After

Stepping on the sand, feeling it beneath our feet, it was different. We had been walking along the road for such a long time that we had forgotten what it felt not wearing any shoes, any clothing except underwear.

We were six people, three women and three men, and we had been wandering the country for almost a month. We had begun walking because all the cities had been destroyed, devastated by war. Bombings and attack troops and orbital bombardment. All done because of many wanting the same: rule over the world.

But the world couldn’t be ruled, not by only one person. So all the war had caused a violent reaction from nature. Pests and natural disasters had stopped the fighting and violence. So much was the catastrophe that the war had to be finished, as there were no more troops to hold an invasion, an attack or even to support a small settlement.

Our group had seen thousand of bodies on the roads, mostly of soldiers and other men of war but also from people that had flee the crisis too soon or too late.

I, for one, had stayed in the lowest part of my building, waiting for all the sound from above to stop. I had a radio, a mobile phone and a small portable television but they stopped working after the first month. I also had rations of food and batteries, a lamp and even a sleeping bag. I had been prepared.

Family? None, at least not in this city. They were far away and there was no way of knowing if they were alive or not. All transmissions had died slowly: TV stations, radio stations, satellite feed, everything stopped at some point.

So when I came out, the city were I had lived in for the last five years, was in silence, deserted almost completely. I found a few people on my way out of it and we formed this group. I had told them I needed to go to my family’s city and see if they were dead or alive, as the doubt was eating me up.

The route was a long one so we headed first to a gas station and took several maps to help us get to our destination. We also got a little cart to put all our things in and we would take turns pulling it but in the first week we were lucky enough to find farm animals, cattle and so on. So we borrowed a donkey from one of them and he has proven to be our most prized possession. 

In the group, we all have the same responsibilities and duties with each other. There’s no one that rules over others or someone that gets to do nothing. We all do, we all pull, we all feed Burrito (our donkey) and we all get food and explore the places we walk into.

The good thing is that no one ever complained or tried to be more than the others. We just got along and, to be honest, we try to speak as sparsely as we can. Sometimes there are heat waves, and fighting or talking too much during them would be fatal. We just way under a large shadow and be sure to have plenty of water.

It does seem like some things are running out, like water. We normally find gas stations or supermarkets with bottles that are still good but the natural sources seem to be running out. Just a few days ago, we saw a gigantic patch of mud on the ground. None of us had traveled the region before, but it was obvious a large lake had been there.

We ate anything that would not need frying or real cooking of any kind. We had matches and a portable cooking thingy, but the first ones ran out fast and the other worked on gas, which was not really that easy to find, so we would rather grab all the jerky we could get, ham, cheese, and so on.

Not milk, never, as it had all gone bad already. Most places we entered had that foul smell of milk gone bad. But we rapidly learned how to stand it and soon we ignored it altogether.

We traveled mainly by the roads. Not directly on them, as the heat made it annoying, but on one side, walking on grass or dirt. There were small rural roads and freeways of many lanes. But these days they all looked deserted, except for the many cars left stranded a little bit everywhere.

The tough part was when we started heading up a mountain. We had to do that to go down the other side and from there it was practically a slope towards the ocean.

The mountain was really hard for Burrito and for us. I personally feared more for the animal than for us. We had fed him well with the few fresh vegetables we had found on our way but it never seemed enough for such a creature. On the way up, he was nevertheless relentless. It was like he didn’t feel the annoying angle on which we had to walk.

There was neither snow nor nothing that cinematic, only a lot of chilly wind, trying to topple us with its strength. But after a single afternoon, we made it to the other side. Unfortunately, we had to camp up there. This time, Burrito wasn’t that strong.

We buried his body, first thing in the morning. We all cried and said a few words. A guy on the group had a Bible (he was the religious type), so he said a prayer for the animal. We owed him a lot.

Now it was us who had to pull the cart again but this time it was harder. The weather had gone significantly worse: heavy rain for three straight days and that damn wind that never stopped blowing. Not even when we got to sea level, did the weather stopped.

This moment proved to be a test for all of us. It was then we really had to meet each other, when we learned about each other and why we were doing what we were doing. It wasn’t like before, when we wouldn’t speak or even breath too loudly. Maybe it was the rain, but that had changed.

Now, during dinners, we would share stories about our past. The unspoken rule was that only one could tell his or her story per night, but the person could decide for how long they wanted to speak. At first, the stories went on for as much as fifteen minutes but, with time, we got to a story spanning several hours, during which we would eat something and enter our sleeping bags.

The road after the mountain was difficult, very rough to the legs and arms. The person pulling the cart always had the worst part, as it was too hard to do it on rocks that would move when passing on them. It was sometimes dangerous and, many times, it pulled out all the feelings people were hiding.

But that didn’t split the group; it actually made us much stronger, like a family. We were learning to live together but we knew we stood no chance if we were to take on this new world by ourselves. Without saying much, I believe love started growing among us, the kind of love you have for sisters and brothers.

Rations were getting smaller. For some reason, these roads had nowhere to find food or canned goods or nothing. For a good week, we fed very poorly, and it was starting to show. Some of us had yellowish, greenish tint on our faces, as if we were in a constant urge to vomit.

So when we finally got to the city, everyone acquired new strength. The possibilities to find food were a lot higher here than anywhere else. And we did, yes we did. We ate like pigs our first night there. We actually ate pig: a lot of preserved ham and canned beans still good. And there was water and, in a hotel, we had found an ice room still working for some reason. We played like children in there, freezing but happy.

The next day, was the day we went to the beach. And it was then, when we first felt we were alive, that we were reminded of our humanity and that our time here was not done yet.

Some walked the beach hand by hand. Others, like me, just stood there with sand up their ankles, watching the ocean. The waves, coming and going.

And there I cried again, the first time since Burrito had died, the second time since… Since I didn’t know when. I was alive but the word was dying and we all knew it.

Writing Crap

My days are always the same: I wake up ten minutes before 10 AM to watch this tv show I like. As I do that, I eat breakfast. My breakfast is basically anything that lays around the fridge or the cupboard. I don't like breakfast, it annoys me for some reason.

After that, my mom is already up too so we watch more Tv for like an hour and then I shower, get dressed, tidy up my bedroom and by 1 PM I should be writing on my laptop.

And then, things get really easy or really annoying. Sometimes I've had an idea before and it comes back as I seat in front of the screen so it comes right up: every detail, every character, everything there is to say to make it good enough to read.
However, I practically never make corrections. That's because I'm lazy and also because I think that makes me kind of a bad writer, if I'm not capable to see errors as I write them.

Well, that's on the good days. On the bad days, it sucks, big time. I normally come up with stories I can write fast and don't make me go crazy. As one day I write in English and the following day in Spanish and so on, it gets easier or harder depending on how ready I am to write in one language or the other. Some things are easier on one or in the other. it just depends on my mood or something.

It happens a lot too that after i began, already with two pages finished, I realized how awful my story of the day is. I read a paragraph and I get pissed, sad and annoyed at the same time. It either doesn't make sense or it sound stupid or childish... It make me angry.
Sometimes, if I spent too much time doing it, I just post it and think "Fuck it". No one appear to be reading these so who to fuck cares.
If I happen to be particularly annoyed by my writing, I just erased it all and start again. Those times, I think how awful it would be if someone read my blog and thought "What is this?". So I write something else, out of the blue.

Writing is the only thing I think I am able to do correctly. I mean, I make cupcakes and I read a lot of wikipedia, but writing is my thing. I'm an idiot with numbers and social issues don't really get to me. Let's just say if I was a president I would very rapidly become a dictator.

And I know it's weird and frowned upon, for a so-called writer, but I don't really love reading. I mean, sure I read but not huge books and 5 in a year. Maybe I read one a year. I mean, for many people I know I suck a lot. But I believe writing and reading are two different things, that have little to do with one another. But that's me and, quite possibly, I'm the only one who thinks that.

So this is what I do. Write a blog and just hope for thing to pick up somehow. I have a career and a masters degree but no company gives a fuck about that. They want people they can mold and I'm past that. Not to say I'm such a creative soul but I'm not an empty canvas either.

After writing, I normally go walking somewhere. my goal every week day (there's no way in hell I'm going to exercise on weekends), is to walk 10 kilometers. I do it through nice little neighborhoods or by avenues or on huge malls. I don't care as long as I have time to make my brain calm down.

To sum it up, here are the reasons why I NEED to walk everyday:

 - Live with parents
 - Never had a job. NONE.
 - Have never been paid to do nothing. For real.
 - I'm 25.
 - I'm gay.
 - Social life in a coma.
 - What the hell. I do need the exercise.

And those are all (probably not) the reasons why I need to breath some fresh air and prevent myself from going crazy, again. I have my "rage episodes" and they can get pretty ugly but I writing has gotten those under control.

See? Writing is not only about doing the one thing that I do good. It's about doing something that makes me calm, that has the incredible capacity of make me think and just concentrate. I left school and college so long ago and I need some structure in some kind of way.

Before you think "the gym is nice" or some shit like that, let me tell you a little something. I hate gyms, I loath them and the people that love them. That's it. I won't apologize for that and won't explain it because, let's face it, how many people will be reading this?

Anyhow, what I like the most about writing is the imagination part. Many people think about techniques or structures or storylines and I don't really care about that. Actually, that doesn't really matter because what really matters is a good story, a real one, kind of original. That's it.

My career was focused on cinema and that made me think about how brilliant minds can be when they put all their energy on something. We are all in awe of people that have come up with awesome tales and characters and dialogue and we worship them like gods but we forget they were once like us.

Ok, maybe not like me but you get my point. They were people just looking to make their dreams real and by that I don't mean "dreams" like in "making your wishes come true". Not that. I mean taking out from you mind what's there and put it in display for others to see. That's the dream that comes true, not if you find a loved one or win the lottery.

Imagination for me is the most attractive thing. Maybe that's way my social life is in a coma. Yes, I have friends and they are a small number, which for me it's great, I know them better because of that. But I fail to make new ones because I get bored fairly fast. I mean, if I'm not interested in you in the first five minutes, believe, were not going to be anything.

Same goes with guys. If they prove to me that they have no imagination whatsoever, there will be no second date. Or second chat, to be accurate. Nowadays, not even that. I have no energy or personality left to have a steady relationship with anyone. And before you say "Someone will come when you least expect it", let's just say I have been waiting for 25 fucking years so kiss that.

Well, I think I digress a bit from my main point. For me writing makes things happen were I need them to happen first: in my mind. Yes, life is about physical things and so on but that hasn't worked for me, so what's bad about creating stuff for people to read and, first and foremost, to make me feel I'm not a failure and that I can do something?

No harm done I think.

To be honest, I prefer writing my crap every single day, that forcing myself into a life I know I will hate and loath every single day of my life. Unemployed and poor? Well, yeah. But hey, there are always fast food chains.

The woods

No one dared take the road through the woods. Although much shorter than the others, people tried to avoid it if possible. It had been built almost a century ago but it was only widely used for a couple of years before the wood grew darker and thicker and much more dangerous.

So an alternative road, by the side of the mountain, was built to avoid the forest. That road had a lot of curves, cliffs, and almost doubled the other one in length. It wasn't uncommon that, on a harsh winter or on rainy days, the door got blocked by mud and rocks falling from the mountain. The two towns would then be disconnected and all trade or travels between the two had to be postponed.

On one of those bad days, Sammy, a young woman looking forward visiting her family in the other town, got with her car to the mountain road but soon realized it had been blocked by big boulders. She went back home and , sadly, sat by the television set and thought of her family.

It was going to be a surprise visit but now it couldn't be done. Although... She went to her studio and grabbed a map of the region. The map marked the mountain road as a primary road. Meanwhile, the one in the woods had only a few segments drawn as people had no idea of its current state.

Sammy knew the road wasn't good for cars, only for small vehicles, motorcycles or pedestrians. But none dared enter the woods. What she noticed was that if she got out in the middle of the day, she could get across the woods in less than 3 hours. The journey normally took seven hours and that was not an option now.

So the next day she decided to dress properly for a hard walk and got to the point where the woods started. It wasn't strange no one was around as she begin, walking by the old road, covered in dead leaves and puddles of mud.

With her she only had a backpack with clothes and food, her cellphone and the map folded inside. That was it. She wore hiking boots and a thick jacket and thermal pants. It had stopped raining in the morning but she knew she had to walk fast in order to get there soon.

The first hour was incredible easy. The road was plain and almost no rocks or trees where lying across it. She could almost imagine the old carriages and horses going through the woods.
However, the place was really creepy. She knew it was around midday, but the son could almost not be seen. The foliage was thick and the trees had grown in all sorts of shapes. Almost no flowers grew there and she heard no animals in the vicinity.

When half of the walking was done, she realized the road ended and two different paths began from there. At that point she got her map out and spread it on the ground. It was hard to make a choice but she thought the best option was the clearer path, the one in the left. The map seemed to confirm it. So she began to walk again.

After just a half hour, she was walking through trees. The path had finished a few steps ago and now she only saw thin trees with big treetops. She felt lost but knew that the only option was walking in a straight line. The forest had to end at some point and it was likely the town was not far from there.

But when she started walking a cracking sound stopped her. She gazed around but so nothing. As she but one foot in front of the other, the cracking sound came back. And again and again. So she turned around.

Nothing. She decided to walk faster. After a few minutes she arrived in a clearing and there was a cottage there, the kind a lumberjack makes. Now Sammy was petrified. No one had gone to the woods in almost a hundred years so why was there a house in the middle of it?

She was very curious about it but decided not to investigate further. She continued to walk but now she heard as if someone tap a window. She turned and so no one there.

Now she was almost running. Sammy was not an athlete so her feet where killing her already but she knew she had no time to waste.

After a while, the trees began to feel more and more separated and she could see the sun, pale and cold but bright enough to make her feel safe. She decided the town could not be very far so she walked with a smile towards the edge of the forest but then rain started falling. As if someone was pouring buckets and buckets of it.

Then the cracking sound again and, in the middle of the downpour, Sammy felt someone touched her shoulder. She screamed and ran for her life. She only stopped when she felt the day had gotten brighter.

She removed the hoodie of her jacket and realized the rain had stopped and that she had arrived at her destination. She could see the tree line. Sammy was on a hill and from there one could see the town. She smiled but then she heard a laugh and turned instinctively.

There, by the nearest tree, there was a small boy. He only smiled and waved at her. And Sammy waved at him. He turned his back to her and she did the same and each one parted.

Sammy got to her family's house but did not share the story with them. She invented some lie and kept the strange smile of the kid in the woods for herself.

Life's surprises

After walking for a long time, my feet had started to complain. My legs were starting to stop working correctly too and, quite frankly, I was dying of thirst. Not just for walking more than 10 kilometers but because I had decided to wear a winter coat, thinking it was kinda windy.

Anyhow, I had arrived to a neighborhood I didn't really know although a friend of mine lived fairly close. I saw a strip mall across the street and decided to explore the place.

It was not a big place but had a lot of stores and bars and even a multiplex on the second floor. I had no intention of watching a movie, and also no money. I just wanted to have a drink an watch people go by. I would think about how to get back home later.

Finally, I found a coffeeshop. They had many types of smoothies with multiple flavors and additions but I have always hated places with far too many choices. I was thirsty. So I bought a simple passion fruit smoothie, just fruit and ice, nothing else. After paying, I chose a sit outside the place to check my cellphone and drink my juice. But I didn't.

I should feel ashamed o something but I didn't then and don't now. The reason I didn't check my phone was that I saw a guy, a very handsome one, cute if you like the word. He was sitting there with a male friend. I drank my juice as I heard what they were talking about.

Surprise: the subject was a girl. Ok. Hope she is cute as well at least. I know, nasty thing to think but, haven't we all done it? It's not that everything is about how you look but it would be a lie to say we only fall in love with our feelings. We all need something more earthly.

Anyway, the friend left and five minutes after the girl, I suppose she was the one they were talking about, arrived. She was not my type, that is if I had one, but she wasn't bad altogether. He kissed her on the cheek and she sat down. He offered to buy her a drink and she complied, asking for a cappuccino. He rushed inside, happy that she had agreed.

That's a don't guys. Girls are not really into guys that do things so easily. They are just to easy and most girls, not all, are into someone a little more layered, typically complicated. Alert for girls too: don't be to picky. You're not all prizes. Nasty? Not sorry.

Anyway the guy came back with the drink and the girl started a long and uninteresting one person conversation about her friends, and how one of them was marrying and all the details about the engagement. The guy faked being interested but it was obvious he was interested in her liking him, not much more.

Ok. I'm not saying he's looking for sex. Although most guys do, gays or straights, many other are looking for meaningful relationships. The bad thing is that those guys are scarce and they are usually found by bitches. Yes, that is the word.

She then started asking him about babies and marriage. From what I could understand and see, they were younger than me, possibly in their first semesters in college. The guy just asked her what she liked and she keep on going, like a parrot. Never mind being ugly, if you just cannot stop talking, you're less appealing than an Arctic walrus.

I stood up to leave but my legs trembled and my feet hurt like hell. And I hadn't figured out how to get back home so I just wen back inside and bought another smoothie, an orange one. I came back to my table and realized it was five in the afternoon. I had to go back before sundown, or traffic would never let me leave.

Time had passed and I did not realize the couple was now arguing. What had I missed? More babies? A car? Whatever it was, the girl was pissed and, good for him, the guy took a stand. For what I could hear, he told her he was sick of going out with her friends. He said he would always go to expensive places with her, places he didn't even like, just to please her. And always with a bunch of people he didn't even like.

She bursted into tears and, not only me, but everyone around was looking at them. She said that her friends were her life and that it was hard that he didn't like them. And then she added something that made me laugh, loud: "Sometimes I thing you just like me for my looks".

Now people looked at me. I faked reading something hilarious on my phone so people wouldn't stare and some did look the other way. He didn't. And my face turned into a red fleshy thing. I hated people when they stared that way, not angry but just, looking.

Their argument went on until the girl just stood up and left, without saying one more word. Fast enough, she grabbed her phone and called someone. A friend or a rebound guy? Who knows...

I finished my second smoothie and really felt like peeing. Besides it was late. On my wait to the restroom I confirmed on the phone that only one bus line passing nearby would take me home. So I went to the urinals, thinking about how much time it might take to get home.

Then he, the guy in the coffeeshop entered. I went to wash my hands and he did the same, washing his face slowly. I then dried my hands in the machine and was about to leave when I heard him saying: "She's not that pretty, is she?".

I turned into stone for a moment. No one had ever come to me and talked, just like that. It was really strange.

"Pretty maybe. Empty, for sure". Now he laughed and I smiled. I told him that, by the looks of it all, he was better off without her. He didn't answer. I said I had to go but then he did something guys do when they are really affected by someone: he asked me to go with him for a beer.

I refused. Surely he had friends to do that but he answered they had all taken sides and that he didn't wanted to discuss it further. He just wanted to drink and talk about whatever.

And so we did. Needless to say, I still talk to him and we have become the best friends... No, I'm lying. That's not exactly what happened. But let's just say he's fairly close and we still laugh about that day.

Wandering

When I got to the top of the hill, I realized the street did not continue upwards. Online maps were not really accurate in many ways and this was one of those: they had marked a street but instead all I saw was stairs, very steep and almost endless stairs.

The other option was continue by a side street but that wouldn't take me as high as I wanted and I was hoping to take some pictures of the great view those buildings and houses had. But, then again, I had never learn to breathe correctly and that was needed for such a climb.

Suddenly, a dog appeared. He had a collar but I couldn't see a tag on it or any other human, besides me, nearby. The animal looked at me for a moment and then started climbing the stairs, certainly faster than I would.

I decided he was the signal I was waiting for. I inhaled deeply and started climbing myself. I felt it as an eternity and sometimes I could almost touch the steps in front of me. It was insane. I did not stop for a second as I was afraid I might fall but I tried to listen carefully: only one bird seemed to live around here, despite all the trees. I mean, it was a neighborhood enclosed by a forest.

The first part of the stairs finally ended. Yeah, the first part. I noticed I had arrived to an upper street but the stairs continued further up. I took some pictures with my cellphone, as it was an strangely peaceful place, and the continued my journey.

The second part of the stairs was a lot easier, although my breathing and my legs were already not pleased by me doing this athletic attempt.

From out of nowhere, an older man dressed in a bright sport clothing came down the stairs. As we crossed he said: "Good afternoon". I greeted him the same way and we continued to our destinations. It was not very common for people to greet you on the street, at least not if you weren't a potential buyer or something.

I got to the real ending point of the stairs but did not stop. If I did my feet would hurt even more. Most appropriately, I saw the dog again. That black fur, almost like a sheep, was unmistakeable. What was weird is that the dog was siting down, as if he was waiting for me.

When I approached to pet him he got up and walked toward a private path. It was a curved lane belonging to a big house on top of the hill. I could see the house from the point from where I was standing but one had to walk all along the curved lane to get up there. There were no stairs or any other pedestrian access.

The dog disappeared and I thought that was the end of my adventure. Well, it was fun. A normal street ended right there so I thought I would go down the hill through it.

Suddenly the dog reappeared, now on the high part of the hill, in front of the house. Even more, he barked at me. At first I only waived and turned to head home but the dog barked again. I did this twice more to check my theory: he wanted me to enter the house. And I thought "Why not".

I walked to starting point of the curved lane and noticed there was a gate just a few meters away. When I got there I realized no security guard was there so I just opened the gate and entered private property. It took me only some minutes to get to the garage area of the house, were my furry friend was waiting for me.

The moment he saw me, he moved towards some stairs that lead to the main entrance. When I got there, I did what I came to do: took several pictures of the beautiful afternoon and the mysterious place I was in. I took pictures of the house, the curved lane, the lonely gate and the place were the steep stairs ended.

Suddenly I felt cold and a voice spoke, icy as the wind:

 - She's waiting for you. Please follow me.

I turned and saw a tall black man. It is weird to say this but he seemed perfect, both physically and in looks. His suit was impecable and his face was smooth and his eyes the color of the trees.

The man turned around and entered the house. The dog followed him inside, as well as I did.

I was indicated to wait in a large room. There was a fireplace on one side, a beautiful tapestry on the other and in the third wall, opposite the entrance, a large window from where I could see the woods behind the house.

I took my cellphone out and started taking pictures. Then a new voice startled me and I dropped my phone. I turned around and saw the most beautiful woman I had ever seen: she was tall, brunette, big honey colored eyes and skin the color of caramel.

 - You finally came.
 - I'm sorry, I... I think you're mistaken.

The woman smiled. She came neared and then, unexpectedly, she touched my face. It might have been that I was nervous, but I distinctively felt an electrical charge when she touched me.

- You look different. - She said.
- Different?

She smiled again and then turned and walked to a cabinet. Inside, there were many bottles and glasses. She grabbed some and poured two drinks. She asked me to sit on a sofa by the window and she sat near me. I tasted the liquid she had poured: it tasted like whisky.

 - Who are you? - she asked.
 - Who do you think I am? - I asked back.
 - You're a friend. A friend that will help us.

Then, I started feeling dizzy. Maybe the climb was too much for me after all.

 - Help you?
 - Yes. We need an imperfect being to test our last creation.

Imperfect? Who the hell...?

 - Creation?
 - Yes. A serum that makes you...

And then I lost all my functions, as if someone had shut down my body. I could still see and feel and hear but very faintly. I was slowly going away and there was nothing I could do.

The last word I remember hearing was "perfect". And then, I was.