled by a "enlightened" thesis on the customs of the North American peoples, I got to travel a lot, all around the globe.
I saw the Great Wall of China, the pyramids in Egypt, the massive forests of Indonesia, the majestic Machu Picchu and so many more.
But this time I want to tell you about a small part of the world. Many, won't even know it exists. It is called Mount Athos.
Resting on one of the "fingers" of the Chakidiki peninsula, Mount Athos is a strange place. First of all, it's an autonomous region from the rest of Greece. They have a different way of doing things there.
Second, the place is filled with monasteries, all around the peninsula. Beautiful forests unite the sites.
Third, one must get a special permit to enter Mount Athos. It is called a diamonētērion. And, most curious, only men are allowed there.
Preparing for my journey, I travelled to Thessaloniki and applied for my permit, which would allow me to stay and the Megisti Lavra monastery for as a week.
I decided to walk all around the city, waiting for the permit. On one of those outings, around an open market, a strange gypsy woman almost threw herself and me and asked to read my hand. I refused but she insisted and I was bored so I complied. After paying her 5 euros, she grabbed my hand and told me I should avoid facing God soon, as death was near.
A bit annoyed, I went on with my walking. Coincidence or not, a old man looked at me with crazy eyes and spoke fast and loud in greek. Being rusty in the language I could only understand two words: "avoid" and "danger".
Looking to forget all about these weird encounters I went to my hotel and had a nice calm dinner.
After a week of my request, they called me to say the permit had been approved. So I went to pick up the strange sheet. There, I was told to travel to Ierissos, where I would board a ferry to Mount Athos.
I have to say the boat ride was even better than I imagined: the view was not to be missed. Mount Athos, the actual mountain, looked massive but calm and peaceful from the boat. I was traveling with two others: Alex, a photographer for National Geographic and Cedric, a french travel journalist.
When we got to the dock, a small wooden structure on a rocky beach, we were received by a lonely young monk who told us to follow him. It was short walk to Megisti Lavra, as the place rests just above a cliff overlooking the Aegean Sea.
We were shown our bedrooms and the bathroom we would share and told us we could only remain on the monastery or inside its boundaries. Alex then intervened, saying he had been authorized to go hiking, in order to take pictures from the mount. The young monk asked him for his permit, read it for himself in whole and then gave it back. He bowed and then left them in their rooms.
Day one, I went to the main temple and asked to see the manuscripts. They were held in a small library, feeling a bit uneasy as a monk was asked to guard my stay in the room.
I was baffled by the writings, and then by codices. They were a treasure I had wanted to see for long. I took notes for work as well as some photographies, although my guard didn't seem to like that.
Then, a scream. A truly awful, heartbreaking scream. I carefully put away the codex that I was making notes about and went out the main courtyard with my guard. He then indicated me to go to the monasteries main entrance. The place was beautiful, adorned with olive trees and small hedges.
Then, we saw: Alex was running towards the gate. The monks let him in and he fainted in front of me.
Hours later he woke up and told us he had seeing a body laying in the road to the mountain. A group of monks left to check it out. When they left he told me that the man he saw did not have a face, crushed by rocks or something. He was trembling so I accompanied him until Cedric came back from the a stroll down the shore.
Then the leader of the congregation came and asked us to remain in our chambers for the day as something had occurred. Then Alex asked for the body and the man told us that it appeared to be an assassination. They had even found a big rock tainted with blood.
During the next few days, I had to accompany Alex, with two monk guards, to take his pictures. We ascended part of Mount Athos and, although astonished by the beauty of the place, my mind was still wondering about the killing.
So it was a surprise when we came back to the monastery and they told us we were going to stay under lock and something had, once again, occurred.
They had arranged a large room with three beds for all of us and the leader of the monks came again. It had happened they had found another body, this time on the water, just floating by the monastery. They had voted to enclose us for our safety and because we were considered suspects.
- We were on the Mount!
- Mr. Cedric wasn't...
- I was walking with one of your guards!
But then the monk pulled out something from his pocket. Kept in a white cloth, he showed us an object and I recognized the knife immediately: it had been a gift by the director of a museum I had been to in China. A dagger made in times of the Tang dinasty. The only difference was that this dagger was tainted in blood.
And blood was the thing that drained out from my face, as I realized I was trapped here, no way to get out.
Thanks to my parents and my persistence, I went on to study anthropology and archaeology. I love ancient civilizations as well as contemporary ones, just watching how people have had different solutions for the same problem and even the same solutions, being separated by thousands of kilometers.
Working for the British Museum, a dream of mine that was fulfilled by a "enlightened" thesis on the customs of the North American peoples, I got to travel a lot, all around the globe.
I saw the Great Wall of China, the pyramids in Egypt, the massive forests of Indonesia, the majestic Machu Picchu and so many more.
But this time I want to tell you about a small part of the world. Many, won't even know it exists. It is called Mount Athos.
Resting on one of the "fingers" of the Chakidiki peninsula, Mount Athos is a strange place. First of all, it's an autonomous region from the rest of Greece. They have a different way of doing things there.
Second, the place is filled with monasteries, all around the peninsula. Beautiful forests unite the sites.
Third, one must get a special permit to enter Mount Athos. It is called a diamonētērion. And, most curious, only men are allowed there.
Preparing for my journey, I travelled to Thessaloniki and applied for my permit, which would allow me to stay and the Megisti Lavra monastery for as a week.
I decided to walk all around the city, waiting for the permit. On one of those outings, around an open market, a strange gypsy woman almost threw herself and me and asked to read my hand. I refused but she insisted and I was bored so I complied. After paying her 5 euros, she grabbed my hand and told me I should avoid facing God soon, as death was near.
A bit annoyed, I went on with my walking. Coincidence or not, a old man looked at me with crazy eyes and spoke fast and loud in greek. Being rusty in the language I could only understand two words: "avoid" and "danger".
Looking to forget all about these weird encounters I went to my hotel and had a nice calm dinner.
After a week of my request, they called me to say the permit had been approved. So I went to pick up the strange sheet. There, I was told to travel to Ierissos, where I would board a ferry to Mount Athos.
I have to say the boat ride was even better than I imagined: the view was not to be missed. Mount Athos, the actual mountain, looked massive but calm and peaceful from the boat. I was traveling with two others: Alex, a photographer for National Geographic and Cedric, a french travel journalist.
When we got to the dock, a small wooden structure on a rocky beach, we were received by a lonely young monk who told us to follow him. It was short walk to Megisti Lavra, as the place rests just above a cliff overlooking the Aegean Sea.
We were shown our bedrooms and the bathroom we would share and told us we could only remain on the monastery or inside its boundaries. Alex then intervened, saying he had been authorized to go hiking, in order to take pictures from the mount. The young monk asked him for his permit, read it for himself in whole and then gave it back. He bowed and then left them in their rooms.
Day one, I went to the main temple and asked to see the manuscripts. They were held in a small library, feeling a bit uneasy as a monk was asked to guard my stay in the room.
I was baffled by the writings, and then by codices. They were a treasure I had wanted to see for long. I took notes for work as well as some photographies, although my guard didn't seem to like that.
Then, a scream. A truly awful, heartbreaking scream. I carefully put away the codex that I was making notes about and went out the main courtyard with my guard. He then indicated me to go to the monasteries main entrance. The place was beautiful, adorned with olive trees and small hedges.
Then, we saw: Alex was running towards the gate. The monks let him in and he fainted in front of me.
Hours later he woke up and told us he had seeing a body laying in the road to the mountain. A group of monks left to check it out. When they left he told me that the man he saw did not have a face, crushed by rocks or something. He was trembling so I accompanied him until Cedric came back from the a stroll down the shore.
Then the leader of the congregation came and asked us to remain in our chambers for the day as something had occurred. Then Alex asked for the body and the man told us that it appeared to be an assassination. They had even found a big rock tainted with blood.
During the next few days, I had to accompany Alex, with two monk guards, to take his pictures. We ascended part of Mount Athos and, although astonished by the beauty of the place, my mind was still wondering about the killing.
So it was a surprise when we came back to the monastery and they told us we were going to stay under lock and something had, once again, occurred.
They had arranged a large room with three beds for all of us and the leader of the monks came again. It had happened they had found another body, this time on the water, just floating by the monastery. They had voted to enclose us for our safety and because we were considered suspects.
- We were on the Mount!
- Mr. Cedric wasn't...
- I was walking with one of your guards!
But then the monk pulled out something from his pocket. Kept in a white cloth, he showed us an object and I recognized the knife immediately: it had been a gift by the director of a museum I had been to in China. A dagger made in times of the Tang dinasty. The only difference was that this dagger was tainted in blood.
And blood was the thing that drained out from my face, as I realized I was trapped here, no way to get out.
viernes, 26 de septiembre de 2014
Planeta Azul
Bianca metió un recipiente en el extraño liquido fucsia. Tenía una consistencia parecida a la gelatina pero algo más liquida. Dejó el recipiente sobre una roca cubierta de musgo azul y espero. No parecía suceder nada.
- El liquido es seguro.
Dijo dentro de su casco. Se incorporó como pudo y miró hacia atrás. Sus dos compañeros estaban tomando fotografías del lugar. Era algo difícil hacer cualquier cosa con los trajes puestos pero era mejor que arriesgarse a contaminar el lugar o a morir por falta de oxigeno.
- Niveles de oxigeno? - pregunta Clark, uno de sus compañeros.
- Muy bajos.
Eso ya lo sabían, pero seguro era una pregunta rutinaria y ella no iba a ponerse a pelear por algo tan tonto. Estaba muy ocupada siendo asombrada por el sitio en el que estaban: de un lado, en una pequeña colina, crecía musgo azul por todos lados y sobresalían del piso plantas parecidas a nuestras flores pero con colores más opacos. Por un lado de la colina pasaba el riachuelo de "gelatina" fucsia que iba a dar a una planicie seca a apenas unos 200 metros de la colina. Parecía ser una pequeña isla de vida.
- Gama, que dice el espectrómetro?
Gama era la nave, orbitando sobre sus cabezas, donde estaba el resto de la tripulación de este primer viaje al planeta Cronos.
Se le había llamado así porque los científicos habían estado de acuerdo que solo era cuestión de tiempo para descubrir un planeta con potencial para ser habitado. Y siendo Cronos la representación clásica del tiempo, era apenas apropiado.
- Detectamos islas de vida un poco por todos lados. Parece que el proceso es reciente.
Bianca no podía evitar sonreír. Parecía que habían encontrado lo que por tanto tiempo habían buscado.
Cronos no era el primer exoplaneta descubierto. Muchos habían sido hallados un poco por todos lados hacía casi un siglo. Lo que era especial en este lugar era el enorme potencial que parecía mostrar para sostener la vida. Más concretamente, para que en un futuro pudiésemos llamarlo "hogar".
- Gama, estamos listos para volver.
- Entendido. Estaremos al tanto.
Bianca se acercó entonces a sus compañeros, Alynna y Marcos, y tras una discusión corta, empezaron a caminar los pasos que los separaban de una pequeña nave que parecía un antiguo planeador. Esa pequeña nave, hecha de un material resistente pero ligero, los llevaría de vuelta a Gama.
Mientras tomaban altura, Bianca no podía evitar mirar por la ventana la pequeña isla de vida que habían encontrado. Con ella llevaba el cuenco de "agua" extraterrestre para ser analizada en Gama.
Había trabajado tanto por este logro que parecía estar viviendo un sueño. En el pasado la gente no entendía la importancia del ecosistema, de tener un planeta seguro y habitable. Esto había causado que la contaminación, la sobrepoblación y la sobreexplotación acabaran por empujarnos al borde de la extinción.
Ya habían habido varias hambrunas, graves desastres naturales y las guerras, como era de esperar, seguían apareciendo, incluso en aquellos lugares que alguna vez se habían vanagloriado de sus logros democráticos.
Afortunadamente, se habían tomado medidas para buscar otro sitio, otro planeta al que la Humanidad pudiera migrar para evitar su desaparición. Obviamente, no todos podrían emigrar. La idea no era dejar la Tierra sino crear una red de "hogares", cada uno con vida sustentable.
Guardando el recipiente en el laboratorio y luego quitándose su traje espacial, Bianca recordaba como había sido elegida por ser joven y talentosa y sin dudar había tomado la decisión de hacer este viaje de años para dar una esperanza a los millones que esperaban en casa.
- Exploradores, los esperamos en la sala de reuniones. - dijo la voz del capitán por los altavoces.
Se reunieron los siete miembros de la tripulación alrededor de una gran mesa redonda, en un cuarto igual de circular con excelente iluminación. Todos llevaban ropa más cómoda ya y se sentaban en sus lugares, esperando al capitán.
El hombre ya tenía unos 60 años y muchos decían que había tomado el trabajo porque le había tomado un odio especial a la Tierra. Se decía que sufría varios problemas de salud y el espacio haría que sus últimos años fueran menos insoportables. Y sí, él planeaba morir allá afuera.
- Amigos, es hora de la reunión del día. Doctora Fellini, por favor.
Bianca se puso de pie y empezó a hacer un pequeño resumen de lo encontrado: el "agua" gelatinosa, el musgo azul y las islas de vida que formaban.
- Vida animal?
- No pudimos apreciar ninguna aunque no la descartaría.
El capitán asentía. Parecía serio.
- Señor Tempelhof, que nos dice del planeta en sí.
- Niveles de oxigeno bajos. Topografía abrupta en algunas regiones. No encontré toxicidad extrema aunque sí hay bolsas de metano en cierta áreas.
Otra vez asentía, sin mirar a su interlocutor.
- Señora White, estado de Gea.
- Estamos haciendo los últimos ajustes para tenerla a punto en unas horas. Estoy segura que trabajará a toda potencia si la dejamos hacer su trabajo.
Esta vez, el capitán sí miró a la señora White.
- Cree que es factible la terraformación del planeta?
- Es un proceso largo. Y la máquina no podrá hacerlo todo. Habrá que construir granjas e ir poco a poco.
- Pero es factible?
- Sí, señor.
El silencio era absoluto. El capitán lucía preocupado. Todos esperaban verlo algo alegre por haber llegado a destino a salvo.
- Tengo una mala noticia, queridos amigos.
Todos se removieron en sus asientos, nerviosos.
- Recibí un mensaje encriptado de la Tierra. Nos piden volver de inmediato.
La noticia cayó como un balde de agua fría. Todos empezaron a discutir y pelear pero el capitán los calló con un golpe a la mesa.
- Señores! Eso no es todo... La razón es que ha habido un ataque nuclear y ya hay movilizaciones de tropas. No parece que haya salida.
Nadie decía nada. Todos pensaban en sus seres queridos, en lo que habrían de estar viviendo. También pensaban que no tenía sentido volver a una zona de guerra, aún menos siendo un viaje de años.
Todos estaban sumidos en sus pensamientos cuando la alarma de la computadora empezó a retumbar por todas partes. El capitán se puso de pie de golpe y se acercó a una consola cercana. En la pantalla aparecía una zona del planeta en rojo, titilando.
- Dejaron algo abajo?
- No, señor.
- Entonces que es eso.
Algunos se acercaron a la consola pero Bianca prefirió ver por una de las ventanillas. Lo que vio la asustó terriblemente y no se desmayó de milagro.
Una mancha oscura parecía crecer sobre la superficie del planeta. No era rápida pero se notaba su crecimiento con facilidad. No, no era color negro. Era azul.
- Según las instrumentos, es... es vegetal.
Una simple bacteria, en un traje mal esterilizado, había hecho que el musgo azul creciera de un modo casi violento, abarcando más territorio del que tenía antes.
- Señor... - dijo un hombre de baja estatura, con orejas puntiagudas.
El capitán se le acercó.
- Que pasa Perkins?
El hombre pasó saliva y se aclaró la garganta.
- La sonda detecta una subida en los niveles de oxigeno.
El capitán no lo podía creer. Ninguno lo podía creer.
- Y señor,...
- Que?
- Se detectan formas de vida. Parecen salir del interior del planeta.
- El liquido es seguro.
Dijo dentro de su casco. Se incorporó como pudo y miró hacia atrás. Sus dos compañeros estaban tomando fotografías del lugar. Era algo difícil hacer cualquier cosa con los trajes puestos pero era mejor que arriesgarse a contaminar el lugar o a morir por falta de oxigeno.
- Niveles de oxigeno? - pregunta Clark, uno de sus compañeros.
- Muy bajos.
Eso ya lo sabían, pero seguro era una pregunta rutinaria y ella no iba a ponerse a pelear por algo tan tonto. Estaba muy ocupada siendo asombrada por el sitio en el que estaban: de un lado, en una pequeña colina, crecía musgo azul por todos lados y sobresalían del piso plantas parecidas a nuestras flores pero con colores más opacos. Por un lado de la colina pasaba el riachuelo de "gelatina" fucsia que iba a dar a una planicie seca a apenas unos 200 metros de la colina. Parecía ser una pequeña isla de vida.
- Gama, que dice el espectrómetro?
Gama era la nave, orbitando sobre sus cabezas, donde estaba el resto de la tripulación de este primer viaje al planeta Cronos.
Se le había llamado así porque los científicos habían estado de acuerdo que solo era cuestión de tiempo para descubrir un planeta con potencial para ser habitado. Y siendo Cronos la representación clásica del tiempo, era apenas apropiado.
- Detectamos islas de vida un poco por todos lados. Parece que el proceso es reciente.
Bianca no podía evitar sonreír. Parecía que habían encontrado lo que por tanto tiempo habían buscado.
Cronos no era el primer exoplaneta descubierto. Muchos habían sido hallados un poco por todos lados hacía casi un siglo. Lo que era especial en este lugar era el enorme potencial que parecía mostrar para sostener la vida. Más concretamente, para que en un futuro pudiésemos llamarlo "hogar".
- Gama, estamos listos para volver.
- Entendido. Estaremos al tanto.
Bianca se acercó entonces a sus compañeros, Alynna y Marcos, y tras una discusión corta, empezaron a caminar los pasos que los separaban de una pequeña nave que parecía un antiguo planeador. Esa pequeña nave, hecha de un material resistente pero ligero, los llevaría de vuelta a Gama.
Mientras tomaban altura, Bianca no podía evitar mirar por la ventana la pequeña isla de vida que habían encontrado. Con ella llevaba el cuenco de "agua" extraterrestre para ser analizada en Gama.
Había trabajado tanto por este logro que parecía estar viviendo un sueño. En el pasado la gente no entendía la importancia del ecosistema, de tener un planeta seguro y habitable. Esto había causado que la contaminación, la sobrepoblación y la sobreexplotación acabaran por empujarnos al borde de la extinción.
Ya habían habido varias hambrunas, graves desastres naturales y las guerras, como era de esperar, seguían apareciendo, incluso en aquellos lugares que alguna vez se habían vanagloriado de sus logros democráticos.
Afortunadamente, se habían tomado medidas para buscar otro sitio, otro planeta al que la Humanidad pudiera migrar para evitar su desaparición. Obviamente, no todos podrían emigrar. La idea no era dejar la Tierra sino crear una red de "hogares", cada uno con vida sustentable.
Guardando el recipiente en el laboratorio y luego quitándose su traje espacial, Bianca recordaba como había sido elegida por ser joven y talentosa y sin dudar había tomado la decisión de hacer este viaje de años para dar una esperanza a los millones que esperaban en casa.
- Exploradores, los esperamos en la sala de reuniones. - dijo la voz del capitán por los altavoces.
Se reunieron los siete miembros de la tripulación alrededor de una gran mesa redonda, en un cuarto igual de circular con excelente iluminación. Todos llevaban ropa más cómoda ya y se sentaban en sus lugares, esperando al capitán.
El hombre ya tenía unos 60 años y muchos decían que había tomado el trabajo porque le había tomado un odio especial a la Tierra. Se decía que sufría varios problemas de salud y el espacio haría que sus últimos años fueran menos insoportables. Y sí, él planeaba morir allá afuera.
- Amigos, es hora de la reunión del día. Doctora Fellini, por favor.
Bianca se puso de pie y empezó a hacer un pequeño resumen de lo encontrado: el "agua" gelatinosa, el musgo azul y las islas de vida que formaban.
- Vida animal?
- No pudimos apreciar ninguna aunque no la descartaría.
El capitán asentía. Parecía serio.
- Señor Tempelhof, que nos dice del planeta en sí.
- Niveles de oxigeno bajos. Topografía abrupta en algunas regiones. No encontré toxicidad extrema aunque sí hay bolsas de metano en cierta áreas.
Otra vez asentía, sin mirar a su interlocutor.
- Señora White, estado de Gea.
- Estamos haciendo los últimos ajustes para tenerla a punto en unas horas. Estoy segura que trabajará a toda potencia si la dejamos hacer su trabajo.
Esta vez, el capitán sí miró a la señora White.
- Cree que es factible la terraformación del planeta?
- Es un proceso largo. Y la máquina no podrá hacerlo todo. Habrá que construir granjas e ir poco a poco.
- Pero es factible?
- Sí, señor.
El silencio era absoluto. El capitán lucía preocupado. Todos esperaban verlo algo alegre por haber llegado a destino a salvo.
- Tengo una mala noticia, queridos amigos.
Todos se removieron en sus asientos, nerviosos.
- Recibí un mensaje encriptado de la Tierra. Nos piden volver de inmediato.
La noticia cayó como un balde de agua fría. Todos empezaron a discutir y pelear pero el capitán los calló con un golpe a la mesa.
- Señores! Eso no es todo... La razón es que ha habido un ataque nuclear y ya hay movilizaciones de tropas. No parece que haya salida.
Nadie decía nada. Todos pensaban en sus seres queridos, en lo que habrían de estar viviendo. También pensaban que no tenía sentido volver a una zona de guerra, aún menos siendo un viaje de años.
Todos estaban sumidos en sus pensamientos cuando la alarma de la computadora empezó a retumbar por todas partes. El capitán se puso de pie de golpe y se acercó a una consola cercana. En la pantalla aparecía una zona del planeta en rojo, titilando.
- Dejaron algo abajo?
- No, señor.
- Entonces que es eso.
Algunos se acercaron a la consola pero Bianca prefirió ver por una de las ventanillas. Lo que vio la asustó terriblemente y no se desmayó de milagro.
Una mancha oscura parecía crecer sobre la superficie del planeta. No era rápida pero se notaba su crecimiento con facilidad. No, no era color negro. Era azul.
- Según las instrumentos, es... es vegetal.
Una simple bacteria, en un traje mal esterilizado, había hecho que el musgo azul creciera de un modo casi violento, abarcando más territorio del que tenía antes.
- Señor... - dijo un hombre de baja estatura, con orejas puntiagudas.
El capitán se le acercó.
- Que pasa Perkins?
El hombre pasó saliva y se aclaró la garganta.
- La sonda detecta una subida en los niveles de oxigeno.
El capitán no lo podía creer. Ninguno lo podía creer.
- Y señor,...
- Que?
- Se detectan formas de vida. Parecen salir del interior del planeta.
jueves, 25 de septiembre de 2014
You've gained 5 kilograms
And that was all the stupid machine could say: "You've gained five kilograms". Brian knew that, boy did he knew that.
Exercising in winter wasn't as easy as doing it in the summer. Besides, he had too many good, big meals and he didn't wanted to be that stupid person that says "I'll pass", as if food was something not much more different than a poison.
He got down the scale and, for a moment, thought it might be broken. But that was impossible: it had been bought only a few months ago and worked digitally. No, the stupid scale said the truth.
He went to the bath room and got naked as he had to take a shower. He turner the hot water faucet and then, he glanced at the mirror: he looked back at himself, a little sad, a bit disappointed. He looked down and saw his body was far from those in ads and movies. He wasn't obese or anything but felt bad for not being that perfect model society wanted all of us to be.
In the shower, as he did in bed as he slept, Brian imagined meeting someone who would love him for who he was and for discovering things about him that not even Brian knew.
But when the water stopped falling, he knew that wouldn't be the case. Again, this wasn't a TV series or a movie, there wasn't a someone for everyone and people didn't love you more for being different, just the opposite.
He put on his clothes, grabbed his keys and walked to the nearest bus stop, to wait. Being there, he remembered trying for a whole month to exercise and he did good but no results were evident so he stopped. He wasn't a patient person, so doing exercise for days and days wasn't fun, or interesting or anything. It was just painful and empty. So he just quitted.
He got in the bus and traveled through town for around half an hour until he got down near a mall. He had to go inside and pay some bills his parents had left for him to pay, with their money of course, as he had none to spare.
Standing in line in the bank, he saw a good looking guy also waiting to be served. He was just perfect: blonde, skinny, skin the color of milk and nice behind. He was even well dressed.
To be honest, Brian hated that. People that went through life just being perfect, being the ideal every other normal guy wanted to be. He must even be good in bed and well endowed. That's what Brian thought, checking him out one last time before running his errands.
He had just the time to get to a nearby café and meet Anita. She was had been his best friend for a number of years and he had told every single part of his life to him. Even that time he tried to take his life.
The two hugged, kissed, asked for cappuccinos and started talking about college memories, people they had met and new developments on their lives. Brian talked a lot, mainly because he didn't get to do it as often at home. It was to tell your parents "I hate my life" without a lecture on how easy the solution was.
Anita said the same, though. And Brian got it, he wasn't stupid, but things were hard to do. He didn't have that drive to try new things. A major impediment was the money factor. He felt bad asking and asking and trying and trying, like an idiot.
He parted with Anita, who encouraged him for the last time but he just answered: "I only do one thing right and people don't wanna pay me for it. I'm fucked". And he didn't even feel passion for writing. He just did it.
Back home, he enjoyed silence for a bit and then watched a movie. But in all honesty, he was still thinking on how much he hated his belly, his penis, his face. He hated to be the one that has to try and try and not get anything. Not all people fight for what they have and still they have money, a job, love and much more.
Trying to dissipate those thoughts, he repeated to himself that he at least had a loving family. Although one day he had to leave that house or he would really feel awful.
At night, he published the first chapter of his only novel. That was the boldest thing he could do. The subject was hard to swallow and his writing skills could sure use improvement. But he did it anyway as that was the only thing he could do now, to ease the pain a bit.
The next day, he went to buy some cinnamon rolls for the night and something uncomfortable happened: a guy stared at him, as if he was checking him out. He just blushed, bought what he came for rapidly and ran out of the place like a lunatic.
It was still unbearable when people did that. So cruel even. He tried to forget about it for the rest of the day but couldn't. He decide to log on to his blog to check out if someone had written and comment but nothing. "Self centered bastards".
But the night was even stranger than the day. An old school friend called him to his cellphone. He said he had read his first chapter and told him he really liked. Brian was a bit embarrassed. The guy then said: "We should really meet some time". He was red as a tomato. His only answer was "Ok".
And then life went on with Brian. What happened with the caller or with his ambitions as a writer, I just can't tell you. Why? Because those things haven't happened yet, so we might have to wait for some time to pass until we know what kind of life Brian had.
Exercising in winter wasn't as easy as doing it in the summer. Besides, he had too many good, big meals and he didn't wanted to be that stupid person that says "I'll pass", as if food was something not much more different than a poison.
He got down the scale and, for a moment, thought it might be broken. But that was impossible: it had been bought only a few months ago and worked digitally. No, the stupid scale said the truth.
He went to the bath room and got naked as he had to take a shower. He turner the hot water faucet and then, he glanced at the mirror: he looked back at himself, a little sad, a bit disappointed. He looked down and saw his body was far from those in ads and movies. He wasn't obese or anything but felt bad for not being that perfect model society wanted all of us to be.
In the shower, as he did in bed as he slept, Brian imagined meeting someone who would love him for who he was and for discovering things about him that not even Brian knew.
But when the water stopped falling, he knew that wouldn't be the case. Again, this wasn't a TV series or a movie, there wasn't a someone for everyone and people didn't love you more for being different, just the opposite.
He put on his clothes, grabbed his keys and walked to the nearest bus stop, to wait. Being there, he remembered trying for a whole month to exercise and he did good but no results were evident so he stopped. He wasn't a patient person, so doing exercise for days and days wasn't fun, or interesting or anything. It was just painful and empty. So he just quitted.
He got in the bus and traveled through town for around half an hour until he got down near a mall. He had to go inside and pay some bills his parents had left for him to pay, with their money of course, as he had none to spare.
Standing in line in the bank, he saw a good looking guy also waiting to be served. He was just perfect: blonde, skinny, skin the color of milk and nice behind. He was even well dressed.
To be honest, Brian hated that. People that went through life just being perfect, being the ideal every other normal guy wanted to be. He must even be good in bed and well endowed. That's what Brian thought, checking him out one last time before running his errands.
He had just the time to get to a nearby café and meet Anita. She was had been his best friend for a number of years and he had told every single part of his life to him. Even that time he tried to take his life.
The two hugged, kissed, asked for cappuccinos and started talking about college memories, people they had met and new developments on their lives. Brian talked a lot, mainly because he didn't get to do it as often at home. It was to tell your parents "I hate my life" without a lecture on how easy the solution was.
Anita said the same, though. And Brian got it, he wasn't stupid, but things were hard to do. He didn't have that drive to try new things. A major impediment was the money factor. He felt bad asking and asking and trying and trying, like an idiot.
He parted with Anita, who encouraged him for the last time but he just answered: "I only do one thing right and people don't wanna pay me for it. I'm fucked". And he didn't even feel passion for writing. He just did it.
Back home, he enjoyed silence for a bit and then watched a movie. But in all honesty, he was still thinking on how much he hated his belly, his penis, his face. He hated to be the one that has to try and try and not get anything. Not all people fight for what they have and still they have money, a job, love and much more.
Trying to dissipate those thoughts, he repeated to himself that he at least had a loving family. Although one day he had to leave that house or he would really feel awful.
At night, he published the first chapter of his only novel. That was the boldest thing he could do. The subject was hard to swallow and his writing skills could sure use improvement. But he did it anyway as that was the only thing he could do now, to ease the pain a bit.
The next day, he went to buy some cinnamon rolls for the night and something uncomfortable happened: a guy stared at him, as if he was checking him out. He just blushed, bought what he came for rapidly and ran out of the place like a lunatic.
It was still unbearable when people did that. So cruel even. He tried to forget about it for the rest of the day but couldn't. He decide to log on to his blog to check out if someone had written and comment but nothing. "Self centered bastards".
But the night was even stranger than the day. An old school friend called him to his cellphone. He said he had read his first chapter and told him he really liked. Brian was a bit embarrassed. The guy then said: "We should really meet some time". He was red as a tomato. His only answer was "Ok".
And then life went on with Brian. What happened with the caller or with his ambitions as a writer, I just can't tell you. Why? Because those things haven't happened yet, so we might have to wait for some time to pass until we know what kind of life Brian had.
miércoles, 24 de septiembre de 2014
Solo
Que pereza da levantarse. No quiero... La cama está calientita y huele muy rico. Es como tener un nido especial para mi solo y no pretendo compartirlo con nadie nunca. Sonrío al pensarlo pero esto hace que se me abran los ojos y note que ya es de día. De hecho, parece ser mediodía.
Con cara de aburrido, pongo los dos pies en el suelo y me limpio un poco la cara, tratando de quitarme los últimos trazos de sueño que tengo en el cuerpo. Estiro los brazos y me pongo de pie.
Como siempre, bajo a la cocina y me sirvo algo de jugo de naranja. Miro hacia la sala de estar y veo que no hay nadie. Olvidé ver si mamá ya está despierta. Debe estar cansada después del día de ayer...
Saco algo de pan de la alacena y me hago un sándwich con jamón y queso.
Lo llevo todo a la sala y enciendo el televisor pero el aparato no capta ninguna señal. Deben ser esos idiotas del servicio de televisión que a cada rato estropean la señal, disque arreglando redes y cosas de esas.
Apago el aparato y como mi desayuno en silencio. Mi madre todavía no baja de su cuarto y estoy aburrido. Subo a mi cuarto, después de lavar la loza, y abro el computador portátil. El aparato no recibe señal de internet y decido apagarlo antes de gastar la batería.
No es tan poco común que no funcione ni el internet ni la televisión. Cojo el teléfono de mi cuarto y confirmo que tampoco funciona. Siendo la misma empresa la encargada de proveer todos esos servicios, ya ha pasado en varias ocasiones que todo se daña y hay que esperar varios días para que se restablezca el servicio.
Salgo de mi cuarto y decido bañarme. Al menos el agua parece funcionar correctamente pero no así el calentador. Como el clima no es tan frío como otros días, me ducho rápidamente con agua bastante fría. Esto me ayuda a despertar aún más y a empezar a planear el día.
Mi padre y mis hermanos deben estar en sus trabajos. Yo, como independiente, no tengo que ir a ninguna parte y por eso comparto mis días con mamá. Eso hasta que tenga algo de dinero pero eso todavía parece estar lejos de ocurrir.
Pensando en mamá, le hago un sándwich igual al mío y le sirvo jugo. Se lo subo al cuarto, ya que no tiene sentido bajar a mirar un aparato inerte.
Cuando llego a su cuarto me encuentro con la sorpresa de ver la cama tendida y el cuarto completamente vacío. No se está bañando ni cambiando. Bajo con la comida y me dedico a revisar toda la casa: no hay nadie. Estoy solo.
Esto ya es extraño: mi madre nunca sale por las mañanas y menos sin avisar. Trato de recordar si ha mencionado alguna cita médica o algo por el estilo pero no puedo recordar que haya mencionado nada parecido.
Mi teléfono celular tampoco sirve correctamente y esto ya me pone nervioso: esa señal nada tiene que ver con las demás. Se habrá ido la luz en todo el país, o algo por el estilo? Lo mejor es averiguar más.
Me pongo una chaqueta, cojo las llaves de la casa y salgo a la calle, a ver si en algún lado puedo averiguar algo.
Todo parece un cuento de terror: en la avenida frente a la casa, normalmente con un alto tráfico de vehículos, no hay nada. Solo, a lo lejos, veo un automóvil parqueado en el carril central pero no parece que haya nadie adentro.
Camino a las tiendas cercanas y casi todas están cerradas y las que no lo están, están desiertas. No parece haber un ser humano en ningún lado.
Esta vez casi troto para cruzar algunas cuadras y llegar a una gran manzana de edificios de oficinas, normalmente atestados de gente a estas horas, yendo y viniendo de almorzar. Pero ahora no hay nadie. De hecho, parece que ni siquiera funciona la electricidad. Hay algo de basura por todas partes pero parece ser traída por el viento y no por ningún ser humano.
Me siento a descansar ya que el trote me ha dejado sin aliento. Que es lo que pasa? Donde están todos? Que pasó?
Lo único que se me ocurre es revisar donde puede estar mi familia. Cerca hay un pequeño automóvil azul. Veo por la ventana que tiene las llaves puestas. Sin contemplaciones, rompo el vidrio con el codo y entro al coche. Es una situación de emergencia y no creo que nadie me culpe por hacer esto y muchos menos sin tener licencia para conducir.
Como puedo, llego al trabajo de mi hermana y luego al colegio de mi hermano. Ambos lugares están desiertos. Decido dejar para lo último la oficina de mi padre, ubicada en el centro. Allí cerca está la sede del gobierno y si alguien sabe algo seguro estará allí.
Dejo el automóvil en la plaza principal, luego de meterme por un par de calles peatonales y de golpear un conjunto de botes de basura. Como esperaba, tampoco hay nadie en este lugar. En todo el edificio donde trabaja mi padre no hay un alma y los papeles vuelan un poco por todos lados, ya libres.
No hay nada más que hacer. Me subo por las rejas del palacio presidencial y, para mi sorpresa, no suena ninguna alarma ni pasa nada. Camino como puedo hasta la puerta principal, abierta de par en par y empiezo a imaginarme donde podría esconderse la gente de haber sido un evento catastrófico. Seguramente, bajo tierra.
Ya había estado en el edificio cuando pequeño, en una de esas salidas escolares, y nos habían contado que existía un bunker para eventos como explosiones nucleares o ataques terroristas. Tratando de recordar en donde me habían mencionado esto, camino por todos lados sin tener éxito.
De repente, eso ya no importa. El cielo se ha oscurecido y parece como si la noche hubiese llegado de golpe. Miro por una de las ventanas de un largo pasillo decorado con viejas pinturas y afuera, en el cielo, veo algo que me quita las fuerzas, casi al instante.
La nube que ha oscurecido todo no es natural: es roja, del color de la sangre. Y de ella, parece salir algo o alguien.
De golpe, me empieza a sangrar la nariz y me siento algo débil, por lo que me dejo caer arrodillado.
Lo último que recuerdo es un horrible sonido, fuerte y agudo, que me arrulla hasta dormirme.
Con cara de aburrido, pongo los dos pies en el suelo y me limpio un poco la cara, tratando de quitarme los últimos trazos de sueño que tengo en el cuerpo. Estiro los brazos y me pongo de pie.
Como siempre, bajo a la cocina y me sirvo algo de jugo de naranja. Miro hacia la sala de estar y veo que no hay nadie. Olvidé ver si mamá ya está despierta. Debe estar cansada después del día de ayer...
Saco algo de pan de la alacena y me hago un sándwich con jamón y queso.
Lo llevo todo a la sala y enciendo el televisor pero el aparato no capta ninguna señal. Deben ser esos idiotas del servicio de televisión que a cada rato estropean la señal, disque arreglando redes y cosas de esas.
Apago el aparato y como mi desayuno en silencio. Mi madre todavía no baja de su cuarto y estoy aburrido. Subo a mi cuarto, después de lavar la loza, y abro el computador portátil. El aparato no recibe señal de internet y decido apagarlo antes de gastar la batería.
No es tan poco común que no funcione ni el internet ni la televisión. Cojo el teléfono de mi cuarto y confirmo que tampoco funciona. Siendo la misma empresa la encargada de proveer todos esos servicios, ya ha pasado en varias ocasiones que todo se daña y hay que esperar varios días para que se restablezca el servicio.
Salgo de mi cuarto y decido bañarme. Al menos el agua parece funcionar correctamente pero no así el calentador. Como el clima no es tan frío como otros días, me ducho rápidamente con agua bastante fría. Esto me ayuda a despertar aún más y a empezar a planear el día.
Mi padre y mis hermanos deben estar en sus trabajos. Yo, como independiente, no tengo que ir a ninguna parte y por eso comparto mis días con mamá. Eso hasta que tenga algo de dinero pero eso todavía parece estar lejos de ocurrir.
Pensando en mamá, le hago un sándwich igual al mío y le sirvo jugo. Se lo subo al cuarto, ya que no tiene sentido bajar a mirar un aparato inerte.
Cuando llego a su cuarto me encuentro con la sorpresa de ver la cama tendida y el cuarto completamente vacío. No se está bañando ni cambiando. Bajo con la comida y me dedico a revisar toda la casa: no hay nadie. Estoy solo.
Esto ya es extraño: mi madre nunca sale por las mañanas y menos sin avisar. Trato de recordar si ha mencionado alguna cita médica o algo por el estilo pero no puedo recordar que haya mencionado nada parecido.
Mi teléfono celular tampoco sirve correctamente y esto ya me pone nervioso: esa señal nada tiene que ver con las demás. Se habrá ido la luz en todo el país, o algo por el estilo? Lo mejor es averiguar más.
Me pongo una chaqueta, cojo las llaves de la casa y salgo a la calle, a ver si en algún lado puedo averiguar algo.
Todo parece un cuento de terror: en la avenida frente a la casa, normalmente con un alto tráfico de vehículos, no hay nada. Solo, a lo lejos, veo un automóvil parqueado en el carril central pero no parece que haya nadie adentro.
Camino a las tiendas cercanas y casi todas están cerradas y las que no lo están, están desiertas. No parece haber un ser humano en ningún lado.
Esta vez casi troto para cruzar algunas cuadras y llegar a una gran manzana de edificios de oficinas, normalmente atestados de gente a estas horas, yendo y viniendo de almorzar. Pero ahora no hay nadie. De hecho, parece que ni siquiera funciona la electricidad. Hay algo de basura por todas partes pero parece ser traída por el viento y no por ningún ser humano.
Me siento a descansar ya que el trote me ha dejado sin aliento. Que es lo que pasa? Donde están todos? Que pasó?
Lo único que se me ocurre es revisar donde puede estar mi familia. Cerca hay un pequeño automóvil azul. Veo por la ventana que tiene las llaves puestas. Sin contemplaciones, rompo el vidrio con el codo y entro al coche. Es una situación de emergencia y no creo que nadie me culpe por hacer esto y muchos menos sin tener licencia para conducir.
Como puedo, llego al trabajo de mi hermana y luego al colegio de mi hermano. Ambos lugares están desiertos. Decido dejar para lo último la oficina de mi padre, ubicada en el centro. Allí cerca está la sede del gobierno y si alguien sabe algo seguro estará allí.
Dejo el automóvil en la plaza principal, luego de meterme por un par de calles peatonales y de golpear un conjunto de botes de basura. Como esperaba, tampoco hay nadie en este lugar. En todo el edificio donde trabaja mi padre no hay un alma y los papeles vuelan un poco por todos lados, ya libres.
No hay nada más que hacer. Me subo por las rejas del palacio presidencial y, para mi sorpresa, no suena ninguna alarma ni pasa nada. Camino como puedo hasta la puerta principal, abierta de par en par y empiezo a imaginarme donde podría esconderse la gente de haber sido un evento catastrófico. Seguramente, bajo tierra.
Ya había estado en el edificio cuando pequeño, en una de esas salidas escolares, y nos habían contado que existía un bunker para eventos como explosiones nucleares o ataques terroristas. Tratando de recordar en donde me habían mencionado esto, camino por todos lados sin tener éxito.
De repente, eso ya no importa. El cielo se ha oscurecido y parece como si la noche hubiese llegado de golpe. Miro por una de las ventanas de un largo pasillo decorado con viejas pinturas y afuera, en el cielo, veo algo que me quita las fuerzas, casi al instante.
La nube que ha oscurecido todo no es natural: es roja, del color de la sangre. Y de ella, parece salir algo o alguien.
De golpe, me empieza a sangrar la nariz y me siento algo débil, por lo que me dejo caer arrodillado.
Lo último que recuerdo es un horrible sonido, fuerte y agudo, que me arrulla hasta dormirme.
martes, 23 de septiembre de 2014
The Real Mrs. Humphries
Helena Humphries lived with her dog Alan and her crow Lena. They had been together for several years and weren't planning to separate any time soon. Her husband Harvey had died five years ago and both animals were greta companions for an elderly lady like Helena.
For years, she had taken care of a small shop, located just below her apartment. The place had been the property of Harvey's family but they all died out fast and he was the last one. So he gave the shop to Helena in his will.
To be honest, she had not been very happy when she realized she had to take care of business. She was 74 years old and planned to live the rest of her days in peace and tranquility. The shop was too much to do, too much to pay attention to. She had always thought the place was perfect for her husband, an innate businessman. But she didn't have it in her.
They had met in high school and from then on she was only a wife. They never had children and, to be honest again, she didn't resent it. She thought children should only come to the world if they were "looked for" and if they were guaranteed love.
Helena had suffered from depression when she was younger and Harvey had taken care of her with love and friendship. For that, she had always been thankful and decided to be the best wife she could and she had been: beautiful cakes every birthday, delicious dinners after a hard day at work and kisses and hugs in bed.
Harvey had died a happy old man. He was 80 and died from a heart attack, a disease that plagued his family, made mainly of larger people.
So Helena had to take the shop in her hands. She sold everything: groceries, candy and even hardware.
One day, a particular windy one, a woman called Virginia entered the store. She browse around but didn't appear to be really interested in anything. Helena had recognized her: people of the neighborhood said she was a prostitute and that she had a son out of one of her clients.
- Might I help you?
Virginia looked at Helena and started crying. The older woman didn't know what to do, so she grabbed some hankies, the one she sold, and gave them to the woman. She cleaned her face, tainted by ruined make up, and blew her nose.
Helena asked if she was fine and the woman started her story: it was true. She was a prostitute as she had been laid off from her job at a brewery and she found herself with no husband and a child. But the child was not a consequence of her new work, more like the cause of it. She did it for him, so he could have food and a better life.
But she was tired of her living and wanted to stop. But her procurer forced her to keep doing it and she didn't wanted to.
At the edge of tears, Helena told her no woman should be forced to do nothing, as her Harvey had said. He had always encouraged Helena to be more than his wife but she had settled in it so well, she didn't wanted to pursue dreams that may not come true.
- Work here. I have an extra room for you and the baby. Turn your life around.
This had two purposes: help Virginia and also separate herself from the store so she could have some peaceful elderly years.
The younger woman moved in with her son and life was good and quiet for a week or so until a man named Gregory came into the store, with a body guard as big as Mrs. Humphries wardrobe. They started pushing things to the floor and insulting Virginia for failing to do her job. She asked for forgiveness and told Gregory she would pay any debts. The big man grabbed her by an arm and almost broke it.
Suddenly a loud bang was heard. No one really knew what it was until Gregory fell dead on the floor. Mrs. Humphries had come down from her apartment, where she was taking a nap next to Virginia's baby, with her rifle.
It has to be said that Harvey had always been cautious and didn't trust the authorities too much, as his younger brother had been drafted illegally by military men and then died in a faraway land. So when he married Helena, he taught her how to shoot and use all kinds of guns. On saturdays, they would share an evening at the shooting range and then have milkshakes for desert. Helena had always loved those days as she felt strong and with purpose.
The tall big man dropped Virginia and attempted to leave but Mrs. Humphries shot again, this time pointing at his knee. The man screamed of pain.
In a matter of minutes, the police was there, picking up the bodies and summoned the women for interrogation. As it was self defense during property invasion, they let them go.
From then on Mrs. Humphries took care of Virginia as if she was a daughter and Virginia learned to think of the older lady as a mother. She proposed Helena to close the store for remodeling in order to turn it into a nice little café, which could attract more clients. Virginia was skilled at baking and pastries and had always wanted to do it for a living.
The new café was a success. Every person in town wanted to have one of Virginia's pastries for dessert. Helena helped too and, finally, gave in to her Harvey's wish of her becoming more than a wife. She became a proper owner, a good hostess and a great surrogate mother for Virginia and her baby.
They had difficulties and great moments but they were together, as a family, and that was all that mattered.
For years, she had taken care of a small shop, located just below her apartment. The place had been the property of Harvey's family but they all died out fast and he was the last one. So he gave the shop to Helena in his will.
To be honest, she had not been very happy when she realized she had to take care of business. She was 74 years old and planned to live the rest of her days in peace and tranquility. The shop was too much to do, too much to pay attention to. She had always thought the place was perfect for her husband, an innate businessman. But she didn't have it in her.
They had met in high school and from then on she was only a wife. They never had children and, to be honest again, she didn't resent it. She thought children should only come to the world if they were "looked for" and if they were guaranteed love.
Helena had suffered from depression when she was younger and Harvey had taken care of her with love and friendship. For that, she had always been thankful and decided to be the best wife she could and she had been: beautiful cakes every birthday, delicious dinners after a hard day at work and kisses and hugs in bed.
Harvey had died a happy old man. He was 80 and died from a heart attack, a disease that plagued his family, made mainly of larger people.
So Helena had to take the shop in her hands. She sold everything: groceries, candy and even hardware.
One day, a particular windy one, a woman called Virginia entered the store. She browse around but didn't appear to be really interested in anything. Helena had recognized her: people of the neighborhood said she was a prostitute and that she had a son out of one of her clients.
- Might I help you?
Virginia looked at Helena and started crying. The older woman didn't know what to do, so she grabbed some hankies, the one she sold, and gave them to the woman. She cleaned her face, tainted by ruined make up, and blew her nose.
Helena asked if she was fine and the woman started her story: it was true. She was a prostitute as she had been laid off from her job at a brewery and she found herself with no husband and a child. But the child was not a consequence of her new work, more like the cause of it. She did it for him, so he could have food and a better life.
But she was tired of her living and wanted to stop. But her procurer forced her to keep doing it and she didn't wanted to.
At the edge of tears, Helena told her no woman should be forced to do nothing, as her Harvey had said. He had always encouraged Helena to be more than his wife but she had settled in it so well, she didn't wanted to pursue dreams that may not come true.
- Work here. I have an extra room for you and the baby. Turn your life around.
This had two purposes: help Virginia and also separate herself from the store so she could have some peaceful elderly years.
The younger woman moved in with her son and life was good and quiet for a week or so until a man named Gregory came into the store, with a body guard as big as Mrs. Humphries wardrobe. They started pushing things to the floor and insulting Virginia for failing to do her job. She asked for forgiveness and told Gregory she would pay any debts. The big man grabbed her by an arm and almost broke it.
Suddenly a loud bang was heard. No one really knew what it was until Gregory fell dead on the floor. Mrs. Humphries had come down from her apartment, where she was taking a nap next to Virginia's baby, with her rifle.
It has to be said that Harvey had always been cautious and didn't trust the authorities too much, as his younger brother had been drafted illegally by military men and then died in a faraway land. So when he married Helena, he taught her how to shoot and use all kinds of guns. On saturdays, they would share an evening at the shooting range and then have milkshakes for desert. Helena had always loved those days as she felt strong and with purpose.
The tall big man dropped Virginia and attempted to leave but Mrs. Humphries shot again, this time pointing at his knee. The man screamed of pain.
In a matter of minutes, the police was there, picking up the bodies and summoned the women for interrogation. As it was self defense during property invasion, they let them go.
From then on Mrs. Humphries took care of Virginia as if she was a daughter and Virginia learned to think of the older lady as a mother. She proposed Helena to close the store for remodeling in order to turn it into a nice little café, which could attract more clients. Virginia was skilled at baking and pastries and had always wanted to do it for a living.
The new café was a success. Every person in town wanted to have one of Virginia's pastries for dessert. Helena helped too and, finally, gave in to her Harvey's wish of her becoming more than a wife. She became a proper owner, a good hostess and a great surrogate mother for Virginia and her baby.
They had difficulties and great moments but they were together, as a family, and that was all that mattered.
lunes, 22 de septiembre de 2014
El Poder de la Mente
Pierdes la cuenta. No hay modo de recordar ni de ponerse a pensar en nada de lo que pasó. Ya no vale la pena. Después de que atentas contra ti mismo, la vida se pone un poco borrosa, un poca endeble y bastante distorsionada.
El dolor físico es apenas un síntoma y, dicho sea de paso, por mucho el menos importante. Incluso el olor a hierro es una tontería al lado de las punzadas que la mente inflige a su colaborador más cercano.
No tiene sentido, dicen muchos. Porque rebelarse contra uno mismo, porque herir al cuerpo que te mantiene en vida? Resulta que es solo una manifestación, una manera de escapar de la realidad que a veces oprime muy seguido, muy fuerte.
El dolor pasa, dejando sus rastros, evidentes o no. El dolor no es eterno y eso es algo que tendemos a olvidar bastante rápido. Nos quejamos y sufrimos porque muchos no hemos aprendido a dominar nuestros instintos más básicos, que muchas veces pretenden escaparse por entre los dedos. Pero, como con un caballo, hay que quebrantar lo salvaje, al menos tenerlo bajo control.
Es difícil, por supuesto que lo es. Somos seres de inmediatez y no eternos, por lo que para nosotros lo que no sucede en un fragmento ínfimo de tiempo cósmico, es una tortura que parece durar milenios Pero somos menos que eso, somos seres que deambulamos, apenas marcando nuestro camino, para luego desaparecer y nunca más ser vistos.
Vale la pena? Seguramente, aunque nunca se sabrá a ciencia cierta ya que no conocemos el vacío, la eternidad de la que tanto hablan unos, la nada de otros. Pero si se nos da un pequeño respiro de vida, hay que aprovecharla. Eso sí, a nuestros modos individuales.
Todos, y no hay nadie que escape a esto, venimos al mundo para enfrentar dificultades. De hecho, la vida está hecha de estos objetivos por cumplir, como si se tratase de un videojuego pero mas sicológico que puramente obvio.
Tenemos que saltar, tenemos que detenernos y a veces, sencillamente cambiar. Es verdad que la esencia humana dicta que solo el conjunto pero difícilmente el individúo puede cambiar y hablamos de los grandes cambios no del color del pelo o comer carne a no comerla. Esos grandes cambios se hacen a través de generaciones y no podemos darnos latigazos por no alcanzarlos.
El pasado no mejor ni peor pero debemos aprender de él. Antes el grupo era lo importante y no el individuo. Hoy vivimos obsesionados por una personalidad única que cada vez existe menos. Nos dicen que lo mejor es ser uno mismo y marcar la diferencia pero ya no somos nosotros mismos porque el mundo nos ha hecho a su imagen y es un mundo injusto e imperfectos. Por lo tanto, eso somos nosotros.
La individualidad termina cuando ella depende de las definiciones de individuo que el grupo dicta y hoy en día ese grupo es manejado por medios y reglas de convivencia que uno solo hizo para millones.
Y después nos preguntamos porque nos sentimos mal, porque nos deprimimos, porque nos suicidamos. Es fácil responder: porque no somos más que el reflejo de los demás, con solo rastros ínfimos de nuestro ser biológico que, en efecto, es único y, hasta ahora, irrepetible.
No nos propongamos cambiar el mundo. Mejor dediquémonos a cambiar nuestro mundo, nuestro vida y así cambiarán las cosas para todos. La ambición mueve personas pero la paciencia mueve mundos enteros.
La próxima vez que caigamos en ese hoyo negro, oscuro y terrible que solo busca de nosotros el desespero y la ansiedad, busquemos salir de él nosotros mismos, apoyándonos en nuestro entorno y no en el mundo del cual solo somos una pequeña partícula.
Cada vida es como una isla, alejada pero con la posibilidad de entrar en contacto con otras por varios canales de comunicación. Así mismo, recibimos olas tras olas de sentimientos, desafíos, conocimientos y golpes. Es verdad que algunos parecen vivir en islas azotadas por huracanes y otros en pacificas islas dulces pero siempre hay un bosque isla adentro y ese bosque guarda más de lo que vemos desde el mar.
Por eso hay que respirar. Recurrir al acto más natural de nuestro ser biológico y así tomar, una vez más, el control del cuerpo que se nos ha entregado para recorrer este mundo que de fácil y sencillo no tiene nada pero que tenemos como misión explorar para otros, después, puedan llevar vidas más atadas a sus verdaderas convicciones que a las obligaciones que creen tener.
domingo, 21 de septiembre de 2014
Drive
Ariana took the lead tube from the floor. The man slowly stood up from the ground and looked at her, as if he wanted to kill her.
But she was beyond that. The girl tightened her hand around the tube and, before he could do anything, hit the man on the head once and again and again.
When she stopped, he was dead, his blood forming a small pond that grew larger by the minute. She ran from the place, not letting the tube go.
Half an hour later, she got to her house. She finally let go of the bloody tube that hit the floor hard. She slowly took her coat off, trembling a bit, remembering how he looked after she had killed him.
No, she didn't felt pity or remorse. She just couldn't. Ariana had promised herself never to be a victim again and she had taken steps for that not to happen. She went to a martial arts school and began doing yoga, although she failed miserably at the latter.
Fighting, the inexplicable drive she felt when hitting another body, was to her like a drug. A brand new one she discovered to be very addictive.
So that night, when she killed a man that had attempted to rape her, she felt powerful and strong, filled with adrenaline and ready to take the world by her rules and not by the ones society imposed. She was fed up by the feeling of fear and hopelessness. No, she decided to take action.
Many people, mainly man, were afraid of strong women. Days after the killing, she went out with a former lover called Richard, by her request. He had stated she was different somehow but that he liked it. She just smiled, not really understanding what he had meant.
News of the murder filled the papers soon but the man was a reported rapist and many of his victims were thankful for his demise. Some actually said they were happy as that was what he deserved. Others just wanted time to heal, both physically and mentally.
But Ariana had already healed, or at least that was what she said to herself. Before the first attack, the one that almost made her insane, she was just a fearful girls just sailing through life, not really counting on anything. The attack just made her even more shy, more scared and she even lost the will to live.
Now, however, she had taken the bull by the horns. Richard, now her boyfriend, was specially surprised by how much she had changed over the years. He knew hair as the bookish, rather dull girl in high school. To be honest, he never paid attention to her back then.
But now it was impossible not look at her: she had blossomed into this sexy and daring woman. Sex was wonderful and even better was sharing long talks with her. Ariana had always loved reading, so she had decided to open a small bookstore. She did it all by herself and just a year after she was a favorite in the neighborhood.
Richard moved in with her and they shared even more than before: travels, memories, experiences and more. One day she finally told him about her rape. Richard was an even better man that she taught. She kissed and hugged her and promised to be there forever.
Of course, sometimes she still remembered everything: the rape, the aftermath and the killing of that man, in a dark alley. That was her biggest secret and she never told anyone. Ariana never felt guilty for what she had done but she knew it was a sin with which she would have to live forever.
And she did. She lived a full life, doing what she loved, living life by her rules. The man that loved her shared her feelings for the beauty of life and the horrible events of her life never tainted the powerful drive to keep on going.
But she was beyond that. The girl tightened her hand around the tube and, before he could do anything, hit the man on the head once and again and again.
When she stopped, he was dead, his blood forming a small pond that grew larger by the minute. She ran from the place, not letting the tube go.
Half an hour later, she got to her house. She finally let go of the bloody tube that hit the floor hard. She slowly took her coat off, trembling a bit, remembering how he looked after she had killed him.
No, she didn't felt pity or remorse. She just couldn't. Ariana had promised herself never to be a victim again and she had taken steps for that not to happen. She went to a martial arts school and began doing yoga, although she failed miserably at the latter.
Fighting, the inexplicable drive she felt when hitting another body, was to her like a drug. A brand new one she discovered to be very addictive.
So that night, when she killed a man that had attempted to rape her, she felt powerful and strong, filled with adrenaline and ready to take the world by her rules and not by the ones society imposed. She was fed up by the feeling of fear and hopelessness. No, she decided to take action.
Many people, mainly man, were afraid of strong women. Days after the killing, she went out with a former lover called Richard, by her request. He had stated she was different somehow but that he liked it. She just smiled, not really understanding what he had meant.
News of the murder filled the papers soon but the man was a reported rapist and many of his victims were thankful for his demise. Some actually said they were happy as that was what he deserved. Others just wanted time to heal, both physically and mentally.
But Ariana had already healed, or at least that was what she said to herself. Before the first attack, the one that almost made her insane, she was just a fearful girls just sailing through life, not really counting on anything. The attack just made her even more shy, more scared and she even lost the will to live.
Now, however, she had taken the bull by the horns. Richard, now her boyfriend, was specially surprised by how much she had changed over the years. He knew hair as the bookish, rather dull girl in high school. To be honest, he never paid attention to her back then.
But now it was impossible not look at her: she had blossomed into this sexy and daring woman. Sex was wonderful and even better was sharing long talks with her. Ariana had always loved reading, so she had decided to open a small bookstore. She did it all by herself and just a year after she was a favorite in the neighborhood.
Richard moved in with her and they shared even more than before: travels, memories, experiences and more. One day she finally told him about her rape. Richard was an even better man that she taught. She kissed and hugged her and promised to be there forever.
Of course, sometimes she still remembered everything: the rape, the aftermath and the killing of that man, in a dark alley. That was her biggest secret and she never told anyone. Ariana never felt guilty for what she had done but she knew it was a sin with which she would have to live forever.
And she did. She lived a full life, doing what she loved, living life by her rules. The man that loved her shared her feelings for the beauty of life and the horrible events of her life never tainted the powerful drive to keep on going.
sábado, 20 de septiembre de 2014
The Summit
They were almost there. Raul, the guide, had said it was only a hundred meters or so to the tallest point. Or so they thought he had said. Hearing wasn't an easy task, as the wind blew stronger in the altitudes Breathing was also difficult and the freezing cold made it even harder.
It was the first time any of them, except Raul, had attempted to hike such a tall mountain. It had been called Ritacuba Blanco and the name was fitting: the place was covered in a think layer of snow, that confused every sense and the mind.
Again, Raul, who was the first in the line to the top, yelled something but this time no one heard him. The wind appeared to be muting all of the members of the team on purpose, although that was obviously preposterous.
They walked another fifty meters and then they understood what Raul had said. Laura, the scientist from Pasto, fell in a crevasse and pulled everyone else into it. Luckily, Raul and Juan had their tools ready and held strongly on the white floor. Fast, the others helped Laura getting out and avoided the crevasse. Franco put a red flag by the gap on the floor, pierced the snow with all his strength.
They continued for a few minutes until they made it to the top. Raul warned them, breathing with difficulty, that they could only stay for a few minutes. As they had no oxygen tanks, staying more than necessary could mean dying there or on the way down.
There were six explorers, seven with Raul. They all sat on some rocks that overlooked the cliff, on which the tallest point was located.
Juan, as experienced as he was, took just one moment to see the scenery and then went back to Raul and started talking about the descent. It wasn't that he took it all for granted, not at all. Juan was just thinking of so many things at same time and seeing mountains from the top of another mountain didn't do anything for him. He had a wife and a baby girl to think of. At the cost of loosing what he loved most, he had to choose either a well paid job or loosing them both.
Laura, however, sat on a rock and filled her lungs with the purest air she might ever breath. It was true that oxygen was scarce, was somehow it felt cleaner and better than anything else. She loved how the mountains looked and how beautiful the world looked like this, just peaceful. It was different of what she had known her whole life, and the fact that this beautiful place existed not that far from home, was overwhelming to her.
Luis, an mature hiker with a thick beard, inhaled too but many more times, as if he defied the world. Only Raul knew that Luis was dying of cancer in the blood and this journey was a way of saying to life "you can't beat me up". The mountains and what he saw weren't as beautiful to him as the fact of having being able to do it all on his own, this last few months. He was going to die, true. But he wanted to imprint his mark on the world.
Veronica, a geology student, had come with a camera and started taking pictures as soon as they had reached the summit. She was a cheerful photographer, having documented her life and her family's life in huge amounts of pictures. Digital or analog, she didn't care. She only cared about keeping memories alive forever and this was her way of doing so. She had lost her father recently, and he had promised to go hiking with him. She wanted to take the most beautiful pictures to honor her father's memory.
Marcos and Tomás thought of each other as brothers. They admired the view, never kneeling or crouching or sitting but standing up to it, taking it all in as if it was a gift that one couldn't just let pass by. Both men, still young but already working through life, had decided to take this trip to defy their bodies and test, once more, the limits of their friendship. Marcos and Tomás were not real brothers, not relatives by blood. They had lived together from a young age as orphans, on the streets and under the care of others. But they never let each other go.
The six visitors came to the mountain, each one with a kind of mission. Some of them were successful, others not so much. But what was valuable wasn't the physical prowess as such. It was the fact that they had decided to take a challenge in order to honor something, to be true to themselves.
As they returned to the base camp, near a beautiful blue lake, their lives seemed to have improved, at least a little, even for a tiny space of time. They had learned no one defies a mountain out of courage or for the need of glory. All who do it, do it just for the urge, the need to define who they are.
It was the first time any of them, except Raul, had attempted to hike such a tall mountain. It had been called Ritacuba Blanco and the name was fitting: the place was covered in a think layer of snow, that confused every sense and the mind.
Again, Raul, who was the first in the line to the top, yelled something but this time no one heard him. The wind appeared to be muting all of the members of the team on purpose, although that was obviously preposterous.
They walked another fifty meters and then they understood what Raul had said. Laura, the scientist from Pasto, fell in a crevasse and pulled everyone else into it. Luckily, Raul and Juan had their tools ready and held strongly on the white floor. Fast, the others helped Laura getting out and avoided the crevasse. Franco put a red flag by the gap on the floor, pierced the snow with all his strength.
They continued for a few minutes until they made it to the top. Raul warned them, breathing with difficulty, that they could only stay for a few minutes. As they had no oxygen tanks, staying more than necessary could mean dying there or on the way down.
There were six explorers, seven with Raul. They all sat on some rocks that overlooked the cliff, on which the tallest point was located.
Juan, as experienced as he was, took just one moment to see the scenery and then went back to Raul and started talking about the descent. It wasn't that he took it all for granted, not at all. Juan was just thinking of so many things at same time and seeing mountains from the top of another mountain didn't do anything for him. He had a wife and a baby girl to think of. At the cost of loosing what he loved most, he had to choose either a well paid job or loosing them both.
Laura, however, sat on a rock and filled her lungs with the purest air she might ever breath. It was true that oxygen was scarce, was somehow it felt cleaner and better than anything else. She loved how the mountains looked and how beautiful the world looked like this, just peaceful. It was different of what she had known her whole life, and the fact that this beautiful place existed not that far from home, was overwhelming to her.
Luis, an mature hiker with a thick beard, inhaled too but many more times, as if he defied the world. Only Raul knew that Luis was dying of cancer in the blood and this journey was a way of saying to life "you can't beat me up". The mountains and what he saw weren't as beautiful to him as the fact of having being able to do it all on his own, this last few months. He was going to die, true. But he wanted to imprint his mark on the world.
Veronica, a geology student, had come with a camera and started taking pictures as soon as they had reached the summit. She was a cheerful photographer, having documented her life and her family's life in huge amounts of pictures. Digital or analog, she didn't care. She only cared about keeping memories alive forever and this was her way of doing so. She had lost her father recently, and he had promised to go hiking with him. She wanted to take the most beautiful pictures to honor her father's memory.
Marcos and Tomás thought of each other as brothers. They admired the view, never kneeling or crouching or sitting but standing up to it, taking it all in as if it was a gift that one couldn't just let pass by. Both men, still young but already working through life, had decided to take this trip to defy their bodies and test, once more, the limits of their friendship. Marcos and Tomás were not real brothers, not relatives by blood. They had lived together from a young age as orphans, on the streets and under the care of others. But they never let each other go.
The six visitors came to the mountain, each one with a kind of mission. Some of them were successful, others not so much. But what was valuable wasn't the physical prowess as such. It was the fact that they had decided to take a challenge in order to honor something, to be true to themselves.
As they returned to the base camp, near a beautiful blue lake, their lives seemed to have improved, at least a little, even for a tiny space of time. They had learned no one defies a mountain out of courage or for the need of glory. All who do it, do it just for the urge, the need to define who they are.
viernes, 19 de septiembre de 2014
Fuego de Cambio
Horacio sabía muy bien que hacer. Lo repasaba una y otra vez en su mente, mientras subía a toda prisa por unas escaleras en caracol que parecían eternas.
Por fin llegó al cuarto que había en la punta de la torre y desde allí pudo apreciar lo que sucedía abajo. El dragón, negro como la noche, sobrevolaba el pueblo cercano y lanzaba fuego sobre algunas casas. Desde la torre, Horacio podía ver como la gente escapaba pero era seguro que habría muertes en el lugar.
Dejó de mirar por la ventana para buscar por todo el suelo una losa suelta. Tocaba el suelo de piedra como si estuviera ciego. Yrene había dicho que lo había dejado allí, cuando la habían encerrado después de su captura.
Afuera se oían gritos y parecían más cercanos que antes. Horacio tuvo que ponerse de pie para mirar de nuevo y darse cuenta que algunos aldeanos habían decidido refugiarse en el castillo, poniendo en peligro la misión que el hombre tenía a su cargo.
De nuevo, se echó al piso a tantear losa por losa hasta que, pasado un rato, encontró la que estaba suelta y sacó de un hueco de abajo de ella un collar que consistía en una cadena de oro delgada y un pendiente del tamaño de un pulgar. Era una piedra gruesa color rojo sangre que, de solo verla, estremeció a Horacio.
Él sabía bien la historia de este artefacto y prefería no pensarlo mucho. Se puso de pie rápidamente y salió disparado por la escalera. A medio camino se detuvo al iluminarse el estrecho espacio de un tono ámbar. Vio por una rendija al exterior al dragón atacando el castillo y lanzando una llamarada cerca a la torre. Se guardó el collar en un bolsillo del chaleco y prosiguió su camino.
De haber estado viendo al dragón un par de segundos más, Ignacio hubiera muerto. Al pasar al corredor del quinto piso, la bestia demolió con la cola la torre, que cayó en pedazos al patio inferior, matando a varios refugiados.
Ignacio se detuvo un momento, frente a unas escaleras más grandes para tomar aire. El dragón parecía haberse ido ya que ya no escuchaba sus rugidos. Sacó el collar del bolsillo y lo contempló.
La leyenda decía que ese pequeño articulo de vestir tenía el poder de conceder la habilidad de controlar el mundo al antojo del portador. Yrene, hábilmente, lo había robado al morir el decadente ser que habían llamado el Supremo y lo había escondido con ella hasta que fue arrestada por el nuevo reino.
Ahora Ignacio sabía que hacer, aunque violaba su misión. En vez de bajar al patio inferior y salir por la puerta de atrás, como le habían dicho que hiciera, el hombre de barba y amplios hombros bajó un par de pisos más y penetró con fuerza en la biblioteca del castillo. Era un secreto a voces que varios libros de magia negra habían sido escondidos allí y el hombre pensaba que al usar un conjuro con el collar, podría terminar para siempre con la maldad en su hogar.
Los rugidos del dragón se sentían lejanos pero solo por los gruesos muros del lugar. La criatura seguramente había vuelto a atormentar a la gente que se había refugiado en el castillo.
Ignacio entró a un pequeño cuarto oculto tras varios objetos antiguos, que rompió sin ningún cuidado. Sabía de él por lo que el mago Mortus le había confesado. Había tan solo un estante de tres niveles con libros polvorientos. Rápidamente sacó uno y otro y otro hasta que dio con un conjuro satisfactorio.
Vale aclarar que mientras el buscaba, más personas morían y, lejos, en el mar, otra bestia atacaba la nave en la que viajaba Yrene.
El hombre salió corriendo de la biblioteca y se ubico frente a una ventana, desde la que podía ver al dragón. Y entonces, empezó a leer, en otro idioma, uno antiguo que Mortus le había enseñado al convertirse.
Entonces las criaturas, tanto el dragón como el calamar gigante, empezaron a rajarse, como porcelanas viejas. Al terminar de leer el conjuro, Ignacio vio como el dragón explotaba pero la luz permaneció después de desaparecer la criatura. El hombre no entendía. La luz, o mejor, las luces, empezaron a expandirse hasta cegar a todos quienes la vieron. El mundo conocido, se vio envuelto en luz y cambió para siempre.
jueves, 18 de septiembre de 2014
Empress
She was kind, beautiful, joyful and full of good wishes for here people. And they loved her back, they admire her and girls wanted to be like her.
Anyone in the planet knew about the Empress, about Alysthina Jygda. Daughter of a butcher and a baker, she grew up in one of the many villages of the marshlands. Such a sad place wasn't the place one would expect to find such a beautiful girl, dedicated to the gathering of marshons, fruits that only grew deep in the wetlands. No one really knew how, but she was very skill at navigating his spaces and she was adored for this, as marshons were the primary export of the villages.
So beloved she was that, when the prince did his voyage around the planet to choose a bride, no one in the marshlands was surprised when he decided to take her as his bride. The wedding was majestic and she was even more beautiful, if that was people.
Time passed and the couple became emperor and empress and, about fifteen years later, he died diving for pearls in their summer house. A horrible death mourned by everyone, it was the stepping stone for Alysthina to become the ruler of the planet, the caretaker of every single thing in all of the lands.
But certainly, some did not really appreciate her skills and beauty. Although small, a group of people around the planet found hard to believe that the emperor had died in such and incident, specially knowing he had lived in those same islands when a youngster.
They also spread the idea that something was wrong with the empress: in roughly twenty years the planet had know her, she had barely aged, at least visibly. But people dismissed this idea by stating that she had "good blood".
No member of her original family was alive to see her enthroned, as her parents had died some years after her wedding, of old age, and she hadn't had any brothers or sisters or any other relative that was know. Her family now was her only child, princess Sygma. She was named by her father after the star that brought its heat to the planet. She was as beautiful as her mother but with some traces of her father's features.
One day, however, the princess also died. As stated by the Empress, she had wandered through a nearby forest, slipped on a rock near a river and hit her head on other rocks. Her burial was broadcasted planetwide but, oddly enough, the Empress seamed always calm and never dressed in black. Actually, she wore a stunning pearl white dress the her daughter's burial. People fell in love again with her, more than ever.
Months after that, an ambassador from a nearby world arrived to give the Empress the condolences of his world. He also gave her a present from his king: a beautiful necklace made only of rubies.
She was please by the gift but even more by the ambassador: a young, strong man with interesting new ideas. She seduced him and soon, she announced a wedding.
This was kind of a turning point for her. The people weren't really ready for her to remarry but there was nothing they could do.
The wedding, as expected, was magnificent. But something strange happened. The first night they would expend together as empress and emperor, changed the lives of everyone in the planet.
The man escaped the castle, frightened to death. He yelled and screamed through the nearby town, stole a starship and left the planet. Every one was confused by this until they discovered the reason he had left: the day after her wedding, Alysthina appeared with dark green skin and red eyes.
The reason of her youth was revealed: as a young woman she had given her life to Omaku, the god of evil. Why? she thought rulers had been neglectful to the planet and that she would make it all better. But the pact did not contemplate a second marriage and, least of all, for love. So he took away her beauty as payback.
The empress then became vengeful and the planet soon fell in the age of darkness, waiting for someone to liberate it from the good will but bad outcome of the wish of one woman stunning woman.
Anyone in the planet knew about the Empress, about Alysthina Jygda. Daughter of a butcher and a baker, she grew up in one of the many villages of the marshlands. Such a sad place wasn't the place one would expect to find such a beautiful girl, dedicated to the gathering of marshons, fruits that only grew deep in the wetlands. No one really knew how, but she was very skill at navigating his spaces and she was adored for this, as marshons were the primary export of the villages.
So beloved she was that, when the prince did his voyage around the planet to choose a bride, no one in the marshlands was surprised when he decided to take her as his bride. The wedding was majestic and she was even more beautiful, if that was people.
Time passed and the couple became emperor and empress and, about fifteen years later, he died diving for pearls in their summer house. A horrible death mourned by everyone, it was the stepping stone for Alysthina to become the ruler of the planet, the caretaker of every single thing in all of the lands.
But certainly, some did not really appreciate her skills and beauty. Although small, a group of people around the planet found hard to believe that the emperor had died in such and incident, specially knowing he had lived in those same islands when a youngster.
They also spread the idea that something was wrong with the empress: in roughly twenty years the planet had know her, she had barely aged, at least visibly. But people dismissed this idea by stating that she had "good blood".
No member of her original family was alive to see her enthroned, as her parents had died some years after her wedding, of old age, and she hadn't had any brothers or sisters or any other relative that was know. Her family now was her only child, princess Sygma. She was named by her father after the star that brought its heat to the planet. She was as beautiful as her mother but with some traces of her father's features.
One day, however, the princess also died. As stated by the Empress, she had wandered through a nearby forest, slipped on a rock near a river and hit her head on other rocks. Her burial was broadcasted planetwide but, oddly enough, the Empress seamed always calm and never dressed in black. Actually, she wore a stunning pearl white dress the her daughter's burial. People fell in love again with her, more than ever.
Months after that, an ambassador from a nearby world arrived to give the Empress the condolences of his world. He also gave her a present from his king: a beautiful necklace made only of rubies.
She was please by the gift but even more by the ambassador: a young, strong man with interesting new ideas. She seduced him and soon, she announced a wedding.
This was kind of a turning point for her. The people weren't really ready for her to remarry but there was nothing they could do.
The wedding, as expected, was magnificent. But something strange happened. The first night they would expend together as empress and emperor, changed the lives of everyone in the planet.
The man escaped the castle, frightened to death. He yelled and screamed through the nearby town, stole a starship and left the planet. Every one was confused by this until they discovered the reason he had left: the day after her wedding, Alysthina appeared with dark green skin and red eyes.
The reason of her youth was revealed: as a young woman she had given her life to Omaku, the god of evil. Why? she thought rulers had been neglectful to the planet and that she would make it all better. But the pact did not contemplate a second marriage and, least of all, for love. So he took away her beauty as payback.
The empress then became vengeful and the planet soon fell in the age of darkness, waiting for someone to liberate it from the good will but bad outcome of the wish of one woman stunning woman.
miércoles, 17 de septiembre de 2014
Mi Versión de los Hechos
Adrenalina pura. Eso era lo que sentía cada vez que cometíamos algún crimen. Sentía por mis venas esa energía, esa ganas casi descontroladas por salir corriendo, por gritar, de ver la acción realizada, exitosa.
Al comienzo todo parecía que iba bien. En esos tiempos era mucho más optimista, aunque me había unido a la rebelión por ser un realista, alguien que veía como nuestro país se despedazaba lentamente bajo el tirano que hoy llamábamos presidente.
Esa bestia, ese hombre horrible que había tirado de las cuerdas hacía tanto tiempo, había vuelto al poder y ahora no se molestaba más en fingir lo que era evidente.
Sus leyes se aprobaron por estrechas mayorías que el mismo pueblo había votado. Lo triste de nuestra Historia, era que la mayoría lo había puesto allí. Y ahora él imponía sus reglas, duras y desgastantes que buscaban convertirnos en una nación servil, fabricando y haciendo para que otros lejos pudieran ganar su guerra, ahora frontal, contra quienes habían decidido contradecirlos.
Pero esto, la historia que hoy les relato, fue antes que la policía y el ejercito tomaran las calles y vigilaran todo como si nada fuera nuestro, como si todos hubiésemos sido condenados como ladrones y las prisiones fueran nuestros hogares.
La rebelión tenía más rango y yo alegremente me les uní. Sin pudor ni vergüenza puedo decirle a quien quiera que asesiné, por propia mano, a más de diez hombres y mujeres. No me enorgullece haberlo hecho, jamás podré estar contento por ello. Pero me niego a sentir pena por haber extirpado graves cánceres del corazón de un país que cada vez más se sumía en el odio que siempre había estado gestando.
Una de tantas misiones para la rebelión me había llevado a la más grande manifestación que se hizo nunca contra el nuevo regimen. Más de un millón de personas se habían agolpado en la plaza principal y, según decían, lo mismo pasaba en otras ciudades. No había duda de que esta era nuestra oportunidad, el todo o nada.
Tres compañeros tenían la misión de crear una distracción para darme entrada a la catedral, situada a solo unos pasos del Senado. Desde ese lugar tenía que, por inverosímil que pareciera, disparar con un arma de largo alcance al presidente. No, no era la primera persona en la que habían pensado para hacerlo pero finalmente lo hicieron ya que nadie creía que fueran a sospechar de un ciudadano que, hasta su mejor entendimiento, era ejemplar.
Fue así como mis compañeros iniciaron un amotinamiento, haciendo que la gente se sintiera cada vez más enojada. El presidente, dentro de unos momentos, pasaría de un lado a otro del senado por un corredor de altas columnas. Ese era mi momento de lucirme.
La gente empezó a lanzar objetos contra la policía y en apenas segundos todos los agentes de seguridad de la zona se agolparon contra los manifestantes, muchos de los cuales ya tenían sus blancas camisetas manchadas de sangre.
En esa masa de gente, nadie vio cuando mis compañeros lanzaron la primera "papa bomba" que voló la cabeza del personaje cuya estatua había estado siempre en el centro de la plaza. Todos, como una ola, se movieron hacia ese lado para tumbar lo que quedaba del monumento.
Fue entonces cuando forcé la entrada de la catedral, un candado bastante simple, y entré en su inmensidad, con un maletín a la espalda. Habiendo investigado previamente, me dirigí hacia una puerta en el costado opuesto. No había nadie en el recinto ya que se había cerrado al publico por el día.
Me pareció extraño no encontrar a nadie ya que esperaría por lo menos a un sacristán o al mismo padre pero no había nadie. Crucé por un solitario despacho y, detrás de otra puerta, estaban las escaleras hacia la torre de la catedral, donde estaban las campanas.
Subí rápidamente pero fui detenido en el primer descanso por una visión macabra: el cuerpo de un anciano estaba tirado en el piso, ensangrentado y golpeado. Era el sacristán. No sabía que hacía allí así pero no podía parar. En pocos minutos llegarían los tanques y el momento habría pasado.
Llegué a las campanas pero allí me recibió un fuerte golpe en la cara que me tumbó al piso. Había tres hombres armados con pistolas y al parecer me estaban esperando.
Por un rato discutieron que hacer conmigo, no sin antes golpear de nuevo en el rostro y patearme en el estomago. Sangrando, vi como uno de ellos cargaba su arma y se disponía a matarme. Pero eso no sucedió. Tres disparos simples retumbaron por el recinto y los hombres cayeron muertos cerca mío.
Como pude me puse de pie y vi que la multitud, la ola, otra vez cambiaba de dirección, estaba vez hacia el Senado. Me puse de pie como pude, ignorando la pregunta de quien me había salvado la vida, mientras sacaba el rifle de largo alcance de mi maletín.
Fueron segundos. Disparé pero alguien se había atravesado. Era una mujer que no pude identificar. Cayó rápidamente al piso y todo fue un caos. De algún lado oí otro disparo de un arma similar pero tampoco acertó, volándole un gran pedazos a una columna.
Parpadeando varias veces pude aguzar la vista y ver que quién me había salvado estaba en el edificio de enfrente, el de la Alcaldía. Era otro edificio fantasma por estos días pero estaba seguro que el disparo había venido de allí.
Viendo mi fracaso, salí rápidamente del lugar, cojeando y con la respiración entre cortada. La multitud estaba siendo empujada por la policía y los gases y tanques habían llegado al lugar. Me tapé la cara y atravesé la multitud como pude hasta llegar al otro lado de la plaza. Pude ver a alguien corriendo por la calle lateral y traté de seguirlo pero la multitud escapaba por todos lados y alguien me había empujado. Eligiendo mi vida, también escapé. Llegué a casa poco tiempo después.
Enterré el arma en mi patio y le dije a mi familia que los dejaría por un tiempo. La verdad es que debía unirme por completo a la rebelión.
Poco tiempo pasaría para que supiera el nombre de mi salvador: Eric.
Esto lo escribo después de cinco años y ese es un nombre que jamás podré borrar de mi mente, pues fue él la única persona que pude querer en mi vida y, creo, que querré nunca.
Al comienzo todo parecía que iba bien. En esos tiempos era mucho más optimista, aunque me había unido a la rebelión por ser un realista, alguien que veía como nuestro país se despedazaba lentamente bajo el tirano que hoy llamábamos presidente.
Esa bestia, ese hombre horrible que había tirado de las cuerdas hacía tanto tiempo, había vuelto al poder y ahora no se molestaba más en fingir lo que era evidente.
Sus leyes se aprobaron por estrechas mayorías que el mismo pueblo había votado. Lo triste de nuestra Historia, era que la mayoría lo había puesto allí. Y ahora él imponía sus reglas, duras y desgastantes que buscaban convertirnos en una nación servil, fabricando y haciendo para que otros lejos pudieran ganar su guerra, ahora frontal, contra quienes habían decidido contradecirlos.
Pero esto, la historia que hoy les relato, fue antes que la policía y el ejercito tomaran las calles y vigilaran todo como si nada fuera nuestro, como si todos hubiésemos sido condenados como ladrones y las prisiones fueran nuestros hogares.
La rebelión tenía más rango y yo alegremente me les uní. Sin pudor ni vergüenza puedo decirle a quien quiera que asesiné, por propia mano, a más de diez hombres y mujeres. No me enorgullece haberlo hecho, jamás podré estar contento por ello. Pero me niego a sentir pena por haber extirpado graves cánceres del corazón de un país que cada vez más se sumía en el odio que siempre había estado gestando.
Una de tantas misiones para la rebelión me había llevado a la más grande manifestación que se hizo nunca contra el nuevo regimen. Más de un millón de personas se habían agolpado en la plaza principal y, según decían, lo mismo pasaba en otras ciudades. No había duda de que esta era nuestra oportunidad, el todo o nada.
Tres compañeros tenían la misión de crear una distracción para darme entrada a la catedral, situada a solo unos pasos del Senado. Desde ese lugar tenía que, por inverosímil que pareciera, disparar con un arma de largo alcance al presidente. No, no era la primera persona en la que habían pensado para hacerlo pero finalmente lo hicieron ya que nadie creía que fueran a sospechar de un ciudadano que, hasta su mejor entendimiento, era ejemplar.
Fue así como mis compañeros iniciaron un amotinamiento, haciendo que la gente se sintiera cada vez más enojada. El presidente, dentro de unos momentos, pasaría de un lado a otro del senado por un corredor de altas columnas. Ese era mi momento de lucirme.
La gente empezó a lanzar objetos contra la policía y en apenas segundos todos los agentes de seguridad de la zona se agolparon contra los manifestantes, muchos de los cuales ya tenían sus blancas camisetas manchadas de sangre.
En esa masa de gente, nadie vio cuando mis compañeros lanzaron la primera "papa bomba" que voló la cabeza del personaje cuya estatua había estado siempre en el centro de la plaza. Todos, como una ola, se movieron hacia ese lado para tumbar lo que quedaba del monumento.
Fue entonces cuando forcé la entrada de la catedral, un candado bastante simple, y entré en su inmensidad, con un maletín a la espalda. Habiendo investigado previamente, me dirigí hacia una puerta en el costado opuesto. No había nadie en el recinto ya que se había cerrado al publico por el día.
Me pareció extraño no encontrar a nadie ya que esperaría por lo menos a un sacristán o al mismo padre pero no había nadie. Crucé por un solitario despacho y, detrás de otra puerta, estaban las escaleras hacia la torre de la catedral, donde estaban las campanas.
Subí rápidamente pero fui detenido en el primer descanso por una visión macabra: el cuerpo de un anciano estaba tirado en el piso, ensangrentado y golpeado. Era el sacristán. No sabía que hacía allí así pero no podía parar. En pocos minutos llegarían los tanques y el momento habría pasado.
Llegué a las campanas pero allí me recibió un fuerte golpe en la cara que me tumbó al piso. Había tres hombres armados con pistolas y al parecer me estaban esperando.
Por un rato discutieron que hacer conmigo, no sin antes golpear de nuevo en el rostro y patearme en el estomago. Sangrando, vi como uno de ellos cargaba su arma y se disponía a matarme. Pero eso no sucedió. Tres disparos simples retumbaron por el recinto y los hombres cayeron muertos cerca mío.
Como pude me puse de pie y vi que la multitud, la ola, otra vez cambiaba de dirección, estaba vez hacia el Senado. Me puse de pie como pude, ignorando la pregunta de quien me había salvado la vida, mientras sacaba el rifle de largo alcance de mi maletín.
Fueron segundos. Disparé pero alguien se había atravesado. Era una mujer que no pude identificar. Cayó rápidamente al piso y todo fue un caos. De algún lado oí otro disparo de un arma similar pero tampoco acertó, volándole un gran pedazos a una columna.
Parpadeando varias veces pude aguzar la vista y ver que quién me había salvado estaba en el edificio de enfrente, el de la Alcaldía. Era otro edificio fantasma por estos días pero estaba seguro que el disparo había venido de allí.
Viendo mi fracaso, salí rápidamente del lugar, cojeando y con la respiración entre cortada. La multitud estaba siendo empujada por la policía y los gases y tanques habían llegado al lugar. Me tapé la cara y atravesé la multitud como pude hasta llegar al otro lado de la plaza. Pude ver a alguien corriendo por la calle lateral y traté de seguirlo pero la multitud escapaba por todos lados y alguien me había empujado. Eligiendo mi vida, también escapé. Llegué a casa poco tiempo después.
Enterré el arma en mi patio y le dije a mi familia que los dejaría por un tiempo. La verdad es que debía unirme por completo a la rebelión.
Poco tiempo pasaría para que supiera el nombre de mi salvador: Eric.
Esto lo escribo después de cinco años y ese es un nombre que jamás podré borrar de mi mente, pues fue él la única persona que pude querer en mi vida y, creo, que querré nunca.
martes, 16 de septiembre de 2014
Austerlitz
Chef Michel Jacquet was the best in his craft and there was overwhelming evidence of this all over his prized restaurant, the Austerlitz. Medals, cups, plaques and ribbons were displayed all over the dining hall, for every client to see.
This, of course, had not happened out of miracle. No. Michel was born a chef. From age five, he enjoyed staying at home with his mother and grandmother and see them planning breakfast, lunch and dinner. He was particularly fond of grand feasts that his family held every once in a while to celebrate important days as July 14th, every family member birthday or a town gathering which his family was always asked to cater.
He lived all of his childhood and teenage years in the small town of Vaite, relatively close to Germany and Switzerland. And during all those years he watched his mother do hundreds of dishes, as well as his grandmother and the baker, Monsieur Grand.
From Mr. Grand, he learned the art of pastries and by the age of fifteen he did the best éclairs Vaite could offer its few visitors and residents.
Encouraged by his mother, he left Vaite for Paris at age seventeen, to live with an uncle and learn the craft of the best teachers he could get. They were a middle class family but Michel had the advantage of being an only child so there was some money to spare on his education.
It was his dream to be on the Cordon Bleu school but the tuition was prohibitive and they only selected the best in all fields and Michel was only a skilled pastry maker. He had no idea of meat or fish or how to cook grandiose meals as his mother used to do.
The solution? Learn by himself. His uncle was a postman and left early and got in late. This time was used by Michel to watch all kinds of cooking shows on TV. He would also look for high cuisine books in a nearby library and would even come in the butcher's store to ask him to teach Michel how to cut pork, veal and lamb.
Believing to be ready, he went through the hard test in the Cordon Bleu. He was denied entrance and that put him in a severe depression that lasted for a couple of months. It was a hot summer but he wouldn't come out of bed. His uncle begged him to go out, meet girls and go dancing but Michel wasn't interested.
In order to stretch our of his misery, he looked for more schools and found Mrs. Villette school for cooking. True, it was a modest place to learn but according to many older students, Juliette Villette was among the best cooks in France but some bad reviews of her restaurant brought the place down and she decide to teach instead of fighting and ever demanding crowd.
Be that as it may, Michel excelled in all classes and soon got his diploma with the highest honors. Then, again, he applied for Cordon Bleu and failed once more. This time, however, he wasn't sad or disappointed. He had decided to be the best french cook to have ever lived and nothing would be able to stop him.
That was his turning point. He became obsessed with success and recognition. He went from loving cooking and food to just use them to surprise people and be loved as he had always wanted to be loved.
Although no one ever knew it, Michel had never really been physically attracted to anyone. He had never had the need for romantic love or sexual intercourse. But he was obsessed with people knowing who he was. This was likely to be a result of people never really believing in him, except his mother. He did not trusted people and had a passive aggressive behavior, that rarely bursted out.
He visited her only after he got his first restaurant job. He was sous-chef for Gaston Bisset, a respected chef in the city of Lyon. The man had seen Michel's talent and decided to hire him for his restaurante, the Licorne. When Michel told his mother the news, she just hugged him and kissed his cheek. It was all she wanted. After all, the father had died when Michel was very young and she had always regretted not giving him a sister or brother to share with.
In the Licorne, Michel excelled. He was fast, thorough and clean. His cuts were precise and his deserts found a place in the restaurant's menu. Everyone in Lyon knew of this young man that made the most delicious deserts.
Bisset soon became annoyed because everyone came to eat Michel's deserts and not his more recent creations such as lamb in tangerine sauce or his version of the popular ratatouille. No, everyone wanted an éclair or millefeuille from Michel.
The situation became tense. People saw them quarreling, yelling at each other and not talking to one another for days. It all ended one day when Bisset didn't show up and Michel had to take care of everything. Bisset was said to be very sick and Michel took this to his advantage: the Licorne was his. In one week, he created the most splendid dishes: salmon in lychee sauce, passion fruit chicken and macadamia nut ice cream on chia seed cake.
Bisset died. Officially it was a stroke. Some wanted Michel to stay in the Licorne but he decided to leave as he needed to create his own place and did so in the city of Quimper.
Not really known for its cuisine, Michel made the city renowned with the creation of Austerlitz, his restaurant. And that was how he got all the prizes and awards and how France and the world fell in love with his creations, in special his pastries.
Bu then, when all was great, Justine Bisset arrived went to Paris. She had seen her father in his last days and believed in her heart the stroke was just the final part of his death. She proceeded to sue Michel of killing her father.
Soon, the necessary evidence was gathered and, sure enough, the Austerlitz was lost, as Napoleon did many years ago. Justine cried in the court and explained how Michel poisoned her father in a moment of weakness and then proceeded to take over the Licorne. Michel always denied it all but the evidence was hard to overlook.
But he wasn't surrendering. In a stroke of genius, he escaped the police and the country. He grew a beard, started to exercise and opened a small pub in Scotland. Every now and again he made his amazing pastries for the townsfolk. And when someone was too disrespectful or didn't like his creations, he simply added a thin extra layer cream on his sweet works of art.
This, of course, had not happened out of miracle. No. Michel was born a chef. From age five, he enjoyed staying at home with his mother and grandmother and see them planning breakfast, lunch and dinner. He was particularly fond of grand feasts that his family held every once in a while to celebrate important days as July 14th, every family member birthday or a town gathering which his family was always asked to cater.
He lived all of his childhood and teenage years in the small town of Vaite, relatively close to Germany and Switzerland. And during all those years he watched his mother do hundreds of dishes, as well as his grandmother and the baker, Monsieur Grand.
From Mr. Grand, he learned the art of pastries and by the age of fifteen he did the best éclairs Vaite could offer its few visitors and residents.
Encouraged by his mother, he left Vaite for Paris at age seventeen, to live with an uncle and learn the craft of the best teachers he could get. They were a middle class family but Michel had the advantage of being an only child so there was some money to spare on his education.
It was his dream to be on the Cordon Bleu school but the tuition was prohibitive and they only selected the best in all fields and Michel was only a skilled pastry maker. He had no idea of meat or fish or how to cook grandiose meals as his mother used to do.
The solution? Learn by himself. His uncle was a postman and left early and got in late. This time was used by Michel to watch all kinds of cooking shows on TV. He would also look for high cuisine books in a nearby library and would even come in the butcher's store to ask him to teach Michel how to cut pork, veal and lamb.
Believing to be ready, he went through the hard test in the Cordon Bleu. He was denied entrance and that put him in a severe depression that lasted for a couple of months. It was a hot summer but he wouldn't come out of bed. His uncle begged him to go out, meet girls and go dancing but Michel wasn't interested.
In order to stretch our of his misery, he looked for more schools and found Mrs. Villette school for cooking. True, it was a modest place to learn but according to many older students, Juliette Villette was among the best cooks in France but some bad reviews of her restaurant brought the place down and she decide to teach instead of fighting and ever demanding crowd.
Be that as it may, Michel excelled in all classes and soon got his diploma with the highest honors. Then, again, he applied for Cordon Bleu and failed once more. This time, however, he wasn't sad or disappointed. He had decided to be the best french cook to have ever lived and nothing would be able to stop him.
That was his turning point. He became obsessed with success and recognition. He went from loving cooking and food to just use them to surprise people and be loved as he had always wanted to be loved.
Although no one ever knew it, Michel had never really been physically attracted to anyone. He had never had the need for romantic love or sexual intercourse. But he was obsessed with people knowing who he was. This was likely to be a result of people never really believing in him, except his mother. He did not trusted people and had a passive aggressive behavior, that rarely bursted out.
He visited her only after he got his first restaurant job. He was sous-chef for Gaston Bisset, a respected chef in the city of Lyon. The man had seen Michel's talent and decided to hire him for his restaurante, the Licorne. When Michel told his mother the news, she just hugged him and kissed his cheek. It was all she wanted. After all, the father had died when Michel was very young and she had always regretted not giving him a sister or brother to share with.
In the Licorne, Michel excelled. He was fast, thorough and clean. His cuts were precise and his deserts found a place in the restaurant's menu. Everyone in Lyon knew of this young man that made the most delicious deserts.
Bisset soon became annoyed because everyone came to eat Michel's deserts and not his more recent creations such as lamb in tangerine sauce or his version of the popular ratatouille. No, everyone wanted an éclair or millefeuille from Michel.
The situation became tense. People saw them quarreling, yelling at each other and not talking to one another for days. It all ended one day when Bisset didn't show up and Michel had to take care of everything. Bisset was said to be very sick and Michel took this to his advantage: the Licorne was his. In one week, he created the most splendid dishes: salmon in lychee sauce, passion fruit chicken and macadamia nut ice cream on chia seed cake.
Bisset died. Officially it was a stroke. Some wanted Michel to stay in the Licorne but he decided to leave as he needed to create his own place and did so in the city of Quimper.
Not really known for its cuisine, Michel made the city renowned with the creation of Austerlitz, his restaurant. And that was how he got all the prizes and awards and how France and the world fell in love with his creations, in special his pastries.
Bu then, when all was great, Justine Bisset arrived went to Paris. She had seen her father in his last days and believed in her heart the stroke was just the final part of his death. She proceeded to sue Michel of killing her father.
Soon, the necessary evidence was gathered and, sure enough, the Austerlitz was lost, as Napoleon did many years ago. Justine cried in the court and explained how Michel poisoned her father in a moment of weakness and then proceeded to take over the Licorne. Michel always denied it all but the evidence was hard to overlook.
But he wasn't surrendering. In a stroke of genius, he escaped the police and the country. He grew a beard, started to exercise and opened a small pub in Scotland. Every now and again he made his amazing pastries for the townsfolk. And when someone was too disrespectful or didn't like his creations, he simply added a thin extra layer cream on his sweet works of art.
lunes, 15 de septiembre de 2014
Reino Malva
Erase una vez una tierra hermosa, llena de colinas suaves y redondas, lagos color de miel y bosque enteros hechos de una espuma verde comestible.
En ese lugar vivían miles de criaturas, a las que un humano fácilmente podría confundir con malvaviscos: eran generalmente cortos de piernas y de brazos, con ojos y bocas perfectamente redondos y por narices tenían un punto de color negro.
Pero ahí terminaban las similitudes. Los súbditos del reino podían ser delgados o rechonchos con narices grandes o pequeñas e incluso su piel era de variados colores. Por regla general, los azules eran de la familia real, los rojos eran soldados o artesanos, los amarillos campesinos y cuando nacían eran todos blancos, con la piel más suave que existiese en estas y otras tierras.
Su mundo era relativamente pequeño pero los malvas, como se autodenominaban, no eran muy asiduos a explorar más allá de los lindes del reino y muy pocos conocían que había más allá del mar de miel que tenían por un lado y las montañas de azúcar en el otro. El reino constaba de cinco aldeas, distribuidas no muy lejos una de la otra, entre el mar y las montañas.
El rey Malva XVI era bueno y justo. Lo que más le gustaba era divertir a su gente y compartir con el pueblo. En otros reinos los castillos eran exclusivos de la familia real pero aquí, era un lugar para todos, lleno de bibliotecas, museos, talleres creativos y demás.
Todo esto era para alguna manera compensar la ausencia de la reina. Hacía años la joven mujer se había acercado demasiado al mar de miel y nunca se le había vuelto a ver. El rey cuidaba solo a sus dos hijos: un principe y una princesa, todavía jóvenes pero ya en entrenamiento para cuando alguno de los dos ascendiera al trono.
En este caso era la princesa, dos años mayor que su hermano, quien se convertiría en reina. Pero por decreto real, solo podría hacerlo de estar casada en el momento de la ascensión. De otra manera, el principe debería de guardar por el reino y sus habitantes.
Un día, en principio poco especial, el principe asistió a sus usuales clases de historia y literatura pero, al ver que tenía la tarde libre, se dispuso a pasear por el reino.
Aunque nunca le había dicho a su padre, le gustaba ir al acantilado donde su madre había caído al mar. Aunque no la había conocido bien, siempre le había hecho una falta tremenda y contemplar el calmo mar de miel traía cierta paz de espíritu.
Excepto que ese día, a la hora de el principe llegar a la zona, se desató una tormenta y el agua empezó a caer a raudales. El mar de miel seguía calmo, por su espesura, pero ya parecía crecer y encresparse.
El joven se ajustó la capa y regresó al camino que llevaba al castillo. Pero no pudo caminar sino un par de minutos hasta que vio algo en el cielo: una sombra enorme, que parecía dirigirse al castillo, Paralizado por el miedo, el principe fue testigo de como una criatura enorme, que nosotros podríamos relacionar a una hormiga, se posaba con fuerza sobre una de las torres y empezaba a devorar los cimientos.
Vale la pena decir que todos los edificios del reino eran hechos de rocas negras extraídas de canteras en las montañas de azúcar. Y como los malvas eran vegetarianos, comiendo solo frutas y verduras, no sabían que esas rocas eran en realidad chocolate amargo de excelente calidad.
Pero de alguna manera, esa criatura lo sabía. Cuando por fin respondieron las piernas del principe, dos criaturas más habían llegado al castillo. La puerta principal estaba cerrada y el joven tuvo que presenciar desde la plaza del pueblo como los soldados empezaban a lanzar miel hirviendo con enormes mangueras.
Al comienzo esto parecía alegrar a las criaturas, que bajaron de las torres y se posaron cerca a los soldados. En ese momento, parecía que las estuvieran alimentando ya que las criaturas ponían sus bocas ante los chorros de miel.
Pero cuando se cansaron, los soldados rociaron el resto de los cuerpos, los cuales se endurecieron al punto de volverse algo parecido al ámbar de nuestro mundo.
Cuando por fin la tormenta amainó y las criaturas estaban petrificadas en miel, el principe pudo encontrarse con su padre y su hermana.
De uno de los pueblos cercanos al mar llegó un enviado militar que decía que las criaturas habían venido del otro lado del mar. Esto los asustó a todos: nadie nunca había explorado lo que había más allá del mar de miel pero, parecía, que era un peligro bastante grande para todos.
Las criaturas fueron entonces cubiertas con más miel y guardadas en un sótano frío, para evitar que se liberasen. El rey además ordenó la construcción de varias torres de guardia cerca al mar, por los acantilados y playas del reino. No querían más sorpresas.
El tiempo pasó. La princesa se casó con un destacado soldado y fueron rey y reina cuando el rey Malva XVI había decidido retirarse para disfrutar de los nietos y de su reino en su vejez. El principe, por su parte, se dedicó a explorar el reino y juntar todo el conocimiento que había y el que faltaba por registrar.
Fue el primero en subir a la montaña más alta de la cordillera de azúcar y lo que vio le impactó: un campo verde y amarillo, casi interminable, se extendía detrás de las montañas. En partes parecía que el pasto crecía más alto, en otros más bajo. Pero no había nadie allí. Solo un viento constante y suave.
La reina decretó que el sótano de los bichos se usaría para investigaciones sobre las criaturas. Cuando los científicos empezaron a explorar, encontraron algo que nadie nunca hubiese esperado.
Se llamó al principe, al viejo rey y a la reina, y se les reveló que en una de las patas de una de las criaturas había un rollo de papel. Lo que había escrito los tomó por sorpresa y, a raíz de ello, su mundo cambió irremediablemente. Se puso el rollo en exhibición en un museo y pronto, por primera vez, se realizó la construcción de una nave con la que se pudiese navegar el mar de miel.
El día en que zarparon por fin, el principe quien era la cabeza de la expedición, fue una última vez al museo para leer la nota que habían encontrado casi un año antes:
Y la firma no era de nadie más sino de la madre del principe.
En ese lugar vivían miles de criaturas, a las que un humano fácilmente podría confundir con malvaviscos: eran generalmente cortos de piernas y de brazos, con ojos y bocas perfectamente redondos y por narices tenían un punto de color negro.
Pero ahí terminaban las similitudes. Los súbditos del reino podían ser delgados o rechonchos con narices grandes o pequeñas e incluso su piel era de variados colores. Por regla general, los azules eran de la familia real, los rojos eran soldados o artesanos, los amarillos campesinos y cuando nacían eran todos blancos, con la piel más suave que existiese en estas y otras tierras.
Su mundo era relativamente pequeño pero los malvas, como se autodenominaban, no eran muy asiduos a explorar más allá de los lindes del reino y muy pocos conocían que había más allá del mar de miel que tenían por un lado y las montañas de azúcar en el otro. El reino constaba de cinco aldeas, distribuidas no muy lejos una de la otra, entre el mar y las montañas.
El rey Malva XVI era bueno y justo. Lo que más le gustaba era divertir a su gente y compartir con el pueblo. En otros reinos los castillos eran exclusivos de la familia real pero aquí, era un lugar para todos, lleno de bibliotecas, museos, talleres creativos y demás.
Todo esto era para alguna manera compensar la ausencia de la reina. Hacía años la joven mujer se había acercado demasiado al mar de miel y nunca se le había vuelto a ver. El rey cuidaba solo a sus dos hijos: un principe y una princesa, todavía jóvenes pero ya en entrenamiento para cuando alguno de los dos ascendiera al trono.
En este caso era la princesa, dos años mayor que su hermano, quien se convertiría en reina. Pero por decreto real, solo podría hacerlo de estar casada en el momento de la ascensión. De otra manera, el principe debería de guardar por el reino y sus habitantes.
Un día, en principio poco especial, el principe asistió a sus usuales clases de historia y literatura pero, al ver que tenía la tarde libre, se dispuso a pasear por el reino.
Aunque nunca le había dicho a su padre, le gustaba ir al acantilado donde su madre había caído al mar. Aunque no la había conocido bien, siempre le había hecho una falta tremenda y contemplar el calmo mar de miel traía cierta paz de espíritu.
Excepto que ese día, a la hora de el principe llegar a la zona, se desató una tormenta y el agua empezó a caer a raudales. El mar de miel seguía calmo, por su espesura, pero ya parecía crecer y encresparse.
El joven se ajustó la capa y regresó al camino que llevaba al castillo. Pero no pudo caminar sino un par de minutos hasta que vio algo en el cielo: una sombra enorme, que parecía dirigirse al castillo, Paralizado por el miedo, el principe fue testigo de como una criatura enorme, que nosotros podríamos relacionar a una hormiga, se posaba con fuerza sobre una de las torres y empezaba a devorar los cimientos.
Vale la pena decir que todos los edificios del reino eran hechos de rocas negras extraídas de canteras en las montañas de azúcar. Y como los malvas eran vegetarianos, comiendo solo frutas y verduras, no sabían que esas rocas eran en realidad chocolate amargo de excelente calidad.
Pero de alguna manera, esa criatura lo sabía. Cuando por fin respondieron las piernas del principe, dos criaturas más habían llegado al castillo. La puerta principal estaba cerrada y el joven tuvo que presenciar desde la plaza del pueblo como los soldados empezaban a lanzar miel hirviendo con enormes mangueras.
Al comienzo esto parecía alegrar a las criaturas, que bajaron de las torres y se posaron cerca a los soldados. En ese momento, parecía que las estuvieran alimentando ya que las criaturas ponían sus bocas ante los chorros de miel.
Pero cuando se cansaron, los soldados rociaron el resto de los cuerpos, los cuales se endurecieron al punto de volverse algo parecido al ámbar de nuestro mundo.
Cuando por fin la tormenta amainó y las criaturas estaban petrificadas en miel, el principe pudo encontrarse con su padre y su hermana.
De uno de los pueblos cercanos al mar llegó un enviado militar que decía que las criaturas habían venido del otro lado del mar. Esto los asustó a todos: nadie nunca había explorado lo que había más allá del mar de miel pero, parecía, que era un peligro bastante grande para todos.
Las criaturas fueron entonces cubiertas con más miel y guardadas en un sótano frío, para evitar que se liberasen. El rey además ordenó la construcción de varias torres de guardia cerca al mar, por los acantilados y playas del reino. No querían más sorpresas.
El tiempo pasó. La princesa se casó con un destacado soldado y fueron rey y reina cuando el rey Malva XVI había decidido retirarse para disfrutar de los nietos y de su reino en su vejez. El principe, por su parte, se dedicó a explorar el reino y juntar todo el conocimiento que había y el que faltaba por registrar.
Fue el primero en subir a la montaña más alta de la cordillera de azúcar y lo que vio le impactó: un campo verde y amarillo, casi interminable, se extendía detrás de las montañas. En partes parecía que el pasto crecía más alto, en otros más bajo. Pero no había nadie allí. Solo un viento constante y suave.
La reina decretó que el sótano de los bichos se usaría para investigaciones sobre las criaturas. Cuando los científicos empezaron a explorar, encontraron algo que nadie nunca hubiese esperado.
Se llamó al principe, al viejo rey y a la reina, y se les reveló que en una de las patas de una de las criaturas había un rollo de papel. Lo que había escrito los tomó por sorpresa y, a raíz de ello, su mundo cambió irremediablemente. Se puso el rollo en exhibición en un museo y pronto, por primera vez, se realizó la construcción de una nave con la que se pudiese navegar el mar de miel.
El día en que zarparon por fin, el principe quien era la cabeza de la expedición, fue una última vez al museo para leer la nota que habían encontrado casi un año antes:
NECESITO AYUDA.
SOY PRISIONERA DEL SER QUE CONTROLA A ESTAS CRIATURAS.
TRATARÉ DE DETENERLOS LO QUE PUEDA.
TIENEN QUE ESTAR LISTOS.
LOS AMO A TODOS.
Y la firma no era de nadie más sino de la madre del principe.
domingo, 14 de septiembre de 2014
Afterwards
Helena got of bed carefully, not wanting to awake Dave. Last night had been fun but she saw no need of staying around, least of all in his bed.
She pulled the covers as slow as she could, thanked God for Dave being on a fetal position on the opposite side and tiptoed all the way the the bedroom's door. She opened it fast and closed it softly.
- Fuck!
She realized her clothes were in the room. She was only wearing her panties.
The young women, rather short and with a beautiful average body, entered the room again and stayed on the doorframe trying to locate her belongings: her stockings were just beneath the bed, her shoes just by them, her dress near the door and her purse under his briefs.
It was funny, but she had always being judgmental about men wearing briefs. She saw it as a childish thing to wear them but all indications lead to her not minding about that the night before.
As she took her clothes, Helena felt some nausea, feeling her head hurt as she bend over to grab her things.
She went out the room, again, and walked to the living room. She had to be honest, the view from there was just amazing: from there you could see all of downtown and even more. As she noticed the apartment was on a high floor, she decided to dress by the window, checking everything out.
The girl could see people walking on a park below, some cars passing by, a rather peaceful day. She recalled it was sunday but had no idea of the time. She grabbed her purse and pulled out her cellphone: almost dead. Any way, it was 1 PM.
She got scared as maybe her parents had called home or something, but she was soon put at ease when the cellphone begin ringing. As the volume was on full mode, she almost dropped it, scared Dave would wake up.
She went into a bathroom by the living room and closed the door. Now she could answer.
- Hi mom.
- Hey sweetie. Where are you?
- I'm buying bread.
She just said the first thing that came to mind.
- Oh, sleeping late?
- Yeah. Had Monica's birthday yesterday.
- Right... How was that?
- Good. Had... fun. Mom could I call you back when i get back home?
- Sure sweetie. I'll wait.
- Ok mom. Bye.
- Bye.
She hung up on the middle of her mother's "bye". It wasn't a good idea to keep talking in a place where there was a man she didn't wanted to confront.
Helena got out of the bathroom, put on her shoes and took a last look on a mirror Dave had as decoration. She was a little pale and her makeup was a mess. She decided to clean up her face so she entered the bathroom and rinsed her face with water. When she was ready to dried it up, she let out a scream as she saw the man on the bathroom mirror.
To be honest, she didn't screamed because she saw him awake. As she walked out the bathroom she confirmed what she saw: Dave was stretching, still half asleep, naked in front of her.
- Hey... - he said.
She didn't answer. Her face was soaking wet and it seemed as she had forgotten how to talk or move.
- You should dry yourself up. I don't like wet floors.
She reacted then and took a towel. As she did this, Dave entered the kitchen, only separated by the living room by a black marble counter. He turned on the coffee machine and took out a mug from a shelf.
No, Helena didn't even faked it: she saw his body as she hadn't seen it the night before. He was really not a model or the example of perfection but there was something really attractive. She couldn't really point out what it was.
- You want coffee?
- Sure.
No doubt. She needed coffee. She came out of the bathroom again and walked to the counter. He poured some coffee on two mugs and had a big sip before speaking again.
- Have to go?
- Yeah, kinda.
- Oh, ok... Last night was great.
- Guess so...
He smiled.
- What?
- You were drunk, I knew it.
- I wasn't!
- Yes, you were. Do you even remember it all?
It was not her style to lie. She didn't saw the utility of it.
- No.
- It's cool. Just a crazy night then.
He winked at her and drank some more coffee. She only sipped some, not really in the mood to stay longer.
- Look, I have to go.
- Sure, ok.
Helena walked to the door, grabbed the doorknob and turned to Dave.
- I remember you're great in bed and I hadn't had so much fun having sex or talking to sometime in quite some time. Thanks.
He smiled and raised his mug, as if toasting. She smiled too and went out the door.
Dave finished his coffee, scratched his belly and passed one hand over his hair. After thinking of her one last time, he took out some bread from the pantry and put them on the toaster.
He went to the living room to turn on the TV and entered the bathroom to pee. As he did so, he noticed something by the sink: Helena's cellphone.
Sure enough, just after Dave had put on his briefs, he heard the doorbell. Second chance was ringing.
sábado, 13 de septiembre de 2014
Enfrentar la realidad
Diego
Te escribo esta carta por una simple razón: ayer te vi en la calle, cerca de mi casa. Yo venía del supermercado y te vi allí, al otro lado de la avenida, charlando con un amigo o yo que sé. Me di cuenta que hacía mucho tiempo no te veía. Hubiera cruzado pero la verdad me dio vergüenza y preferí dejarlo así.
Sin embargo, luego de pensarlo mejor y después de recibir consejos de varias personas, decidí que lo mejor era enviarte esta carta.
Porque no un corre electrónico? Fácil. Porque sería demasiado sencillo. No quiero que parezca que quiero salir del paso o hacer algo solo por hacerlo.
Verás, desde hace un tiempo he estado en algo así como una terapia. No hay terapista ni sicólogo. Solo yo con mi pensamientos. El asunto es que he estado viendo como ciertos momentos o personas en mi vida me han afectado y de ahí aprender y ayudarme en un momento en el que honestamente no estoy bien.
Ultimamente he tenido momentos de depresión y mi autoestima, la misma que conociste, ha llegado a un record por lo bajo. No puedo negarte que han habido momentos en que he deseado morirme pero nunca lo he llevado a cabo y no creo que lo haga. De eso, te hablaré luego.
El caso es que cuando te vi ayer, recordé lo que habíamos vivido. A ti te habrá parecido corto y tonto pero para mi fue un momento inolvidable. Me sentía, por fin, seguro y confiado y con alguien más, así que estaba en una nube. Incluso recordarás, y si no yo te lo digo, el día en que salimos y al final te dije que había sido mi mejor día en mucho tiempo.
Sinceramente, nunca creí que me correspondieras en ningún nivel y como te dije siempre, nunca hubo amor sino un cariño grande y una posibilidad latente que yo mismo tuve el valor de hacerte saber. Sí, para mi fue valentía pura el enfrentarme a mi mismo y decirte las cosas como eran: como me sentía y lo que quería si tu querías.
Pero no quisiste y ahí terminó todo. La amistad prometida fue la típica de estos tiempos y ahora no hay contacto. Bueno, a menos que esta carta cuente como tal.
La escribo sobre todo para hacerte saber el dolor que sentí ayer, al recordar tu negativa y ver como pudiste tener algo con alguien más. Sí, lo sé. Recuerdas a Fabiana? Conoce a un amigo tuyo que le contó que salías con alguien.
Ya han pasado meses, lo sé. Y no tengo porque reprocharte. Pero quiero que sepas lo mal que se siente ser sincero y desnudarte en palabras frente a alguien para que esa persona deseche todo, como si supiera que vale eso y más.
No te miento: tiempo después caí en cuenta que nunca hubiera funcionado. Somos personas muy distintas y eso a veces rompe más que cualquier cosa. Además, para serte más sincero, nunca sentí que yo te gustara, ni física ni mentalmente. Igual, no pude reprimir el dolor al ver fotos tuyas con alguien más, porque "socialmente" seguimos siendo amigos.
Lo peor fue el día en que fui sincero y tu me fuiste sincero también diciendo que para ti había sido parte de tu transición entre tu relación anterior y un futuro que esperabas tener, con trabajo y casa propia y éxito. Pero eso por lo que pensabas luchar antes que por amor, se fue pronto a la porra, no es así? Yo no fui lo suficiente para apartarte de tu sueño pero alguien más sí.
Lo que más me duele no es el hecho como tal. Como dije antes, estoy seguro que las cosas no hubieran funcionado pero eso no quita el hecho de que hubiera preferido mil veces que me dijeras que yo no te gustaba o algo por el estilo a que no dijeras nada o lo atribuyeras a prioridades que veo eran flexibles.
En todo caso, esta carta la escribo para sacar de mi toda la rabia que tengo. Rabia contra ti. No voy a ponerme de víctima porque, por primera vez, sé que hice las cosas que debían ser.
Esta es mi terapia: confrontarme a los hechos y tratar de superar esta crisis por la que estoy pasando en la que las mentiras son peores que la verdad más dolorosa. No me diste la oportunidad de enfrentarme a mis miedos, a mi horrible visión de mi mismo, a mi odio interno. Y eso, hubiera querido que hubiese sido decisión mía.
No te guardo rencor. Como sabes, y tu mismo dijiste, fue algo pasajero pero que para mi significó mucho y por eso te escribo.
Te mando un abrazo grande y muchos éxitos con lo que te propongas.
Tu sabes quien.
P.S: Mi amiga Fabiana se consiguió la dirección de tu casa para enviarte esto. Espero no te moleste.
Te escribo esta carta por una simple razón: ayer te vi en la calle, cerca de mi casa. Yo venía del supermercado y te vi allí, al otro lado de la avenida, charlando con un amigo o yo que sé. Me di cuenta que hacía mucho tiempo no te veía. Hubiera cruzado pero la verdad me dio vergüenza y preferí dejarlo así.
Sin embargo, luego de pensarlo mejor y después de recibir consejos de varias personas, decidí que lo mejor era enviarte esta carta.
Porque no un corre electrónico? Fácil. Porque sería demasiado sencillo. No quiero que parezca que quiero salir del paso o hacer algo solo por hacerlo.
Verás, desde hace un tiempo he estado en algo así como una terapia. No hay terapista ni sicólogo. Solo yo con mi pensamientos. El asunto es que he estado viendo como ciertos momentos o personas en mi vida me han afectado y de ahí aprender y ayudarme en un momento en el que honestamente no estoy bien.
Ultimamente he tenido momentos de depresión y mi autoestima, la misma que conociste, ha llegado a un record por lo bajo. No puedo negarte que han habido momentos en que he deseado morirme pero nunca lo he llevado a cabo y no creo que lo haga. De eso, te hablaré luego.
El caso es que cuando te vi ayer, recordé lo que habíamos vivido. A ti te habrá parecido corto y tonto pero para mi fue un momento inolvidable. Me sentía, por fin, seguro y confiado y con alguien más, así que estaba en una nube. Incluso recordarás, y si no yo te lo digo, el día en que salimos y al final te dije que había sido mi mejor día en mucho tiempo.
Sinceramente, nunca creí que me correspondieras en ningún nivel y como te dije siempre, nunca hubo amor sino un cariño grande y una posibilidad latente que yo mismo tuve el valor de hacerte saber. Sí, para mi fue valentía pura el enfrentarme a mi mismo y decirte las cosas como eran: como me sentía y lo que quería si tu querías.
Pero no quisiste y ahí terminó todo. La amistad prometida fue la típica de estos tiempos y ahora no hay contacto. Bueno, a menos que esta carta cuente como tal.
La escribo sobre todo para hacerte saber el dolor que sentí ayer, al recordar tu negativa y ver como pudiste tener algo con alguien más. Sí, lo sé. Recuerdas a Fabiana? Conoce a un amigo tuyo que le contó que salías con alguien.
Ya han pasado meses, lo sé. Y no tengo porque reprocharte. Pero quiero que sepas lo mal que se siente ser sincero y desnudarte en palabras frente a alguien para que esa persona deseche todo, como si supiera que vale eso y más.
No te miento: tiempo después caí en cuenta que nunca hubiera funcionado. Somos personas muy distintas y eso a veces rompe más que cualquier cosa. Además, para serte más sincero, nunca sentí que yo te gustara, ni física ni mentalmente. Igual, no pude reprimir el dolor al ver fotos tuyas con alguien más, porque "socialmente" seguimos siendo amigos.
Lo peor fue el día en que fui sincero y tu me fuiste sincero también diciendo que para ti había sido parte de tu transición entre tu relación anterior y un futuro que esperabas tener, con trabajo y casa propia y éxito. Pero eso por lo que pensabas luchar antes que por amor, se fue pronto a la porra, no es así? Yo no fui lo suficiente para apartarte de tu sueño pero alguien más sí.
Lo que más me duele no es el hecho como tal. Como dije antes, estoy seguro que las cosas no hubieran funcionado pero eso no quita el hecho de que hubiera preferido mil veces que me dijeras que yo no te gustaba o algo por el estilo a que no dijeras nada o lo atribuyeras a prioridades que veo eran flexibles.
En todo caso, esta carta la escribo para sacar de mi toda la rabia que tengo. Rabia contra ti. No voy a ponerme de víctima porque, por primera vez, sé que hice las cosas que debían ser.
Esta es mi terapia: confrontarme a los hechos y tratar de superar esta crisis por la que estoy pasando en la que las mentiras son peores que la verdad más dolorosa. No me diste la oportunidad de enfrentarme a mis miedos, a mi horrible visión de mi mismo, a mi odio interno. Y eso, hubiera querido que hubiese sido decisión mía.
No te guardo rencor. Como sabes, y tu mismo dijiste, fue algo pasajero pero que para mi significó mucho y por eso te escribo.
Te mando un abrazo grande y muchos éxitos con lo que te propongas.
Tu sabes quien.
P.S: Mi amiga Fabiana se consiguió la dirección de tu casa para enviarte esto. Espero no te moleste.
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